BrothaRic Patton

I guess the smoke is finally starting to settle.

And when I say smoke, I mean the fire of getting a new computer, gathering up recording tools, learning what I’ve got, and getting everything ready to make some music.

I’ve got quite a few tools now.

So I suppose it’s time to get busy.

Funny thing is, once you finally get the tools you’ve been wanting, another question shows up:

What the hell are you gonna do with them?

I don’t know where to start. Aint that some shit !

Maybe that’s all right.

Lately, I’ve been…

Everybody wants to talk about microphones.

"What mic are you using?"
"What's the best condenser?"
"Do I need to spend a thousand dollars?"

Hell, that's usually the wrong question to ask.

You can own the finest microphone money can buy, but if you're recording in a room that sounds like a concrete slab or an empty kitchen, your recording is still gonna suffer. A fancy microphone can't fix a bad room. In fact, it makes the problem worse.

Here's why.

Technology done come a long way. These days, you can spend two or…

Every time I get stopped at a railroad crossing, I don't get as mad as I used to. Matter of fact, I smile.

Because that train reminds me of learning to play the guitar.

You're sitting there with somewhere to be. The engine's running. Your foot's tapping. You're thinking, Damn, come on already. Then your mind starts wandering. "Maybe I can turn around. Maybe there's a side road. Maybe I can beat this thing somehow."

Sure enough, somebody always tries.

One car cuts left. Another hangs a U-turn. Somebody's…

Some weeks leave your boots dusty. Others leave your soul full. Last week did both.

This Monday found me doing something I don't do very often—sleeping.

I finally made it back home from Helena, Arkansas, after spending the week at summer camp, and I guess my body had been keeping score. I eased back into my chair to rest for a minute, and the next thing I knew, I'd slept away most of the day.

Truth is, it felt pretty good.

I'm not making excuses. I'm just plain tired.

When you spend your days pouring into young…

There comes a time when you just have to quit waitin' on the perfect words.

I had a feelin' today was the day to make a post.

Truth is, it's been a while. Not because there ain't been anything to say. Hell, it's been the opposite. Sometimes a man's got so much rattlin' around in his head he can't figure out which thought to grab . That'll bruise a man up if you let it. It'll lock you down tighter than an rusted gate. Before you know it, you've talked yourself right out of sayin' anything at all.

Well... we're…

I woke up this morning with music already playing in my head.

No radio. No record spinning. Just a melody floating around. It got me wondering where songs really come from. Funny thing , I've been writing and playing music for years, but I'd never stopped to think about it quite like that.

The whole process is a real mystery.

When you break Western music down, it's really just a bunch of mathmatics. Chords. Scales. Timing. Patterns. There are only so many combinations that still sound like music. When you look…

WEUP wasn't just a radio station. Hell, it was a lifeline.

Growing up in North Alabama, WEUP was where I first heard the blues. Back then, it was the People's Radio. If you wanted Black music, soul music, community news, and voices that sounded like home, you turned that dial to WEUP.

AM radio had its own rhythm. It came on when the sun came up and signed off when the sun went down. Everything in between was a soundtrack to our lives. Soul music. Blues music. Community. They weren't just spinning records—they…

I'm sure there's a lot more to Alabama blues culture than I know, especially being from the northern part of the state. I've been around a while, and I've seen my share of it, but I can only really speak on what I lived.

 Growing up around Huntsville, blues wasn't something you studied. It was something you heard. Something you felt. It lived in the clubs, the VFW halls, the juke joints, and the people who walked through those doors every weekend.

I can remember places like the Nightlight Club, the River…

Can you believe somebody asked me why THE BLUES still matters?

Before I answer that, we need to get clear on something.

What the hell are you talking about when you say "the blues"?

Because depending on what you mean, the question doesn't even make sense.

Are you talking about the blues as Black people's voice finally being recorded and preserved? Is that what you mean?

If so, why wouldn't that matter?

Why wouldn't the voice of the people who helped shape American music matter?

Why wouldn't the stories,…

  Now, before we get too deep into it, let me say this: if being independent is all you've ever known, it doesn't feel all that strange. Hell, it's just life.

I've never been anything other than an independent artist myself. That's the only road I've ever traveled. Sure, I've been around musicians who signed record deals. I've known folks through the years who had labels behind them, managers making calls, and people helping move things along. Their journey looked a whole lot different than mine.

I can…