My niece works at a barber shop. She sells expensive lotions, shampoos, shaving gear, etc. The shop cuts the hair of Chicago’s movers and shakers. It’s run by my ex-guitarist. I used to get my hair cut there, but geez, I’m not made of money. I’m also neither a mover nor a shaker. Last time I got my hair cut there was because my wife had bought me a birthday “package”. For $100 I got a shave, some sort of rub down, and a haircut. For my haircut, I demanded a mullet. The barber looked visibly shaken. He wasn’t the only one traumatized. My wife got real pissed when I came home with my new doo.
When I was in Chicago last week, I ran into the ex-guitarist in front of his shop. I shook his hand. Whoa. His hand was the softest, silkiest, butteriest hand I’ve ever shaken. He sure ain’t playing much guitar with those doughboy hands. I gotta find out the name of his lotion. I’m saving up to buy a bottle.
Here are two of his songs. I recorded them when he was 18.