Reminiscing is such as interesting thing,

It starts when I hit a chord, physically and metaphorically as the music continues from a Blues MP3 recorded in a spurious manner. My mind floats and I remember I had a friend called Eugene. Eugene had played with Rory Gallagher in the mid-seventies, apparently whilst sitting in a County-Down pub. Rory had just walked up to him and said

"Do you mind if I join in ?".

They were similar like that I imagine, country boys wanting to meet on an even field. Eugene agreed and within minutes he had found himself in something many musicians called the zone. What’s the zone? It’s a place Jimmy, Eddie, Paganini, and Sinatra had all hit at some point or another and would write about in song, a passion unknown or overlooked by non creative types. It's where you can't hear what you are playing and you know exactly what you are doing. Like the time when you type a stream of consciousness and it turns into a best seller.

I've hit the zone several times; once at a Blues session in Cornwall, once smoking on top of a hill on the Isle of Arann, once when I met the woman of my dreams. Even once when I was writing a Haiku.
The only thing I know about this is the recordings made of my playing, or the writing I have done when in this so called mythical place, is that it always stands the test of time, and removes mediocrity from what I produce.

I raise a glass to Eugene, where ever he is now.


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