Introductions: My name is Steve Jones. I'm a singer-songwriter. Except I can't sing. And my songs aren't any good, either. Still, I hope to make it big one day.
My background: I am of Flemish descent. My grandparents came over from Flemland to find a better life. Without knowing English or ever advancing beyond the second grade, they worked hard, followed the American dream and ended up utterly destitute.
My parents didn't do quite so well.
But more about me ...
I was born in a honky tonk. Funny, how a live birth in a honky tonk really clears the place out in a hurry.
Times were tough. Daddy sold moonshine. Mama sold time shares. My brothers and I just sat around all day wishing we could be like Elvis. Not Elvis Presley -- I mean, Elvis Duggans, the old man down at the feed store. He had a glass eye he could pop clear out of his head and show to us kids. We loved him.
I began taking piano lessons at age 10. By my 18th birthday, I could play "Heart and Soul" -- at least the top part. Then, a year later, tragedy struck. A beer truck veered off the road outside our shack, smashed into our living room and demolished the piano. (Just when I was ready to learn the bottom part to "Heart and Soul," too.) To make matters worse, the cop sided with the driver and gave us the ticket. Some folk don't appreciate music. Most do appreciate beer, though.
So at 20, I began to learn the guitar instead. By the time I was 40, I could hold the strings down hard enough to play an "F" chord. At last, I was able to realize my longtime dream of playing "The Bear Went Over the Mountain" without any mistakes. Well, almost no mistakes.
Everything fell into place the day I made my first dollar as a musician. It was the local talent contest. I was up against a guy who could recite the books of the Bible in order real fast and a girl who did an impression of Arnold Ziffel. I lost, but they gave me a dollar just to go away. I still have that dollar.
I quit my job as an intern at the feed store and hitchhiked to Nashville. Nashville, Arkansas, that is. There was a better interning opportunity there at a prestigious, Ivy League feed store.
It's been 15 years and I'm still hauling sacks of grain as an intern. (Dang, you'd think they'd cut me a paycheck one of these days or even lend me a key to the men's restroom.) But I'm hoping this blog will be my ticket to a little fame and fortune ... or at least some new underwear.
Anyway, you can check out my original tunes here. If you are with a record label, there's a Hardees about two miles from my house. Let's do lunch. I've got some coupons.
