In the End

Weird, but I can ‘confess’ things on my blog that I don’t talk about to people in person. Every blog I write gets some readers; always the readers include people from outside the US. That’s a lot of what keeps me posting.

Weird, but I remember once, around 1970, telling a fellow that I wish I could be a musician without having to perform in public. I wanted to record and release albums, but not perform in public. He said, “That’s weird.” Yes, it is, but here I am doing it. Yet, (don’t think I’m ignorant) the thing that allowed me to fulfill my dream, the internet, also is so full of stuff that it doesn’t register near as much as if I had, say, become a hit in my hometown, Amarillo, Texas.

Yet, I know a woman, Judith Nelson, Judith Nelson Clark- Judy Clark as I knew her back in the ‘60s, who was a hit in Amarillo, who almost got a song accepted by none other than Roy Orbison, who had a song (I Just Dropped By to See the Show) recorded my Marcia Ball, and yet who never “made it.” Weird. Oh dear, I just googled her old band, the Last Chance Band, and see that there is a band from Maine with that name, and the first reference to Judy and her Texas bros was from one of my blogs. Weird.

Don’t think I don’t know that the only reason I have so many sites that carry my name is because the ‘cloud’ is cheap. I carry on because “you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.” My dream, at this point, is that someone, somewhere, someday will discover a song and that that ‘someone’ has connections – maybe a song placement in a TV show or a movie or …

I still dream about finally overcoming my performance anxieties and making a mark in some city, but it’s kinda hard to think it’ll happen. I’m 64. “Will you still need me, will you still feed me …” Why should you? I never stood in your food line. Well, not very often.

If one is autistic or has Asperger Syndrome, or whatever the hell helped me hide, I’d recommend you not to pursue music as a career. But what do you do if you don’t know yourself well enough, and you fall in love with the idea of ‘making it’ in a world that requires more social interaction than you are capable of? Are you simply fucked? Oh no, not necessarily. I wouldn’t trade my musical adventure for the ‘straight life.’ The adventure was very much in my own head, but that doesn’t mean it was wasted time or foolish. I’ve lived a life. Most of my young adventures were tied to work – on the Bering Sea on a fish processing ship, in Chicago and Florida as a race horse groom, to name two big adventures. And there were those young days when I could smoke a joint that would fuel four or more hours of guitar improvisations.

At this point, if I were to come into money, I’d want it to be for my children and my grandson, Forest William. The hardest thing to kick, and it must be kicked, is the desire to “prove myself” and to seek recognition. I’m over the fame thing (kinda), but not the desire for recognition – and there lies the rub. You can’t count on recognition, but you can count on the journey being interesting and rewarding. Mine has been.
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When I listen to my son's first big production, 1972 AND YOU, I hear an awful lot of the history of pop. Pop became Forest's thing. I bought him a Taxi subscription the last year of his life. Taxi is a service that posts stuff that's said to be directly from the film/movie/recording companies. So the posts give the description. I'll make up a typical listing:
Needed. A song a la Ricky Nelson about breaking up. Company will buy performance rights so only submit completely orchestrated songs.
Yeah. I tried it and the feedback always said I was off base. Forest got feed back like
         You really nailed it. That's exactly what the description said. 
But he never got anything placed
I'm not bringing this up as directly relating to the song posted below. I'm telling you that he had moments of experience, of the musical life, that are the real deal. He lived a life. When he wanted something he couldn't do (he played bass, drums sometimes, rhythm guitar, vocals, any keyboard) he posted a note on a bulletin board at U of A in Tucson. He did this for saxophone and classical guitar. I need to tell the names of those guys some day, but I can say this - Rick Moe played drums until he went to New York City, and Forest's beautiful wife Jessi sang real good. Yep.
I'll get to work with CD Baby on Forest's album "1972 and You."

For now, here is a song, In the End, I recorded with my late son Forest Arturo Dunn. Forest never had a piano lesson. He was simply gifted. Forest is playing and singing everything that's not me and a Martin. Forest did his thing in no time. This came from his "hitting the woodshed" on so many multi-track recordings.

This song was written in honor of my wife Rosemary; there is no one else like her in this world; one does not need to ask Rosemary, "Are you a Christian?" She is a woman of works, not words.

My great grandfather was a great exporter, he took a load of syphilis out of Italy...

Sins of our fathers. In Adams fall, we sinned, all. This song has been misinterpreted as a complaint. Oh, no. It’s a statement of fact.

When my son Forest Arturo Dunn (middle name for Toscanini) recorded with me, I think for him it was a way to make up to me. He had little to make up, but the last time I left him, his mom, and his sisters he was in high school. He challenged me, “old man,” to fight him. It was one of the several times in my life I let my ego go. I just stood and looked at him. I thought, “This is really the end. He hates me. His mother hates me.” I made no threatening moves and we did not fight, thank God.

Oh, those sins of our fathers. I remember once when I was small and had a new bike, my Dad took me to Sam Houston Park in Amarillo, Texas. I took off riding. Dad was sitting on a bench. The park had many sidewalk paths and I went around and around. Very soon I realized I didn’t know where my father was. Unknown to him, I was not riding ‘round and ‘round enjoying my new bike. I was looking for my Daddy.  He told me later that I rode past him several times and he thought I was having fun. He should have said something as I rode past, no? My father was a depressed man. I was an depressed man. Damn it, this nature/nurture thing ain’t easy, huh?

The mother of my children and I had one hell of a rocky marriage. I was always leaving and coming back. I never, ever failed to send money. No child support needed to be demanded from me. Those times I left Frances after we had children, I sent money home. I used to be angry when I heard men talk about not sending money to their children. In my mind, I was a superior father because I paid. Dads, let me tell you if you don’t know. Sending money has no emotional impact on your children. It doesn’t count. What counts to them is that Mommy is ALWAYS there. The money won’t count when it comes to winning their love. To win their love you’ve got to BE THERE.

On this song, as usual, I play guitar and sing. Forest plays a 12 string guitar for lead, organ, bass, percussion, and sings harmony. This song has not been sweetened in a studio, but it comes through. I wrote this around 1973 when Forest was a baby.

Forest Arturo Dunn, a great Musician

Forest Arturo Dunn of Amarillo, Texas, Glendale, Arizona, and Tucson, Arizona was my boy. Forest was the musician I always wanted to be. (He died in 2008.)  He learned instruments quickly. He performed in large venues such as Club Congress in Tucson. He was in bands. He could record albums in which he played all the instruments. He was sociable and could fit in with any group of people whether or not he was totally comfortable.

For two years I could not control my pain and anger very well. I learned that keening is something that naturally occurs when one cries long and hard enough and that sometimes the only thing that can make a person stop crying is the pain in one’s face.

After those two years of misery it took another couple of years before I could even look at his pictures without breaking up. Only this year did I begin to remember moments spent with him without misery. Now I can have a pleasant memory, but they all end with a tug at my heart. That’s okay.

This is the start of perhaps a number of blogs in which I wish to keep his music alive. So my main goal is to celebrate his talent and the fine music he left behind.

Here is a picture of him in his last year of life.

Do you see pain in his eyes? I do. You know it reminds me of the look in Robin William’s eyes in so many pictures. Here are some pictures of Forest taken a few months before he died. We were at my parent’s house for Thanksgiving and he asked his sister Sarah Rene Sharon Dunn to take some shots. It is my belief that, as he posed, he knew he was making memories for us because he knew he was going to die. 

I am going to take his widow’s advice and “just do it,” that is put his music out as I have been doing with my own. Right now what I have that is internet-ready is music he made with me, some of which is available on my albums “Texas Dance Songs” and “Texas Socialist Infiltration Dance Songs.”  Please give a listen to Bar Talk. 


We recorded Bar Talk on an early model Roland digital recorder. I took it with me to the Woodshed Studios in San Marcos, Texas and had Big John Mills add a rocking telecaster lead. You can hear Forest on bass and Hammond organ. The drummer was his great friend Rick Moe. This story is incredible to me – Forest played the song on guitar to Rick to give him the idea. Then he somehow communicated silently with Rick as Rick played that drum part FIRST with no other music playing! Yes, Rick Moe laid down the drum track with nothing to listen to! What kind of talent is that! After laying down bass and organ Forest had me play acoustic guitar and sing my song.

Once when I was at my job Forest laid down bass, percussion, piano, and back up vocals on a song he hadn’t even heard since he was a little boy! I came home and played and sang my part to a perfect arrangement. I won’t be sharing that song and a lot of others because the recording quality was not up to snuff. Why? Well, this digital recorder used a zip drive and, at the highest quality level only held a few minutes of music if you overdubbed. And, man, Forest overdubbed the hell out of songs! And all the hype about digital quality turned out to be bullshit – as tracks were bounced around sound quality went down with each bounce. We had to bounce because the machine only had eight tracks and Forest used many tracks for background vocals, so those songs are for family.

Here is a song I wrote in Nashville when I was a teenager. The album cover was Forest’s creation. Forest is on organ, bass, and piano. Big John Mills added the tele part in San Marcos. This song is also on “Texas Socialist Dance Songs” so obviously the album is not all politics. I just couldn’t resist the title when it occurred to me. (Burl is my middle name. "Larry" is too common a name so I dropped it.)

Well, there is an intro to my son. Remember him, please.  Forest Arturo Dunn.