A true story that may have some bearing on the issue at hand:

Many, many years ago me and my partner were making the rounds of every open mic in and around Chicago, playing our faux-bluegrass and Hank Williams tunes, desperate for paying gigs. We were both about 22 or 23. One night we did what I thought was a knockout set at the Blue Gargoyle, the well-renowned coffeehouse at the University of Chicago. Flushed with self-satisfaction, I saw a very young man (10 - 12, I think) getting ready to do his bit. He was there with his mother. I quickly sized him up: Here is a precocious kid, with a typical stage mom, who was going to either trample some great traditional song or "sing his diary". Either way, if I had been running the show he would have never been allowed on.

I listened to his set and, although he seemed nervous and was a bit ragged around the edges, I was surprisingly very impressed. His songs were simple and direct. There may have been some "pre-teen angst", but there was no naivete in them or him. I got the distinct impression that given time and direction this kid could be good.

I introduced myself, congratulated him on his set, and generally offered words of encouragement. I made a mental note of his name - Andrew Calhoun.

We ran into each other a few other times over the years, and I was always astounded at the leaps he made, while I seemed to be running in circles or (worse) standing still. Needless to say, my first impression - about him and his mom couldn't have been more cockeyed. I always thank jah I had that chance to see him first at that early point in his career.