Well, you two bastards made me.
I remember how terrified I was the first time I met Rick -- we had bantered back and forth on the Mudcat, and then one day he revealed both that he lived in Toronto and that he had students. And here I was, thinking, maybe it is time to get serious about this music thing before I die. I phoned him up in terror, and he very straightforwardly invited me over -- and I thought, how bad could it be, he is a nice guy on Mudcat. I had a Seagull guitar I could not play, and that of course meant I would never be able to play guitar or do anything really in life. I had been on the outside of music all my life, been involved with really snooty people who would not look at you unless you knew how to play like a god. I took the streetcar over to his house, all the time thinking, turn back you idiot, stop doing this. I was an hour early, and walked the streets thinking, run you idiot. But I went in, and sat down, and he said, so what do you want to learn, and I said, well I can't really play though I have tried for years, and a couple of years ago I decided I would try, and I bought this really nice guitar, and I tried and I tried and I can't play. And he said, "Give me that," and I gave it to him, and he said: "Shit, this guitar is a fucking piece of shit. I have never seen anything like it, the frets are all off, I couldn't play anything on it. Maybe I can fix it, or you could use it for a flower pot. This has nothing to do with you. Any kind of music interest you? I remember that we talked on the Mudcat about X and this is how it goes" -- and that was day one, moment one. An hour later I left, having played 3 tunes poorly but played, talked folk and blues and the Beatles and Pete Seeger and a million other things, and I was in this, whatever "this" was, and I got about 100 yards away from his house, sat down on the curb in the street and cried.

Just like now, only different.

yours,

Peter T.