By James Calemine

(Originally printed on

October 2007

As a writer, I’m still not comfortable with this BLOG thing–write it once and never touch it again…but considering my time constraints, it’s a forced march…so here goes…

Marc Ford was playing tonight at Smith’s Olde Bar here in Atlanta. My daughter celebrated her birthday with friends at her dance academy. On the way to the party, I called Marc to coordinate our plans to eat barbecue before the show. The phone rang, and he answered on the third ring in his laid back drawl,


“What time will you be in town?”

“Well, I gotta stop by the guitar store here in town. How long does it take to drive from Charleston to Atlanta?”

“Four or five hours…”

“That long?”

“Maybe three and a half. Just don’t speed through South Carolina. The cops are frisky for strangers in a hurry.”

“Okay, I’ll call you when I get into town,” Marc said.

My friend  was unable to attend due to a severe case of the flu, so I flew solo. On the way to Smith’s Olde Bar, I listened to Ryan Bingham’s new CD Mescalito, produced by Marc Ford. Mescalito is a great record and will bring Bingham–rightfully–worldwide attention…he’ll be opening for the Drive By Truckers later this month. A while later, Marc calls back to inform me he’s thirty miles out of town.

Thirty minutes later, the white van pulls up. Mr. Ford is driving with his hat resting on the dashboard. We give a soul brother shake, and he asks me with a shit-eating grin, as he holds up a box of candy,

“Can I interest you in a peanut cluster?”

“Thanks man, but it’s too early for me.”

“You’re right. It’s way too early.”

I met the band–Muddy (bass/keys), Marc’s son Elijah (guitars), dreadlocked drummer Dennis and road manager-photographer Coy Koehler. I carry a couple of Marc’s guitars up the steps as they set up and soundcheck. Marc posed as I took a couple shots of his custom made James Troussart guitars. I took 52–too many–photos to post here, so…another day. Smith’s Olde Bar is a familiar room to me. I’ve seen many bands play here countless late nights. I’ve even read poetry with Bloodkin from this stage. There’s a warm feeling to the room.

When a thorough soundcheck is complete, the band scatters for a pre-show meal. Marc and I decide it’s not the time to fight the Saturday night Fat Matt’s rush, so Coy orders food from downstairs and Marc and I go for a walk. He moved the van. He sat in the pilot and in the co-pilot seat listening to the STAX box set I suggested to him months ago upon release. I ignored my Georgia Bulldogs were stomped by Tennessee earlier today, and Florida played LSU closer than predicted, but…

Marc and I sat in the van, in a dark, mosquito-infested alley behind Smith’s talking about the road, Bingham, women, funny music stories, encounters and upcoming plans. I even tried on the man’s hat. Then we walked across the street for cigarettes. I snapped a few photos of Marc inside the Exxon.

“I haven’t been able to find American Spirit cigarettes since New York”, said Marc stuffing three packs into his denim shirt pocket.

Some great musicians are shitty human beings…and fans should be happy they only hear the artist’s work because to know the artist is often a grave disappointment. However, this is not the case with Marc Ford. He’s one of the most laid back guys I’ve ever met. He’s also quite hilarious. His demeanor proves graceful as his playing. After all these years, we’ve become accustomed to the other’s hi-jinx. When someone screamed out during soundcheck, Marc snickered, “Uh-oh, caucasians afoot…”

There’s a certain exhilaration one gets when crossing busy Monroe Avenue–dodging traffic–with Marc Ford. Marc spent a lot of time living in Atlanta when he was in The Black Crowes. “Hell, Atlanta kind of adopted me as a son.” Ford crossed the globe with the Crowes many times. Ford played in the Crowes when they shared the stage with musicians like Bob Dylan, The Rolling Stones, The Grateful Dead, Neil Young, The Allman Brothers Band, George Clinton & P Funk, Taj Mahal and many others. His days with the band cast a long and wide shadow, on his history and theirs. He played a vital role in the band’s sound for years. He abruptly quit the Crowes in September 2006 to pursue a solo career.

“I knew it was gonna be hard. But I wanted to prove I could do it. I bought this van specifically for this run. I got a good deal too,” he laughed.

“When did you play here last? I think I saw you and Chris (Robinson) play with the Jayhawks here…was it 94?”

“No, it was 92. They were opening up for us. We did a little acoustic thing. 15 years ago.”

We talked about how media and music are now in a different frontier, and we discussed ways to manipulate the technology to our advantage. We walked back to Smith’s. Marc and I sat alone in the dressing room talking. Elijah would walk in, smoke a cigarette, walk out. He talked a little. Coy showed me some tips on using my camera and Dennis showed me how his finger splits open when he plays drums and how his remedy of super glue fixes the wound.

The guys from Blackberry Smoke came by and said hello to Marc. They’re really nice guys. They told a great story about a famous rock and roller I just can’t repeat. A great band from Atlanta and I highly recommend them–real shitkicker music. They asked Marc if he knew a guy whose name I can’t remember, and Marc said with a laugh, “Hell yeah, I know him–we were in Jefferson Steelflex & The Neptune Society together”. Arcane facts learned by listening. We start gagging around with band names and we decide FunkBone is a good band name. Countless jests. Marc played me some music he recorded with this female vocalist named Marissa…amazing versions of “How Strong Is A Woman”, “Spirit In the Dark” “Wang Dang Doodle”, “Tell The Truth” and a new song Marc penned called “Just A Girl”.

Marc brought out his laptop and showed me photographs from Compound Studios taken by Coy…one particular eerie shot of Marc standing under an old cherry tree that will soon see the light of day. Marc gave me a couple tee shirts out of his personal travel bag.

“This is a vintage shirt. This is the last one. Take it.” Ford fans know the shirt as a psychedelic Ford smoking a cigarette.

I took more photos. Marc pulled out his Fender Strat and began filling in solos to the first opening band–Blues Old Stand’s–songs. I must say, to sit across from Marc Ford on the couch as he plays stray, unrehearsed riffs or familiar songs is nothing short of amazing. Then he pulls out the slide with a natural sleight of hand. I asked a few technical questions about playing, guitars, etc. which he provided insight with a patient grace. Those fifteen minutes probably will serve as the best six-string advice I’ll ever get. We talked about the last few times we got together, and all that happened in between.

People walked by the open dressing room door just to get a glance at “The Man”.  A beautiful blonde walked in and introduced herself. She told Marc she loved his music. You could see this was a scene he was very familiar with and he handled it with an easygoing nature. Another cutie walked in requesting an autograph which Marc obliged. With time to kill, Marc showed me a program on his computer where you can distort your face like standing in a circus mirror. We gagged around with that for a couple of minutes as he took two shots of us mugging in front of the camera.

We were interrupted at one point by an extremely drunk fella who proceeded to get three inches from Marc’s face, and proclaim his love for his guitar playing. We went back to what we were doing to discourage any more dialogue with the drunk, who stumbled away. I told Marc there was now a chance I’d see him in Macon and Athens next week. When he got back to L.A., we’d pursue other ways to keep everyone informed and entertained.

Blackberry Smoke rocked, but it was a Marc Ford crowd. Smith’s Olde Bar, despite it’s brutality on the artist (steep load in stairs, no private restroom, no heat or air depending on the season, no protection from lurking drunks) is a great, intimate place to see a show.

Marc opened with “Smoke Signals”. He played a Weary And Wired setlist…”Dirty Girl”, “Just Take the Money”, “Featherweight Dreamland”, “Currents”, a Willie Dixon cover “The Same Thing” as well as Neil Young’s “Vampire Blues”. Soulful virtuosity at its finest. He also rendered a new song called “Future Too”. I’m missing a few. The beautiful blonde hypnotically danced next to me all night and it damn near broke my heart.

It was interesting to see the local intelligentsia and musicians standing near the stage watching Ford’s left hand. I even think I saw the Ju-Ju Hound/Georgia Satellite Rick Richards standing near the soundboard. The place was hot and the band looked road weary, but they sure didn’t sound like it. Elijah proves a formidable guitarist in his own right. Earlier, I asked Marc how Elijah liked the road. “He loves it”. Just then, Elijah came in complaining he slept on his back wrong and it was sore. Marc kidded his son, “Boy, you ain’t been in that van long enough to say you’re sore. That doesn’t start until your thirties…”

Ford’s playing evokes a thick blues sound, but he can play heart-rending country twangs better than anyone other than James Burton or Dickey Betts. Muddy plays a solid bass over Dennis’ powerhouse drumming. Elijah’s brilliance flashed throughout the night, once during a new song when he found a new groove around one of the old man’s solos. As individual players, they all possess a high-degree of talent.

Marc led them through a scorching rendition of “Just Let It Go” from his It’s About Time CD. The studio version of this song marked one of the great Allen Woody’s last studio recordings. Marc closed the show with a mean blues-laced “Are You Experienced”. No one in the crowd left disappointed…they just stood five feet from one of America’s greatest living guitarists while he played….

After the show, I went backstage and bid Marc and the guys good night. My ears were ringing loud when Marc shook my hand and said,

“James, I always love to see you. Let’s do it again next week….”

A Day In the Life of A Great American Guitarist Part Two


      Marc Ford Visits Athens, GA.

             “The long forgotten you
              Has got a hold on me.”

                                –Marc Ford

Emotion plays a vital role in music. Certain songs fit moods and circumstances which allow the listener to revel or protect themselves from the slings and arrows of time. On the drive into Athens, Georgia, Saturday, I listened to Ben Harper’s There Will Be A Light where Marc Ford’s guitar work runs through every song like a soulful compass. Ford’s emotive guitar playing unlocks something in one’s cellular tissue that puts the listener into a hypnotic zone while hearing a song. There remains a high correlation between heart-rending soul and any recording featuring Marc Ford.

Ford knows when to play in a song…he’s not some guy who tries to show off the fast licks to impress you. His six string work always pertains to exactly what the song needs. Sometimes only his guitar work dictates what sort of mood the song contains. If the lyrical message is clear, Ford’s guitar work on the composition adds the fatal snakebite. For instance, listen to Ford’s solo on The Black Crowes’ “Sometime Salvation” for pure emotion. His two CDs—It’s About Time and Weary And Wired—find songwriting as his prime motivation even though he’s best known for his guitar mastery.

I was unable to attend Marc’s Macon show Friday night. We spoke that day and I gave him the name of a local music guru—a mutual friend, Kirk West—from Macon, who Marc invited to the show. Once I got everything settled into my hotel room at the Holiday Inn on Broad Street, I walked two blocks to the Georgia Theatre to meet Mr. Ford.

The last time I saw Marc Ford play in Athens, Georgia, was his very first gig with The Black Crowes at the 40 Watt—they were dubbed that evening as the Roach Clips in March of 92. One month later, I watched Ford play his second gig with the Crowes at the NORML rally in Atlanta’s Piedmont Park. Many events turned in those 15 years…

As I walk past the Georgia Bar (I walked through and didn’t see one soul I knew…the times they do change) up to the Theatre—the first person I see is Marc by his van, changing shirts talking to his old Black Crowes guitar tech Benji Shanks whose band, Captain Soularcat, will open up for Marc tonight. Marc sees me, and he gets that mischievous glint in his eye, and says after he gives me a hug,

“James, I ate 10 Krispy Kreme donuts today.”

“You know that’s not the record,” I retorted, baiting his humorous response.

“Yeah, but that’s my personal best…”

Marc’s donut outing circulated as the joke within the band that afternoon. I gave Marc 7 CDs I burned for him to listen to some which included—Chris Whitley, various old blues & country songs, obscure Neil Young, Tom Waits and John Coltrane. In the next few minutes Elijah, Coy (shooting video tonight), Dennis and Muddy give thanks for the review from last week.

The band arrived in Athens around 2PM. While out walking around downtown, Marc spotted two street musicians playing and he invited them to play with the band that night. Marc told me before the show about his split-second decision, “I was walking down the street and I heard this voice, and I went ‘oh my god’. So I went back and checked them out. I asked them if they would jam. It’s a spur of the moment thing. God tells you to do something—you do it. I started paying attention to that gift.”

I enjoyed the soundcheck. As they rehearsed songs with these two local musicians (Kashana and Rachel), I kept an eye on the Kentucky-LSU triple overtime shootout on the bar TV, while the hometown Georgia Bulldogs struggled against Vanderbilt. The drunk in part one, Brian, redeemed himself (after identifying me) by being an honest fan–explaining his excitement last week to see Marc Ford.

Ford’s music moved the fellow, and that was good enough for me even though he violates personal space when trying to communicate. Cheers man. Several other loyal fans spoke kind words on the Ford coverage and to them I raised a glass. These grassroots music fans want their favorite artists to vie for coverage against the MTV crowd darlings. 

After the show, the band travels back to Atlanta for The Echo Project show. Marc flies home to California Monday. This Echo Project show remains Marc’s last until early November when he plays with MOFRO in Los Angeles and San Francisco. Then the band travels to Spain and Italy. “Yeah Spain and Italy,” Marc said to me as he wrote up the evening’s setlist on his laptop hooked up to a portable printer. “Those Italian dates haven’t been finalized yet and that’s typical Italian style. They do things on their own time.”

I asked Marc what he’d been doing after those shows in November. “Well, I’ll take a break. I’ll take December off. Except there might be a couple of shows, and I’ll need to get to New York. I might go out and do some acoustic shows. I want to get this house band set up at Compound Studios and sell records online. We’ll have a house band. We’ll try and raise some money to get it started. We’ll pull together some stuff of mine people have never heard.”

Marc also explained a lark project he’s working on with John Rice (Napoleon Dynamite) called Jefferson Steelflex & the Neptune Society. “This guy, Jefferson Steelflex is kind of a burned out 60’s acid rocker who never really made it, but he doesn’t know that. It’s a band with a concept behind it and we’re gonna put up a website. I’m in the Neptunes. Steelflex never shows up for the gigs. We play all the time, but Jefferson never makes it to gigs. He’s a total fuck up. So, we might put up a MySpace site with old pictures of him. He’s doing great. He just misses every gig.”

I mentioned Swampland’s intention is to keep artists like him in the light instead of depending on the corporate media outlets deciding who gets coverage. We all know many great artists never receive proper exposure. “Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” Marc told me, “This Ryan Adams kid put out all these records in two years, so there you go. I’ll just start putting out records under different names. The fans will know what it is.  With record companies taking 90% on every dollar, you don’t have to sell too many records to figure that one out.”

When I asked Marc what these last five weeks of touring taught him, he replied: “I learned that people really, really need live music entertainment. There have been older cats that come up to me with almost tears in their eyes, saying “Thank you.”

We talked about some dark, underbelly issues floating around. Soon Marc let me hear some of the songs he’d been recording in motels all over the country. The first was an amazing song called “Dream #26”. This tune, like all those he played me, stands as a solo version with only Marc singing and playing acoustic guitar. “Dream #26” proves moving, with a verse that went something like, “Easy like Sunday/Doin our thing/Like hanging out on guitar strings/Some have troubles on their back/Some have names/Some you can’t track”. A sad, but redemptive mood lingers on this timeless song.

I mentioned these acoustic solo songs should be his next record. Ford’s guitar playing ranks with any six-string slinger out there, but his songwriting ability still remains overlooked. In time, this will change. Along with his incandescent solo works Marc’s history with The Black Crowes, Ben Harper, Ryan Bingham and Burning Tree remain testimony on his musical contribution to any sound.

“Here’s my Willie Nelson song,” Marc told me as he hit PLAY on the stereo for a tune called “All Over You”. Other acoustic, blues-country based songs he played me included “Badge of Dissention”, “Cool Heads” and “Just A Girl”. In two days, he played me about an album’s worth of songs. As Marc printed out the setlist, I asked his son Elijah, when he returned to the greenroom, how he enjoyed going out on the road with his father: “I want to do it again. It’s very encouraging. I was here when these songs were conceived…so maybe I’m biased.”

Marc played a song with Captain Soularcat during their set. I ran into a couple old friends and remembered all my memories of my Athens when word came in The Bulldogs won. A live event always brings one’s personal circumstances at the moment into clear focus. That’s why live sporting events and musical performances contain the same rush of the unknown…you don’t know what’s coming or the outcome until it begins…

When the Marc Ford Band hit the stage, a loyal crowd braced for a real fest. Marc seemed focused even though he told me he didn’t feel that great, but he attributed it to his donut intake from earlier in the day. However, his personal circumstance only enhanced his professional sound. Marc seemed intent on making sure the folks got their money’s worth. I’ve never seen Marc Ford ham it up onstage. His message is always the music. He really pulled out some astounding licks…even more than the Atlanta show last week, but these remain licks within the song—no gratuitous show-off nonsense. Marc’s control, focus and soul lifted all the other band members to a higher level. Ford’s songs always contain a high degree of subtle tones and raw feeling.

They played “Dirty Girl”, “It’ll Be Over Soon”, “Don’t Come Around”, Ryan Bingham’s “The Other Side”, “Smoke Signals”, “Medicine Time”, “1000 Ways” and “Currents”. These songs gain strength as time passes. Marc’s vocals sound strong. His onstage presence commands respect as he plays notes few musicians could replicate.

Then Marc invited the Athens street musicians Kashana (guitar vocals) and Rachel (percussion, vocals) onstage as they played soulful, grooving versions of “Smiling At Ya”, “Future Too”, “Shining Again”, “Death” and “Greazy Chicken”. Dennis’ drumming sounds spot on with an ability to shift to a reggae beat on a one-count. Muddy’s deep bass keeps the band’s sound steady and true. He also proves a solid keyboardist. Elijah holds his own among these hard-boiled veterans. At this point, sky’s the limit for Elijah. Old Coy snapped some photos and remains a comrade I’d seek out. Captain Soularcat’s Benji Shanks joined the band for a rendition of Neil Young’s dark “Vampire Blues” and a rollicking version of Robert Johnson’s “Steady Rolling Man”. I think everyone in the crowd broke a sweat…

After the show, I helped load some gear and went upstairs to say goodnight. Marc gathered his belongings, and prepared to make a fast trip to Fairburn and play one last early show. The Georgia Theatre was cleared out and everyone was ready to go. We stood in the room, resigned to the hour, and I made mention it was good to see him. He sounded great and I looked forward to hearing more songs. We’d get back in touch in a few weeks. We walked outside in the cool early morning air. The usual Athens  street vendors were out selling hot dogs. I paid for six and we all ate standing outside the Theatre. Marc slapped me on the back. As I turned to go, I told him,

“Well, be particular out there…”

“Okay James–thanks. Good to see you. We’ll talk soon.”

“I got to get back to the typewriter and you to the next gig.”

“Yeah, duty calls…”

A Day In the Life of A Great American Guitar Player: PART THREE

Marc Ford In San Francisco

“Featherweight dreamland
Hold it all in one hand.”

                  –Marc Ford

 November 3, 2007, proved an interesting day for your inveterate chronicler. I must say it again, San Francisco is one of the most dynamic cities in the country. I’d love to spend more time there if circumstances ever permit. There’s no doubt San Fran is a long way from the south. I wrote this initial draft on a yellow note pad thirty thousand feet over Colorado today on my flight back to Atlanta. Now, back in Atlanta, I’ll lash this dispatch together in a whirlwind of the last 48 hours while the events remain fresh in everyone’s mind.

The origin of the trip was not only Swampland’s research of southern influence on California culture and a friend’s 40th birthday party, but to complete Part Three of A Day In the Life of A Great American Guitarist featuring Marc Ford. Ford’s evening performance at the Independent in San Francisco was right around the corner from the birthday party location at Club Hide. I intended to stop by and check out Mr. Ford on his native west coast.

The day proved relaxing. Allman Brothers Band tour mystic Kirk West, Christine, Pete and I all made necessary preparations for the evening’s events. Kirk and I discovered we’re both Charles Bukowski fans. When we visited Amoeba Records we both bought a copy of Bukowski’s CD Hostage. I must say it was first class fun hanging out with Kirk in California. He’s really turned into a force and cornerstone concerning The Allman Brothers Big House Foundation.

Birthday girl Christine asked me to inquire if Marc Ford would like to attend her party with an open invitation from the Yonrico Scott Band after he played his set at the Independent, opening for Jacksonville, Florida’s, own MOFRO. I told her I couldn’t make a promise, but I’d ask Marc. I asked Pete, her boyfriend, to make necessary arrangements if Marc decided to attend.

An eclectic collection of friends gathered for the party, and I’d like to say it was good to meet them all. I thank them for their open hospitality. The food in San Francisco is great. I didn’t eat one mediocre meal during my 4 night, 5 day visit.

I called Marc Ford at 4 o’clock. He was playing his final gig tonight opening for MOFRO. On Tuesday he flies to Spain for a short tour. I explained the significance of the evening to Marc.

“What’s the guitar player situation?” Marc asked.

“Well, they don’t have one tonight.”

“Really? Well, then it might be my duty to show up. Yeah, I’ll go over there with you.”

“Kirk is gonna come with me to your show…”

“James Calemine and Kirk West out in California. Man, those are two great cowboy names…what a duo.”

“You should work our spaghetti western intro up.”

“I will. I’ll leave your name at the door.”

 When Kirk and I walked into the green room, Marc gave me a hug, and said,

“Damn James, it’s good to see you in California.”

“Yeah,” Kirk grinned, “They usually won’t let him past the Mississippi River,” and we all laughed.

The Independent was sold out. So, obviously, folks in California love lowdown, swampy southern music. Waves of beautiful and friendly women prowled the grounds. What a town. Marc re-affirmed to me his intention to gather a house band at Compound Studios in the near future. Marc also told me he’d be recording again soon. “I’ve got loads of songs,” he mentioned. Somehow earlier in the day Marc injured his right arm and it was giving him trouble. I could tell he was in some pain…but you would have never known it hearing him play. Marc also informed me Ryan Bingham‘s mother suffered a stroke on Friday. I hated to hear the news.

The Marc Ford Fuzz Band ripped the joint. Their set ran shorter than the Atlanta and Athens shows since tonight they were the opening band. They played “Smoke Signals”, “Just Take The Money”, “Greazy Chicken”, “Dirty Girl” and several others. They closed the set with a wicked rendition of Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced”. Ford’s band won over the crowd. It’s interesting how he captivates an audience…people pay attention…no loud talking, loitering in the lobby, or showing up late. Ford’s band continues to sound tighter with each show I see them.

After Marc’s set at the Independent, Marc, Kirk, Pete and I loaded up Marc’s amp and guitar and drove over to Christine’s birthday jam at Club Hide. The Yonrico Scott Band & Ike Stubblefield played about an hour and a half before we arrived. They took a break and we set up Marc’s gear.

Upstairs I introduced Marc to the birthday girl–and bless her heart–she was so lost in the significant moment–she failed to utter a sentence to Mr. Ford. She just melted. I snapped a photo of those two sitting next to one another. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her at a loss for words. Christine disappeared into the ceremony crowd while Marc and I hung out. Yonrico and Ike approached Marc about what to play. Marc, unfamiliar with their complex repertory, said in a voice only a real professional can…I mean, it’s Clint Eastwood with a guitar…

“Y’all just start up and I’ll jump in…”

Rare evenings like this you really understand the genius of Ford’s playing. His command in spontaneous jams or another band’s established song remains amazing. One doesn’t just “jump in” with such a group unless they are a professional of the highest order. Once again, I witnessed the hypnotic musical narcotic Marc Ford emits on a room full of music fans. He elevates, not only the musicians he plays with to a high-degree of virtuosity, but even the folks in the audience feel better. The party elevated to another level–which was already great–just by Ford walking in the door.

Unfortunately, the show was not taped. In the first set, Marc remained respectful of the other musicians and laid back a bit by keeping a wide groove, allowing Yonrico to direct the flow. In the second set, Doc Ford stepped up and began to unleash some riffs in these jams which verified why he’s one of the finest guitar players around. This was the legendary guitar slinger everyone waited on. He never met any of these people–walked right in, got up onstage after the band’s intermission, began playing, and made everyone in the room–band members included–break into one big smile.

The Yonrico Scott Band and Ike Stubblefield are musical giants in their own right–seasoned wizards. Along with prolific Ford, they blazed through thick funk, gritty blues, a Meters song and countless other jams and tunes with a mercurial sound. I don’t think anyone in attendance will forget this evening anytime soon. They played past house curfew and afterwards Marc hung out, shook hands and posed for pictures. A real hero…

Marc’s talent and down to earth aura made everyone hate to see him leave the evening’s parade. He never hesitated to jam with these accomplished musicians and he trusted my ability to streamline everyone’s ongoings into one narrative. Seek out his work through his collaborations with The Black Crowes, Ben Harper, Ryan Bingham and his two solo albums It’s About Time and Weary And Wired.  Become acquainted with his released work and wait for what’s on the horizon…

Marc bid the band, and Kirk farewell. I stepped outside the club with Marc and shook his hand.  His road man, Coy, waited on the other side of the street in the van. Once again, duty calls. “Thanks for coming over,” I told him. “Yeah man”, Marc grinned, “We always have fun. Good to see ya. Give me a holler.”  

I walked back into the club for a grand evening’s end. I glanced back over my shoulder and watched Marc Ford walk across the street with his guitar on his back, and disappear into the cool San Francisco night. How’s that for a birthday party?

Read more about Marc Ford in Insured Beyond The Grave Vol. 2…

(All Photos James Calemine Copyright)