It is quite an accomplishment as a songwriter to have your songs recorded by artists considered to be some of the greatest songwriters of our time,…More...
What followed was one of the most intense thirty minutes of music I had
witnessed in my life. Guy was as fresh and different as Elvis the day
he first stepped on a stage. Since that day, Guy has done nothing but
get better. It’s a crime that he hasn’t received more recognition. I’d
almost call it an indictment of the music industry. Perhaps even a case
of corporate censorship. Maybe intentional, but most probably just by
default in an industry where the only concern is making money and all
the stations are owned by a handful of companies promoting their own
product. And their own politics.
I went to see Guy perform live shortly after that first encounter on
PBS and have gone back for more many times. Guy claims he’s a blues
musician. He’s no more a blues musician than was Elvis or the Rolling
Stones who also drew from old southern black licks to come up with a
new and different sound. Some might call him a folk singer. Others a
rocker. The truth is, there is not a single music genre large enough to
contain the unique and diverse sound he produces.
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Guy has the voice range and power of the greatest opera stars, the
growl and grit of a delta blues singer, and the looks of a handsome
young sinewy rocker. A big genuine smile stretches across his face.
Girls, young and old alike, melt from a single look of those blue-green
eyes. He moves in perfect balance, like a predatory cat: evidence of
the many hours he spends in a gym practicing the art of Kung fu. Those
smooth muscles are real and hard-no steroids needed here, my friend. He
can sing a soft love song or blow listeners out of their seats with
vocals so strong they need no amplification. He plays the harp, also
known as the harmonica in other parts of the world, like no one I have
known. He has an ammo belt full of them around his waist, and brother
let me tell you, when he gets down on a harp, club owners begin to
question whether the stage will withstand his powerful and violent
gyrations as he explodes.
Then, when you think you have seen all that you could possibly see, he
will pull out a carpenter’s saw and a violin bow and prove you haven’t.
For good measure he might strum a Ukulele to a song Al Jolson might
have sung, only he’ll do it better. He plays a handful of guitars, some
acoustical, some electrified. A couple of them appear to be relics from
days gone by, but I wouldn’t know. I am no musician, just an avid
consumer of the product. He has perfected the art of the bottleneck
strokes of black blues masters-check out his version of the wreck of
the Titanic some time.
Guy writes his own music. He can and will do a cover song on
occasion-one I heard him do very well is "Fortunate Son", originally
performed by Credence Clearwater Revival. Made me think of the man born
with a silver foot in his mouth.
While Guy’s music sounds great, it is the lyrics of his songs that
turned me into a fanatic. A voice is just a medium. Substance is the
meat and bones and sinew that make words more than mere sounds.
Guy voices feelings I share. As though perhaps we are kindred spirits.
I know I am not the only one that feels this way. He writes of things
that matter, not just some crap droned over and over. Matters of heart
and soul and blood and tears. Of spirit. That’s it more than anything.
Somehow I know-a beautiful spirit lives in this man. And it shines as
brightly as the sun of a new day.
His songs tell of those on the streets, perhaps in the vein of Bruce
Springsteen or John Mellencamp-the insane drive of a junky as he tempts
death with line after line of crystal meth until there is no more-but
the breath still comes, shaking and rattling, so life must continue;
the desperation of an outlaw as he prepares to rob a store to feed his
starving family-the pleas of that same outlaw as he begs his wife not
to turn him in. The frustration of a worker whose job was sent to cheap
labor in a foreign land. The wounded soul of a young man who has lost
his brother to "friendly fire" with weapons made just down the road
from his house:
All he ever wanted was his own piece of ground, now it’s three feet
wide, and six feet down, all he ever wanted was his own piece of
ground…
The fear and vulnerability of a young lover exposing his or her heart.
Lost loves. Broken hearts. The betrayal of a snitch. Drugs anyone?
Kind bud or Budweiser, it’s all the same to me.
He questions religion and authority figures-politics-no subject is too sacred for the scrutiny of a Guy Forsyth song.
And I am quite sure he has left a bunch of lily-livered music
executives afraid to sign him. Boy just don’t know how to kiss the
right ass. If only he’d sing what we tell him.
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"Made" performers who have seen Forsyth loathe the day they have to
share the stage with such an act, so they don’t. They want an opener to
warm up the crowd, not one that whips listeners into a frenzied state,
tickles every emotion, and leaves them vibrating, pensive or drained.
People have limits where stimulation is concerned.
Guy is a local phenomenon in Austin, and oddly enough in Europe. At
least once or twice a year he makes a swing through Europe to earn
enough money to continue playing small venues in Texas for a few
dollars in a tip jar. But he puts no less energy in these small time
performances than he does anywhere else. He demands that of himself.
Guy Forsyth is the real deal. He deserves to play for you. And
you deserve to hear him. That’s the thing about good music. It’s no
good unless someone hears it. A note strung, a word spoken, falls
lifeless to the ground unless there is an ear to hear it. For me,
listening is food for the soul.
I recently attended one of Guy’s performances from the Lonestar music
store in Gruene, which was broadcast live by KNBT out of New Braunfels.
Guy played all new songs except for one. As he played I watched the
audience. Guy has a way of immediately grabbing the attention of
everyone in the room. And he doesn’t let go. Stunned and amazed faces
surrounded me. I saw people singing and moving to songs they’d never
before heard. A time or two Guy’s eyes found mine. I saw the intensity,
the pain, the longing-all right there on the surface, almost too
private to witness. I had to look away.
Guy snuck in some politics, but he won’t sway elections with his
songs-people’s minds are made up for the biggest part. His fight is not
against one man, but instead a set of ideas and what he perceives to be
injustices. His is just one more swing of the axe. But enough strokes
fall even the mightiest of trees. And he’s not the only musician
fighting this fight. In fact, most people of exceptional talent and
intelligence are.
Oh I know there are those who think the opinions of all actors,
musicians, and artists are invalid. But they’re wrong. These people are
the best and brightest our nation has to offer. When they sing, theirs
is not one voice; they sing also for the masses that can’t do so for
themselves. Those who join in on the song multiply the strength of a
singer’s voice. We sing along quietly, unwilling to mar the beauty of
the sound. But our hearts and our spirits join in the prayer. And our
lives are changed by the experience.
People like Guy Forsyth allow us to live vicariously through their
works-perhaps to feel what it’s like to kill a person, to rob a bank,
steal a car or be addicted to heroin. Almost like taking a vaccine to
prevent a disease. We feel the thrill and then share a measure of the
pain and the consequences of these acts and learn without making these
things a reality in our world. And maybe when the time comes that we
really do have to face a similar situation we’ll be better prepared. We
share the wonder and beauty of doing things beyond our abilities and
experience other places and worlds that otherwise would be unknown to
us.
The power of the spoken word is not to be underestimated. Especially
when that word proceeds from the mouth of an honest man or woman.
Guy has produced a number of CDs. My favorites are Can You Live Without
and Voices Inside. Steak also is good. Needlegun has a couple of very
good songs, (Hometown boy is worth the cost of the whole record), but
doesn’t have the depth of his later offerings. I have a sneaking
suspicion his newest will exceed any of these previous efforts. He
hopes to release it by January.
But if you really want to see and hear what Guy Forsyth is all about
you need to catch a live show. They haven’t yet invented the medium
that captures all this Guy has to offer in person.
Guy is not a native born Texan-he was born in Colorado, raised mostly in Kansas, but lives here by choice.
And I for one am oh so glad of that fact. For me, the state wouldn’t be the same without him.
If I am the judge, Guy Forsyth is the best young performer Texas has to
offer. Hands down. No one else even comes close. Do yourself a favor
and check him out.
Click here to visit Guy Forsyth’s website
©Copyright 2004 Don Henry Ford Jr.
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