Same River Twice, a short story. Part Two

Continued from the previous post ....

“That’s it,” he said the next day to his elderly, suburban neighbor Carl as they sipped tea on Marshall’s peeling front porch. “I’m done. They don’t want no new singers in country music.”

“Now Marshall, one little butt-kicking don’t mean nothing.”

“No, no, it’s not -- that may be the straw that shot the camel, but it’s more to it than that. Them old boys don’t like my songs. They don’t understand the subtlety of my lyrics -- those country fans.”

Carl chugged the remainder of his tea and started grinding the ice with his dentures, expecting Marshall to go on, but he didn’t, so Carl spit the ice back into his tumbler. “Son,” he said, “let me spell it out straight. Ever since I known you, you’ve been trying to make it in the music business. Now I seen you try folk, rock, folk rock, punk rock, reggae, disco -- ”

“Carl!”

“I said disco -- you tried it, you can’t deny it, I was there when you wrote your little ‘Disco Stalin’ song.”

“I was making a serious statement with it, is all.”

“And you been through every other kinda musical phase. Now it seems to me you need to decide who you is and who you ain’t.”

Marshall sighed and watched a couple cars zip through his quiet neighborhood. Not many cars came through, but when they did, they came fast. He said, “You know that saying, ‘You never step in the same river twice?’ Because by the time you put your foot down, it’s already different water and sediment and all?”

“I’ve heard tell.”

“That’s the music business! Every time I study the music scene, no matter what style, by the time I learn my covers and write my new stuff, make some contacts, get my wardrobe adjusted and all, everything changes. Like when I done bluegrass and it was all about newgrass -- electric fiddles and reinterpretations of Stones’ songs, mixing in some jazz riffs, you know. But by the time I got my festival gig, everyone was all into retro, earthy mountain music. Throwback bluegrass.”

“What you need is something that don’t change.”

“Least not till I’ve made my mark. I’m tired of showing up feeling like a jackass in a bull-riding competition.”

Carl studied the melting ice in his tumbler. Soon it would be too small to chomp. He stifled a subversive smile. “Know what don’t change, son? The gospel.”

“What?”

“Gospel of Jesus Christ, boy. ‘Same yesterday, today, and day after.’ You need to get you in with a gospel singing quartet. I know just the one. My nephew Darren sings baritone. The Ohio River Boys.”

Marshall furrowed his brow. “I done tried to land a song on the Christian charts, Carl. Afore we met. Little rap tune.” Marshall stood

TO BE CONTINUED

Will Marshall perform his Jesus Rap for Carl? Will he attempt to join the Ohio River Boys? Will someone knock him out again? These and other questions answered next time, in Part Three of "Same River Twice."