Billy didn’t see my nutty outfit this morning until he came downstairs wearing a shirt that matched my striped socks perfectly. This seems appropriate since Saturday marks the ten year anniversary of the day we met.
I came to his studio to make an old-timey Appalachian record and he played me a Black Sabbath CD, claiming it was his most recent project. I’d never heard Black Sabbath, so I thought about running. It was a quirky start to our artistic collaboration. I’m not sure why I hired him except that the other guy my producer took me to see was very serious. I don’t do so well with very serious anything. I think I also liked Billy’s blue tennis shoes and the fact that he was wearing a bright red t-shirt that said “Smile” on it. This seemed a good sign, despite the awkward Ozzy Osborne moment.
I had no idea that my whole life was going to change in the next six months.
Ten years, ten flat tires, four houses, one Airstream, two turbochargers, one transmission, six tours in Britain, seven trips across the USA, three tours up in Canada, 300 times hearing me tell the story to Tazewell Beauty Queen, five pairs of tennis shoes, five pairs of red shoes, and 100 or so new songs. Here’s to true love and ten more and ten more and ten more years. And ten more . . .