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BEYOND ATHENS ROCK
“That rught I was standing at the intersection,” he
continues, "and I hated the West Coast so much and I
prayed to God that if I had a unicycle. I'd ride it back to
Connecticut to be with my family. The next day I came
back to that intersection and there was a unicycle in the
same spot I had been the night before! I rode it about a
block before I had to stop because the tire was flat. And I
didn't know how to ride a unicycle.”
Gordon — known as Dr. Thump to those who have seen him
playing piano downtown on the flatbed of his Thumpmobile —
is, quite certainly, one of the most talented — and interesting
— stride pianists in this part of the world. Born in upstate New
York in 1957, Gordon was fust enthralled at age 5 by Theloiuous
Monk's "Lulu's Back in Town." At age 13, he taught himself Scott
Joplin's "Maple Leaf Rag" by ear. By age 19, Gordon says, he was
an international rare piano dealer. Today, he says that he knows
more than 400 ragtime and swing tunes, and claims to have
learned them all completely by ear.
The multiple stories Gordon tells about himself intertwine
and play off of one another a lot bke left- and right-hand piano
parts. He cites Teddy Roosevelt as a blood relative and traces his
lineage back to a New York family that owned Greenwich Village
in the 1600s. He recalls that his father was a "card-canying
beatruk" who frequented poetry readings and jazz concerts, and
worked with famed psychologist B.F. Skinner. Gordon says his
father eventually landed a job at IBM during the '60s, at a time
when Big Blue was at the cusp of the computer revolution.
"I come horn a family of jeal eccentrics,” Gordon says. “My
aunt milked rattlesnakes and was once on the Olympic swim
team. Wren she was 12 she stole a ukulele from Dutch Schultz's
mansion.”
Then there was the rime Gordon encountered yet another
miracle while being stalked by a West Virginia antique dealer
who wanted to kill him. ”1 ran to the woods and fell to the
ground, face first, chanting, 'Lord help me,'” he says. “Then a
great sense of love came over me. 'Get up,' a voice told me.”
The voice led him a few steps ahead to a wallet laying on the
ground. “It had S300 in it. It belonged to [gymnast] Mary Lou
Retton. I borrowed the money for a bus ticket away from West
Virginia and mailed the wallet back to her. I've since written her,
explaining the situation, and I paid her back.”
Gordon also spent five years as a monk in a Hate Krishna
monastery m Florida. Eventually the head monk tired of the
pianist's predilection towards singing cheerful and philosophical
songs horn the 1920s. During a rendition of "The Best Things in
Life are Free,” Gordon was told, "If you like music so much, why
don't you go to Athens with all the other musicians?"
Taking this as a sign from God, Dr. Thump came to Athens,
spending his nrst night here at the Salvation Army shelter.
Soon, he snagged a refrigerator box and two pallets horn the old
Frigidaire building and made himself a home near College
Avenue. Eventually, he bought a $100 van to live in. He cur-
lently resides in Five Points, plays at Books-A-Million, and still
occasionally performs downtown.
"I use the piano to bring people in and engage them in
philosophical conversation,” explains Gordon, who is currently
writing a book about his life and the 100 plus "bona fide mira
cles" that have happened to him — everything from "being
aware of people's names and hometowns as they approach me"
to "having a leaky Bic pen spot disappear from my clothes
overnight.” He plans to send the finished copy to his sister,
who apparently works on sound effects for Lucasfilms, as well
as an ex-girlfriend who works for Random Hnuse publishing.
Gordon hopes the project will earn him the money needed to
purchase a plot of Und and start a retreat where folks could live
by Thump's creed: 'Be clean, love God, and go vegetarian."
For Gordon — whose repertoire includes Gershwin, "Fats"
Waller, Scott Joplin, Irvin Berlin, and Jerome Xern — music and
spirituality are inextricably bound. And though it's difficult not
to wonder if a few of his tales are tall, listening to Gordon play
in the back of his truck — his thick, worn hands working the
old keyboard as if solving a great musical puzzle — is irrefutable
proof that this man is an exceedingly talented pianist.
"All ability comes horn God,” Gordon says. "And it takes a lot
of ability to play stride piano."
John Britt
Look for Di. Thump downtown and at Books-A Million.
Fats Waller on wheels: The stride piano of
DR. THUMP
The low down and dirty harmonica blues of
NEAL PATTMAN
"This is gonna be some low-down blues. Hit ya in the wee
hours of the night. You know what I'm talkin' about.” So said
country blues harmonica master Neal Pattman, interrupting his
own playing to address his subject matter on a solo field
recording made right here in Clarke County about 20 years ago
(and still available through Smithsonian/Folkways). On that
recording, Pattman proceeds to blow a quintessential slurred
blues, his harp whooping and hollering as if it's trying to get
away. He was probably about 40 at the time, and the music he
made sounds as timeless, rhythmic and country as it comes.
Compare it with Alan Lomax's discovery Forest City Joe (a cele
brated Arkansas harpist) or the early recordings of Jaybird
Coleman. It holds up.
Pattman is a local institution. And, as such, he is often
taken for granted. His old-time approach to a rich folk music is
frequently blurred and buried under the volume of the rock
leaning bands he's often chosen to back him up for local gigs.
But if you listen, you still hear that low-down sound he's played
for 54 years.
Pattman was born just to the north of Athens in Neese, Ga..
some 60 odd years ago, eventually moving down to the county
Lee Gordon was living in Seattle when he experienced the
first of many miracles. "The day after Mt. St. Helens blew, I saw
a multiple homicide," begins Gordon. "This guy drove his car up
on the sidewalk and ran over the pedestrians. I watched four
people being dragged under the frame of the car.
of Qarke. His dad taught him to play harmonica, but it was
after Art Rosenbaum made the aforementioned field recordings
that he started to receive some notice. Rosenbaum helped
secure Pattman a gig at Atlanta's Grassroots Festival shortly
after the field tapes were made. Other non-local offers became
more common as well.
In the next few years, Pattman joined the church and played
sanctified music on his harp, but the blues called again. "I
joined the church for about three years, but I finally realized I
wasn't happy unless I was playin' the blues," he says. "Besides,
blues and gospel are related anyway.”
Over the years, The Neal Pattman Band has been a fixture at
clubs and festivals in the area. Yet, only recently, thanks to his
involvement with current Winston Blues Revival (which features
headlining blues interpreter Taj Mahal), has Pattman received
any national attention. His present situation drives home the
fact that right here in a town known for young, transient musi
cians and bands, there's some constant, homegrown tradition.
And though it's more felt than heard, Pattman's low-down blues
gives everybody some firm ground to stand on.
Bruce
Look for Seal Pattman's current CD. Prison Blues, in local
stores, and bug your favorite club owner to book a Pattman solo
harp gig.
nr the 1980s, Athens, Ga. gained a worldwide
I reputation for churning out smart, inde-
JL I L pendent rock and roll bands credited for
driving stakes through the hearts of the era's stulti
fying classic-rock vampires. But connected Athenians
know that the peculiarly fertile musical soil around
here has also nourished fine players of all stripes
over the years. *
• In one sense, the rock scene's continued domi
nance of the local and national media spotlight is
justified — what happened here just doesn't-happen
in many other small towns. But to lose track of the
rest — from traditional standbys to new pop trends
— would mean misunderstanding Athens. We hope
the following stories either catch you up or refamil
iarize you with some of the best of non-rock Athens.
a FLAGPOLE MARCH 10, 1999