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How I Met Dustin Hamman, One of the Most Talented Musicians Out There

Over a year or so ago, I met this guy at an anti-fracking rally. A much younger guy, very endearing, who looked like he walked out of a two-dimensional lithograph. He wore an old vintage suit circa 1824 and a beat-up hat. Yet, it was his long hair and wild beard that made him stand out from everyone else. Besides his piercing blue eyes.

We kibbitzed for a while and then I had to take off. Mind you, this was at the beginning of my deafness where I could partly hear, before all the shifts and adjustments took place. A week or so later, I bumped into this guy at a local tavern which features open mikes. Of course, I came too late and missed him play.

We hung out at the bar. Over the course of our discussion, it turned out I had something at home I thought was junk and he thought wasn't. I made an exchange with him: I'd give him this object I didn't want any more for a song.

Now, I had no idea what kind of music this guy played. All I saw was his guitar case. I had no idea the quality of his playing. Almost everyone where I live plays guitar. Except for me. And then again, I was going deaf, so who was I to judge?

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"You're doing me a favor. I was going to throw it out anyhow."

He followed me in his truck to my place. I made him drag that guitar case down the driveway to my deck. I left him there and rummaged in my kitchen for that piece of crap.

"Aha!" I said, "Here it is."

I went outside and handed it over to him. Meanwhile, he pulled the guitar out and sat on the edge of my chaise lounge. I sat across from him, smiling, anticipating the typical low-level artistry to which I was accustomed. He strummed a few chords, opened his mouth and my eyes rolled up in my skull!

WHOA! Or: HOLY FUCK! THIS IS THE REAL DEAL!

Never before was I knocked off my feet. And I grew up with musicians. The moment he finished the song, a streak of lightening crossed the overhead sky.

"I gotta go," he said. "My windshield wipers don't work well."

In a daze, I said, "No problem. And thanks for the song." I couldn't stop laughing as he hightailed back to his car, dragging his poor guitar in its case up the hill. I was serenaded by one helluva talent! All for a piece of crap I was gonna throw out!!

Several weeks later, I recorded him playing with Josh Fox, the talented documentary filmmaker, in Milanville, PA. This is the song that knocked my socks off:





I saw him only one more time before he headed back west. So, imagine, my surprise when I received an email from him notifying me of another concert taking place this Saturday:




Guess I got my Saturday evening planned!

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This blog and all its posts are a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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