To me, writing very personal songs in the blues, at first anyway, seemed like a strange thing to do.
Usually, the lyrical subject matter comes across as a more generic formula — subjects like, "What happened to me this morning/today/this year", "Aren't we all having fun drinking and eating Southern-style food?", "That's it, I've had enough of yo' shit; I'm outta here" are the poetical go-to places for content.
But a member of my own family—a blues-loving road nomad of sorts himself—deserved a song of his own: Bill Carroll (Sr). And I thought that more people should know about him, via "Wild Bill".
It was some time in the late 90s. It was maybe a Foreday Riders gig, but more likely a Whose Muddy Shoes Gig. It was definitely at the smelly old Oxford Tavern in Wollongong. Without a shadow of a doubt, it was Ray Beadle on guitar.
Me, I was a slightly cocky young guitar shredder hanging out at my favourite pub in the Illawarra, checking out as many bands as I could, sometimes 3-4 nights a week. On this night, a guy who was not too much older than me was sitting in with veterans, and tearing the blues a new backside on his beaten up black Paul Reed Smith.