Uploaded March 2019 | Updated September 2026, 6 hours ago
DOWNLOAD MP3 HERE:
kiwi6.com/file/81ytma5w4y
I’m gonna try to get as many details of this story correct as I possibly can, so forgive me if there’s a few mistakes here and there.
Once upon a time, back when my mother was in college, she was studying interior design. She had a partner in that field who introduced her to his roommate, a guy who she saw sitting on the floor, strumming his guitar, somewhat longish brown hair. She thought he was a hippie at first, but he wasn’t. No, my mom never dated him. But her mom used to always tell her, “Even if it doesn’t work, always be nice. You never know. He might have a nice older brother.”
Lo and behold, she was right. She met his older brother and that man later became the man I know as my father. The other guy with the guitar was Steve Sullivan, the man who, in a way, I owe my very existence to.
If it weren’t for my Uncle Steve, my brother John and I would have never learned to play the guitar. He taught me how to flamenco, how to jam… He even tried to get me into harmonica, but that never quite took off.
Even though we lived in different states, Steve was also there to keep in touch for important stuff.
He gave me my first guitar (handed down to me through my brother.) A nice, classical 60s model flamenco guitar that still sits in the corner of my room to this day and has even made it into a good deal of my recordings and if you watch my music videos on Youtube, you may have seen it.
A couple of years ago, he came through visiting with my grandmother whose dementia was well underway by that point. I showed him my musical setup in my room and office. I showed him the software I was working with as well as my recording equipment, how I compose, work on music, etc. I even showed him some of my musical creations. I asked him what he thought and he said “Well, you might have just surpassed.”
By the end of that day, we’d sat down and recorded a track together. He improvised on the guitar as I recorded it on the computer. I recorded the whole session on my phone too. It was my ambition at the time to take what we recorded on that day and mix it down into something, ANYTHING, that would make the best of our two abilities combined.
I am embarrassed to say that to this very day, I have done nothing with that recording. It’s just sitting on my hard drive, collecting dust as they say.
On the weekend of March 16th, tragedy struck again for my family for the second time this year. Steve was driving through an intersection in Louisiana when a teenage boy ran through a red light and struck the back side of his vehicle with enough force that it rotated Steve’s car about 45 degrees. He hit his head on the inside of the vehicle. He didn’t go to the hospital after that because he didn’t think it was anything, but 24 hours later Steve was in the hospital because he wasn’t feeling well…
When I called my dad that to ask about what happened, Steve had already passed. He was devastated, I was devastated, we’re all devastated by this news. This amazing, talented man who I owe my very existence to was no longer with us. And so soon after my grandmother too. I guess God wanted him to be with her and Paw Paw again.
Steve always had a dream that my brother and I would one day join him at a club somewhere in Dallas near where he lived to go and jam live in front of an audience. It never happened, but I believe there’s still a chance for that one day on another plane of reality. Until then, I guess I better get to mixing down that track at some point like I promised.
RIP Steve. Your guitar will never collect dust on my watch.
DOWNLOAD MP3 HERE:
kiwi6.com/file/81ytma5w4y
I’m gonna try to get as many details of this story correct as I possibly can, so forgive me if there’s a few mistakes here and there.
Once upon a time, back when my mother was in college, she was studying interior design. She had a partner in that field who introduced her to his roommate, a guy who she saw sitting on the floor, strumming his guitar, somewhat longish brown hair. She thought he was a hippie at first, but he wasn’t. No, my mom never dated him. But her mom used to always tell her, “Even if it doesn’t work, always be nice. You never know. He might have a nice older brother.”
Lo and behold, she was right. She met his older brother and that man later became the man I know as my father. The other guy with the guitar was Steve Sullivan, the man who, in a way, I owe my very existence to.
If it weren’t for my Uncle Steve, my brother John and I would have never learned to play the guitar. He taught me how to flamenco, how to jam… He even tried to get me into harmonica, but that never quite took off.
Even though we lived in different states, Steve was also there to keep in touch for important stuff.
He gave me my first guitar (handed down to me through my brother.) A nice, classical 60s model flamenco guitar that still sits in the corner of my room to this day and has even made it into a good deal of my recordings and if you watch my music videos on Youtube, you may have seen it.
A couple of years ago, he came through visiting with my grandmother whose dementia was well underway by that point. I showed him my musical setup in my room and office. I showed him the software I was working with as well as my recording equipment, how I compose, work on music, etc. I even showed him some of my musical creations. I asked him what he thought and he said “Well, you might have just surpassed.”
By the end of that day, we’d sat down and recorded a track together. He improvised on the guitar as I recorded it on the computer. I recorded the whole session on my phone too. It was my ambition at the time to take what we recorded on that day and mix it down into something, ANYTHING, that would make the best of our two abilities combined.
I am embarrassed to say that to this very day, I have done nothing with that recording. It’s just sitting on my hard drive, collecting dust as they say.
On the weekend of March 16th, tragedy struck again for my family for the second time this year. Steve was driving through an intersection in Louisiana when a teenage boy ran through a red light and struck the back side of his vehicle with enough force that it rotated Steve’s car about 45 degrees. He hit his head on the inside of the vehicle. He didn’t go to the hospital after that because he didn’t think it was anything, but 24 hours later Steve was in the hospital because he wasn’t feeling well…
When I called my dad that to ask about what happened, Steve had already passed. He was devastated, I was devastated, we’re all devastated by this news. This amazing, talented man who I owe my very existence to was no longer with us. And so soon after my grandmother too. I guess God wanted him to be with her and Paw Paw again.
Steve always had a dream that my brother and I would one day join him at a club somewhere in Dallas near where he lived to go and jam live in front of an audience. It never happened, but I believe there’s still a chance for that one day on another plane of reality. Until then, I guess I better get to mixing down that track at some point like I promised.
RIP Steve. Your guitar will never collect dust on my watch.
