Andrew Stratman and how my brain works

“Here you go again,” the wife said recently—and she was right.

I had just played her a song from MC White Owl, my pal and, truly, one of the great and underrated hip-hop artists out there. “So good, right?” I said. She agreed, yes, it was a terrific song. But, eh, so what?

“You get these obsessions in your head,” she said.

Again, The Wife is right. I hyper focus on people, events, tragedies, bands, athletes—then take a few weeks before letting go. It’s happened with, in no particular order, MC White Owl, Blind Melon, John Oates, KISS, J.R. Richard, Garry Templeton, the guitar work or Orianthi, Titanic (the movie), Titanic (the boat), The Cable Guy, CHiPs ’99, Lam Jones, “Call My Maybe” video spoofs.

Now, I’m onto Andrew Stratman, a country singer who, I’m 100-percent convinced, should be a star. I first ran into Andrew a year ago. I was sitting in a coffee shop in Bay Saint Louis, Mississippi, happily writing the day away, when someone mentioned there’d be a singer/songwriter popping in.

“Fuck,”I thought. “Just what I don’t need.”

Then Andrew showed up. Scruffy guy, beard, stocky. And he started playing. And he was … brilliant. Seriously, brilliant. I’ve seen a ton of live music in my 43 years, and he put on one of the best gigs I’ve witnessed. Guy just has heart, and oomph, and … something unique. We stayed in touch, I Quazed him a while back. He’s got little money, a shitty truck, so-so luck. In other words, the type of person I root for, and aspire to help.

Hence, the above video. If you like him, spend 99 cents on the song and pass it on.

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