By Slim Wolfe
Back in the mid-nineties, when Colorado Central was fairly young, I was approached by a singer-songwriter to provide hammered-dulcimer backup for the guitar-and-vocal repertoire she wanted to record. On the strength of our recording, we were booked at the Steam Plant but unfortunately our live show didn’t live up to the promise of the recording and most of the audience departed early. The Mountain Mail review described her as inebriated and expressed some sympathy for me. Gentleman that I aspired to be, I wrote a letter excusing her on the grounds of neurological ailments (being drunk could be called that) but I hesitated to submit the letter to the Mail since the publisher had a tendency to edit letters and alter the context (my opinion) On impulse, I sent the letter to Ed. I didn’t know him, he didn’t know me, and he might well have rejected the letter as nothing more than some disgruntled musician’s dirty laundry, but it promptly appeared and I was encouraged to submit a series of letters over many years.