People always ask, how we got from the streets to the glamour world of folk music. It's not an easy story to tell, but I'll try. It's the same old setting, last night's fast food wrap and some lonely trumpeter. Early in 1994 while on the seamy side, while lost behind a city transit bus, when just for one moment the wind off the lake cleared, there she was.
Few people can remember, fewer still want to.
Not only was Sue herself lost, but the change and constantsy and the soft hum in her larynx all seemed an attempt to repatriate voice and mind, like so many bureaucrats at a paper shredder's ball. I had only recently found my way back from another of a long list of attempts at rediscovery, another attempt to remember not only my second grade teacher's name, but why I sashayed like Kathy Lee and swaggered like Frank Gifford. But what were we to do, destiny would take no no for an answer, Nanette. Deborah caught sight of the deeper implications. Not seeing the oncoming checker roustabout, she abandoned her inclinations and in a moment of blissful thoughtlessness stepped right out in front of the oncomer.