Monthly Archives: December 2012

My Heart Belongs to a Troubadour

snapshot_smaller Adam B. Carr is a troubadour of country, rock, blues, and folk music. A diamond in the rough and a master at his craft, he’s always prepared to give a great live performance with his “Bag of tricks”. His rich, mellow voice compliments his eclectic genre of musical styles. He is well seasoned in acoustic guitar, banjo, and bamboo flute.

Adam’s love of music began when his grandfather, John (descendant from a long line of Kentucky moonshiners and coal miners) first introduced him to the acoustic guitar at age 3. He began to master classical guitar at age 11. By the time he was 18, Adam knew that music was his unique way of connecting with others. Between 1990 and 2000, he also performed solo in Destin and Ft. Walton, Florida, Cincinnati, Ohio, and Richmond, Virginia. His passionate voice led him into a profession when he lived on South Padre Island, Texas from 2000-2005, where he sang lead and performed nightly with the well known local band Late For Work.

Today, Adam lives in the Great Smokey Mountains, where he is writing and recording music for two upcoming albums – one a collection of sultry, country hits, and another that brings his sexy, mellow style to some old favorites in rock, folk, and blues history. Both albums are expected to be available in the spring of 2013.


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The best Christmas ever

redgreenlove When I was a child, I used to think that Christmas was a time for getting a present. I thought the better the present, the sweeter the Christmas. I was amazed by the decorations that my grandparents and parents always put up every year. I was taught that it was a day we celebrated the birth of Jesus and that Santa Claus, who was at the mall, traveled the world with flying reindeer, creeping into peoples houses, giving presents to every boy and girl who was good all year.

When I was a little older, maybe a teenager, I thought that Christmas was a time to give and get presents. I also thought that Christmas needed a tree, wrapping paper, bows, and candles. I came to expect my moms horrid fruitcake that weighed twenty pounds. Ironically, she used an angel food cake pan for the mold. It took an entire afternoon to make.

When I was in my 20’s and 30’s, as a mother, I thought Christmas was about giving and watching my children’s eyes light up as they experienced their “best Christmas ever”, which was an end result of my year long hard work at cutting coupons, saving every dollar that my (now ex) husband made so we could provide them with clothes, shoes, a couple of their favorite toys, and I could make all the family dishes that they came to remember as being part of “Christmas”. I tried to carry on the tradition of Santa at first, but by the time my third child was born I was overcome with the guilt of lying to them. Half the time we couldn’t fill their wish list anyway, so why make them think that a magical deity would fly there, land on the house with flying reindeer, sneak into the house at night and bring them what they wanted? Telling them the truth was better anyway. It made Christmas more meaningful because Christmas wasn’t just about gifts, it was about family. I lived and breathed my children as a stay at home mother for their entire lives. That was hard sometimes, and my spouse never made it easy either, but somehow it worked.

When I was 41, my husband of 17 years threw me out of the house with nothing but the clothes on my back, and while I was destitute and homeless, he filed for divorce. I had no lawyer and he had the most expensive one in town. The only reason I wasn’t living under a bridge was because a friend took me in. The judge awarded my ex-husband everything…custody of our children, the house, the vehicles, the finances. I mourned the loss of my children, crying every day, sometimes off and on all day, for months. I wanted to tuck them into bed, read them a book, wake up with the smell of their hair under my nose as they buried themselves in my body with that first hug good morning. I wanted everything back except my abusive husband. That first Christmas was a day of sorrow. I couldn’t even speak to my children because their father didn’t allow it. I got very drunk, cried myself back to sleep…slept the day away.

I’m 42 now. Reunited with my best friend Aaron, who is now my life partner, after twenty years apart. I’ve grown accustomed to the parental alienation that my ex-husband has created. Aaron and I live in a tiny travel trailer. We barely have money to get by, so we were not able to by anything for each other. No hint of Christmas here. No tree, decorations, no presents, wrapping paper, bows, or candles. No family….and yet, it’s the best Christmas ever. I woke up this morning to read a text my 16 year old daughter sent me overnight, saying she was sorry she missed my phone call. That means she knows I love her, her brother and her sisters. I cooked a meal for Aaron and myself out of what we have. It’s not a turkey or ham, but its made with love. We’ll take the guitar and visit our friends later on today, and give them the gift of music. I’ll try again to call my children.

The miracle of Christmas is not a deity, or Santa Claus, or presents, or decorations and a tree. It’s just love.

Merry Christmas…

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Keeping it real

It’s not a surprise to many that I’m not a fan of “dubstep” or computer generated music. I’m a old fashioned girl at heart, brought up in the country. I remember when I was very young, no one in the family having money for musical instruments (or for anything else for that matter) and using anything laying around the house that could be used to make noise, which me and my cousins would use to form a band during family reunions. There would be always be someone with an empty jug, grandma would grab a saw and spoons, and my dad used an upside down aluminum trash can,which made the perfect drum. When I was older, I remember there being an old guitar and used stand-up style piano in the house. Grandma found the guitar and my mother, the old piano (which was dated 1881). I learned to play the piano by ear, never learning how to read music.

As the years have gone by, my taste for music broadened, but I never lost the love of the old fashioned, unedited, clean sound of southern acoustic. My life partner, Adam, feeds my southern roots with his rich, mellow voice and natural gift for classic guitar, harmonica and “chicken pickin”. May I suggest, grabbing a cold beer and listening to him.


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