Tail of the Weak is a series of insights and musical memories from the mind of Uncle Dave Griffin, singer/songwriter and founder of the Annual Gram Parsons Guitar Pull and Tribute Festival, from Waycross, Georgia. It's hard to imagine life without cellphones and computers nowadays. There are whole generations—including my three grandkids—who roll their eyes and yawn when I begin to expound on my boring childhood with its rotary dial telephones tethered to the wall, black and

Tail of the Weak is a series of insights and musical memories from the mind of Uncle Dave Griffin, singer/songwriter and founder of the Annual Gram Parsons Guitar Pull and Tribute Festival, from Waycross, Georgia. Clothes make the man...naked people have little or no influence on society. —Mark Twain, quoted in More Maxims of Mark. Johnson, 1927 I've heard the opposite—clothes don't make the man; though, it seems, growing up in the Fifties and Sixties, I was exposed to music

Tail of the Weak is a series of insights and musical memories from the mind of Uncle Dave Griffin, singer/songwriter and founder of the Annual Gram Parsons Guitar Pull and Tribute Festival, from Waycross, Georgia. I motored my Ford Econoline through Ludowici—the notoriously infamous speed trap of south Georgia when I was growing up—heading to Savannah where I was scheduled for a week of Window Clerk training at the River Street postal facility. Hiring on with the Waycross pos

Tail of the Weak is a series of insights and musical memories from the mind of Uncle Dave Griffin, singer/songwriter and founder of the Annual Gram Parsons Guitar Pull and Tribute Festival, from Waycross, Georgia. In January of 2006, I was well into my fourth year working for Paul Lee at Crosstown Music in downtown Waycross, Georgia. We sold everything from Martin guitars and Korg keyboards to kazoos and G-strings. Oh how painful it is when you break a G-string while perfor

Tail of the Weak is a series of insights and musical memories from the mind of Uncle Dave Griffin, singer/songwriter and founder of the Annual Gram Parsons Guitar Pull and Tribute Festival, from Waycross, Georgia. “Come on, Teddy”, I heard my son, Connor, say the other day to his little ol' dachshund dog, who's getting on in years. Teddy's breath don't stink near as bad as it used to and he's got a howl that can wake the dead; but, he don't croon near as well as Uncle Charli