|
A lifeless, solitary tree stands next to a dirt road. It’s bare branches are dark and brittle, swaying ever so lightly in the warm evening breeze. In the sky, the clouds slowly part, uncovering a full, white, menacing moon. The shadows from the thin branches dance on the dusty ground, as if calling to the spirits above. The bright light from the moon reveals little about the rarely traveled road, except that it disappears just beyond the horizon. A rickety fence made of wood and wire barely remains upright after decades of abuse from the sun, wind, rain, and humidity. It’s gates are wide open, no longer a deterrent for curious onlookers. It now almost beckons visitors to venture through, to follow the road until it’s inevitable end - where ever that may be.
Moments after the moon made it’s appearance, a red, ‘68 Ford pick-up pulled up to the gate. The four men in the truck had always wondered what was beyond the fence and tree, so they decided to keep going. As they ventured forth, they couldn’t help but notice the human-like quality of the lone tree in the field. It was as if the tree was calling them to come in further down the mysterious path. Until that time, the truck’s radio had been belting out an eclectic mix of blues, rock, country, and reggae. Now it was silent - turned off by the driver of the truck. The light whispering of the breeze through the tree’s branches was intoxicating to the men. They wanted to hear more, so they followed the dirt path in silence.
As the quiet trip continued, sounds of chanting in the distance could be heard. The sounds grew louder and louder until it was clear where they were coming from. An old cabin, surrounded by marsh grass and fireflies stood about 50 yards from the side of the road. It was clear there was some sort of celebration going on, so the truck started heading toward the cabin, with little argument from the men inside. There was bright light and music radiating from the windows of the cabin, enough to wake the neighbors - had there been any.
The men climbed out of the truck and approached the cabin on foot. The ground was soggy, and tough to walk on. It seemed the cabin was suspended over some of the finest swamp land in central Florida. As they stepped on to the front porch of the cabin, they were greeted by an ancient looking man, hunched over and clutching a primitive wooden cane in his left hand. His skin was dark and deeply wrinkled, his black, sunken eyes took only a second to look over the new visitors.
“What brings you here?”, he asked in a worn and feeble voice.
“We just want to know what goes on here”, was the immediate reply.
“To join us, you must promise to abide by our rules, and take on a sacred voodoo name.”
The four men looked at each other, and shook their heads in agreement.
“Very well”, the elderly man continued, “our rules are simple. You must participate in the ceremony by helping provide music for the celebration. If you cannot sing or play an instrument, you may not enter. Once you learn our sacred music, you must vow to make it a part of your life forever, and only use your sacred voodoo names when playing the music for others.”
Again, the four men nodded positively that they could comply. They were then asked to step forward and bow their heads.
The voodoo elder placed his right hand on the head of the man standing closest to him. “You will be known as D.W., and will provide melody and meaning. You may enter.”
The next man stepped forward. “You will provide harmony and structure, and will be called Mojo Resin. You may enter.”
The third of the four men stood still, waiting for instruction. “Come closer. You will be called Voodoo Vinny, and will bring a deep harmony voice to the music. You may enter.”
Then the final man took a step forward. “You will provide the rhythm and pulse for dancing, and will be called Mattissimo. You may enter.”
The celebration lasted until the next full moon, when the elder and his people proclaimed that their work was done, and they would leave future festivities to the four newcomers. So it was agreed that D.W., Mojo Resin, Voodoo Vinny and Mattissimo would now be the sole heirs of the cabin, and all of it’s mystique and magic.
Soon, the four found themselves alone in the cabin, with no one else in sight. They knew that they had to bring others in to share the music they had recently learned, but they also knew they couldn’t count on people venturing down an old dirt road like they did. Before it was too late, they decided to take action.
With some scraps of wood that were left in the truck, they devised a simple sign. They all climbed into the truck and drove to the end of the road near the opening of the fence. With a mighty swing of a sledgehammer, the sign was secured in the ground for all those passing by to see.
The sign simply said, “Voodoo Hodown - This Way”.
The four looked at the sign proudly, then headed back to the cabin. Voodoo Hodown was born.
|
MoJo Resin - Guitar
Born - October 31, 1978, 1:13 p.m.
Of the four members of the band, MoJo is the oldest by 3 minutes. He grew up in Big Point, Mississippi where he learned to play the blues while riding in the back of a pick-up truck. As a child, his other favorite hobby was eluding alligators. Mojo’s first musical project was a tribute to Robert Johnson in which he played an acoustic guitar that he found by the side of the road. He was accompanied by three frogs and a cricket.
BACK TO TOP
|
 |
