Who is Seasick Steve? Was He Formerly a Disco Star in France?

Wielding a war-torn guitar with only three strings and keeping the beat on a homemade foot stomper, Seasick Steve rocked the world when he appeared on the Jools Holland show on New Years Eve in 2006.

"Seasick" Steve Wold performed his trademark song, Doghouse Boogie which tells his backstory of leaving home before the age of 14 and becoming a hobo.

Once the video hit Youtube, he became a worldwide sensation.

Writer, Matthew Wright claims to have uncovered a much different backstory to Steven Wold in his biography, Seasick Steve: Ramblin' Man. Among those claims are that Wold is really Steven Leach, a session musician who has performed in various acts over the years, including Shanti, a transcendental meditation band from 1972 and, most shockingly, as frontman for Crystal Grass, a French disco act from the mid-70s! Wright's research says Seasick Steve's hobo period may have happened, but was far more temporary than the blues musician previously claimed.

IS THIS THE REAL SEASICK STEVE?

Among the author's claims is that Seasick Steve is actually 10 years younger than he originally claimed and has been a session man in the music industry since the early 70's. Wright claims Steve has performed or worked with Mike Love of the Beach Boys, Modest Mouse and even spent time with Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin. ...And that's on top of the disco peroid when he briefly lived in France!

So was this whole act a fraud or just an exaggeration of Steve's actual past?

Sean O’Hagan noted in an Observer article, “The trajectory of his life since [1973] is hazy and, one suspects, he plays down the semi-settled years, sensing correctly that his mainly young audience prefer the myth to the reality.”

Seasick Steve realized the kids needed an old hero who didn't play slick music.

Hmm...Robert Zimmerman reinvented himself into Bob Dylan and he followed it up by bringing the goods. It appears Seasick Steve has done the same.

One peculiar observation on this whole story is the fact that Matthew Wright's book has been on the market since June, but the news is only breaking now, right as Seasick Steve releases his much awaited album, Keepin' The Horse Between Me and the Ground. The double record set features more of Steve's homemade music on two records, including a cover of John Hartford's "Gentle On My Mind."

Fan response to the book has been mostly negative, with reviewers unhappy that Wright didn't bother to interview old bandmates, an ex-wife or other people in the industry. Apparently, Wright relies mostly on newspaper clippings as his sources.

To get even more info on these revelations, check out The Guardian's article.

Personally, I'm going to buy the new album and play it loud. Also, I may have to go record shopping to find the Crystal Grass and Shanti albums so I can complete my collection.

...because sometimes a legend is more powerful than the truth.

-Shane Speal, "King of the Cigar Box Guitar"

True story. Trust me.

There once was a town that had a rodent problem. The problem was that the rodents were basically freeloading, eating everyone's garbage, transporting fleas from house to house (hereinafter known as "flearoading"), and everyone in town kept falling down dead from the bubonic plague the fleas transmitted. It got so bad that the disease-resistant children made a song and game about it; they were inconsiderate yittle bastids, weren't they?

Well, best beloved, what with the rats munching happily on garbage, the townsfolk not paying their fair share of taxes due to dying all the time, and the kiddies being annoying, the Mayor was feeling a mite put out. One day, a man arrived in town. No one knew where he came from (most of them being dead). This man had a special talent: he could play a pipe (a special kind of flute), and when he did, the music he produced was so ethereal, that the rats immediately left off munching on rotten fruit rinds, and scurried out into the town square to listen.

The Mayor saw all this happen with his own eyes from the balcony outside his office, where he'd been seriously considering giving up the Mayoring business and instead becoming, temporarily, a test pilot for a new company started in a nearby town by a man named Leonardo. Leonardo's story was that he had perfected a way for people to jump out of tall buildings wearing a device called a "parachute," but he needed backers and test subjects.

While the Mayor was teetering on the brink of indecision, the piper looked up at him and shouted "Hey! Don't jump! I have a business proposition tor you!" The Mayor, being a man who liked his tax revenue, perked up his ears, and went down to the town square.

The Piper said, "Look, I can fix your rodent problem. (He quickly tootled a few notes to keep the rats at the edge of the tangled mass from sloping off to investigate the dead bodies of the local baker and his wife, who'd managed to make it halfway to the bank to talk to a loan officer about expanding their business, before keeling over face down into potential zombiehood. As you can see, precious, everyone has a backstory.). "I'll play my tunes, take the rats out into the countryside for a snipe hunt, and you pay me 20 gold crowns. Deal?"

The Mayor, who fancied himself a good businessman, since he owned the bank, and now, apparently, the town bakery, blacksmith's forge, and Madame Genevieve's House Of Unearthly Delights and Chinese Laundry, thought this a good plan, and so agreed on the spot, with one condition, "Piper," huffed the Mayor, who was overweight from counting declining tax receipts, which caused him existential angst, which he soothed by eating chocolate croissants from the bakery), "I'll pay you 15 crowns, a bolt of gold cloth, and a finely drawn scroll declaring you free from town taxes forever, if you can rid the town of every rat, mouse, Guinea pig, nutria, and longeared bunny rabbit by noon today! Do we have an accord?"

The Piper, who didn't hear too well, after years of tootling high frequency runs at incredible volumes, and thought the Mayor was asking if he played the accordion, shook his head sadly, tootling a morose little melody to show his discomfort at not being a multi-instrumentalist when good business tactics required it, and sending the fringe rats into swoons of despond. The fleas, too, were rather disconcerted, as they began to slowly realize they might be on their last journey).

The Mayor, hearing the sad little tune, thought he might have overreached his highly-vaunted bargaining abilities in his desperation, and so decided to discount his demands. "You drive a hard bargain, Piper, but I'll give you 20 crowns, a bolt of gold cloth, the finely-calligraphed scrolls thing, no taxes for two lifetimes, and a handy 10% discount card at any of the fine shops in town!"

The Piper, after cleaning some conveniently-crumbled wax out of his ear, nodded once, then proceeded to play as he'd never played before. By the time the town clock struck a quarter to noon, the square was absolutely chock full of rats, mice, rabbits, swamp rats, and a couple of ugly redheaded bucktoothed children who had tired of singing the same old song about dancing in a ring and falling down. Oh, and one beaver who'd wandered into town looking for a top hat, as he was supposed to be getting married the next day, and wanted to look his best.

The Piper shouted up at the Mayor's balcony: "Mr. Mayor! Showtime!" The Mayor, who had been finishing a plate of cheese Danish, came out to the balcony, brushing the crumbs from his silk vest, and saw that perhaps he had been a little hasty. He replied, "Well, Piper, that looks good, very good indeed. But, for one thing, it ain't noon yet, and for two, are you absolutely certain you have every rodent in town?" For you see, beloved, the Mayor was a canny old fart, and just happened to own a deaf rat named Henry.

The Piper was a little nonplused by this, and so spent the next fifteen minutes burning holes in his flute with his feverish playing. The resulting music was so good, that several of the dead bodies in nearby alleyways actually sat up, brushed off the fleas and rats, and began snapping their fingers in time.

The Mayor, who had his pocket timepiece out to make sure the contract's allotted time had run its course, heard the resonant bong as the town clock struck noon, snapped his pocket watch triumphantly shut, and began laughing, starting from a low chuckle, progressing through belly-shaking guffaws, and ending with the evillest Muahahaha that anyone not yet dead had ever heard.

"Gotcha, Piper!" The Mayor chortled. "This here rat (holding an innocuous looking white rat with black spots on its forehead - not plague, precious, just differently-colored fur) is named Henry. Henry here is deef as a post, can't hear a note! You lose, whistleboy!"

The Piper, who was an honorable man, still felt bound by the contract, and solemnly walked out of town, playing a lushly somber dirge that had even the field mice leaving their acorns untoothed, to follow him out into the countryside. The bucktoothed redheads stopped briefly to gather the acorns, as they hadn't had a proper lunch yet, their parents being amongst the tone-dead, and scampered quickly after the Piper.

The Mayor congratulated himself on his good fortune, invested the money he'd saved with Leonardo, and proceeded to make a killing in real estate with the proceeds. But best beloved, there is one more twist to this story.

Many years later, long after the Mayor had died from too many eclairs, and the town had burgeoned into a mostly-ratless teemingly modern metropolis, a man drove up to the tree-shaded town square in a rattletrap van, unloaded strange looking instruments, sat down on a stool, and began playing rootsy bluesy music that caused folk to gather round from office buildings, nearby Cigarbucks, park benches, and Genevieve's Secret Closet shops.

When the old man, who had a long white goatee, wore a ripped Rolling Stones concert t-shirt, baggy carpenter's jeans, and sandals made from old tire treads, adjusted his roadworn baseball cap momentarily to shade his face from the almost-noonday sun, a fascinated well-dressed passerby asked him,

"What's your story, oldtimer?"

"Well, sir, the name's Steve. Been travelin' a bit, just got outta prison little while ago, found myself in yer lovely town here, thought I might sell me a coupla these banjer things, so's me an' the dawg can eat today, mebbe play some songs for ye." The old man eyed the younger one speculatively, his eyes glittering from under his bushy brows and the baseball cap brim, as he shook a rusty tin can that contained a few small coins.

The well-dressed youngster choked with feigned outrage.

"Dammit, Hollowbelly, you almost fooled me!"

;-E

Replies

BUGGY (C) February 6, 2020 at 6:24pm

Cool
Cause the Blue rat October 8, 2016 at 6:41pm

You know I had to read all of that. Oily your awesome! Great story.

It's not uncommon for a performer to create a persona. A fake personality. The best example I can think of is Gene Simons of Kiss. I read an interview of his. A few years before they got big. He said he'd put on that costume. Go out on stage. No more self consciousness or fright. He could be that demon. He called it liberating.

As far as Sea Sick goes? Totally cool. He invented Sea Sick Steve. And he must be passionate about this persona. It's the only way he could have brought it to life. What's most important is the music. The music is the only real thing about Sea Sick Steve. if it was all about being an entertainer? There would be no passion behind the music. The music is real. That's what counts.

So i listened to that disco link. Now when disco was a thing I like some of the music. Actually learned a few songs. The guitar parts were fast moving and difficult. A total BLAST to play. Here's a link to Nile Rodgers talking about disco guitar. One of the best!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gF1d227_4ac

but that song....... I'd hide too. : )
Ron "Oily" Sprague October 7, 2016 at 12:39am

True story. Trust me.

There once was a town that had a rodent problem. The problem was that the rodents were basically freeloading, eating everyone's garbage, transporting fleas from house to house (hereinafter known as "flearoading"), and everyone in town kept falling down dead from the bubonic plague the fleas transmitted. It got so bad that the disease-resistant children made a song and game about it; they were inconsiderate yittle bastids, weren't they?

Well, best beloved, what with the rats munching happily on garbage, the townsfolk not paying their fair share of taxes due to dying all the time, and the kiddies being annoying, the Mayor was feeling a mite put out. One day, a man arrived in town. No one knew where he came from (most of them being dead). This man had a special talent: he could play a pipe (a special kind of flute), and when he did, the music he produced was so ethereal, that the rats immediately left off munching on rotten fruit rinds, and scurried out into the town square to listen.

The Mayor saw all this happen with his own eyes from the balcony outside his office, where he'd been seriously considering giving up the Mayoring business and instead becoming, temporarily, a test pilot for a new company started in a nearby town by a man named Leonardo. Leonardo's story was that he had perfected a way for people to jump out of tall buildings wearing a device called a "parachute," but he needed backers and test subjects.

While the Mayor was teetering on the brink of indecision, the piper looked up at him and shouted "Hey! Don't jump! I have a business proposition tor you!" The Mayor, being a man who liked his tax revenue, perked up his ears, and went down to the town square.

The Piper said, "Look, I can fix your rodent problem. (He quickly tootled a few notes to keep the rats at the edge of the tangled mass from sloping off to investigate the dead bodies of the local baker and his wife, who'd managed to make it halfway to the bank to talk to a loan officer about expanding their business, before keeling over face down into potential zombiehood. As you can see, precious, everyone has a backstory.). "I'll play my tunes, take the rats out into the countryside for a snipe hunt, and you pay me 20 gold crowns. Deal?"

The Mayor, who fancied himself a good businessman, since he owned the bank, and now, apparently, the town bakery, blacksmith's forge, and Madame Genevieve's House Of Unearthly Delights and Chinese Laundry, thought this a good plan, and so agreed on the spot, with one condition, "Piper," huffed the Mayor, who was overweight from counting declining tax receipts, which caused him existential angst, which he soothed by eating chocolate croissants from the bakery), "I'll pay you 15 crowns, a bolt of gold cloth, and a finely drawn scroll declaring you free from town taxes forever, if you can rid the town of every rat, mouse, Guinea pig, nutria, and longeared bunny rabbit by noon today! Do we have an accord?"

The Piper, who didn't hear too well, after years of tootling high frequency runs at incredible volumes, and thought the Mayor was asking if he played the accordion, shook his head sadly, tootling a morose little melody to show his discomfort at not being a multi-instrumentalist when good business tactics required it, and sending the fringe rats into swoons of despond. The fleas, too, were rather disconcerted, as they began to slowly realize they might be on their last journey).

The Mayor, hearing the sad little tune, thought he might have overreached his highly-vaunted bargaining abilities in his desperation, and so decided to discount his demands. "You drive a hard bargain, Piper, but I'll give you 20 crowns, a bolt of gold cloth, the finely-calligraphed scrolls thing, no taxes for two lifetimes, and a handy 10% discount card at any of the fine shops in town!"

The Piper, after cleaning some conveniently-crumbled wax out of his ear, nodded once, then proceeded to play as he'd never played before. By the time the town clock struck a quarter to noon, the square was absolutely chock full of rats, mice, rabbits, swamp rats, and a couple of ugly redheaded bucktoothed children who had tired of singing the same old song about dancing in a ring and falling down. Oh, and one beaver who'd wandered into town looking for a top hat, as he was supposed to be getting married the next day, and wanted to look his best.

The Piper shouted up at the Mayor's balcony: "Mr. Mayor! Showtime!" The Mayor, who had been finishing a plate of cheese Danish, came out to the balcony, brushing the crumbs from his silk vest, and saw that perhaps he had been a little hasty. He replied, "Well, Piper, that looks good, very good indeed. But, for one thing, it ain't noon yet, and for two, are you absolutely certain you have every rodent in town?" For you see, beloved, the Mayor was a canny old fart, and just happened to own a deaf rat named Henry.

The Piper was a little nonplused by this, and so spent the next fifteen minutes burning holes in his flute with his feverish playing. The resulting music was so good, that several of the dead bodies in nearby alleyways actually sat up, brushed off the fleas and rats, and began snapping their fingers in time.

The Mayor, who had his pocket timepiece out to make sure the contract's allotted time had run its course, heard the resonant bong as the town clock struck noon, snapped his pocket watch triumphantly shut, and began laughing, starting from a low chuckle, progressing through belly-shaking guffaws, and ending with the evillest Muahahaha that anyone not yet dead had ever heard.

"Gotcha, Piper!" The Mayor chortled. "This here rat (holding an innocuous looking white rat with black spots on its forehead - not plague, precious, just differently-colored fur) is named Henry. Henry here is deef as a post, can't hear a note! You lose, whistleboy!"

The Piper, who was an honorable man, still felt bound by the contract, and solemnly walked out of town, playing a lushly somber dirge that had even the field mice leaving their acorns untoothed, to follow him out into the countryside. The bucktoothed redheads stopped briefly to gather the acorns, as they hadn't had a proper lunch yet, their parents being amongst the tone-dead, and scampered quickly after the Piper.

The Mayor congratulated himself on his good fortune, invested the money he'd saved with Leonardo, and proceeded to make a killing in real estate with the proceeds. But best beloved, there is one more twist to this story.

Many years later, long after the Mayor had died from too many eclairs, and the town had burgeoned into a mostly-ratless teemingly modern metropolis, a man drove up to the tree-shaded town square in a rattletrap van, unloaded strange looking instruments, sat down on a stool, and began playing rootsy bluesy music that caused folk to gather round from office buildings, nearby Cigarbucks, park benches, and Genevieve's Secret Closet shops.

When the old man, who had a long white goatee, wore a ripped Rolling Stones concert t-shirt, baggy carpenter's jeans, and sandals made from old tire treads, adjusted his roadworn baseball cap momentarily to shade his face from the almost-noonday sun, a fascinated well-dressed passerby asked him,

"What's your story, oldtimer?"

"Well, sir, the name's Steve. Been travelin' a bit, just got outta prison little while ago, found myself in yer lovely town here, thought I might sell me a coupla these banjer things, so's me an' the dawg can eat today, mebbe play some songs for ye." The old man eyed the younger one speculatively, his eyes glittering from under his bushy brows and the baseball cap brim, as he shook a rusty tin can that contained a few small coins.

The well-dressed youngster choked with feigned outrage.

"Dammit, Hollowbelly, you almost fooled me!"

;-E
MrGranousty October 6, 2016 at 4:03pm

Whatever have been his life, I don't care!

We have a very good musician that's alla what I see!

Did one of you will be critic if he has be in a religious choral during his youth?
- MrGranousty > MrGranousty October 6, 2016 at 4:25pm
  
  Sorry for my "typing", I have temporarily a keyboard I don't know (portuguese one).
Paul Craig October 6, 2016 at 3:44pm

I never pay attention to the stories/drama about a performer. If I like the music, I listen to it

Eddie Van Halen was one of my early heroes of guitar and music, He has certainly had some problems throughout his life and comes across as an A hole on many occasions.The band Van Halen has changed singers many times, but I've followed along because I liked the music and that's all.
JL October 6, 2016 at 8:07am

um, waiter, may I have a grain of salt to take with these stories please?
jabes October 6, 2016 at 7:05am

well,well, iread this story in the Grauniad last week . it reminded me that Ssteve had said on tv that he had been working as a sound engineer in Norway (I think) now that is not a job you pick up on the road, it made me wonder at the time.On a tv show covering some music fest in the UK some young feller said how much he'd enjoyed steve's set " that was fantastic ,I've never heard music like that in my life !"

Does it matter that Steve was putting on a show ? A bloody good one at that..
smilingdog1 October 5, 2016 at 11:06pm

I would like to know what made Steve sea sick?
Kigar October 5, 2016 at 10:50pm

Shoulda saved this one for 04/01/2017!

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