Three strangers, two guitars, and a new sound

Three guys just met each other in the middle of an uneven and old historic street. They are musicians, or at least want to be musicians. I was sitting a few feet above them. The street is not really a street but more of an area with old brick-shaped stones that have moved in different directions over the years. The many years that they’ve been there.

“Hey, I just moved here,” said the younger guy with the red colored beard and overalls. “I’m looking to be in a band, and I’m good.” That’s what he told the second guy who had been playing a guitar while singing something that sounded like it came from the early seventies.

“Really?” the second guy asked. They started chatting about Portland, Maine, where I am visiting as I write this to you. Then, a third guy showed up. A really skinny guy with a few missing teeth but a great big smile. He also had a guitar, and a few moments later, I was treated to a free concert. A concert of sorts.

It was three guys, three strangers, making music. The red-colored beard guy was singing in a kind of country, deep country sounding voice. He wasn’t from Maine, and he didn’t sound like it. The other guys were jumping in where they fit best. One with a guitar he kept trying to tune as he played along, and the other with an upside down bucket he turned into a drum. You could tell he’s been…