All my friends are treasures as far as I’m concerned. Take Walter Parks, one of America’s finest singer-songwriters. Walter stands well over six feet tall. He wears classic “old school” hats which enhance his dapper choices: polished boots, tailored jackets, and colorful shirts that any fashionista would envy.A vintage guitar is his essential accessory. You’re likely to see a 1953 or 1957 Gibson ES 175, 1965 Fender Jazz Bass, 1967 Guild Starfire Bass, or if you’re lucky, a 1929 Tenor banjo.
Walter collects old instruments like car buffs collect vintage automobiles. He spots forgotten gems lying in moldy basements with bodies scratched and three strings missing. It would be safe to say Walter Parks is in the resurrection business.
Walter’s songs are as well constructed as his guitars. Like a good poem, his music layers in your imagination and remains with you long after his songs are over.
During his concerts, you’ll travel to New Mexico, “She says New Mexico is where she’s gotta go, cause she’s gonna die in Carolina.” His ethereal voice and chord combinations relax you into meditation, “Like something sacred, like something beautiful, like something so divine.”
He’ll take you back in time to date night in New York City, “We walk into the Roxy, we walk into a dream, go-gos are dancing above the clouds, or, so it seems.” He’ll sing the story of the southern preacher who drives a powder-blue Lincoln and falls in love with a hippy chick who wears a cowboy hat and a sheer sun dress. The preacher’s “done for” when the hippy chick tells him “she gets more booty when Buddha’s around.”
Even though, Walter has circled the globe, loves the road, speaks French, and has appeared on the big stages like Carnage Hall, Madison Square Garden, and the Cannes Film Festival, he is an original American musician from the cracker lands of Northern Florida. His finger is on the pulse of what makes our country great. Enjoy his tunes: www.walterparks.com.