On May 5, Michael Meldrum, the well-known folk musician and teacher from Buffalo passed away. I met Michael only a few months ago personally, when I started going to the Nietzsche's Open Mic. He was a lively and colorful person who insisted I sing a Hank Williams song with him on a mandolin.
His roots and influence in the area are well-known and I won't even make an attempt to explain what little I do know. Quite simply, he was a huge advocate for live music in this area. He was, it seemed to me, a walking encyclopedia of folk and rock music history. Most famously, he was the guitar teacher of Ani Difranco, and promoted her from the age of 10.
I remember once going to see him perform at a church on Delaware. I was curious when he invited me, and I went to see what it was all about. When I got there it was a handful of people, many of them folk singers or players themselves. They were all just sitting around quietly and taking turns singing. I felt silly for being there for a few moments. Then Michael played a song, explaining to everyone the song came to mind because he and I had been talking about blues and country divas the evening before. The song he played, the title of which I can't remember, references a famous pop/country-ish hit from the 1950s, "The Tennessee Waltz."
His song talked about a lonesome moment in a traveling musician's life. It described an experience he'd had when warming up for a show at an infirmary for the blind in Chicago (I'm not sure when). The infirmary gave him a supply closet to warm up in, and in the closet was an old jukebox, Michael glanced at the jukebox and noticed it had the song "The Tennessee Waltz" on it. The chorus of his song went something like "I'm starting to feel like an old forgotten love song on a jukebox machine." It was the only time I'd ever seen Michael sing and look solitary or even a bit sad. I didn't know him well, and I'm not sure why this particular moment sticks out to me, other than to say it truly touched my heart when he sang it. I'm not trying to paint him as a somber or self-pitying person - he was far from this.
Perhaps it would help to mention that shortly after this, he sang a hilarious and very charming folk song written by another artist on environmental damages done to American housing developments. The song, if I recall correctly, was called "Radioactive Queen" and had a line that went something like "Oh my radioactive queen, when we make love she lights up like a pinball machine." That's the kind of person Michael was, able to wheel from something incredibly heartfelt to absolutely irreverent. He cared about larger issues in community and society, but he was also just someone who wanted you to laugh and be happy.
My favorite song of his that I have a recording of is "Watch Out" off his album, Open Ended Question on Righteous Babe. It's a song that he told me he once tried to sell to Rick James. The song is so catchy, upbeat, warm, and fun-loving, and captures his skilled song writing and the carefree side of his personality I came to know a bit these past few months. If you have a moment, please take a listen and send him a kind thought in heaven, and to his lovely wife and two children still here. Going back to the Tennessee Waltz song he did, Michael is most certainly not an old love song on a jukebox machine anyone could forget about. I think his life was a love song to music, family, and the community he was so involved with, one that will be remembered and part of Buffalo's music history.
~mb
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