I. A Chance Encounter
Very early in my artistic career, I had to develop a new approach to music. Not only did that involve a revision of my name, I also had to change the way I played guitar and sang. The material was not suited any longer to my style. I was finished with playing covers, trying to sound like the artists I admired. A new direction was necessary.
Unexpectedly, a strange dream occurred. I was in New Orleans where I had attended college, sitting with friends in an off-campus bar. A promotion flier was attached to the wall next to the juke box. Ricky Nelson would be performing in the same neighborhood at a small venue around the corner. I was very excited at the possibility of seeing Ricky, for I had grown up watching him on his parents' television show.
I never thought he was just the son of famous parents, filling in as a cast member on a family sitcom. He had charisma, a charm about him, but his voice was the game changer. It was nuanced and deep, a baritone unexpectedly rich for a young person. Sincere, it resonated with a depth of great feeling. The first song I heard of his was on a 45-rpm record, "Never Be Anyone Else." It impressed me so much I began to copy the lyrics from repeated replays on a friend's record player. The verses and chorus made me understand the interdependence of melody and lyric.
Arriving at the concert early, I enjoyed taking in the experience of the crew setting up before the show. It was very exciting. Then, to my surprise, Ricky walked out to do a sound check of the concert hall. I couldn't imagine not greeting him, given the chance. I was not really interested in getting an autograph from him. Rather, I wanted to tell him how much he had influenced me in my early relationship to music.
Ricky seemed a bit guarded with the group of fans surrounding him. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with the circumstances. In any event, I edged forward to shake his hand. Somewhat taken aback, but not unfriendly, he deferred, saying, "No, you're Big Hand."
II. The Name of Big Hand
Ricky's name for me was not what I expected. I wasn't looking for any "name" at all. Yet, the name given was the name taken, for I trusted the dream. As time went on, the name seemed more like a nickname, a bluesman's handle (Blind, Mississippi, Son, Lead, Lightnin') or an unknown family secret. Strange and somewhat awkward as an introduction I could not have imagined such a name.
The reaction from friends and family was not a big surprise when I confided my artistic name to them: "you mean, big hand in poker?" or "I get it, a lot of applause!" My own take on the name did not occur until I began my research on the Kokopelli project. The painted hand, or petroglyph, was ubiquitous throughout the Anasazi desert homeland in the Four Corners. Somehow, the dream of Big Hand and the Anasazi beaded vest were connected.
