From the Horse's Mouth:
More than You Ever Wanted To Know About Richard L. Matteson Jr.
[under construction]
I was born November 18, 1953 in Burlington, Iowa and lived a few years in Oquawka, IL with my mother and grandma and grandpa Swann while my father finished up serving in the Korean War. Although I remember nothing of my first stay in Oquawka, the little town on the bank of the great Mississippi River is one of my psychic bases-- a place that I consider "home."
After my father came returned from the War, the family moved to College Park, Maryland. My father taught at the University of Maryland while he received his masters and doctorate in human development on the GI Bill. Dad was member of the education department until his retirement over ten years ago. My mother was (and still is) a pianist and teacher. I've been blessed with two of the greatest parents, they've always been supportive and generous.
The oldest of four children, I was a bit withdrawn and solemn as a kid. My first success was beating my father at chess when I was around six or seven years old. I always excelled at games and somewhat at sports. All the kids in the neighborhood seemed to like me and I made it a point to befriend everyone- no exceptions.
My mother, of course, wanted me to play the piano. She offered to give me lessons and if I could play every song in the first book- a banana split! I didn't take me long to get my banana spilt but my mother knew and I was very to the point- this was the end of my piano career. I was happy to go out in the woods and build forts or play baseball- and there was the ultimate killer of time- TV.
I went to Hollywood Elementary, walked to school, didn't mind the cold much or the one mile jaunt. I was convinced that girls were alien creatures and, although I was curious, I knew better than to let them "turn my brain into mush." Unfortunately, I've not been so lucky in recent years.
When I was in 5th grade I went to Steve Dutrow's birthday party and an amazing thing happened. This twenty-four year old German woman (she was old to me) had a crush on me. She keep saying how cute I was and asking me stupid questions- of course I acted totally disgusted- but inside I was shocked. How could a geeky kid like me, who one of my friends called "The Nose," be anything to this old German chick? Fortunately I never let it bother me and forgot about it soon afterwards. Then my fifth grade teacher, who was super hot, befriended me. She told me I would change my mind about girls someday. Boy, was she right- although at the time I made it clear that their alien thoughts did not penetrate my brain.
Even when I was 8 years old, I had a bank account and savings. When I got birthday money I put it in the bank. When I made money picking strawberries or playing poker- it went in the bank. My friends called me "Richie Rich" because I had a way with money. I've always been lucky.
I started painting when I was in Junior High school. I was no child prodigy that's for sure. One of my early works was my baseball glove and bat (Ball and Bat) painted on a piece of wooden panel with oil paint. I figured it would look better with a frame so I painted a frame using the wood panel. My first work was an accidental Trompe L'Oeil.
Ball and Bat (Oil on paneling)
Although I did take art in Junior High and High school, I wasn't a particularly good student. I did several class projects and generally got good grades. The main problem was I was unmotivated and in general rejected education as a game the adults foisted upon unassuming youth that really had little or no bearing on our future. To put it simply: I conformed to non-conformity.
My parents were supportive of artist and musical endeavors and perhaps they thought I had a glimmer of talent. I honestly didn't know. I remember my first acrylic was a copy of a Frederic Remington and I could tell that at least I could copy a painting and the result wasn't horrible.
I did an oil painting of a mountain goat (later I titled Aries) while still living in College Park then went to school at St. Mary's College in southern Maryland. College wasn't a big decision for us, after all my parents went to college and even my grandparents had gone to college- so it was an unspoken forgone conclusion. My father asked me if I wanted to go and I said, "I dunno, I guess so." And that was that- it was settled. Then my father suggested a college so that's where I went.
St. Mary's College is a liberal arts school in southern Maryland- and I mean liberal. It was one of those schools where at times you couldn't tell the teachers from the students- even after class started! Lacking direction and motivation, this was like winning the lottery. The first course I signed up for was "The Nature of Reality." It was an 8 credit senior level math course taught by a Harvard grad who looked like he was 21. When I talked to him he said "You're a freshmen and this is a senior class." So I begged and I pleaded- he let me in the class! We had a 16 hour class, built huge geometric forms with metal bars, which we climbed on, and talked about- you guessed it- the nature of reality.
I found an arrowhead on campus and showed it to my Ancient Civilization teacher. I expected him to say something profound about about the indian civilizations that lived in the area but he didn't seem to know anything about them and didn't care. In that sad moment and shortly after, I learned all I need to know about higher education: I didn't have to go to class or do much work and I could get As and Bs. This was even bluntly pointed out to me by one teacher who, when I went in to get my final grade, made the comment that "he'd never seen me before." Shocking!
So I decided to play basketball- something that made sense. I excelled somewhat at sports, billiards (pocket pool), chess table tennis (ping pong), and later girls and partying. From then on I studied what I wanted academically which usually wasn't what I was supposed to study. I took art in college and was generally a poor student producing little or no significant work. Only my oil painting of shoes (Shoes- 1973) was of any seeming interest (it's still hanging at my parents house) and to my amazement was accepted into a National Gallery show in Easton, MD. Most of my college work is gone (given away or missing).
I painted one or two interesting pieces including Battle of the Centaurs, a painting depicting me getting killed and pushed off a cliff. This was a reaction to my first and biggest blunder in my life up to this point- I fell in love. I tried not to- I had will power- I tried and I tried and I tried but finally I realized I was smitten- struck in the heart- and I was in hopeless shape. I was a weak sniveling male just like everyone else- I couldn't believe I'd come to this.
The object of my affection was Joan, and she was a tall dark-haired beauty. I was convinced she was my anima, my female opposite and that she was the "one." Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Needing some advice I went to see the noted psychic Sean Harribance from India who was a friend of the family. Sean told me I was destined for the stage, she loved me and we would be together. I didn't get the "stage" part which made no sense at all but the other parts came right into my head. So I sent her some flowers over Christmas break at her parents home and a card- why not go down in flames?
Turns out Joan had noticed me noticing her. This noticing had been going on for two years until finally I couldn't take it anymore. Something had to be done! She either thought I was a stalker, a creep or an egomaniac- probably a bit of all three. Needless to say, I had my work cut out for me. What I didn't know or really even consider was: she had a boyfriend. When I got back to college I immediately went to see her. She seemed nice and let me walk her to class, then I found out the cruelest cut- I was not in the romantic picture--and wouldn't be. She said I'd waited too long and that she had a boyfriend. Whoa! This was my blackest day and I didn't recover, not for a long time. I could not accept the fact that I'd lost and my dream was a just a dream. After all, how could a psychic be wrong?!?!
After graduating from college I began working at Classic Products, a waterbed manufacturer, in Beltsville, MD. Although I did set a record for making 365 waterbeds in one day, I was eventually fired after organizing a union. Yes, I was elected president of a Nationally Certified Union named SPEC (my own creation, we were not affiliated with the Garment Makers Union or anyone else for that matter!). At the time I was fired I was negotiating a multi-million dollar labor agreement with the company. Fortunately for the workers the agreement was never signed! My artwork, sporadic as always, produced little work of interest, I sold my only good work (who knows where it is now; probably used for a canvas awning) and except for Gran's Gull, a painting for my grandmother Swann, I accomplished nothing.
About this time, in the year 1978, I made my first bold move in life- I decided was going to be a guitarist. I was convinced it was a sign from God. I asked God "What should I do?" He said, "Play the guitar." I wasn't like I heard Him say it, it just came to me from Him- I just accepted it. After all my mother was a musician and my grandparents were musicians and my youngest brother was musical. So I could play guitar and my brother could play harmonica- perfect!
I knew God had communicated more directly with me before- when I saw the light. Literally, saw the light. That was when I was in college, in love, searching- I had to find the answer- I had to. I walked alone in the woods at night- not every night but when I needed to think- there I was- stumbling in the darkness, deep in the woods where I'd never been. This night was cloudy, overcast, no moon could be seen. I asked for a sign to show me if I was on the right path. Then it came- a burst of light- since it was winter, it wasn't lightning- it was short, filled the entire cloudy sky, and was gone. I knew what it meant- there was no doubt, nor was I surprised at all. The message: God is love. Love is the only thing that matters, not earthly love; not the love of the girl I wanted; just love for all- love is what matters. And that's what God is- and we're all part of God, part of the collective unconscious, the eternal connected spirit. I knew it and I've never forgotten. And I'm grateful- TY.
After the debacle at the waterbed factory around 1980, I suddenly moved to South Carolina to escape the urban jungle and play guitar. I lived with and took care of my grandmother Matteson for my family (she had a stoke and was not all there at this point). I studied flamenco guitar, played guitar in clubs, wrote freelance article for the Beaufort Gazette and did some artwork. My eighty-six year old grandmother was at one time a brilliant pianist. She could still play Chopin and a few difficult classical pieces. She played in church every Sunday until one Sunday when she fell asleep. When someone tapped her on the shoulder to wake her up and play the next hymn, she responded by playing Happy Birthday. They decided to let her go and at that time- her long career was over.
I never understood my grandmother Matteson before I moved to Beaufort, I thought she was a cold-hearted snob. She was actually very warm and caring once you got through the exterior facade. She was part of the upper-crust, the southern elite. As accomplished performers and teachers, she and my grandfather had run the gamut from classical music to ballad bagging programs.
My grandfather Maurice Matteson, was a classically trained singer and a music teacher as well as Chairman of the Music program at the University of South Carolina. He also directed the Glee Club, a vocal concert touring ensemble. During the summer of 1932 he was in charge of the vocal work at the Southern Appalachian Music Camp held at Lees-McRae College in Banner Elk, North Carolina. At this summer camp he met Mellinger Henry, a folk song collector, who convinced my grandfather help him with the musical scores. Henry had already collected songs from Rena Hicks. The next summer (1933) they began collecting songs from Nathan Hicks and others from the area which resulted in his short book, Beech Mountain Folk-Songs and Ballads.
I never got to know my grandfather, he died in 1964 and I only remember spending a few hours with them. Living with my grandmother in the early-1980s, I got to look through the remants of my grandfathers library and see the correspondance and autographed books he had from many of the leading ballad collectors of his day. Little did I know then, that I'd be following somewhat in his footsteps.
When I first moved to Beaufort, I was convinced could make money selling art so I started doing banal studies of ducks and lowcountry scenery. I got a couple of commissions and after floundering I decided to just play and teach guitar- something I was making money doing.
Eventually I decided if I was going to be a good guitarist I need to study with the best teacher in the world. So in late 1984 I moved to Winston-Salem, NC to study classical guitar at North Carolina School of the Arts with Aaron Shearer. I helped Aaron write his last series of books (eventually published by Mel Bay) and was so immersed in classical guitar that I nearly drowned. I practiced 5 hours a day and studied more. It was agreat learning experience and I got to hang with some excellect guitarists like Ricardo Cobo.
Around 1985 I met my first wife, the lovely Rhonda Jean Ladd and we got married. Rhonda is great woman with a big heart. I helped raise Kristi, her daughter from her first marriage, who is now married to Donald and has her own family.
I became involved helping with the Piedmont Classical Guitar Society (PCGS). After attending several PCGS meetings in 1987 I was elected President when the current President, my friend Eric Shoulda, decided to step down. This was a small group of classical guitar enthusiasts that included Aaron Shearer and his wife Lorriane. Lorrine, a great positive woman, was the secretary. Sometimes the students at NCSA, who were some of the top student players in the country would perform.
I was teaching at two music stores, living on Broad St. with two guitar majors at NCSA and working with Aaron on his guitar books for Mel Bay. In 1991 I decided I'd like to publish a book, so I drove to Pacific Missouri just outside St. Louis, met with Bill Bay and got my first book in the works, Folk Songs from the Appalachian Mountains for Acoustic Guitar. I did a recording for Mel Bay released on cassette and later on CD.
Around 1989 when I became president of the PCGS, the board was made of Lorriane Shearer, Paul Muncy (treasurer) and other local guitarists. The PCGS was floundering more or less with maybe 30 members and occasional benefit concerts in the summer. I decided to take action and organized our first concert series, then in 1992 came the big one- The Honorary Concert Series, which featured 7 concerts honoring Chet Atkins, Celedonio Romeo, Doc Watson, Mel Bay, Aaron Shearer, Frederick Noad and jazz great Charlie Byrd. There were over 30 performers including honorees Chet Atkins and Doc Watson.
I was so excited- we had nearly sold out shows for each concert and around 1,700 came to see Chet Atkins. We flew the musicians in from all over the country, bought them to the venues in limousines. For that brief moment in time, there was magic in the air. The PCGS went from 40 members with an income of $500 a year to nearly 500 members (almost 300 memberships) with an income of over $20,000. The best perk- I got to meet and play with some of my guitar heroes.
Chet Atkins AKA Mr. Guitar AKA Certified Guitar player. It was hard to believe that I'd be teaching guitar at Salem College and the Dean of Music would come get me from my studio room say, "Chet Atkins is on the phone." Well it really was Chet Atkins and he was calling me to tell me that he would be coming to play a benefit concert for the Guitar Society. Getting him to come was like Moses parting the Red Sea at least that's how it seemed- as if somehow the waters parted and there was Chet Atkins playing the guitar. Not only that he would play for free (it wasn't exactly free after his booking agent got involved but that's another story).
Chet and me backstage at Reynolds Aud. 1992
Chet came with Paul Yandell and a drummer. Muriel Anderson and Brad Jones also played and Chet said I could open up and play a couple songs. It was a blast. Over 1700 people came and we presented Chet with our lifetime Achievement Award. Afterwards I got to spend a few minutes with Chet (see photo). Here's one of my anecdotes about the concert:
THE DAY CHET'S GUITAR WAS TOO BIG
Chet Atkins was playing a concert in Winston-Salem, NC in 1992. Muriel Anderson, Brad (Buster B.) Jones and I were opening the show. When I went by the hotel to pick up Muriel I had all my guitars and stuff crammed in the back. My brother was with me too. So we went in the lobby and Muriel was there talking with Chet. So he asked me if he could grab a ride with us so he wouldn’t have to wait.
I said, "Sure," so we piled everything in my little car but we couldn't get Chet's guitar to fit in the trunk. We took all the guitars out and put everything back in then tried one more time to get Chet's guitar in the trunk. It wouldn't fit, the trunk was just one inch away from closing.
Chet finally had enough and got his guitar and walked back in the lobby. He seemed kinda sad to be left by himself in the lobby.
The moral: Next time drive a bigger car, dummy!
To make a short story long, I decided to start painting again around 2006, suffered a midlife crisis (from which I hope I never recover), quit teaching guitar and left Winston-Salem, heading for the Mississippi River and my childhood stomping ground. To my amazement my paintings of Heaven and Hell were promptly displayed in the Oquawka Methodist Church. In Oquawka I continued my Bluegrass Series and started my Driftwood Series.
So now I've moved to Louisville, KY and in the midst of a terrible recession am determined to make a career as a musician, artist and writer. Yes, I am crazy! Or at least a stubborn dreamer. If I'm not successful... well at least I tried.