I saw Doc for the first time at Winfield, KS in the late 70s. He came out, holding his guitar in front of himself and hanging on to Merle. The gal I had with me laughed and said Oh look, he’s acting blind! The crowd around us groaned.
My sister gave me a Doc Watson instruction book and I managed to learn to flatpick a few of his songs note for note. When I compared them to his recordings, he added a bunch of extra notes with his secret third hand he must have. I got good enough to impress other people but never impressed myself, knowing how Doc did it.
I loved his part in O Brother Where Art Thou, tossing the first hunk of fruit at the racist politician. Made a good shot, too.
Well put.
For some reason that reminds me of the first time I took a former girlfriend to see an Angel game at ANGEL stadium. While watching the game she asked me, "Who's the team in gray?" I said, that's the New York Yankees. She then asked, "Who's the team in white?" She wasn't kidding.
I asked her if she knew where she was. She said, of course, I'm in Angel stadium. People all around us heard this exchange and were laughing their butts off, as was I. My former girlfriend's name? Angel.
True story.
“... he added a bunch of extra notes with his secret third hand.”
Indeed. Saw him several times at the Palomino in LA. What an extraordinary artist. He was one of the few musicians that survived the “great folk music scare” of the 60’s (obscure Martin Mull reference). He was great before it. And great after it.