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By Brad Buchholz
American-Statesman Staff
Monday, April 2001
Wayne "Trip" Hunt is a local musician with an affinity for the blues -- and it's no surprise, really, if you've never heard of him. He doesn't play the clubs very often. He's never had a hit song. The man doesn't even look like a musician. He wears a tie, lives in the suburbs, works for the University of Texas.
Yet the story behind Hunt's first and only solo album -- "Ride the Blind" -- is simply too touching to dismiss. It's a story about friendship, the power of creative dreams, and, sadly, the tragic twists of fate. And it is no story at all without the presence of Trip Hunt's late friend and collaborator, a man named Glen Alyn.
"Ride the Blind," http://www.ridetheblind.com/ released late last year, celebrates American blues pioneers such as Blind Lemon Jefferson, Mississippi John Hurt and Blind Willie McTell. Hunt interprets their classic vocals and plays six- and 12-string guitars, mandolin and bass. Alyn accompanies Hunt on harmonica on most of the tracks.
The creation of "Ride the Blind" is something of a miracle -- considering that Hunt wasn't playing the blues, or even thinking about them, until Glen Alyn led him there a few years ago. It wasn't that Wayne Hunt III ("Trip" is for III) didn't love music. Raised in New Orleans, he'd played with folk groups in New York City during the 1970s and studied classical guitar in Texas during the 1980s. But by 1990, Hunt -- then in his 40s -- had set aside so many musical dreams to pursue a career as an administrator for UT's Division of Continuing Education, where he's now the director of the Thompson Conference Center.
Then, one day, in 1993, Hunt left his office for a noon-hour run at Memorial Stadium, only to be sidetracked outside UT's Center for American History by an exhibit poster featuring famed Texas bluesman Mance Lipscomb. Inside the Center were photos, guitars, vintage recordings on headphones. Trip Hunt couldn't resist the invitation.
"I walked in and viewed the entire exhibit, spent my whole lunch hour there," says Hunt. "I became a fanatic, right then. The music -- that beautiful music -- reminded me of a style I'd heard growing up in New Orleans that had somehow gotten away from me over the years. It was an `epiphany' moment."
Enthused, Hunt sought reconnection with the blues and began buying classic records, studying the players with a scholarly zeal. He also read Mance Lipscomb's autobiography, "I Say Me For a Parable" -- which had been crafted, organized and authored by a free-spirited Austin writer and musician named Glen Alyn. In time, Hunt would learn that Alyn's energy and research had prompted UT to stage the Lipscomb exhibit that had so inspired him.
They were destined to meet, Hunt and Alyn, for they now shared a common passion -- and appreciation -- for the blues. Yet the two men remained strangers for years, until Hunt telephoned Alyn one day and invited him to speak at a UT-sponsored program about the blues. Stop by sometime, Hunt suggested. We'll talk about it. . . .
"So Glen walks into my office one day, barefoot, with no shirt on, smelling like he'd spent the whole day working outside," recalls Hunt. "He was working as a landscaper -- and he figured he'd just drop by on his way to his home in Lago Vista."
Glen Alyn, a son of Fort Worth, was that kind of guy: earnest, eccentric, fiercely individualistic. He was a lost soldier with a poet's heart -- a dreamer, a gardener, a lover of books, a writer of books, a Vietnam veteran who never really made it all the way home. Unlike Hunt, Alyn couldn't read music; he'd had no "formal" training. Yet the power of the blues touched him. When he sang and played guitar, or performed on stage, it was strictly for the joy of it.
Hunt was the well-schooled one, the polished one, every hair in place. Yet he admired Alyn's "honest" connection to the music. At the same time, Alyn was impressed with Hunt's technical prowess. On a whim, they started singing and playing together -- just for fun -- and the yin-yang chemistry clicked right away. In time, they performed in coffee shops near the university, each man taking turns accompanying the other on guitar as they played old blues standards.
"Glen gave me the inspiration to play music again," says Hunt. "More than that, he brought me to his music, a style I'd never played before. And after awhile, at the end of shows, people would come up to us and say, `Where's your CD?'; I think that's when it dawned on us, sometime in 1998: `Hey. Maybe we should do a recording of our own.' "
So they did it. They took the leap of faith, proceeding with no business plan, no agents, no interest from any record label. Hunt financed almost everything -- the recording, the packaging, the studio time -- out of his own pocket. Alyn, well-known in Austin music circles, recruited several supporting musicians. Singers Maryann Price and Chris O'Connell. Violinist Eric Hokkanen. Pianist Floyd Domino.
But in July 1999, their dream almost died. While driving to Fort Worth in a sudden summer rainstorm, Hunt lost control of his Ford pickup on a slick back-country highway and skidded into the path of an approaching car. Miraculously, Hunt survived the head-on collision -- though he suffered a shattered patella in his right leg that required reconstructive surgery and months of physical rehabilitation.
"I wasn't sure, then, if we should go on," says Hunt. "I was flat on my back for three weeks. And after that, I couldn't drive. I couldn't move around. But Glen's energy kept it alive. We spoke a lot. He sent me these great e-mails in the hospital. He told me about accidents he'd had, running off the road, asleep . . . and had somehow managed to survive."
Buoyed by Alyn's energy, Hunt started playing again, and the friends returned to the studio with a richer sense of purpose. There was a familial quality to the sessions. Sometimes, the players arrived with their wives or teen-age children. The families shared meals, became close. Hunt and Alyn began to talk about the prospect of traveling in Europe together after the album's release -- knowing that roots and Americana music plays very well overseas.
By the spring of 2000, it was agreed that "Ride the Blind" would be a Trip Hunt solo record -- even though Alyn had sang and played guitar to his own favorite blues standards during the sessions. But not to worry: In the master plan, Hunt would back Alyn on a follow-up record to be titled "Red, White and Blue," a consideration of Native American, Anglo and African American takes on "roots" music.
To the end, Alyn played a pivotal role in "Ride the Blind." He insisted, for example, that Hunt make "Casey Jones" the album's first song and showcase track. In the original mix, Hunt had placed it last. Now, thanks to Alyn's instincts, the cut establishes the "ride the rails" spirit of the entire album.
Sadly, Glen Alyn did not live to hold the completed CD in his hands -- for he died on June 4, 2000. While driving from his home in Lago Vista in a sudden summer rainstorm, he lost control of his Ford pickup and skidded into the path of an approaching car. His daughter, Sequoia, was killed instantly in the passenger seat. Alyn, the Vietnam vet, survived long enough to be airlifted to the hospital in a life-flight chopper. He died during surgery.
"I got the call, the next day, a Monday," says Hunt. "I just broke down. I shut the door to my office and bawled like a baby. I cannot begin to tell you how devastating it was. . . . And to all that, the fact that Glen was driving the exact same model of truck, in the same conditions, as I had the summer before. Glen had seen what had happened to my truck in a collision. We'd even talked about it. . . ."
As a self-produced album, "Ride the Blind" was released in late 2000 with little fanfare. It did not make any Top 10 lists-- nor did it merit such designation. Yet its triumph is forever in its creation. Two friends, in the studio, making music strictly for the joy of it.
Wayne "Trip" Hunt still works at the university, still very much the administrator. On occasion, he'll play a small show. But in Europe, "Ride the Blind" is getting some major air-play. The Netherlands. Spain. Denmark. Sweden. Hunt has received letters from disc jockeys and music buffs: "Are you coming overseas? We can set you up on a circuit. `Ride the Blind' is great."
It would be a boom for the record. He concedes that he really "should" go. But Trip Hunt hasn't yet made up his mind. He wonders if the music will ever be the same, in the absence of a friend.
You may contact Brad Buchholz at bbuchholz@statesman.com or 912-2967.