There was a new album, Come Running, and a golden opportunity to promote the CD and get reacquainted. He'd hitchhike to Concord, the next town over, to a record shop that had a old-time listening booth. A friend and he would hitchhike into Boston to the Jazz Workshop on Sundays when they allowed minors to attend. After high school, Bill attended Plymouth State College in New Hampshire to study Visual Arts and English.
He hadn't yet developed as a musician, so he relied on an improv comedic patter between songs. What was frustrating was hearing the barroom folkies, human jukeboxes, who would just do covers and sound like Paul Simon on one song and Neil Young on the next. He began playing the Sunday open mic at the venerated Newmarket, NH live music venue, The Stone Church on a regular basis.
He began dating Annie Williams, a freshman at the University of New Hampshire who attended the open mic.
After performing throughout New England in the 1970's, Bill signed with Rounder Records and released his self-titled debut album in 1984. Following the aforementioned Inside (1992), he teamed with Greg Brown in 1993, for an album of covers, Friend of Mine. Warren gruffly dismisses her, declining the wine and insists that they use oak, for it's more practical long-lasting heat. It was probably only a matter of time, fiction writing being so much a part of Bill's nature. One impediment to Bill's lack of production might have been the passing of close friend, fiddler Johnny Cunningham, who died of a heart attack in December of 2003.
I got to see Johnny perform at New Bedford (MA) Summerfest many times and his bigger-than-life personality and exuberant humor were a joy to behold, in addition to his being a fiddler of Olympian stature. While I was intrigued, the unflinching look at life's bleaker moments was something I didn't want to focus on then. Kelly Flint, vocalist for the on-hiatus band Dave's True Story, has embarked on a solo career and is touring often with Bill. Beyond the customary guitar and vocal, the songs also use horns and bear witness to Bill's lifelong fascination with jazz, blues and even funk. They'd come home with records by Dave Van Ronk, Eric Andersen, Tim Hardin, and of course, Bob Dylan. He didn't have money to actually buy an album, so he'd listen to a song for about 20 minutes to get the chords.
They'd get there two hours early and nurse a coke at the front table until the show started. He asked [slurring] 'Could I play your guitar?' I explained that it was my tool, how I made my living. Around age 25, Bill decided to join a bass player in going up to Alaska to work the fishing boats for a much-needed cash infusion.


She was the daughter of a professor at the University, Thomas Williams, a novelist and 1975 National Book award winner.
Johnny's fiddle provided harmony on more of Bill's songs than anyone else throughout his entire career. Any collector of quality contemporary folk music who doesn't own every Bill Morrisey album has some holes to fill. Today, July 31, as I update this page, the sadness continues its course through me as I listen to his songs on John Platta€™s Sunday morning show on WFUV.
The audience would shut up and listen to the introduction, but as soon as I started to sing, they went back to their conversations. There is a cadence in a well-written line.A  Three different words might work in one place in a sentence, but only one will scan correctly.
20121 Kings 8:28 -- But please listen to my prayer and my request, because I am your servant. It's as if God gave him x-ray vision for the human spirit -- all its hidden motives and knee -jerk responses. During the first day out at sea, Bill realized, at 135 lbs, he really wasn't strong enough for the type of hard labor involved in pulling in the full nets.
The characteristic display of brilliant writing was there from the beginning, especially in the album's first two tracks. At some point, he will be revered as much as, and regarded as highly as someone like Dave Van Ronk. John replayed parts of his interview with Bill and the loss of the many songs he was about to record is joined by the sense of absence of Bill himself. Bill would trace the music back, from Dylan, to Ramblin' Jack Elliot, to Woody Guthrie.A  When he discovered the music of Mississippi John Hurt, it became the foundation for his own guitar style. He had built his own cabin upstate in the White Mountains and would invite Bill to spend weekends hunting and fishing. He was simply a wonderful human being, his cracked voice imparting voluminous stories and memories. He wrote it over 18 months, mostly on the road, in motel rooms and in the back of the bus. He wrote it over 18 months, mostlyA  on the road, in motel rooms and in the back of the bus.
To this day they fetch a pretty penny in some markets as they’re considered rare art. He played it a while and handed it back and slurred a 'thank you.' I wouldn't want to do it again, but it was a great training ground.
Bill would soak up the conversation as Williams and writers like John Irving would discuss hunting grouse and what fly to use at what location on a stream one minute, then the work of Raymond Carver the next. Today it sounds like a who's who: Patty Larkin, Cheryl Wheeler, Greg Brown, and Nanci Griffith. There were guys who had gotten out of the mill at 3 o'clock and had been drinking since then.


A young Stephen King asked if he could come and meet him just after selling his first novel, Carrie, Bill remembers Stephen driving up in a beat-up pink Cadillac. Petrified and alone, I had no idea how to process what had just transpired, nor did I have any clue how to tell anyone. When I came back home to New York, I managed the courage to tell my parents, who in turn didn’t believe a word I said. I wouldn’t say she would have been my first choice, but that turned out to be exactly how it happened. What the hell does Amy have to do with anything?” Mind you this is well nearly three years later.
I realized that these were not really girls as each one turned out to be with other older guys while seeing me. These girls were playing another game that I again, was light years behind.I pretty much started to lose it after that.
I was quite sure what was going on.By this time I had already been to other oral areas with other women but never third base. Beyond what is known as full blown alcoholic I was abusing any chemical I could get my hands on.
All but heroin, and only because of the one encounter which left me retching for six hours after a few snorts. As just as it began to wear off and I could barely make out the figure in front of me, the most loudest explosions erupted which literally made my chest hurt so much I nearly doubled over.I reached out with both arms to grab purchase of my darling and make sure she was still there.
And massively involved with blackouts and waking up in the damndest of places like an old train yard where they park the trains after their route. Need I also mention that from the moment we made friends it started snowing?I was always a loner and tonight was no exception.
Now completely wired,I planted myself in front of coin-op and began shaking the machine fervently as the missiles dropped from every angle imaginable.As soft hand went down my shoulder and rested on the middle of my back. And the condition I would find her in for the next six months, at some points made my darkness look like a fairytale.The scars on her wrists were one thing, but having to call 911 because she decided to eat a bag of ludes, just boggled my mind. God I cherished being with her… I was pretty sure in her company I wanted to be a better person.
I wanted to clean up and fly right and grow old together…She spoke of things that made my mind swoonI was nineteen now and I was angry, scared and alone. I’m not sure if it was a direct thing against me, or that his thirst for conquest just included Lisa2 and I was in the way.
He introduced her to cocaine, got her hooked beyond healthy measures and that was the last I saw of Lisa for years.



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