MIND MENDING MOMENTS
AERIAL VIEW OF
THE CATHOUSE
A RARE PHOTO OF SOME OF THE
LEGENDARY MIND MENDERS
CATHOUSE GOES ON
THE ROAD (DIRT)
Sessions at the Cathouse and at deer camp were not your average gathering of guitar pickers; These sessions resulted in countless observations of the state of today's world and formulated solutions to many of the problems of today. There is a slight possibility that during the reflective conversations, there may have been statements made that did not rise to an acceptable level of truth.
MUSIC (???) MOMENTS
At the heart of the Cathouse sessions was the music. While many spectacular, and many more horrible, performances were not recorded, there were a few nights captured that may give you a hint of the soul of the gatherings. Here is a sampling of what passed for music during the cathouse sessions and deer camp. By the end of the night we were all glad to be heading home, but just a little happier we were there...
HISTORY AND LEGACY
OF THE CAT HOUSE
OF THE CAT HOUSE
The very first unofficial mind‑mending jam session began when a few guitar‑slinging teachers and part‑time philosophers wandered into a little workshop on the edge of town after a long day. They weren’t chasing glory—just a scrap of peace to help them limp through the week. Nobody complained, mostly because nobody knew it was happening. And nobody knew it was happening because, truth be told, there wasn’t a thing to complain about. The mission was simple: test that old saying about music soothing the soul. Turns out these boys were overdue for a good soothing.
What started as a casual jam slowly morphed into a weekly therapy circle—equal parts music, storytelling, and armchair life theory. Before long, the talking outweighed the playing, and the music became more of a garnish than the main dish. A few non‑musicians drifted in from time to time, soaking up the easy laughter, the occasional deep thought, and the gentle head‑butt of a shop cat demanding attention.
The original mama cat made her presence known early—patrolling the room, curling up in open guitar cases, and scaling the rafters in search of the perfect acoustic vantage point. Several litters later, her descendants still roam the place, carrying on the tradition. A dog or two usually lingered outside, but whether they were banned or simply uninterested remains one of life’s smaller mysteries.
Eventually, the workshop earned its name: The Cathouse. Not the neon kind with whispered stories and questionable reputations—this one was built on music, laughter, and a little homemade therapy. It lacked the usual distractions of a typical cathouse (namely women and whiskey), but it was intoxicating all the same. To be fair, someone did once bring a jug of 10‑day wine from a family compound in Blue Ball. Let’s just say it might’ve been better poured over pancakes or shaved ice.
What started as a casual jam slowly morphed into a weekly therapy circle—equal parts music, storytelling, and armchair life theory. Before long, the talking outweighed the playing, and the music became more of a garnish than the main dish. A few non‑musicians drifted in from time to time, soaking up the easy laughter, the occasional deep thought, and the gentle head‑butt of a shop cat demanding attention.
The original mama cat made her presence known early—patrolling the room, curling up in open guitar cases, and scaling the rafters in search of the perfect acoustic vantage point. Several litters later, her descendants still roam the place, carrying on the tradition. A dog or two usually lingered outside, but whether they were banned or simply uninterested remains one of life’s smaller mysteries.
Eventually, the workshop earned its name: The Cathouse. Not the neon kind with whispered stories and questionable reputations—this one was built on music, laughter, and a little homemade therapy. It lacked the usual distractions of a typical cathouse (namely women and whiskey), but it was intoxicating all the same. To be fair, someone did once bring a jug of 10‑day wine from a family compound in Blue Ball. Let’s just say it might’ve been better poured over pancakes or shaved ice.
One night, mid‑session, the music paused for a sacred intermission—several, actually—to check on a litter of kittens being born right there in the shop. Just another reminder that life, healing, and a dash of chaos have a habit of showing up uninvited. Word of the weekly gatherings eventually spread, and folks drifted in now and then, drawn by the soul‑soothing blend of guitars, good company, and the occasional philosophical rabbit trail.
Between songs, the crew wrestled with life’s big questions—some answered, most left hanging in the air. As the weeks rolled on, the music stepped aside for the stories, theories, and shared wisdom. Eventually, a list of rules (and a few fines) was drafted to keep the conversations lofty and the minds open.
Like all good things, the regular sessions eventually wound down. But the brotherhood held fast, and every so often they’d gather again for a booster shot of mind‑mending. Borrowing a line from a George Strait flick, the best way to sum it up is simple: “Sure is good.” And if the stars ever line up again and the need for healing rises—well, Lord have mercy on anyone within earshot.
A recorder captured a few of those sacred nights—laughter, wisdom, and the occasional feline commentary—just enough to carry the Cathouse crew back there in their minds whenever they needed it.
Note: Names have been withheld to protect the brethren from the inevitable flood of fame, fortune, and philosophical groupies that would surely follow. Some truths are best left tucked inside a guitar case.
From the label of a bottle of wine produced at the Milliard Compound Vineyard in Blue Ball, Arkansas, and presented to the brethren at a weekly meeting of the Mind Menders:
Blueball Special Reserve Blend Muscadine Wine — aged 10 days — the good stuff…
Not as good as what Jesus made, but it’ll do until something better comes along…
Instructions for proper use:
• Take as needed for depression, constipation, indigestion, and/or malnutrition.
• One small cup before musical performances, one halfway through for a lift, & one at the end.
• No liability implied by the brewer. Enjoy.
• Caution: Enhances conversation; encourages lying.
Between songs, the crew wrestled with life’s big questions—some answered, most left hanging in the air. As the weeks rolled on, the music stepped aside for the stories, theories, and shared wisdom. Eventually, a list of rules (and a few fines) was drafted to keep the conversations lofty and the minds open.
Like all good things, the regular sessions eventually wound down. But the brotherhood held fast, and every so often they’d gather again for a booster shot of mind‑mending. Borrowing a line from a George Strait flick, the best way to sum it up is simple: “Sure is good.” And if the stars ever line up again and the need for healing rises—well, Lord have mercy on anyone within earshot.
A recorder captured a few of those sacred nights—laughter, wisdom, and the occasional feline commentary—just enough to carry the Cathouse crew back there in their minds whenever they needed it.
Note: Names have been withheld to protect the brethren from the inevitable flood of fame, fortune, and philosophical groupies that would surely follow. Some truths are best left tucked inside a guitar case.
From the label of a bottle of wine produced at the Milliard Compound Vineyard in Blue Ball, Arkansas, and presented to the brethren at a weekly meeting of the Mind Menders:
Blueball Special Reserve Blend Muscadine Wine — aged 10 days — the good stuff…
Not as good as what Jesus made, but it’ll do until something better comes along…
Instructions for proper use:
• Take as needed for depression, constipation, indigestion, and/or malnutrition.
• One small cup before musical performances, one halfway through for a lift, & one at the end.
• No liability implied by the brewer. Enjoy.
• Caution: Enhances conversation; encourages lying.