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By the end of 1975, I’d graduated from college, lived in East Tennessee, worked for a newspaper, traveled to California, and returned to Nashville to write songs with Lee Owens. We recorded demos and performed at San Antonio’s River Festival, but by 1977, Nashville executives said our music wasn’t “country enough” and suggested New York or Los Angeles.

Then my old friend Stephen Kling called from Manhattan with a job at Record World. A few weeks later, I packed my ’66 VW van and headed north—a Tennessee catfish in the Hudson River.

I became Assistant Art Director and, in 1980, Art Director. From the 42nd floor of 1700 Broadway, I had a front-row seat to the music world, while nights at the Lone Star Café brought encounters with Willie Nelson, Hank Williams Jr., and Levon Helm. Those experiences inspired my tall-tale song, “Lindalu.”

Then came John Lennon’s murder in December 1980. At Record World, we scrapped our issue for a special Lennon edition. Days later, I joined half a million people in Central Park for his memorial. Hearing “Imagine,” I realized my youth had ended. Years later, I turned that moment into “Frozen Tears.”

When Record World folded in 1982, I became Art Director of Doubleday’s Literary Guild. Needing a “disposable car” for New York, I asked my dad, who gave me a 1962 Buick Special with a new cassette radio. One day, while listening to Flatt & Scruggs’ “Foggy Mountain Breakdown,” the Buick had its own breakdown—a blown tire on the BQE.

I returned South in 1984, but the incident inspired my final song, “Breakdown on the BQE.” I changed the Buick to an ’83 because it rhymed with BQE, but the bluegrass and blown tire are true.

© 2026 David Ray Skinner/Electric Quilt Music, BMI

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I’ve always been fascinated by the Domino Effect—the idea that one small event can trigger a chain of unexpected consequences. This episode’s Noted Stories is a perfect example. The first domino fell in the spring of 1973 when I ran into my longtime mentor, artist (and church deacon) Max McWhorter, during Spring Break. When he asked about my summer plans, I told him I’d probably return to Opryland, where I had worked the previous year. Max introduced me to Stephen Kling, a talented caricature artist at the park. Stephen encouraged me to apply, and I was hired as a caricature artist the following summer.

That became the second domino.

At Opryland I met fellow caricature artist and musician Michael Copas—the third domino. When Opryland later changed its caricature operation, Copas and I left for Gatlinburg and Stephen returned to New York. At a local watering hole in downtown Gatlinburg, we ran into Teresa, an old schoolmate of Copas, who introduced us to fiddle player Michael Thornburgh and thus, Teresa and Thornburgh became the fourth and fifth dominoes. Then Copas, Thornburgh and I eventually found a $15-a-month farmhouse (and the sixth domino) in Wear’s Valley. The farmhouse had no running water, no bathroom and no heat, but it became the center of an unforgettable summer of music, songwriting and friendship.

Inspired by the mountains and by Stephen Vincent Benét’s "The Mountain Whippoorwill," I wrote “Henry Able.” This was soon followed by this episode's second song, “Roundtop Mountain Farm,” written about the farm and farmhouse where we were living.

Then Stephen Kling returned, and he and I were hired as a “journalism team” by Tim Pollitt at the Sevier County Times—the seventh domino. I wrote stories and drew editorial cartoons and Stephen took photographs and developed and printed pictures for the cover of the paper and the inside articles.

For an “ad trade-out” with the local AM radio station, I wrote a 60-second country song/jingle for and about the Sevier County Times (naturally called "Sevier County Times") that Stephen and I recorded with some musician friends at nearby Carson-Newman. The station played it until they began receiving too many requests for it and it. A few years ago, I added some verses to it, and now, 51 years later, it's the third song in this episode.

Looking back, it’s amazing how that one conversation with Max led to Opryland, Kling, Copas, Thornburgh, the farmhouse, the newspaper—and eventually a career in New York City (which will be covered in a subsequent Noted Stories episode). I've always been in awe of the Domino Effect and how it affected my life and music—it just illustrates that sometimes the smallest encounters can change the course of everything that follows.

© 2026 David Ray Skinner/Electric Quilt Music, BMI

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During my first week at college, I met Paul Dunlap when he wandered into my dorm room while I was playing guitar. We quickly discovered that our voices blended well. A few nights later, Filmore Strunk heard us singing, added a perfect third harmony, and just like that, the three of us had something special.

The next day, a freshman coordinator asked if my new band would perform in the freshman talent show. When she asked our name, I happened to read the warning on a can of shaving cream I was holding: "Contents Under Pressure." She loved it, and the name stuck.

The band soon became known for its harmonies and eclectic repertoire. After Dan Schlafer joined us, we expanded to four-part harmony, and I began writing original story songs for the group. This episode of “Noted Stories” includes three of the songs I wrote for Contents Under Pressure.

The first song, "In About 50 Years," was a cautionary tale I wrote in 1971. More than fifty years later, I'm still amazed by how relevant it feels. The second, "One Sunday Morning," imagined soldiers arresting a pastor, “Brother Jim,” during a church service. After one performance, a man insisted Russian soldiers would never be able to invade American churches. I replied, "That's why they're not Russian soldiers—they're American." Recently, I shared the song with the real Brother Jim Henry, who laughed and said, "That was kind of prophetic, wasn't it?"

Unfortunately, the band dissolved before we could perform another new song I'd written, "Uncle Anthony," about an aging rock guitarist still playing more than fifty years in the future. Back then it was science fiction. Today, it feels surprisingly close to home.

© 2026 David Ray Skinner/Electric Quilt Music, BMI