Leo Clarke Bio of sorts . . .

Well, where to begin? After all, a life's not an easy thing to get a handle on, especially there in the middle. But for starters we can say that Leo began his life in a middle-America kind of place called Grandview, Ohio, just a stone's throw from downtown Columbus. Since that day of comin' into this mighty fine world, he's lived within ear-shot of that straight-as-an-arrow railroad track you see on the covers of the NR cd booklet. Now I don't mean to be suggesting that Leo's done no traveling and isn't a worldly kind of guy—'cause he has and he is. But much of this traveling, the real important kind, has been like that of Thoreau who said he'd “done a great deal of traveling in Concord.” Yea, something like that.

Anyway, after some summers and winters, and lotsa good ball in the Spring and Fall, Leo got to eyeing this pretty little red guitar in the store window just down the street a way—that Gibson Epiphone you see on the back of the NR jewel case—and a little bit like that proverbial kid with the piggy-bank, Leo scrimped and saved and soon held his own guitar in hand.

Now that was well over a decade ago, and while much could certainly be said about the intervening years—and maybe some day we will—it's probably best to just point you to the music. That's Leo's real autobiography, sung in a voice that the printed word just wouldn't get. The songs tell the story. And the story's a single song.

But, dear reader, I hasten to add that these twelve songs on No Rewind are not simple autobiography. They're not about Leo shouting “me, me, me.” No, these songs are about the broader and bigger story of livin' in this not-so-easy world of highs and lows—they're about people Leo's known, heard about, maybe read about, thought about, dreamed about, and walked about in their shoes. Yea, it's Leo singing, but it's not just his song. So maybe you can find a bit of your own life, with all of its ups and downs and everything else, there in Leo's music. In a nutshell, we hope these songs help you find your own groove, every now and then, just when you need it most. ‘Cause yea, love comes once, then hurts twice. But then the sun comes up again, shining down on all our friends.

(the following is a conversation that could have happened, but didn't, or hasn't, and probably won't)

DR: So Leo, what's up with the railroad track? I mean, isn't it a bit cliché? Couldn't you come up with something more mod, even post-mod? Something digital, something 21st? I mean, you're not even 20th century, dude, you're 19th. What's up with that? I thought you wanted to go somewhere with this music of yours?

LC: Well Doc, I gotta tell you, I'm just a bit disappointed in ya. I thought you knew something ‘bout music and America and how it all came to be? I mean, not that I'm a genius or anything, but I've got some sense of how we got where we are and what we owe to whom. You know— all that stuff about the Delta, the mountains, a-goin' down and coming up the river, and the hobos, the traveling, the tracks, ol' Woody Guthrie, straight on up through Dylan, right on down to our day. East, West, and the heartland all coming together and movin' on down that mighty track. You know, where we came from and where we're goin'. No rewind. That sort of thing. Anyway, that's what I'm thinkin' ‘bout.

DR: Hhmmm [a curious look of skeptical befuddlement crosses his face] . . .

LC: And then if you want to take it even a bit further—or is that “farther”?—just take the booklet in hand and stare at it for a while, lookin' right on down that track, way off into the blue, blue infinity, and just ponder all the comin' and goin' of all those before us that brought us here to this day. And then, after a while—maybe when your eyeballs get to hurtin' a bit and you gotta blink once or twice—flip the booklet over and stare on down the track again, and ask yourself where ya been and where you're going. And who ya going with?


DR: (Pause) Did Sqwiggy tell you that?