Ghost Town Parade

Hey Zoo Freaks, it's your lantern-glow Zoo Crew easing in from the whispering winds of THE ZOO, where the maples are shedding their fiery cloaks and the twilight's got that extra hush. We're wandering into Les Dudek's "Ghost Town Parade" from his '78 Southern rock spellbinder, and boy, does this track paint a picture of dusty streets and showdown stares that'll chill your bones under a harvest moon. Les penned it himself, crooning about folks fumbling through the smog of life—"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be that way, but I get a little confused keepin' up with each day"—a bluesy lament for the rich and ragged marching toward some dusty end, with Newton's gravity pulling hard and birds weary from the headwinds of human folly. In a chat with Sweet Home Music, Les reflected on cutting the album with producer Bruce Botnick, that wizard behind the Doors' doors, saying he handpicked the crew like old road dogs, including Cream's Jack Bruce on backing howls for the opener and Toto's Jeff Porcaro thumping the skins—pure alchemy in the Record Plant haze. Fans on X are still parading it this season, one post from last Samhain calling it "a showdown day in a ghost town parade" straight from the vinyl groove, another spinning the full LP with snaps of the gatefold sleeve, quipping it's the underrated gem that sneaks up like a specter in the fog. And get this: at just 25, Les layered his slide guitar like a weeping willow over the strings arranged by Jerry Long, turning what coulda been a barroom shuffle into a cinematic stroll through the shadows—timeless twang that lingers like campfire smoke.

Now let's meander back to the sun-drenched sands of Florida where a Navy brat first plucked strings under the palms, 'cause Les Dudek didn't just pick up the guitar—he chased it like a hound after a rabbit, born in '52 on a Rhode Island airstrip to a WWII vet dad from Nebraska and a Rockette mom from Brooklyn's bright lights. Family roots tangled Czech, German, Italian, and Russian, but music ran deeper than blood; big sis Sandy spun Elvis and Beach Boys platters while Les, knee-high, begged for that Sears Silvertone acoustic at ten after the Beatles lit his fuse—Cream's fire, Hendrix haze, and Ventures' twang sealing the spell. By high school in Auburndale, he's jamming Delta blues and psych swirls in garage packs like United Sounds and Blue Truth, gigging frat bashes till the gigs glow bigger with Power, honing that dueling axe that'd soon echo worldwide. Buddy Holly's crash hit like thunder on his transistor radio, but it only fanned the flames; snagging a Mosrite electric, he traded licks with Carl Chambers—future Lynyrd Skynyrd cat—till a Zippo dent became a badge of battle. Word spreads like Spanish moss in the breeze, landing him in Macon at Capricorn's golden gates in '73, where Dickey Betts ropes him for harmonies on "Ramblin' Man" and a bridge whisper on "Jessica"—Les later griped in Guitar World, "I was promised credits and royalties, which I never got," but those riffs launched him skyward. Boz Scaggs calls next for Silk Degrees slide sorcery, Steve Miller taps him for Fly Like an Eagle's "Space Intro," and poof—Journey dangles founding keys for two hours before Columbia's solo deal snags him. From Florida jams to Allman anthems, the kid with the wandering fingers wove a tapestry of twang that still hums in the delta breeze.

If the parade's piping your tune, Zoo Freaks, amble over to the official Les Dudek site for disc-hopping delights, bio scrolls, and ghostly gallery gazes that'll tug your heartstrings. Swing by the Facebook page where nearly five thousand faithful swap licks and liner notes, a digital campfire for Southern souls. No fresh Instagram or X haunts in the ether, but kindred spirits gather on forums like the Steve Hoffman Music Forums thread for vinyl vows and rare reel reveries, or haunt the AllMusic bio nook for deeper dives into his delta dreams. Light the jack-o'-lantern, cue the slide, and let's stroll that spectral street till the roosters rouse, my autumnal acolytes.