He wears two hats.

He wears two hats.
One is invisible.
It secretly sits to the side 
More like a crown wrapped in Kinte.
Carefully, Covering covert musical masterpieces,
 waiting inside and in-between the notes.
Hidden like some practical joke, about to spring forth.
You can barely see it coming, with your minds’ eye. 
Super-Hero sounds birthing from his big black bass 
Long Sensuous strings 
Shadowing slowly, as they slide into serene solitude.
Who knew that a 1920’s British aviator would land under his cap.
Gracing the name Bulldog Drummond. 
As he passes on his tag .
To this new cat named Ray.
Have you heard his ice-cold killer bass?
He makes your ears smile, 
as his sounds serenade your three tiny drums 
Massaging music vibrates in three-part harmony whenever he plays. 
He makes Mingus and Paul Chambers work overtime for free.
Each sound perfect, hardly holding each other hands  With gentle, gingerly rhythms and soft subtle sways.
Chasing away any hint of Blues…beaten up by the bass.
So long sad sorrows.
Slowly, slip, slip away.
There is no room for you here. 
Only Ray knows what to play, 

Simple begets complex whenever Ray Drummong plays.
He chases away all sorrows with a simple, shy, smoky smile 
That holds a love secret hidden in its cap. 
Did You know you actually think better 
when wearing both hats?
Your thoughts dance and sing with magical, mystical tender tones, 
Waiting to be heard. 
Your fingers Double-Dutch across the bass strings
Unlocking colors, tones, flavors, senses, dreams, all before they are born.
Colorful chords, of fusion, 
jazz low tones blend into a 
perfect sextet of sensations. 
Wild wooden wishes ooze through the spicy spruce surface
sending signals down 
deep, deliciously dark and delightfully dense.
Your ears delicately dance with your tapping toes 
when Ray Bulldog Drummonds’ sacred solos 
and melodic magic melodies melt your mind.
His bass blends each instrument into each other with crystal clear clarity. 
Close your eyes and see stardust all over his strings.
His fingerprints are constellations in reverse.
Seamless surreal sounds surround endless jam sessions 
His rhythmic rebellions are ravenous with rapture.
Weaving together harmonies only “Bulldog” could muster between his ten fierce fingers.
Winter Wind whispers complex compositions and adventuresome arrangements 
Fresh From the wings of Tuskegee Airmen ancestors humming lazy lullabies.
Ray listens with attention and pride.
Who knew your French Horn would lead you down this jazzy journey to the Upright Bass?
It’s true, his high school teacher saw Ray for who is really was. 
He heard something that no one else could hear. 
He saw his two hats before Ray looked in the mirror of Time.
So, whenever you hear Ray “Bulldog” Drummond’s music,
Stop. Take a quick peep with one eye open, you dig.
You just might hear some
Deep thick thunder 
laying down lavish lamenting lightning on his badass Bass. 

A Poem By Enidpickett
Dedicated to the life of Ray “Bulldog” Drummond
1947-2025