From an interview by Sir Allen Issacs with Marie Rey (Duval Rey's older sisiter, who he lived with and who and cared for him all of his life until he suffered a stroke in 1998. Duval resides in a nursing home at The Sisters of Mercy Convent in New Orleans, LA.)
“Duval was a special child. He was so special the Lord took his sight away in 1942 when he was 7 and I was 12. But Duval said that just made music 'sweeter' to his ears. He remembered every song he heard. He'd take in a song in, an it'd come out different.
Uncle Jean's banjo was Duval's first and favorite instrument. Jean, he took that banjo in some bad places full of evil and fornication. Duval started playing when he was nine, the banjo already sounded like an old man was playing it. I swear that banjo was haunted. Duval said he could feel the banjo purr when he was 'treatin' her right.'
Duval played all kinds of music. He played all kinds of instruments. Duval, he was fidgety. When he couldn't do enough with just the banjo he'd play anything else; kazoo, pots and pans even, clothesline pulley. He could get music out of anything and then he started playing them all at once.
The neighbors got fed up with the racket so I started taking him down to the streetcar stop every day when I went to work. I'd help him carry his rig. That's what he called his instruments, his 'rig'.
Duval played on that corner all day, every day. People loved him. Came there just to hear him.
I cleaned house for a man – the New Orleans Symphony director. One day, he heard Duval, thought he was really something. The symphony man said Duval made great music. He gave Duval a bunch of records, and Duval's music changed. He made sounds before that would make people smile. Then it started sounding like an orchestra when he played his rig. Them sounds could make you cry.
Finally, his music changed again, and this time, in a mysterious way. A stranger came by one afternoon and started playing along with him – man in the crowd said he was a raggedy hobo with a beat up old metal guitar. Duval said it seemed like birds, bells, trains, howling animals, and a whole world of sounds came swirling out of that guitar. All those things, they got in Duval's music too. The stranger came and went like a dream.
Duval got even more serious about his music after that day. Said he wanted to write a symphony. Course he couldn't really write nothing down, he just remembered how to play it. He quit playing on the street corner. He'd spend days and nights at the house, just worrying over his 'rig' and playing those songs 'til he'd pass out on the floor...just plain exhausted. One day, later on, he got these boys in Meterie to make a tape for him. That's what you've got here. The only record he ever made.”
-Marie Rey
“Duval was a special child. He was so special the Lord took his sight away in 1942 when he was 7 and I was 12. But Duval said that just made music 'sweeter' to his ears. He remembered every song he heard. He'd take in a song in, an it'd come out different.
Uncle Jean's banjo was Duval's first and favorite instrument. Jean, he took that banjo in some bad places full of evil and fornication. Duval started playing when he was nine, the banjo already sounded like an old man was playing it. I swear that banjo was haunted. Duval said he could feel the banjo purr when he was 'treatin' her right.'
Duval played all kinds of music. He played all kinds of instruments. Duval, he was fidgety. When he couldn't do enough with just the banjo he'd play anything else; kazoo, pots and pans even, clothesline pulley. He could get music out of anything and then he started playing them all at once.
The neighbors got fed up with the racket so I started taking him down to the streetcar stop every day when I went to work. I'd help him carry his rig. That's what he called his instruments, his 'rig'.
Duval played on that corner all day, every day. People loved him. Came there just to hear him.
I cleaned house for a man – the New Orleans Symphony director. One day, he heard Duval, thought he was really something. The symphony man said Duval made great music. He gave Duval a bunch of records, and Duval's music changed. He made sounds before that would make people smile. Then it started sounding like an orchestra when he played his rig. Them sounds could make you cry.
Finally, his music changed again, and this time, in a mysterious way. A stranger came by one afternoon and started playing along with him – man in the crowd said he was a raggedy hobo with a beat up old metal guitar. Duval said it seemed like birds, bells, trains, howling animals, and a whole world of sounds came swirling out of that guitar. All those things, they got in Duval's music too. The stranger came and went like a dream.
Duval got even more serious about his music after that day. Said he wanted to write a symphony. Course he couldn't really write nothing down, he just remembered how to play it. He quit playing on the street corner. He'd spend days and nights at the house, just worrying over his 'rig' and playing those songs 'til he'd pass out on the floor...just plain exhausted. One day, later on, he got these boys in Meterie to make a tape for him. That's what you've got here. The only record he ever made.”
-Marie Rey
