And the next thing I know, the motor was in the front seat with me, and I was all up in the steering wheel, and the door was opening, and this big old huge police was jerking me out of the vehicle. And he was getting ready to shoot me, and this old lady, Maude and Bertha's old mama, was at the door, and she hollered, 'You better not shoot him. You better not shoot him. We watching you. You can do anything you want to him, take him to jail, but you better not shoot him.' So actually, that old lady, she saved my life. The tree, it hindered me. I still see that tree. I really want to get that tree out of that yard and make a piece of art out of it, 'cause there's a big old sore on that tree from where I hit it.

Like all artists, his craft has been shaped by life experiences. Unlike most featured here, the creative outlet has largely been the visual medium, his first musical release coming in 2012 at the age of 62. Further, and most significantly, Lonnie Holley's upbringing in the South is a tale unlike any told here and one in which it's best to read his own words. 

The story above is taken from audio recordings nearly 30 years old and featured on the website of a non-profit organization that "advocates the inclusion of Black artists from the South in the canon of American art history and fosters economic empowerment, racial and social justice, and educational advancement in the communities that gave rise to these artists."

I highly recommend reading the entirety of Holley's words on Souls Grown Deep. It's a narrative of immense pain and suffering, but also one of optimism and perseverance. Both ends of that spectrum are reflected lyrically, and autobiographically, throughout Oh Me Oh My, while musically the songs represent an extension of the varied elements of his physical art. 

We've all been tested. Some more than others.