When I speak at conventions, one of my favorite topics to explore is what I call the Legends of the Crossroads. It’s not just about music—it’s about the strange places where rhythm meets the supernatural, where artists tap into something deeper than just chords and lyrics.
I talk about Robert Johnson, who met the Devil at the crossroads and walked away with a guitar full of haunted blues. I talk about Tommy Johnson, who told a similar tale before Robert ever picked up a slide. I share stories of Peetie Wheatstraw, the so-called “Devil’s Son-in-Law,” and I dive into the desert myths surrounding Gram Parsons and Jim Morrison—two visionaries who gravitated toward Joshua Tree, California, a place where the veil between worlds feels razor-thin.
But recently, I discovered a story I’d never heard before. One that sent chills down my spine. The story of Jim Sullivan.
Jim was a gifted singer-songwriter with a haunting voice and a sound that drifted between folk, rock, and country. In 1969, he released an album titled U.F.O. It didn’t make much noise back then. But years later, the record was reissued by Light in the Attic Records, and suddenly people were listening… really listening.
That’s when things got strange.
In March of 1975, Jim Sullivan vanished. He left L.A. in a Volkswagen Beetle, heading for Nashville. He stopped in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Checked into a motel. But he never spent the night. The next morning, his car was found abandoned near a remote ranch. His wallet, his clothes, even his guitar—left behind. No signs of struggle. No body. Just… gone.
Now, here’s where it gets chilling. The lyrics on U.F.O. talk about desert roads, men being followed, and yes—alien visitors. It feels less like fiction, and more like prophecy. As if Jim wasn’t just writing songs, but channeling something.
Some say he wandered into the desert and died. Others whisper about criminal elements or a nervous breakdown. But there’s another theory. One that keeps resurfacing on late-night radio and UFO forums.
That Jim Sullivan was taken.
That U.F.O. wasn’t just music—it was a message. A frequency that caught the attention of something beyond our world.
It’s not as crazy as it sounds. Sammy Hagar swears aliens downloaded information into his brain. Lemmy from Motörhead saw a craft in the countryside. Even Kendrick Lamar says he witnessed something unexplainable in the sky—and he was stone cold sober.
So maybe there is a connection between creativity and contact. Maybe some artists tune into vibrations the rest of us never hear. Maybe they’re conduits—messengers caught between this world and the next.
That’s what I love about the Legends of the Crossroads talks. They’re not just stories. They’re patterns. Echoes. Warnings. Invitations.
If you’ve never heard Jim Sullivan’s U.F.O., I challenge you to find it. Play it alone, late at night. Let the lyrics seep in. You just might find yourself glancing up at the stars… and wondering.
Was Jim Sullivan just a man with a guitar?
Or was he something more?
At the crossroads, nothing is what it seems.
By Shawn Sellers