The next morning the house was buzzing with energy, I woke up after a few hours sleep, refreshed and energized. There was the hum and excitement of women in the house and domestic smells of breakfast being made. Sausage and eggs were in the air. I could hear the radio playing from the kitchen. I went down to the kitchen to find the boys sitting at the kitchen table, each with a girl I recognized from last night's audience. They had finished eating, their plates pushed away from them. The boys were leaning back in their chairs. The cats that ate the canaries, they were all engrossed in their own conversations until I walked into the room.
"Welcome to the Rock ‘n’ Roll lifestyle," I said, "I see the fruits of your labor are paying off, already."
"Good Morning, Michael!" Greeted me in chorus.
"What happened to you last night?" Johnny asked.
"I went down to the lake to think things over."
"Annnd?" Ian prompted.
"I noticed during Five to One Brian was a little sloppy on the solo."
"Man, can we talk about it the next time we practice? I mean let us enjoy this."
"That's not the right attitude for success."
"Cmon, let's bask in our glory a little." Johnny said.
"OK," I said, "did anyone get the paper and see if we got a review."
"Nah, we didn't check the paper."
"A good review might get us a better deal with the agent Reggie was talking about."
"Man, you really need to get laid."
"I've fucked most of the girls in this town," I said. I walked out to the front porch to get the morning paper. I wanted to see if any of my efforts to plant a story, or get a review in one of the papers had succeeded. I leafed through the paper until I found Jim's column. It had a badly printed but recognizable picture of him at the columns head. The headline jumped out at me, but I couldn't bring myself to read the review. I knew we did a good show. I did my best, but what if someone else not as close to it saw something different and didn't like it? It was only a mention in a column anyway, I rationalized, but like my grandmother used to say "you have to start somewhere." I heard the phone ringing, one of the boys took the message. It was Reggie reminding us of our appointment on Wednesday with Swifty, the booking agent, and the directions to his office. I made a note to myself to call Swifty first thing Monday morning.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter 17 & 18: Left Behind & Swifty
Showing posts with label Doors tribute band. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doors tribute band. Show all posts
Monday, April 19, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Trial Run
Trial Run
I arrived at 'The Place' at about eight on the night of the show. I was dressed in black leather pants, a white Mexican wedding shirt, and silver concho belt that I bought that day. I got a pair of leather pants at the local Harley distributor right off their rack. The shirt and concho belt were a little harder to find because where do you find a Mexican wedding shirt in Madison, Wisconsin? I ended up in the woman's department of a local retailer. There were no Mexican wedding shirts, so I found a shirt that closest fit the picture in my mind. And the concho belt? Well, just about every woman's department in America carries them or a similar design. The sum of the whole was greater than its parts. Since we had started practicing I had let my hair grow out. It wasn't as long as Morrison's, but altogether I looked like Morrison at his apex.
The band had spent the afternoon setting up their equipment and doing the sound check, while I was shopping. I had spent the morning calling the local papers, including Jim who had taken me to see Ray only a few months prior. I went back stage and found the boys in the dressing room. It was small and cramped. On the far wall there was an old couch that was dirty and stained that Johnny and Brian shared. Ian and Mitchell were sitting in feeble looking chairs with their backs to the door, a rickety table was jammed between the couch and the chairs, and all this was only a few steps from the stage out of sight of the customers.
"Well, lookit here, our own Mr. Mojo Risin'!" Brian said, as I walked into the room.
"I never would've believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Mitchell said.
"Well, all right, Michael! We just may pull this off after all."
"What song should we start with?" Johnny asked.
"How about The End!" Ian blurted out, "that way we can make a quick exit, if we need to."
"Ha, ha, very funny," I said, "how about Break On Through?" We sat there waiting to go on. I had plenty of time to think as we sat killing time until we went on. Johnny and Brian were lucky they could pass the time tuning their guitars, or playing little impromptu tunes on the guitars which sat in guitar stands by their side. I tried to get into character I was trying to think like an actor, trying to get Morrison's character in my head and how he would act in this situation. Morrison himself came from a theatre background, having studied at Florida State, he went on to UCLA to study film. Theatre was always one of his intentions. For the feeling of the song I envisioned the promotional film The Doors had done when Break On Through was released as a single, all in black except for a couple of colored lights blinking, each of The Doors in a spotlight separated by darkness, Morrison pouting, trying to seduce the invisible audience.
"Whatta ya gotta do to get a beer around here?" I asked.
"Buy it." The unanimous reply.
We decided to start with Break On Through. It seemed to make sense, it was the first song on the first album and this was our first time in front of an audience. The band went on first. They started to play a drawn out introduction which was typical Doors strategy. They liked to let the pressure in an audience build until the last moment. Then Morrison would come out and release them from the musical trance. I walked out onto the stage and was standing above the heads of the crowd. The room was densely packed and the clamor of voices died down as everyone in the room looked up at me, the audience in anticipation of the show, and the band to see if I could actually do it. The only routes of escape were, singing, or jumping off the stage, pushing my way through the crowd, and out of the club. The band hit the vocal cue for Break On Through. I sang.
"You know day destroys the night." As I sang the words I didn't feel the tension of the audience break, they didn't move, they just sat there staring at me, or carrying on the conversations they were already involved in. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see them and hit the words of the next lyric hard "tried to run, tried to hide" to shock them into some kind of reaction, nothing. During the instrumental I danced around the stage trying to engage them and when I got to "the gate is straight, deep and wide," I made it as suggestive as I could. Nothing. I finished out the song as best I could. When it was over there was silence, no clapping. All I heard was the background noise of drinks being ordered and continuing conversation. The audience didn't seem to be paying any attention to us. I stared at the audience frozen, not knowing what to do. I could see all my hopes ending there, after one song, the shortest career in music history, one song long. The band started playing Roadhouse Blues. I didn't know if I should get off the stage, or stay for whatever humiliation still awaited me. I missed the cue for the vocals to come in, but the band seamlessly went back into the song and started over. I don't think the audience noticed. Then something switched over in me, I wasn't going to allow them to humiliate me. I wasn't going to let them control how I felt. I was in control, I screamed one all for nothing scream, venting all my anger and rage towards the audience, torn from my throat. Then I hit the vocal cue.
"Going to the roadhouse, gonna have a real GOOD TIME!" The audience started clapping and cheering. The infection of the music moving them past the reservations they had, or maybe they were more familiar with 'Roadhouse', or maybe it was just a more up tempo good timey blues song, or just maybe I had shocked them into realizing we couldn't be ignored. During the rest of the set I pulled out all of Morrison's moves that I'd worked up during rehearsals. During the solo on Light My Fire, I went over to Mitchell and watched as he dibbled at his keyboards almost as intently as Ray Manzarek himself. I went into the audience and let a few people scream or sing. I acted out the firing squad scene of The Unknown Soldier. I fell on the stage writhing and contorting, I shocked the audience. In short, I gave them a real Doors show.
To end the show we were going to end it the way The Doors usually did, with The End. From the first lilting tones of the guitar, I was immersed in the song. I became part of the song. I didn't need to remember when to come in, I didn't need to remember the words, I didn't need to react, just act. I just was. I was the song, I was Jim Morrison! When it got to the Oedipal section after delivering the lines, "father? Yes, son? I want to kill you. Mother, I want to...fuck you!" I screamed again as the band lashed out into a musical torrent of primal torment. I whipped myself into a fury, twirling, dancing with the music, no acting, no rehearsed moves, being on-stage was like having sex, you exist outside of time and space, you‘re immortal. I fell to the floor hard and delivered the last lines from the floor. I laid on the floor for a second or two, one arm hanging off the stage, the shirt matted to my skin, my chest heaving, I was empty, devoid of everything, I stood on the precipice looking out into the darkness, as I pulled myself to a sitting position, then it happened...applause, real applause, people waving and cheering. It filled me with me with a warmth and became a power within me, it was birth, a metamorphosis, new worlds lay before me that hadn't existed before, I felt as if I were becoming larger than the room, like the room couldn't contain what I was becoming, I rose up out of my mind "I AM!" I could go on for hours. I didn't want the feeling to end, and I understood why Morrison had wanted to keep the party going. Why he needed to drink just to slow it down so he could feel normal again, to quell the excitement, keeping the hounds at bay. This is where Morrison got that energy.
"Thank you! Thank you!" I said. I decided to throw in an improvised Morrisonesque rap. Not the exact words he ever said, or that I ever heard, but they had the feel of Morrison.
"All right! All right!" I said, "this is work for me, I wanta get outta here and have some fun, fun, fun, and some other words that start with fu!" A final cheer went up as we left the stage.
Back stage we were celebrating, people were crowding into the dressing room to congratulate us. Pressing in to shake our hands and/or tell us how cool we were. It seemed the whole audience had packed in backstage. It was the seed of addiction. I wanted to get up there again and again. I wanted to sing and dance! We were having a beer reveling in the success when Reggie finally was able to make his way to us.
"You guys were great!" I could hear him shouting over the crowd, to Johnny. Johnny looked excited, "I'll book you guys! This Doors act really packed the people in and you guys were really good. If I closed my eyes I could almost see The Doors. I'll book you guys for a couple of weeks, that'll give you some money. If you want, I can set you up with a booker who can get you guys a tour, at least through the Midwest. It'll be a lot of riding around in a van together, sleeping in cheap motels, or in the van on the way to the next gig, but you can get some bucks for it and maybe some groupies. That is if you want to do it?"
"Uh, I, we, uh...." Johnny stammered, and the rest of the band looked sheepish.
Reggie noticed their reaction "This Doors act wasn't just some kind of ploy to book your original act, was it?" Johnny looked at his band mates trying to decide what was the right answer to get the gig.
"No, no...this Doors thing is our act, it's Michael's idea." Johnny said motioning to me.
"OK, then." Reggie said, shaking his head.
"All that doesn't sound too appetizing." Johnny said.
"The groupies do." Ian said.
"C'mon you're in your twenties!" I said trying to motivate them, "this is the time you'll spend sleeping on your friends' floor, not eating, and screwing women you don't know anyway. Why not do it for your career, making some money, and the spirit of adventure? How many people can do that? Do you want to live your life or read about it when some other band becomes famous because they did it?"
"Who's this guy? The booker, I mean," Johnny asked.
"His name is Swifty."
"A little Runyunesque don't you think?"
"Where'd you hear a phrase like Runyunesque?" I asked.
"Probably the same place you did, a book."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapt 16: Breakfast of Champions
I arrived at 'The Place' at about eight on the night of the show. I was dressed in black leather pants, a white Mexican wedding shirt, and silver concho belt that I bought that day. I got a pair of leather pants at the local Harley distributor right off their rack. The shirt and concho belt were a little harder to find because where do you find a Mexican wedding shirt in Madison, Wisconsin? I ended up in the woman's department of a local retailer. There were no Mexican wedding shirts, so I found a shirt that closest fit the picture in my mind. And the concho belt? Well, just about every woman's department in America carries them or a similar design. The sum of the whole was greater than its parts. Since we had started practicing I had let my hair grow out. It wasn't as long as Morrison's, but altogether I looked like Morrison at his apex.
The band had spent the afternoon setting up their equipment and doing the sound check, while I was shopping. I had spent the morning calling the local papers, including Jim who had taken me to see Ray only a few months prior. I went back stage and found the boys in the dressing room. It was small and cramped. On the far wall there was an old couch that was dirty and stained that Johnny and Brian shared. Ian and Mitchell were sitting in feeble looking chairs with their backs to the door, a rickety table was jammed between the couch and the chairs, and all this was only a few steps from the stage out of sight of the customers.
"Well, lookit here, our own Mr. Mojo Risin'!" Brian said, as I walked into the room.
"I never would've believed it, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes." Mitchell said.
"Well, all right, Michael! We just may pull this off after all."
"What song should we start with?" Johnny asked.
"How about The End!" Ian blurted out, "that way we can make a quick exit, if we need to."
"Ha, ha, very funny," I said, "how about Break On Through?" We sat there waiting to go on. I had plenty of time to think as we sat killing time until we went on. Johnny and Brian were lucky they could pass the time tuning their guitars, or playing little impromptu tunes on the guitars which sat in guitar stands by their side. I tried to get into character I was trying to think like an actor, trying to get Morrison's character in my head and how he would act in this situation. Morrison himself came from a theatre background, having studied at Florida State, he went on to UCLA to study film. Theatre was always one of his intentions. For the feeling of the song I envisioned the promotional film The Doors had done when Break On Through was released as a single, all in black except for a couple of colored lights blinking, each of The Doors in a spotlight separated by darkness, Morrison pouting, trying to seduce the invisible audience.
"Whatta ya gotta do to get a beer around here?" I asked.
"Buy it." The unanimous reply.
We decided to start with Break On Through. It seemed to make sense, it was the first song on the first album and this was our first time in front of an audience. The band went on first. They started to play a drawn out introduction which was typical Doors strategy. They liked to let the pressure in an audience build until the last moment. Then Morrison would come out and release them from the musical trance. I walked out onto the stage and was standing above the heads of the crowd. The room was densely packed and the clamor of voices died down as everyone in the room looked up at me, the audience in anticipation of the show, and the band to see if I could actually do it. The only routes of escape were, singing, or jumping off the stage, pushing my way through the crowd, and out of the club. The band hit the vocal cue for Break On Through. I sang.
"You know day destroys the night." As I sang the words I didn't feel the tension of the audience break, they didn't move, they just sat there staring at me, or carrying on the conversations they were already involved in. I closed my eyes so I wouldn't have to see them and hit the words of the next lyric hard "tried to run, tried to hide" to shock them into some kind of reaction, nothing. During the instrumental I danced around the stage trying to engage them and when I got to "the gate is straight, deep and wide," I made it as suggestive as I could. Nothing. I finished out the song as best I could. When it was over there was silence, no clapping. All I heard was the background noise of drinks being ordered and continuing conversation. The audience didn't seem to be paying any attention to us. I stared at the audience frozen, not knowing what to do. I could see all my hopes ending there, after one song, the shortest career in music history, one song long. The band started playing Roadhouse Blues. I didn't know if I should get off the stage, or stay for whatever humiliation still awaited me. I missed the cue for the vocals to come in, but the band seamlessly went back into the song and started over. I don't think the audience noticed. Then something switched over in me, I wasn't going to allow them to humiliate me. I wasn't going to let them control how I felt. I was in control, I screamed one all for nothing scream, venting all my anger and rage towards the audience, torn from my throat. Then I hit the vocal cue.
"Going to the roadhouse, gonna have a real GOOD TIME!" The audience started clapping and cheering. The infection of the music moving them past the reservations they had, or maybe they were more familiar with 'Roadhouse', or maybe it was just a more up tempo good timey blues song, or just maybe I had shocked them into realizing we couldn't be ignored. During the rest of the set I pulled out all of Morrison's moves that I'd worked up during rehearsals. During the solo on Light My Fire, I went over to Mitchell and watched as he dibbled at his keyboards almost as intently as Ray Manzarek himself. I went into the audience and let a few people scream or sing. I acted out the firing squad scene of The Unknown Soldier. I fell on the stage writhing and contorting, I shocked the audience. In short, I gave them a real Doors show.
To end the show we were going to end it the way The Doors usually did, with The End. From the first lilting tones of the guitar, I was immersed in the song. I became part of the song. I didn't need to remember when to come in, I didn't need to remember the words, I didn't need to react, just act. I just was. I was the song, I was Jim Morrison! When it got to the Oedipal section after delivering the lines, "father? Yes, son? I want to kill you. Mother, I want to...fuck you!" I screamed again as the band lashed out into a musical torrent of primal torment. I whipped myself into a fury, twirling, dancing with the music, no acting, no rehearsed moves, being on-stage was like having sex, you exist outside of time and space, you‘re immortal. I fell to the floor hard and delivered the last lines from the floor. I laid on the floor for a second or two, one arm hanging off the stage, the shirt matted to my skin, my chest heaving, I was empty, devoid of everything, I stood on the precipice looking out into the darkness, as I pulled myself to a sitting position, then it happened...applause, real applause, people waving and cheering. It filled me with me with a warmth and became a power within me, it was birth, a metamorphosis, new worlds lay before me that hadn't existed before, I felt as if I were becoming larger than the room, like the room couldn't contain what I was becoming, I rose up out of my mind "I AM!" I could go on for hours. I didn't want the feeling to end, and I understood why Morrison had wanted to keep the party going. Why he needed to drink just to slow it down so he could feel normal again, to quell the excitement, keeping the hounds at bay. This is where Morrison got that energy.
"Thank you! Thank you!" I said. I decided to throw in an improvised Morrisonesque rap. Not the exact words he ever said, or that I ever heard, but they had the feel of Morrison.
"All right! All right!" I said, "this is work for me, I wanta get outta here and have some fun, fun, fun, and some other words that start with fu!" A final cheer went up as we left the stage.
Back stage we were celebrating, people were crowding into the dressing room to congratulate us. Pressing in to shake our hands and/or tell us how cool we were. It seemed the whole audience had packed in backstage. It was the seed of addiction. I wanted to get up there again and again. I wanted to sing and dance! We were having a beer reveling in the success when Reggie finally was able to make his way to us.
"You guys were great!" I could hear him shouting over the crowd, to Johnny. Johnny looked excited, "I'll book you guys! This Doors act really packed the people in and you guys were really good. If I closed my eyes I could almost see The Doors. I'll book you guys for a couple of weeks, that'll give you some money. If you want, I can set you up with a booker who can get you guys a tour, at least through the Midwest. It'll be a lot of riding around in a van together, sleeping in cheap motels, or in the van on the way to the next gig, but you can get some bucks for it and maybe some groupies. That is if you want to do it?"
"Uh, I, we, uh...." Johnny stammered, and the rest of the band looked sheepish.
Reggie noticed their reaction "This Doors act wasn't just some kind of ploy to book your original act, was it?" Johnny looked at his band mates trying to decide what was the right answer to get the gig.
"No, no...this Doors thing is our act, it's Michael's idea." Johnny said motioning to me.
"OK, then." Reggie said, shaking his head.
"All that doesn't sound too appetizing." Johnny said.
"The groupies do." Ian said.
"C'mon you're in your twenties!" I said trying to motivate them, "this is the time you'll spend sleeping on your friends' floor, not eating, and screwing women you don't know anyway. Why not do it for your career, making some money, and the spirit of adventure? How many people can do that? Do you want to live your life or read about it when some other band becomes famous because they did it?"
"Who's this guy? The booker, I mean," Johnny asked.
"His name is Swifty."
"A little Runyunesque don't you think?"
"Where'd you hear a phrase like Runyunesque?" I asked.
"Probably the same place you did, a book."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapt 16: Breakfast of Champions
Monday, April 5, 2010
Practice Gig
We'd been practicing for a couple of months, the band had worked out the arrangements on most of The Doors' songs. They sounded perfect, but not too perfect, they just left in any mistakes, not that they were playing sloppy, it's just those random elements gave it the needed spontaneity. It was a delicate balance. I decided we were ready to find a gig. First of all to see how the act would go over, and secondly the boys were getting anxious and starting to make noises about all the rehearsal being a pointless exercise, and that it was taking them away from their own music, and lastly some money in their pockets would go a long way towards relieving all those feelings. One afternoon I skipped rehearsal and went to 'The Place' and talked to Reggie. When I got back to the house the boys were rehearsing a song I didn't recognize. I looked around the room and realized it had become and looked like a place where four guys lived.
"We gotta get this place cleaned up." I yelled. They stopped playing and looked at me, trying to figure out if I was serious or not. In the time we'd been practicing we had developed a good working camaraderie. Not quite friendship, but bordering on it.
"Hey man," Johnny said, “when do you want to learn more about the music?”
“I don’t want to know too much about the music it might lose it’s magic for me, I don’t ask you to do any of the singing, do I? But I have some good news.”
“Like what?”
"I got us a gig!" I yelled.
"We got a gig!" They all said, excitedly, jumping towards me, wanting to hear all the details.
"Where?" Johnny asked.
"At The Place."
"How'd you do that?"
"I'm friends with Reggie." I said.
"You're friends with...Reggie? You said..." Johnny started, then blew out a breath in frustration. He didn't seem as excited as he had been the moment before. "Well, thanks for saying something to Reggie about us the day we auditioned."
"It's his business which bands he hires."
"But he booked your cover band idea without even listening to us?!"
"Well, he did want to hear the band," I said, "but when I mentioned that he'd heard you guys before, and I told him who you guys were. I guess your performance impressed him enough, it clinched the deal for him."
“But he hired the cover band sight unseen…” Ian said.
"If you thought we were good enough for your cover band idea, and you seem to have some influence with him, you could have mentioned something to him that first day."
"No, I couldn't have," I said, "what makes you think my opinion would have changed his mind?"
"If you believed in our music you could've said something, it might have said something to him."
"Well, I thought you guys would be excited that I got us a gig."
"We are." Brian said, "maybe just in shock."
"So, what're you guys rehearsing?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"We're rehearsing our stuff."
"Oh, you guys are rehearsing your songs?"
"Yeah, dude, we've been rehearsing every day after you left."
"Oh, well,..."
"Do you mind?" Johnny said, "this is for the band only."
"Well, rehearsal is over, ...uh..." I stammered, "I guess...I, OK." I went back to the kitchen, opened a beer and listened to them work up their songs.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapt 15: Trial Run
"We gotta get this place cleaned up." I yelled. They stopped playing and looked at me, trying to figure out if I was serious or not. In the time we'd been practicing we had developed a good working camaraderie. Not quite friendship, but bordering on it.
"Hey man," Johnny said, “when do you want to learn more about the music?”
“I don’t want to know too much about the music it might lose it’s magic for me, I don’t ask you to do any of the singing, do I? But I have some good news.”
“Like what?”
"I got us a gig!" I yelled.
"We got a gig!" They all said, excitedly, jumping towards me, wanting to hear all the details.
"Where?" Johnny asked.
"At The Place."
"How'd you do that?"
"I'm friends with Reggie." I said.
"You're friends with...Reggie? You said..." Johnny started, then blew out a breath in frustration. He didn't seem as excited as he had been the moment before. "Well, thanks for saying something to Reggie about us the day we auditioned."
"It's his business which bands he hires."
"But he booked your cover band idea without even listening to us?!"
"Well, he did want to hear the band," I said, "but when I mentioned that he'd heard you guys before, and I told him who you guys were. I guess your performance impressed him enough, it clinched the deal for him."
“But he hired the cover band sight unseen…” Ian said.
"If you thought we were good enough for your cover band idea, and you seem to have some influence with him, you could have mentioned something to him that first day."
"No, I couldn't have," I said, "what makes you think my opinion would have changed his mind?"
"If you believed in our music you could've said something, it might have said something to him."
"Well, I thought you guys would be excited that I got us a gig."
"We are." Brian said, "maybe just in shock."
"So, what're you guys rehearsing?" I asked, trying to change the subject.
"We're rehearsing our stuff."
"Oh, you guys are rehearsing your songs?"
"Yeah, dude, we've been rehearsing every day after you left."
"Oh, well,..."
"Do you mind?" Johnny said, "this is for the band only."
"Well, rehearsal is over, ...uh..." I stammered, "I guess...I, OK." I went back to the kitchen, opened a beer and listened to them work up their songs.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapt 15: Trial Run
Monday, March 22, 2010
The House
We stood on the lawn in front of the house I had rented. It was white and hadn't been lived in for some time, the paint was chipped and peeling in places, smudged and dirty in others, but the important thing was, it was far from any neighbors.
"It doesn't look like much." Johnny said.
"It's not supposed to, it’s a rehearsal space.” I said. "Come on, let me show you the inside." I led them up the stairs and into the house. "How do you like it?" My voice echoed in the empty rooms, "see, we can set up the equipment and practice down here in the living room, the kitchen's right over there." I said pointing, "and the dining room is adjacent to both." They wandered around the room in ever expanding circles, looking at everything and taking possession of it with their eyes, getting the feel of it with their bodies as they moved from room to room, "upstairs are some bedrooms. I'll be living up there, but we can throw some mattresses in the other rooms in case someone needs to crash here," I said.
"Where'd you get the money for this?" Johnny asked.
"I sold my trailer." I said, "to show you how serious I am, and to show you how much I believe in this." Everyone was quiet at this realization, it grew awkward, so I hastily started talking again, "and I've put all my bootlegs and books over here. I spent the morning setting up my stereo, and TV and VCR," I said going over to a bookcase built into the wall, "so we can have an instant reference library. Feel free to look through these at your convenience they might give you some insight into the whole thing we're trying to do. Oh, yeah, there's a basement if we want to have a party or something and come over here, look at this." I said, rushing over to the kitchen just off the living room and opened the refrigerator, "have a beer," I'd filled it with beer.
"Pretty cool." They said.
"Looks like a good place to bring pussy!" Ian's voice echoed down from one of the upstairs rooms. We laughed.
"That's real classy." Johnny said.
"It's always the drummer." Brian said, nodding his head. We spent the rest of the afternoon moving in their equipment and drinking beer. We had our first party in honor of the house. We'd start to work out the music and our hangovers with a real practice the next day.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter 13: Metamorphosis
"It doesn't look like much." Johnny said.
"It's not supposed to, it’s a rehearsal space.” I said. "Come on, let me show you the inside." I led them up the stairs and into the house. "How do you like it?" My voice echoed in the empty rooms, "see, we can set up the equipment and practice down here in the living room, the kitchen's right over there." I said pointing, "and the dining room is adjacent to both." They wandered around the room in ever expanding circles, looking at everything and taking possession of it with their eyes, getting the feel of it with their bodies as they moved from room to room, "upstairs are some bedrooms. I'll be living up there, but we can throw some mattresses in the other rooms in case someone needs to crash here," I said.
"Where'd you get the money for this?" Johnny asked.
"I sold my trailer." I said, "to show you how serious I am, and to show you how much I believe in this." Everyone was quiet at this realization, it grew awkward, so I hastily started talking again, "and I've put all my bootlegs and books over here. I spent the morning setting up my stereo, and TV and VCR," I said going over to a bookcase built into the wall, "so we can have an instant reference library. Feel free to look through these at your convenience they might give you some insight into the whole thing we're trying to do. Oh, yeah, there's a basement if we want to have a party or something and come over here, look at this." I said, rushing over to the kitchen just off the living room and opened the refrigerator, "have a beer," I'd filled it with beer.
"Pretty cool." They said.
"Looks like a good place to bring pussy!" Ian's voice echoed down from one of the upstairs rooms. We laughed.
"That's real classy." Johnny said.
"It's always the drummer." Brian said, nodding his head. We spent the rest of the afternoon moving in their equipment and drinking beer. We had our first party in honor of the house. We'd start to work out the music and our hangovers with a real practice the next day.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter 13: Metamorphosis
Monday, March 15, 2010
RS Article
Former Cover Band Has Break Through Album
Ghost Dance's self-titled debut album is a curious mix of influences that strangely enough work. With songs like 'Testament' and 'Last Stage' to their hit 'Girl Wild' which is currently racing up the charts, Ghost Dance demonstrates a hard rock base with punk influences. Leanings, that give them a different and wildly original sound from their contemporaries. While they're young and new to being recording artists they're old hands at touring, having paid their dues, crossing the country playing small clubs and bars.
"Ghost Dance very clearly has its origins in classic rock."
"Yeah, we all grew up listening to the radio when rock from the seventies was played a lot, Springsteen, Aerosmith, The Stones, but we also have a punk element that we're trying to expand on all the time."
"Where did you guys get the name Ghost Dance?"
"We grew up in the Madison, Wisconsin area," lead singer Johnny Rydel answered. "There are still some tribal remnants up there. I visited a reservation quite a few times with my parents when I was a kid and I always thought these trips were the greatest things in the world. Once I kind of had a mystical experience on the reservation, so I became interested in Indian things. And I thought the name was different and cool sounding."
"A mystical experience?"
"Let's just say I thought I had discovered a new science." He said chuckling.
“Kind of like Jim Morrison.”
“Kind of.” He smiled, wanly, “but Jim Morrison doesn’t have a monopoly on mystical experiences.”
“The reason I mention this…”
"The time we toured as a classic rock band." Lead guitarist Brian Leto cuts in.
"I read somewhere you guys got started playing in a tribute band."
"Not exactly, we were already a band, we just couldn't get a gig, and one day we met up with this guy. We grew up in Madison and he went to school there or something. We'd seen him around town when we were growing up. We considered him something of a weirdo, a dude who wanted to be young so he hung around the college years after he graduated. He had this idea for a cover band. We couldn't get a gig, so we did it to keep the band together and be able to practice without having to work some lame day jobs.”
“Of course we admired The Doors and their accomplishments, we just didn’t want to be forever tied to them.”
“Forever a tribute band.”
“We knew we always had something to say and we wanted that voice.”
“Well, he did manage to unite us as a band."
"Yeah, he gave us a common enemy."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter XII: The House
Ghost Dance's self-titled debut album is a curious mix of influences that strangely enough work. With songs like 'Testament' and 'Last Stage' to their hit 'Girl Wild' which is currently racing up the charts, Ghost Dance demonstrates a hard rock base with punk influences. Leanings, that give them a different and wildly original sound from their contemporaries. While they're young and new to being recording artists they're old hands at touring, having paid their dues, crossing the country playing small clubs and bars.
"Ghost Dance very clearly has its origins in classic rock."
"Yeah, we all grew up listening to the radio when rock from the seventies was played a lot, Springsteen, Aerosmith, The Stones, but we also have a punk element that we're trying to expand on all the time."
"Where did you guys get the name Ghost Dance?"
"We grew up in the Madison, Wisconsin area," lead singer Johnny Rydel answered. "There are still some tribal remnants up there. I visited a reservation quite a few times with my parents when I was a kid and I always thought these trips were the greatest things in the world. Once I kind of had a mystical experience on the reservation, so I became interested in Indian things. And I thought the name was different and cool sounding."
"A mystical experience?"
"Let's just say I thought I had discovered a new science." He said chuckling.
“Kind of like Jim Morrison.”
“Kind of.” He smiled, wanly, “but Jim Morrison doesn’t have a monopoly on mystical experiences.”
“The reason I mention this…”
"The time we toured as a classic rock band." Lead guitarist Brian Leto cuts in.
"I read somewhere you guys got started playing in a tribute band."
"Not exactly, we were already a band, we just couldn't get a gig, and one day we met up with this guy. We grew up in Madison and he went to school there or something. We'd seen him around town when we were growing up. We considered him something of a weirdo, a dude who wanted to be young so he hung around the college years after he graduated. He had this idea for a cover band. We couldn't get a gig, so we did it to keep the band together and be able to practice without having to work some lame day jobs.”
“Of course we admired The Doors and their accomplishments, we just didn’t want to be forever tied to them.”
“Forever a tribute band.”
“We knew we always had something to say and we wanted that voice.”
“Well, he did manage to unite us as a band."
"Yeah, he gave us a common enemy."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter XII: The House
Monday, March 8, 2010
The Deal
I hadn't heard from Johnny and the band for a month or so, but I knew sooner or later that I would. They had fairly reeked of desperation that night in my trailer, and I knew sooner or later that some vicissitude of life would send them my way.
While I hadn't known any of them before I met them, at heart Madison was a small town, so I knew some of their stories, gleaned from the information that floats around any small town. They were small town boys trying to escape the inertia of the college town they grew up in with the velocity of Rock 'n' Roll, but they had neither the inclination nor the desire to use the college they had so readily available. After I got to know them I found they were well versed in the history and lore of Rock 'n' Roll, they talked endlessly about it when they were moving their equipment, and in the car on the ride over to my trailer. They knew what their instruments could do and what sounds they could get out of them, but about the rest of the world, general knowledge was lacking.
Johnny's family was fairly well off. Even though he wore ripped jeans, they were fashionably faded and ripped jeans. His father was a vice president of some corporation, and active in the community. By Johnny's comments and demeanor I assumed his musical aspirations clashed with his family's wishes. He could play guitar, but he looked a little grungy and had little or no charisma. Brian was the good looking one and probably got most of the girls. Mitchell was the punk rocker dressed in the most outrageous combinations of clothes. In such a small town, it was outrageous and probably meant to offend the prevailing standards. It's somewhat of a myth that college towns are liberal bastions. A facile observation of parents as they visit the campus, they see the experimental idealism of the students, and the insulated radicalism of the professors. But the real town, the town where people have lived for generations without a thought of leaving, the town which the college itself grew around, the town where once their children reach eighteen, they buy a trailer, get married, and live quite different lives and values than the artificial society of the college. I met plenty of them in the barrooms. And Ian, well, Ian was the drummer. Most people don't give drummers enough credit. They have to carry the tempo of the band and most of the time they get written off. Read any rock biography, drummers are the quirky ones, or an after thought.
Then one afternoon my phone rang.
"Hi, it's Johnny, um.. can I talk to you?" His voice quavered and sounded hesitant, and I knew I had a band.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"Well, it's like this...uh, are you still interested in doing The Doors cover band thing?"
"Yeah."
"It's like this, uh, ...we lost our rehearsal space and we don't have any money for a new one and umm... well, we'll do your Doors thing if you can provide money for a rehearsal space. The band will still be ours, but we'll do the Doors thing. We'll be able to play a couple of our original songs every gig, right?"
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter XI: RS Interview
While I hadn't known any of them before I met them, at heart Madison was a small town, so I knew some of their stories, gleaned from the information that floats around any small town. They were small town boys trying to escape the inertia of the college town they grew up in with the velocity of Rock 'n' Roll, but they had neither the inclination nor the desire to use the college they had so readily available. After I got to know them I found they were well versed in the history and lore of Rock 'n' Roll, they talked endlessly about it when they were moving their equipment, and in the car on the ride over to my trailer. They knew what their instruments could do and what sounds they could get out of them, but about the rest of the world, general knowledge was lacking.
Johnny's family was fairly well off. Even though he wore ripped jeans, they were fashionably faded and ripped jeans. His father was a vice president of some corporation, and active in the community. By Johnny's comments and demeanor I assumed his musical aspirations clashed with his family's wishes. He could play guitar, but he looked a little grungy and had little or no charisma. Brian was the good looking one and probably got most of the girls. Mitchell was the punk rocker dressed in the most outrageous combinations of clothes. In such a small town, it was outrageous and probably meant to offend the prevailing standards. It's somewhat of a myth that college towns are liberal bastions. A facile observation of parents as they visit the campus, they see the experimental idealism of the students, and the insulated radicalism of the professors. But the real town, the town where people have lived for generations without a thought of leaving, the town which the college itself grew around, the town where once their children reach eighteen, they buy a trailer, get married, and live quite different lives and values than the artificial society of the college. I met plenty of them in the barrooms. And Ian, well, Ian was the drummer. Most people don't give drummers enough credit. They have to carry the tempo of the band and most of the time they get written off. Read any rock biography, drummers are the quirky ones, or an after thought.
Then one afternoon my phone rang.
"Hi, it's Johnny, um.. can I talk to you?" His voice quavered and sounded hesitant, and I knew I had a band.
"What can I do for you?" I asked.
"Well, it's like this...uh, are you still interested in doing The Doors cover band thing?"
"Yeah."
"It's like this, uh, ...we lost our rehearsal space and we don't have any money for a new one and umm... well, we'll do your Doors thing if you can provide money for a rehearsal space. The band will still be ours, but we'll do the Doors thing. We'll be able to play a couple of our original songs every gig, right?"
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter XI: RS Interview
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
The Trailer
My trailer was outside of town on a small piece of land I rented from a farmer. The trailer had been used for hunting, but the farmer needed some extra money so I bought it. Since the farmer had run a phone line and electric out to the trailer, I left it where it was and rented the land. We walked along the path through the weeds to the trailer. I really hadn't been planning on bringing anyone over, between Deidre leaving, and running around looking at bands, the trailer, which had already been cramped with books, records and tapes, had a layer of empty beer cans and days old pizza leftovers covering and overlapping each other from every flat surface available. I quickly tossed some things off the couch, pushed others to the side, and there was enough room for everyone to sit down. The next step was to feel these guys out, and see if they were interested in my cover band idea.
"You guys want a beer?" I asked, taking five out of the refrigerator and putting them on a table. As they settled in, each nervously surveying the surroundings, I sat down, and pulled a joint out of the chaos of the table, lit it, sucking on it hard, before blowing out the smoke and handing it to Johnny. I sat back letting the smoke emanate through my body. I didn't say anything until they each took a hit off the joint. "I noticed when Reggie asked you guys to play a cover tune, you played Light My Fire. Do you guys like The Doors?"
"Sure." They all nodded, "we use it at practice to warm up."
"Here, listen to this." I said, jumping out of my chair. I pulled a record off a shelf and put it on the turntable. "I collect Doors bootlegs. You know, concerts people taped, soundboard recordings." I dropped the needle on the record. There was a pop and a hiss, and the sounds of long ago concert goers flitted around the room. Then the dark, pulsing beat of Ray Manzarek's organ came on, the first tentative twangings of Robby Krieger's guitar, the boom-ka-boom-boom of John Densmore's punctuating drums, and finally the scream of Jim Morrison filled the trailer. I looked at their uncomprehending eyes, I hoped the music would provide the soundtrack to sway them. I tried to sense their mood, but couldn't. I was nervous and tried to hide it by acting cool, but it only added to my nervousness. I was all nerves and energy, I couldn't stop, I plowed into the proposal I had gone over and given time after time in my head. "I have a proposition for you guys." I said, my voice wavering and cracking from the strain.
"I knew it! We're so out of here." Brian said.
"No, no!" I said, settling them back into their seats, "it's an idea I have about a band."
"It better be man."
“What kind of an idea?” Johnny asked.
"It is, listen. A while ago I saw a show called Beatlemania, and I thought somebody should do that for The Doors."
"That was a play, right? With guys pretending to be The Beatles, and doing the songs?"
"Yeah, it was, but my idea is simpler, just a band playing the songs and a guy 'being' Morrison, doing his antics." They didn't seem to be following me so I launched into my sales pitch, "Morrison was completely spontaneous, he acted out the songs, he recited poems, he fell, he dived off the stage into the audience."
"You mean like an Elvis impersonator?"
"Yeah."
"Man, that's a bad example, those guys are a joke."
"What's the show gonna' be? A casket on-stage, you open it and out falls a skeleton dressed in leather pants?" Mitchell said, laughing.
"But it doesn't have to be, we do it in clubs, the same environment The Doors preferred. We play it straight, no camp, no winking, and no making it seem like a joke."
"And who would the guy 'being' Morrison be?" Johnny asked.
"Me."
"And who would the band be?"
"You guys." They looked at each other with varying degrees of shock, skepticism, or amusement. The pot must have been kicking in because the moment seemed to freeze momentarily in a tableau reminiscent of The Last Supper.
"Excuse me,” Ian said, “but Johnny is the lead singer of this band." they all nodded in agreement.
"Sure, sure," I said, "you guys have your band, but we can do this until your band is getting gigs, making a demo, gets a contract, whatever you want. This way you're performing in front of an audience, getting paid, and you can do a couple of your songs each set."
"What do you get out of it?"
"The reason Morrison said he started writing songs was because he said he 'was taking notes at a concert in his head.' Well, I'm hearing a Doors concert in my head, with me singing. I want to know what it feels like to be up on stage, I want to know what it would be like to be Morrison."
"You should see a doctor about that."
"So, why would people pay to hear a band play a bunch of old songs they can buy on an album?"
"Or hear on the radio."
"Aren't you listening? Listen to the bootleg I have on. We can give people something they can't buy, that they can't get anywhere else."
"Which is?"
“Something real. The hair bands are all hype, drinking tea out of Jack Daniels bottles, the rock stars themselves were getting old. Mick Jagger looks like a freeze-dried version of his younger self, Dylan, a jowly legend.” I stopped, a little exasperated. "People want something real again. I was born at the tail end of the baby boom. By the time I got old enough, it was like I could hear the sound of receding thunder. And I was asking 'what was that?' While everybody else was saying wasn't that cool."
"So?"
"I remember hearing their songs when I was a kid, but I was too young to do anything about it."
"What're you talking about?"
"The sixties, there are a lot of people out there just like me who were too young to be part of the sixties. The younger brothers and sisters who raided their older siblings record albums, and could only listen to their stories. Or those more your age who weren't there at all and want to experience some part of the whole thing. It's like our mythic age of heros and gods."
"What thing?"
"The experience of seeing a Doors concert live. They never played a song the same way twice, they did medleys, solos, and long jams. They were like The Dead only Morrison was wilder. I'm just saying I know more about The Doors than just about anyone else, I've read everything about them, I have all the bootlegs," I said, I hung my head in exasperation, I didn’t know how many more ways I could explain it, "I've thought about this for a long time. I've thought it all the way through, the band will be called The Unknown Soldiers, after one of their songs, right," I looked nervously between them trying to gauge how it was going, all their faces registered skepticism, but I couldn't stop, I was too far in, "and people have been telling me all my life I look like Morrison." I saw smiles of an in joke cross their lips again. So, I decided to throw in a little flattery "I know you guys are going to be successful, you know how I know that?"
They all looked at each other, "no, how?"
"Because of that right there, that silent almost psychic communication you guys seem to have with one another. It's the same camaraderie The Doors had."
"You think so?" Johnny asked with as much false modesty as he could muster. I could tell he was proud of the band.
"Oh, yeah." That got them to relax, and they at least seemed to be considering the proposition.
"Can you sing?" Johnny asked.
"Why is that the first question everyone asks?" I said, "no."
"Awww, man...."
"But neither could Morrison at first. Here, look at this." I grabbed my well read, dogged eared copy of No One Here Gets Out Alive from somewhere out of the rubble of the table, it was like a bible well thumbed through and highlighted. I tossed it to Johnny. "Read it. Morrison couldn't sing either." Johnny held it up looking at it before handing it to one of the other guys.
"I've read it," he said. "So, the idea is we play the songs and you sing and act like Morrison, right?"
"Yeah, and dress like him. I'll wear a pair of leather pants, and grow my hair out."
"How old are you?" Johnny asked.
"Thirty-one."
"That's four years older than Morrison was when he died." Johnny said, "and Morrison was ten years younger when they started The Doors.”
"It's not that much that anyone will notice, a little make-up and stage lighting, and no one will even notice."
“Dude, it’s getting to be a forced perspective." Ian said.
Everyone was quiet. “And you have me.” I added.
“What does that give us?” Brian asked.
“I have what Morrison had, a philosophy.”
“So?”
“It makes me dangerous.” I watched the silent deliberations and decided to add a closing argument, "c'mon, Reggie was right, people want to hear something familiar, it’s comforting, it’s something they can identify with, then when you have them, you can spring the originals on them and they’re more receptive to them. “What‘d ya say?" They all looked at each other registering their votes with their different reactions, then deferring to Johnny.
"Nah, man," Johnny said, "we're a band, we got our own songs we wanna do."
"I've had this idea a long time, and looked at a lot of bands. You're the first band I've asked. This can work to your advantage. People will hear your band, you can play your songs, we'll tour all over the country like a real band. Think of the exposure. We can become rich, and famous, it'll be great! We'll split everything fifty-fifty like The Doors, we'll share all the expenses, we'll share any profits, and any offers we receive."
"That's cool, but fifty percent of nothing is nothing." Mitchell said, "and that's what I already earn."
"But a cover band is guaranteed. There aren't many bands out there doing this, so it's a niche waiting to be filled. Club owners will love it because they're hiring bands that play proven hits without having to pay the bands with the hits."
"Haven't you heard man, punk is the new music." Brian said.
"Morrison practically invented punk!" I said, "the leather pants, the slouch, the attitude, confronting the audience, the poses in the publicity stills, it's all Morrison!"
"You think so?" He asked thinking it over, "how do you know people want to hear a band that plays Doors' songs?"
"Because, I just do." I said, "there are books coming out. There's even talk of a movie coming out, probably with John Travolta or Tom Cruise."
"No, man," Johnny laughed, "that's way too screwy, we gotta go."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter X: The Deal
"You guys want a beer?" I asked, taking five out of the refrigerator and putting them on a table. As they settled in, each nervously surveying the surroundings, I sat down, and pulled a joint out of the chaos of the table, lit it, sucking on it hard, before blowing out the smoke and handing it to Johnny. I sat back letting the smoke emanate through my body. I didn't say anything until they each took a hit off the joint. "I noticed when Reggie asked you guys to play a cover tune, you played Light My Fire. Do you guys like The Doors?"
"Sure." They all nodded, "we use it at practice to warm up."
"Here, listen to this." I said, jumping out of my chair. I pulled a record off a shelf and put it on the turntable. "I collect Doors bootlegs. You know, concerts people taped, soundboard recordings." I dropped the needle on the record. There was a pop and a hiss, and the sounds of long ago concert goers flitted around the room. Then the dark, pulsing beat of Ray Manzarek's organ came on, the first tentative twangings of Robby Krieger's guitar, the boom-ka-boom-boom of John Densmore's punctuating drums, and finally the scream of Jim Morrison filled the trailer. I looked at their uncomprehending eyes, I hoped the music would provide the soundtrack to sway them. I tried to sense their mood, but couldn't. I was nervous and tried to hide it by acting cool, but it only added to my nervousness. I was all nerves and energy, I couldn't stop, I plowed into the proposal I had gone over and given time after time in my head. "I have a proposition for you guys." I said, my voice wavering and cracking from the strain.
"I knew it! We're so out of here." Brian said.
"No, no!" I said, settling them back into their seats, "it's an idea I have about a band."
"It better be man."
“What kind of an idea?” Johnny asked.
"It is, listen. A while ago I saw a show called Beatlemania, and I thought somebody should do that for The Doors."
"That was a play, right? With guys pretending to be The Beatles, and doing the songs?"
"Yeah, it was, but my idea is simpler, just a band playing the songs and a guy 'being' Morrison, doing his antics." They didn't seem to be following me so I launched into my sales pitch, "Morrison was completely spontaneous, he acted out the songs, he recited poems, he fell, he dived off the stage into the audience."
"You mean like an Elvis impersonator?"
"Yeah."
"Man, that's a bad example, those guys are a joke."
"What's the show gonna' be? A casket on-stage, you open it and out falls a skeleton dressed in leather pants?" Mitchell said, laughing.
"But it doesn't have to be, we do it in clubs, the same environment The Doors preferred. We play it straight, no camp, no winking, and no making it seem like a joke."
"And who would the guy 'being' Morrison be?" Johnny asked.
"Me."
"And who would the band be?"
"You guys." They looked at each other with varying degrees of shock, skepticism, or amusement. The pot must have been kicking in because the moment seemed to freeze momentarily in a tableau reminiscent of The Last Supper.
"Excuse me,” Ian said, “but Johnny is the lead singer of this band." they all nodded in agreement.
"Sure, sure," I said, "you guys have your band, but we can do this until your band is getting gigs, making a demo, gets a contract, whatever you want. This way you're performing in front of an audience, getting paid, and you can do a couple of your songs each set."
"What do you get out of it?"
"The reason Morrison said he started writing songs was because he said he 'was taking notes at a concert in his head.' Well, I'm hearing a Doors concert in my head, with me singing. I want to know what it feels like to be up on stage, I want to know what it would be like to be Morrison."
"You should see a doctor about that."
"So, why would people pay to hear a band play a bunch of old songs they can buy on an album?"
"Or hear on the radio."
"Aren't you listening? Listen to the bootleg I have on. We can give people something they can't buy, that they can't get anywhere else."
"Which is?"
“Something real. The hair bands are all hype, drinking tea out of Jack Daniels bottles, the rock stars themselves were getting old. Mick Jagger looks like a freeze-dried version of his younger self, Dylan, a jowly legend.” I stopped, a little exasperated. "People want something real again. I was born at the tail end of the baby boom. By the time I got old enough, it was like I could hear the sound of receding thunder. And I was asking 'what was that?' While everybody else was saying wasn't that cool."
"So?"
"I remember hearing their songs when I was a kid, but I was too young to do anything about it."
"What're you talking about?"
"The sixties, there are a lot of people out there just like me who were too young to be part of the sixties. The younger brothers and sisters who raided their older siblings record albums, and could only listen to their stories. Or those more your age who weren't there at all and want to experience some part of the whole thing. It's like our mythic age of heros and gods."
"What thing?"
"The experience of seeing a Doors concert live. They never played a song the same way twice, they did medleys, solos, and long jams. They were like The Dead only Morrison was wilder. I'm just saying I know more about The Doors than just about anyone else, I've read everything about them, I have all the bootlegs," I said, I hung my head in exasperation, I didn’t know how many more ways I could explain it, "I've thought about this for a long time. I've thought it all the way through, the band will be called The Unknown Soldiers, after one of their songs, right," I looked nervously between them trying to gauge how it was going, all their faces registered skepticism, but I couldn't stop, I was too far in, "and people have been telling me all my life I look like Morrison." I saw smiles of an in joke cross their lips again. So, I decided to throw in a little flattery "I know you guys are going to be successful, you know how I know that?"
They all looked at each other, "no, how?"
"Because of that right there, that silent almost psychic communication you guys seem to have with one another. It's the same camaraderie The Doors had."
"You think so?" Johnny asked with as much false modesty as he could muster. I could tell he was proud of the band.
"Oh, yeah." That got them to relax, and they at least seemed to be considering the proposition.
"Can you sing?" Johnny asked.
"Why is that the first question everyone asks?" I said, "no."
"Awww, man...."
"But neither could Morrison at first. Here, look at this." I grabbed my well read, dogged eared copy of No One Here Gets Out Alive from somewhere out of the rubble of the table, it was like a bible well thumbed through and highlighted. I tossed it to Johnny. "Read it. Morrison couldn't sing either." Johnny held it up looking at it before handing it to one of the other guys.
"I've read it," he said. "So, the idea is we play the songs and you sing and act like Morrison, right?"
"Yeah, and dress like him. I'll wear a pair of leather pants, and grow my hair out."
"How old are you?" Johnny asked.
"Thirty-one."
"That's four years older than Morrison was when he died." Johnny said, "and Morrison was ten years younger when they started The Doors.”
"It's not that much that anyone will notice, a little make-up and stage lighting, and no one will even notice."
“Dude, it’s getting to be a forced perspective." Ian said.
Everyone was quiet. “And you have me.” I added.
“What does that give us?” Brian asked.
“I have what Morrison had, a philosophy.”
“So?”
“It makes me dangerous.” I watched the silent deliberations and decided to add a closing argument, "c'mon, Reggie was right, people want to hear something familiar, it’s comforting, it’s something they can identify with, then when you have them, you can spring the originals on them and they’re more receptive to them. “What‘d ya say?" They all looked at each other registering their votes with their different reactions, then deferring to Johnny.
"Nah, man," Johnny said, "we're a band, we got our own songs we wanna do."
"I've had this idea a long time, and looked at a lot of bands. You're the first band I've asked. This can work to your advantage. People will hear your band, you can play your songs, we'll tour all over the country like a real band. Think of the exposure. We can become rich, and famous, it'll be great! We'll split everything fifty-fifty like The Doors, we'll share all the expenses, we'll share any profits, and any offers we receive."
"That's cool, but fifty percent of nothing is nothing." Mitchell said, "and that's what I already earn."
"But a cover band is guaranteed. There aren't many bands out there doing this, so it's a niche waiting to be filled. Club owners will love it because they're hiring bands that play proven hits without having to pay the bands with the hits."
"Haven't you heard man, punk is the new music." Brian said.
"Morrison practically invented punk!" I said, "the leather pants, the slouch, the attitude, confronting the audience, the poses in the publicity stills, it's all Morrison!"
"You think so?" He asked thinking it over, "how do you know people want to hear a band that plays Doors' songs?"
"Because, I just do." I said, "there are books coming out. There's even talk of a movie coming out, probably with John Travolta or Tom Cruise."
"No, man," Johnny laughed, "that's way too screwy, we gotta go."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter X: The Deal
Ghost Dance
Section Two: The Band
One Saturday afternoon I was in 'The Place'. I wasn't looking for a band, I wasn't looking for a woman, I wasn't looking for trouble, I was looking to relax, I had decided to take a sabbatical from the search, and some times when you’re chasing a dream too hard, if you step back it’ll come to you.
The bar was dark, cool and empty. It was early in the afternoon a couple of weeks before the fall semester was scheduled to start. After the school year started, the college crowd that frequented here was mostly a weekend crowd that came to get drunk and laid, and inadvertently see whatever band was playing. In the next room, I could hear Reggie, the owner of 'The Place' auditioning a band to play for that crowd. As one of the better customers I knew Reggie and talked to him when he sometimes sat in the bar having a beer. Reggie struck me as being a hustler, always on the make, there was something sweaty about him, he fancied himself a high powered rock promoter, his clothing was hip, but always about five years behind any trend.
"This one's an original composition of ours, one, one two three..." I heard coming through an amplifier from the other room. The band went into their song and by sheer force of habit I listened to their playing. I found myself nodding my head in time to the music.
"They're not to bad." I said to the bartender, who just shrugged his shoulders, probably having heard countless auditions, myriad bands, and endless original songs countenanced by their creators to be the next number one hit record. He retreated to the opposite end of the bar to read a newspaper. All of a sudden, I couldn't believe, it miracle of miracles, a keyboard came in. I went over to the doorway to watch the audition. The lone light in the room was from the single spotlight on the band on stage. The lead singer stood stridently in front of the microphone, yelling the lyrics just under the sound of the music. He was dressed in ripped, patched jeans and T-shirt, guitar slung low. The keyboard player was off to stage left, the lead guitar player to his right, and of course behind them on a riser, the drummer. The lead guitar player wandered the stage, eyes closed, 'feeling' the music like any good guitar player was supposed to. The drummer was hidden behind his drums, and they were good! Their playing was above average, their music hit some interesting ideas, but they didn't explore the note or concept when they were already off to the next thing musically, trying to fit in as many interesting things as they could before the end of the song. A quantity over quality approach to music, but their really big drawback was they were totally uninteresting to watch. They could have been any one of a number of garage bands around, but they were good enough for a cover band.
"OK!" Reggie yelled to the band and they stopped playing, "do you guys know any cover tunes?" The lead singer stood at the microphone, one hand shielding his eyes straining to see and hear out into the darkness. He looked at the other band members. They exchanged looks amongst themselves. "You know, like The Beatles, Stones, Zeppelin." Reggie said impatiently. The lead singer turned towards the other members of his group then shrugged his shoulders they looked like they had been playing together long enough to read the other's mind. They started to play Light My Fire, and a shot went through me! I struggled to contain my excitement, just as I had given up hope, destiny dropped them right in my lap, it's like the forces of nature conspire to bring everything you need to you, there are certain times in life when you're in tune with the universe, when no matter what turn you take, no matter what wrong turn you think you made, turns out to be right, it was almost enough to make you believe in a higher purpose or predestination. As the band got to the instrumental, Reggie once again yelled.
"OK! Thank you!"
Returning to my stool at the bar, I settled into another beer to calm myself. As the band sullenly packed their equipment I watched them struggling with it as they lugged it out. When they were taking out the last of it, I was still riding the wave of excitement of discovering them, and was just drunk enough to talk to them.
"You guys are pretty good." I said to the lead singer as he came by.
"He didn't think so." He said, motioning with his head back towards Reggie still in the other room.
"Ahh, don't worry about him, he's always trying to find an angle. Some day when you guys hit it big he'll see the error of his ways, and probably claim he discovered you. Can I buy you guys a beer?" The band members looked at one another, another silent conversation taking place.
"Sure." They sat at the bar, in what seemed to me in the pecking order of the band. The lead singer closest to me, the lead guitar player, keyboardist, and finally, farthest down from me the drummer. He was wearing what seemed to be the Rock 'n' Roll uniform of the day, ripped jeans and T-shirt but with the addition of blue hair.
"I'm Johnny Rydel," the lead singer said, introducing himself, "this is Brian, Mitchell, and Ian. Who're you?" He asked.
"Oh, sorry, Michael Desmond." I said extending my hand. "So, how long have you guys been playing together?"
"Well, Mike, it's"
"My name is Michael, not Mike."
"Sorry, is that some religious thing or something?" Johnny asked, they all shared a chuckle between themselves.
"No." I said, "so, what's your band's name?"
"Ghost Dance."
"That's cool, I like it. Where do you guys know each other from?"
"Brian, Mitchell and me have been playing together since high school."
"What about you Ian?" I asked.
"I was a music major at the school, these guys were playing some house party that I had crashed. During a break I was goofing around thumping on the drums, they were a little out of tune so I adjusted them."
"His tuning was better than our drummers drumming, so we brought him on."
"Let me tell you," I said, "I think you guys are pretty good. A couple of rough edges, but you'll work them out."
"Yeah, that's what we're trying to do, we want to get out in front of an audience and get some experience and some exposure for our songs. Maybe make a couple of bucks. Here," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a tape and handed it to me, "it's a tape we made of our songs. Listen when you have a chance."
"Thanks." I said. I looked at the tape he handed me. Small bands like to identify with the bands they idolize so when they make a tape they usually title it something that's a play off of a title of their favorite band. This one was titled 'Pieces of Fate', I smiled as I put it in my pocket, no matter how good they were, they weren‘t going to make it any time soon, they wore their influences on their sleeves. I leaned conspiratorially over to them, "you guys want to go to my place and get high?" They looked amongst themselves, hesitation and distrust in their eyes "no, no, no, I'm not some kind of weirdo, we'll just smoke a joint."
"Okay."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter IX: The Trailer
One Saturday afternoon I was in 'The Place'. I wasn't looking for a band, I wasn't looking for a woman, I wasn't looking for trouble, I was looking to relax, I had decided to take a sabbatical from the search, and some times when you’re chasing a dream too hard, if you step back it’ll come to you.
The bar was dark, cool and empty. It was early in the afternoon a couple of weeks before the fall semester was scheduled to start. After the school year started, the college crowd that frequented here was mostly a weekend crowd that came to get drunk and laid, and inadvertently see whatever band was playing. In the next room, I could hear Reggie, the owner of 'The Place' auditioning a band to play for that crowd. As one of the better customers I knew Reggie and talked to him when he sometimes sat in the bar having a beer. Reggie struck me as being a hustler, always on the make, there was something sweaty about him, he fancied himself a high powered rock promoter, his clothing was hip, but always about five years behind any trend.
"This one's an original composition of ours, one, one two three..." I heard coming through an amplifier from the other room. The band went into their song and by sheer force of habit I listened to their playing. I found myself nodding my head in time to the music.
"They're not to bad." I said to the bartender, who just shrugged his shoulders, probably having heard countless auditions, myriad bands, and endless original songs countenanced by their creators to be the next number one hit record. He retreated to the opposite end of the bar to read a newspaper. All of a sudden, I couldn't believe, it miracle of miracles, a keyboard came in. I went over to the doorway to watch the audition. The lone light in the room was from the single spotlight on the band on stage. The lead singer stood stridently in front of the microphone, yelling the lyrics just under the sound of the music. He was dressed in ripped, patched jeans and T-shirt, guitar slung low. The keyboard player was off to stage left, the lead guitar player to his right, and of course behind them on a riser, the drummer. The lead guitar player wandered the stage, eyes closed, 'feeling' the music like any good guitar player was supposed to. The drummer was hidden behind his drums, and they were good! Their playing was above average, their music hit some interesting ideas, but they didn't explore the note or concept when they were already off to the next thing musically, trying to fit in as many interesting things as they could before the end of the song. A quantity over quality approach to music, but their really big drawback was they were totally uninteresting to watch. They could have been any one of a number of garage bands around, but they were good enough for a cover band.
"OK!" Reggie yelled to the band and they stopped playing, "do you guys know any cover tunes?" The lead singer stood at the microphone, one hand shielding his eyes straining to see and hear out into the darkness. He looked at the other band members. They exchanged looks amongst themselves. "You know, like The Beatles, Stones, Zeppelin." Reggie said impatiently. The lead singer turned towards the other members of his group then shrugged his shoulders they looked like they had been playing together long enough to read the other's mind. They started to play Light My Fire, and a shot went through me! I struggled to contain my excitement, just as I had given up hope, destiny dropped them right in my lap, it's like the forces of nature conspire to bring everything you need to you, there are certain times in life when you're in tune with the universe, when no matter what turn you take, no matter what wrong turn you think you made, turns out to be right, it was almost enough to make you believe in a higher purpose or predestination. As the band got to the instrumental, Reggie once again yelled.
"OK! Thank you!"
Returning to my stool at the bar, I settled into another beer to calm myself. As the band sullenly packed their equipment I watched them struggling with it as they lugged it out. When they were taking out the last of it, I was still riding the wave of excitement of discovering them, and was just drunk enough to talk to them.
"You guys are pretty good." I said to the lead singer as he came by.
"He didn't think so." He said, motioning with his head back towards Reggie still in the other room.
"Ahh, don't worry about him, he's always trying to find an angle. Some day when you guys hit it big he'll see the error of his ways, and probably claim he discovered you. Can I buy you guys a beer?" The band members looked at one another, another silent conversation taking place.
"Sure." They sat at the bar, in what seemed to me in the pecking order of the band. The lead singer closest to me, the lead guitar player, keyboardist, and finally, farthest down from me the drummer. He was wearing what seemed to be the Rock 'n' Roll uniform of the day, ripped jeans and T-shirt but with the addition of blue hair.
"I'm Johnny Rydel," the lead singer said, introducing himself, "this is Brian, Mitchell, and Ian. Who're you?" He asked.
"Oh, sorry, Michael Desmond." I said extending my hand. "So, how long have you guys been playing together?"
"Well, Mike, it's"
"My name is Michael, not Mike."
"Sorry, is that some religious thing or something?" Johnny asked, they all shared a chuckle between themselves.
"No." I said, "so, what's your band's name?"
"Ghost Dance."
"That's cool, I like it. Where do you guys know each other from?"
"Brian, Mitchell and me have been playing together since high school."
"What about you Ian?" I asked.
"I was a music major at the school, these guys were playing some house party that I had crashed. During a break I was goofing around thumping on the drums, they were a little out of tune so I adjusted them."
"His tuning was better than our drummers drumming, so we brought him on."
"Let me tell you," I said, "I think you guys are pretty good. A couple of rough edges, but you'll work them out."
"Yeah, that's what we're trying to do, we want to get out in front of an audience and get some experience and some exposure for our songs. Maybe make a couple of bucks. Here," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a tape and handed it to me, "it's a tape we made of our songs. Listen when you have a chance."
"Thanks." I said. I looked at the tape he handed me. Small bands like to identify with the bands they idolize so when they make a tape they usually title it something that's a play off of a title of their favorite band. This one was titled 'Pieces of Fate', I smiled as I put it in my pocket, no matter how good they were, they weren‘t going to make it any time soon, they wore their influences on their sleeves. I leaned conspiratorially over to them, "you guys want to go to my place and get high?" They looked amongst themselves, hesitation and distrust in their eyes "no, no, no, I'm not some kind of weirdo, we'll just smoke a joint."
"Okay."
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter IX: The Trailer
The Master Plan
I woke up the next morning, excited. The cover band idea still seemed like a good one. The test of any barroom idea is, if it's still a good idea in the light of morning, in the light of your hangover, it's a good idea. I'd had the idea for a couple of years but didn't know how to go about it, or as Morrison said, "I could never allow myself to rationally fantasize about doing it myself. I guess all the time I was accumulating inclination."
To put my plan into action, the first thing I had to do was find a band. That seemed simple enough, and there were plenty of bands that played the bars in any college town and Madison was no exception, but which one? The next problem seemed a little harder, I didn't know anything about music. For instance, how would I know if a particular band could play the music? Or if they could play it, did they play it well enough? It bummed me out for a few hours. I couldn't see any way around it, short of taking music classes to get that expertise. That would take at least a semester in even a survey course. I didn't have that time, I needed this as soon as possible! Then it hit me, I didn't need to! Morrison was a film student at UCLA, living on the beach and he didn't know anything about music beyond a few childhood piano lessons. I didn't even have those! On that scale I could be a bigger success than Morrison! I would solve the problem the same way Morrison had, he found Ray Manzarek and I'd find that person for me. I'd seen a lot of bands live and figured I was a pretty good judge of music. All I had to do was find a band that played well, knew what they were doing and they would work out the music problems. All I had to worry about was what Morrison worried about, the lyrics and the performance. I already had the blueprint for that. So, all I really needed to do was find the right band.
I spent the next few days working out the criteria. The highest priority I would have to find a band with a keyboard player, nothing else could recreate the distinctive sound of The Doors. I would need musicians who didn't have any long term goals towards a career of their own. Either a band that knows they're not good enough to make it, or they're on the opposite end of the spectrum, a band that had already given up its ambitions, one that had tried, didn't make it and has come to terms with that, but are willing to do anything to keep their hand in the game, and stave off having to get straight jobs for another year or two. And finally, they had to be somewhat local, so that we could have rehearsals with a minimum of logistical problems, like lugging their equipment across state, or me driving hours on end for a rehearsal.
I started by reading the classifieds in the Milwaukee area entertainment magazines listing bands and the venues they were playing. The first problem I ran into was most of the bands that advertised seemed to take themselves too seriously, listing requirements such as must have stage presence and own equipment, or no drinkers or drugs, what was the point of being in a band then? None of the bands mentioned having a keyboard player. Plenty mentioned having a lead guitar and bass player but were looking for a hard rock drummer. It also occurred to me that I needed a band that was indebted to me, or at least they thought they were indebted to me, so they couldn't get rid of me when I'd outlived whatever usefulness I had to them.
The more I looked through the listings I found they wouldn't be of much help. None of the ads listed The Doors as an influence. There were mentions of just about every band that had ever existed from Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Michael Bolton to contemporary bands like Ratt, but no Doors. Which, strangely enough, encouraged me. I knew that there was a cult following of The Doors out there. Even though The Doors had had mainstream success they were unique in the rock world in that their sound was so distinctive that no one ever tried to duplicate it. In When The Music's Over, the psychedelic roar of Robby Krieger's guitar is so original as to be trademark. Heavy metal bands used Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin as a starting point, but The Doors were a world unto themselves. Up until The Doors rock songs were about your girlfriend, your car, and surfing. After The Doors, girls were still in the songs, but it was about sex, and cars weren’t for picking up your girlfriend and cruising around, cars were vehicles to something else, somewhere darker, and suddenly rock was free to delve into subjects that up until that time had been confined to the realm of literature, death and existence.
Since the ads weren't going to be of any help, I turned to the listings of what bands were playing where. I would have to go to the gigs themselves, and scout the bands. I started by going to the local clubs to see bands, but none met the criteria I had established. Either, they weren't good enough period, they were obviously ambitious, selling their own tapes and t-shirts trying to get a following and major label attention, or they didn't have a keyboard player, you wouldn’t think finding a band with a keyboard player was all that hard, until you actually go out looking for one.
I gradually increased my search pattern until I found myself going to clubs as far as Milwaukee. There were some commonalities of all the bands I saw and talked to. One being that all the singers said they were sick and I should come to their next show and it would be better, the other was, I missed all their big shows. The second problem I ran into I hadn't anticipated, although I probably should have, was that I took to the nightlife like a fish to water. I'd always liked the excitement, the energy of the clubs, the allure of meeting women. Adventures every night provided a new opportunity. The net effect was I ended up drunk, a long way from home, and no band. I started questioning my motivations. Was I looking for a band, or a reason to go out drinking? I had decided to take a week or two off from the search to recuperate physically and psychically. I was burned out from the amount of energy I was dedicating to the search.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter VIII: Ghost Dance
To put my plan into action, the first thing I had to do was find a band. That seemed simple enough, and there were plenty of bands that played the bars in any college town and Madison was no exception, but which one? The next problem seemed a little harder, I didn't know anything about music. For instance, how would I know if a particular band could play the music? Or if they could play it, did they play it well enough? It bummed me out for a few hours. I couldn't see any way around it, short of taking music classes to get that expertise. That would take at least a semester in even a survey course. I didn't have that time, I needed this as soon as possible! Then it hit me, I didn't need to! Morrison was a film student at UCLA, living on the beach and he didn't know anything about music beyond a few childhood piano lessons. I didn't even have those! On that scale I could be a bigger success than Morrison! I would solve the problem the same way Morrison had, he found Ray Manzarek and I'd find that person for me. I'd seen a lot of bands live and figured I was a pretty good judge of music. All I had to do was find a band that played well, knew what they were doing and they would work out the music problems. All I had to worry about was what Morrison worried about, the lyrics and the performance. I already had the blueprint for that. So, all I really needed to do was find the right band.
I spent the next few days working out the criteria. The highest priority I would have to find a band with a keyboard player, nothing else could recreate the distinctive sound of The Doors. I would need musicians who didn't have any long term goals towards a career of their own. Either a band that knows they're not good enough to make it, or they're on the opposite end of the spectrum, a band that had already given up its ambitions, one that had tried, didn't make it and has come to terms with that, but are willing to do anything to keep their hand in the game, and stave off having to get straight jobs for another year or two. And finally, they had to be somewhat local, so that we could have rehearsals with a minimum of logistical problems, like lugging their equipment across state, or me driving hours on end for a rehearsal.
I started by reading the classifieds in the Milwaukee area entertainment magazines listing bands and the venues they were playing. The first problem I ran into was most of the bands that advertised seemed to take themselves too seriously, listing requirements such as must have stage presence and own equipment, or no drinkers or drugs, what was the point of being in a band then? None of the bands mentioned having a keyboard player. Plenty mentioned having a lead guitar and bass player but were looking for a hard rock drummer. It also occurred to me that I needed a band that was indebted to me, or at least they thought they were indebted to me, so they couldn't get rid of me when I'd outlived whatever usefulness I had to them.
The more I looked through the listings I found they wouldn't be of much help. None of the ads listed The Doors as an influence. There were mentions of just about every band that had ever existed from Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Michael Bolton to contemporary bands like Ratt, but no Doors. Which, strangely enough, encouraged me. I knew that there was a cult following of The Doors out there. Even though The Doors had had mainstream success they were unique in the rock world in that their sound was so distinctive that no one ever tried to duplicate it. In When The Music's Over, the psychedelic roar of Robby Krieger's guitar is so original as to be trademark. Heavy metal bands used Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin as a starting point, but The Doors were a world unto themselves. Up until The Doors rock songs were about your girlfriend, your car, and surfing. After The Doors, girls were still in the songs, but it was about sex, and cars weren’t for picking up your girlfriend and cruising around, cars were vehicles to something else, somewhere darker, and suddenly rock was free to delve into subjects that up until that time had been confined to the realm of literature, death and existence.
Since the ads weren't going to be of any help, I turned to the listings of what bands were playing where. I would have to go to the gigs themselves, and scout the bands. I started by going to the local clubs to see bands, but none met the criteria I had established. Either, they weren't good enough period, they were obviously ambitious, selling their own tapes and t-shirts trying to get a following and major label attention, or they didn't have a keyboard player, you wouldn’t think finding a band with a keyboard player was all that hard, until you actually go out looking for one.
I gradually increased my search pattern until I found myself going to clubs as far as Milwaukee. There were some commonalities of all the bands I saw and talked to. One being that all the singers said they were sick and I should come to their next show and it would be better, the other was, I missed all their big shows. The second problem I ran into I hadn't anticipated, although I probably should have, was that I took to the nightlife like a fish to water. I'd always liked the excitement, the energy of the clubs, the allure of meeting women. Adventures every night provided a new opportunity. The net effect was I ended up drunk, a long way from home, and no band. I started questioning my motivations. Was I looking for a band, or a reason to go out drinking? I had decided to take a week or two off from the search to recuperate physically and psychically. I was burned out from the amount of energy I was dedicating to the search.
(The Last Stage is available on Kindle, Nook Books, or if you would like a signed copy of The Last Stage they're available from my website (only $20!) at Jymsbooks via Paypal (jymwrite@aol.com, please don't forget your mailing address!)
Chapter VIII: Ghost Dance
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