Big Apple Dreamin' - On Tour with Alice Cooper

I've just finished reading Louder Than Hell, and it's a great book - as the cover blurb attests:

"THE BOOK EVERY METAL FAN SHOULD OWN" - Alice Cooper.

The authors employ first-person accounts to trace the evolutionary history of Metal from progenitors Blue Cheer, Mountain and Black Sabbath through the later strands of heavy-, NWOBH-, glam-, thrash-, industrial-, nu-, speed-, death-, dark-, black-, and dork-metal (plus hardcore and metalcore).

"I looked around and I noticed that everyone I was trying to be like was dead.  I went, 'I get it. Alice has got to be one thing. And I've got to be another.  I can't co-exist with Alice; Alice has to be a character I play onstage.'  When the curtain comes down, he doesn't really want to live my life, and I don't want to live his. He lives two hours a night on stage.  He doesn't play golf, he doesn't want to be married, he doesn't want children.  He doesn't like anything except what he does onstage, and you leave him up there.  To this day, we have a great relationship."

Vincent Furnier/Alice Cooper,

Louder Than Hell

!t Books, (C) 2013

In LTH, Alice Cooper earns Founding Father status for his early incorporation of dark on-stage symbology and theatrical make-up, both so widely and persistently imitated as to have become iconic.

Motif # 1

In early July, 1997 I was on business in NYC and staying at the Righa Royal Hotel on West 54th.  Waiting in the lobby for a colleague before heading out in suit & tie to the first meeting of the day, I was seated with Wall Street Journal in hand as Alice emerged from the elevator and walked briskly across the diagonal to the front door.

We shared the lobby for all of 5 seconds.  I instinctively dropped the Journal and rose from my chair.

Maybe I Scared Him . . .

Now, in the late 70's my college band got a lot of mileage out of playing School's Out every spring, blasting away on the quad following the last day of classes.  Naturally, I tried to yell out "School's Out!" but - in the excitement - could only produce a very loud and unintelligible grunt: "HHhnhguuhyaugghhnnt!"  If you've ever heard the Derek and Clive routine wherein Peter Cook describes the sound made by a rival fan whom he claims to have kicked "square in the bollocks!" at an Arsenal-Spurs game, that's the sound I made .  Maybe not unlike what Alice is used to hearing from the louts and punters 20-deep at the front in a general admission show.

He looked up, smiled and raised an eyebrow at me as he reached for the revolving door and exited into the New York City summer sunshine.

I like to think that he's wondered from time to time who that obstreporous clod in the suit was.

"Skyscrapers and subways and stations
Staring up at the United Nations

New York is waiting for you and me, baby
Waiting to swallow us down
New York, we're coming to see what you're made of ... "

Alice Cooper, 1972

Big Apple Dreamin

Also Part of the Scene:
Took A Trip In A Gemini Spacecraft: My Hollywood Dinner with Bowie and Iman.

On Air with Tom Chapin

"The World, and All That Is In It"

When I was an un-sullied lad, running business affairs for National Geographic TV, I had an assignment to set up our new production office at 1630 Broadway in Times Square.  I hopped many Eastern Shuttles, learned to eat sushi that winter, and scouted the grimy pre-Giuliani splendor of the 'hood.

We had launched National Geographic EXPLORER on Nickelodeon in 1985, then moved it to WTBS before a year was out.  At that juncture, we dropped hired-gun spokesmodel David Greenan and chose personable, charismatic Tom Chapin to host the 8-10pm Sunday night magazine-format show.  Tom would eventually be succeeded by Robert Urich, and later Bob Ballard.

Tom Chapin of Nat Geo Explorer

I got to meet Tom several times in the studio between 1986-1988, and he's a great guy.  Make a Wish!

You will be relieved to learn that letters written to National Geographic Society during the roaring '80's always received close and respectful attention, and wide circulation among the department heads.  Once early in Tom's tenure, for fun, I wrote a letter - in the voice of an earnest but cranky and befuddled National Geographic member - to Society President Gil Grosvenor complaining that "your immoral Tom Chapin" had been drunk on the air.

"My wife and I are Tee-Totalers!" I wrote.  "Disgraceful - by the end of the show, he Had The Glass Right There On The Desk Next To Him!  Never will we watch your degrading 'television show' ever again!"  I used a friend's home address in Hollywood, and posted the letter from L.A. while on a business trip.  Sure enough, a week later that letter came in the front door of the TV Division with stern instructions from the President that we review every minute of that program and "Get me an answer!"  We cleared it, and we told Gil "it must have been some crackpot...."

Clean-living Tom Chapin, deservedly, sailed through unblemished.

 * * * * *

Tom and Harry (whose hunger I satisfied) were brotherly collaborators.  From Circle newsletter:

Like most of Harry's songs, “Circle,” the one that became known as the “Chapin national anthem,” has a story behind it. When Tom Chapin was hired to host the weekly ABC Television children’s show "Make a Wish" in the Summer of 1971, the show consisted of two word topics in each episode like "fire" and "wind." They were looking for a songwriter to write a song for each word, helping to bring each word to life in a way that would be meaningful and appealing to kids.

Tom immediately recommended Harry for the job and the producers agreed. This was the year when Harry had gotten back into music and had created his first band with John Wallace, Ron Palmer, and Tim Scott. He was opening for his brothers’ band, "The Chapins," with Steve and Tom Chapin, and Phil Forbes and Doug Walker, who later became Harry's lead guitarist, every weekend at a club in Greenwich Village called The Village Gate. So writing songs for "Make A Wish," although very lucrative for him, was far down in the list of Harry's commitments.

One week the word was circle, and Harry still had not written the song—the night before the episode’s taping. "After the gigs at the Gate, we usually met, ate, and rehashed the evening at Maria's Diner in Brooklyn Heights," said Tom. "It was late Sunday night, and we were going to be shooting the episode for "Circle" early on Monday morning, and he promised me he'd have it done. So at 6:00 a.m. Harry called me and played the first verse and chorus over the phone while I took down words and scratched out the tune." Hours later Tom performed "Circle" for the first time on camera, walking around the Cinderella fountain in New York City's Central Park.

For a while it was only the first verse and chorus that existed. "Then our mother told Harry it was great song, and he ought to write some other verses. He did--and it became a signature Chapin song. All these years later, we still sing the song at concerts, weddings, funerals, and people all over the world love and sing that song."

Surf's Up: on the Flight Deck with Brian Wilson

The one and only, the great Brian Wilson.

In 1994, I was being recruited for a CEO job with Luna Imaging, an L.A.-based start-up with Getty funding.  Before my visit to meet the entrepreneur, when I would stay at Shutters on the Beach and get the pitch, I first snuck out to the coast for a screening meeting during a half-day stop-over in LAX with Gary Hromadko, the VC backing the venture.

We met in the American Airlines Ambassador Lounge and sat in the big lounge chairs.  There, sunk comfortably into a huge chair ten feet away with a confidante?  Brian Wilson!

Although I'd resisted my band-mate Dave's proselytizing in college about the Beach Boys, I eventually could admit I admired Brian - much more for his ballads than for the Beach Boy surf rave-ups.  Especially because he was secure enough, whole enough (or crazy enough?) to write and sing with great emotional vulnerability about fear, and alone-ness, and crying, and doubt, and hurt - in songs like "In My Room,"  "Girl Don't Tell Me,"  "Caroline, No" and " 'Til I Die."

Brian Wilson at the Bridge - on Sunset

Flash forward to 1994 and by this point in my life, I was a confirmed fan, but had not yet developed a complete appreciation for Brian's production genius that would be fulfilled when I came late to Pet Sounds, and - finally - when SMiLE finally had its 38-years-late release.  Still I felt I had a kindred spirit in that he was the only other person I knew of who admired and openly praised the Four Freshmen - to others they were Squaresville, 'though not to me, and Brian has always honored them as his harmonic inspiration.

Perfect Pitch

Gary and I spent a little over two hours talking.  Sometime before we wrapped up, Brian and his friend stood up, shook hands and parted.  As he walked away from us, I thought of the anonymous silhouettes, receding against the day-glo horizon, in the classic key-art poster from the Bruce Brown film "Endless Summer."

I was too awe-struck, and too much captive of the interview moment, to get up and introduce myself.  But I felt the warmth of his sun* ... and knew I'd now truly been in California!

Precision Genius

 . . . "Lately, I'd been depressed and preoccupied with death...Looking out toward the ocean, my mind, as it did almost every hour of every day, worked to explain the inconsistencies that dominated my life; the pain, torment, and confusion and the beautiful music I was able to make. Was there an answer? Did I have no control? Had I ever? Feeling shipwrecked on an existential island, I lost myself in the balance of darkness that stretched beyond the breaking waves to the other side of the earth. The ocean was so incredibly vast, the universe was so large, and suddenly I saw myself in proportion to that, a little pebble of sand, a jellyfish floating on top of the water; traveling with the current I felt dwarfed, temporary. The next day I began writing "'Til I Die", perhaps the most personal song I ever wrote for The Beach Boys...In doing so, I wanted to re-create the swell of emotions that I'd felt at the beach the previous night."

'Til I Die - Surf's Up, 1971

* Something interesting here.

Rockin' the Vote with Martha Quinn - My MTV All-Nighter

As an unsullied early-career kid, circa 1982-83, I had but one dream: to move to NYC and work in business development for MTV.  I got my shot in 1985, but before then something even more magical happened: I met and of course fell in love with Martha Quinn.

My Martha: Ah, the Eighties ...

Well, we all were in love with Martha, once she and her confreres hit the airwaves in August '81. But of course I was sure that I loved her more than anyone else possibly could.

California My Way - 5th Dimension, later Main Ingredient

So it's late 1983, and I'm an east coast boy on his first visit to California. Had already hit the beach in Malibu with Dick "Laugh-In" Martin, then rented a car and drove in a SoCal freeway Lot-49-and-L.A.-Woman revery down "the 5" and then east and west on Ball Road, bulked at Spaghetti Station, before checking in to the Anaheim Hyatt on the Disneyland perimeter for two days of the Western Cable Show.

I quickly found out where the night's action would be: upstairs at the WASEC reception.

Deep Purple: Place in Line

Bob Pittman was there, I schmoozed him a bit, hung with the marketing guys for a while, and then I spotted her, perched on a stool at the countertop, and lighting up the hospitality suite with her smile and laughter.  Martha Quinn - tiny as a mouse, and bubbly like new champagne. Chortling along: uplink site techie Paul Beeman, a jolly middle-aged guy from the Smithtown TOC.

Diamond Dave - Always On

What developed next was a boisterous, high-pitched music trivia game between the three of us, and it went on for over three hours.  Her handler got cranky because Martha was engrossed with us instead of working the crowd, but finally gave up and left us alone.  Forward we rolled like Def Leppard - On Through The Night.

I'll Join You In That Time Capsule

Martha really knew her 60's stuff, 80's Thompson-Twin techno/poppy-pop, and folk music, and she of course had the inside track on all the acts of the moment including the L.A. hair-metalers.  Beeman was an encyclopedia - acts, songs, dates, labels and chart position.  I held my own on heavy metal/NWOBHM, 70's soul/R&B, San Francisco sound - and early 50's vocal groups.  It is safe to say that we all showed each other up, and blew each other away.  Over and over and over.  I could hear music....

*  *  *  *  *

We stayed up nearly 'til sunrise.  Paul disappeared.  Great breathtaking fun, lots and lots of jazzy, twinkly eye contact.  Where would it end?  Well, it would end back in New York....

All Within Reach ... If You Know What To Do.

Naturally - what a rube! - I imagined/hoped that this night was just the beginning.  We exchanged numbers in the Hyatt lobby, agreed to each think about a trivia question that was really just a conversation continu-er concerning Van Halen and the high number and interesting selection of cover songs they had produced and might next produce, and we made vague plans to see each other in New York.

Martha in Malibu - I Want My ...

I had to call through the MTV switchboard many, many fruitless times for her (it was obvious there was a never-ending queue of clowns calling and panting for her, and I guess I was one, albeit ultimately with an edge of slight legitimacy), and we did indeed re-connect later that winter, for coffee on Astor Place, and separately, briefly and awkwardly, at the Cherry Lane Theater, but the magic was gone.  She was in her world, and I a visiting nobody from Nowheresville.

I later had opportunities to cross paths at the end-of-'84 MTV New Year's Eve Party, and at the 1985 MTV Music Awards, but by then fate had cruelly decided that nothing would materialize.

Still, ....

On Safari to Stay: Key-Hammering with Peter Serkin

A High Culture Treat in the Hinterlands

Two rules of this blog - rarely, but in extraordinary cases, broken - are:

1. Don't post about people whom you nearly, but don't actually, meet - and
2. Don't post about people whom you line up to meet at a performance (as in, standing in line to get Whitey Ford's autograph at the Hall of Fame induction ceremony in Cooperstown, lining up outside the stage door to meet Jeff Goldblum or Patti Smith, or buying a plate at a fundraiser where your hangdog Congressman is going to appear)

I may or may not be walking the line here, but what the heck:

Elegance, Understatement... Malaise

Last evening, my wife and I were lucky guests of one of the major sponsors at the season Opening Night of the Springfield Symphony, featuring a performance by renowned pianist Peter Serkin.  Our gracious host had an appointment to meet with Peter following the performance and champagne reception, and invited us to join him.

Serkin dazzled at the piano seat with three movements of the Bartok Piano Concerto & Orchestra #3.  From our third row seats 3/4 to the left, I had a great, close-up view of the underside of Pete's right sleeve, palm and fingertips, as he tickled the ivories - particularly on the very tender and striking 2nd movement, Adagio religioso.

The prospect of meeting piano scion Serkin was interesting to me for a more personal reason: my brother, also a pianist of international high acclaim, had done a residency at Tanglewood three summers ago and, at the time, performed a Brahms sonata with cello - originally for violin - for Peter in the Serkin home.  Not a bad ice-breaker, thought yours truly.

Well, Mr. Serkin exited stage left following the Bartok and preceding the intermission.  Finished with his own part of the program, the pianist alerted the stage manager he was feeling ill, and he retired before 'we-the-highbrows' could finish hearing the rest of the program and move to the room where Junior Leaguers were pouring the champagne.

Where's Pete? Never saw him again.

At Symphony Hall - L: Virtuoso Serkin (dov'e?)   R: Vagabundo Porter

Tell the teacher we're Serkin' - Serkin' U.S.A. !

Mudhoney Soundgarden Sub-Pop Eating Crew

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner...

What a pair of fortunate sons: had seen Soundgarden with Bowled Geoffe ("Hunted Down!") when they appeared at the New Music Seminar summer '88 Sub-Pop showcase at CBGB's, and we were itching for more of the stompin' Cornell/Thayil blend of drone-riff-wailing.  This night in March 1989, the Soundgardeners would support headline act Mudhoney, and we were also keen to experience first-hand Arm/Turner/Peters/Lukin's raw power energy.

Hangin' at raucous Maxwell's in Hoboken, and we went in early for dinner before the show.

As our rollicking crew that included John Keim and Jim Bresson sat in the front room for dinner, we could hear the sound check winding up in the back, and then in walked the Seattle grunge crew... who sat right down at the two tables next to ours.  So this is the evening we "ate dinner with Soundgarden and Mudhoney."

Thayil: Brother Injoys

We had just been served.  When Soundgarden's turn came to order, Kim Thayil asked the waiter about the pasta with sausage and the waiter pointed at my plate.  "How is that, man?" Kim asked me.  "Pretty good, man!" I responded.

He ordered "what that guy's having," we gave each other the knowing nod, and went right on with our lives.

The show was incredible - high energy and crazed audience participation, in a very close space.

Cornell and crew blasted off, propelled by the walnut-grinder riffs of pasta fan Thayil and the rhythm & beat of Dave Cameron/Hiro Yamamoto.  They ended with a medley of Working Man/18/Communication Breakdown that sent the place up in flames.

I'm A Boy And I'm A Man

I was partial to Soundgarden already, so I thought they ought to have been the headliners.  But once the Mudhoney "Superfuzz Bigmuff" rocket-ride tore the roof off, we were sent into orbit and at one point found ourselves shoulder-to-shoulder with Thayil, oscillating in frenzy at the lip of the stage. 

Here is a decent account of the Mudhoney set and the general vibe:

3/11/89 Maxwell's. Hoboken, NJ (55 min) [ Thanks "Tourbook" ]

He doesn't mention it but at one point in "Mud-ride," Mark Arm surfed over the crowd on his back, holding onto the wired mike, made a few mid-song oscillations, and then used the mike cord to reel himself hand-over-hand back to stage, as the stack into which his mike was plugged teetered and lurched precariously.  Amp, Arm and crowd on the very knife edge.

But an hour and a half earlier, we were knifing into our grungy grub together like hungry workingmen, ready for anything - ready to screeeeeeeeeam!

* * * * * * *

Q: Why a Mudhoney beer?  [ Thanks for the account below, Sunbreak ]

Timing Dispute: "I know whatcherthinkinpunk: was it 1989 or only 1988? Well to tell you the truth, in all this confusion, I'm not too sure myself:"

BURN IT CLEAN

In 1988, I saw Mudhoney at Maxwell’s in Hoboken (editor's note: Likelier, it was the Pyramid Club in Manhattan). About 30 seconds into the second song, they went into overdrive. It was Blue Cheer meets Black Flag. To top it off, they finished the set with the Dicks’ “Hate The Police.” I was hooked. (I kinda felt bad for Live Skull, the headlining act, having to follow that.) So if I had any band to make a beer for, why not them? I contacted Steve Turner and got his thumbs-up.

As with our “higher gravities” theme, it’s 8.5% ABV. I dropped a bottle off at the local record store and heard back that it was “too sweet.” I told them that it’s a mega honey ale. I knew they really didn’t drink it because they were able to type afterwards.

Pas de Deux with Chris Blackwell

Millie's Boy, "Lollipop"

Chris Blackwell is a dashing and charismatic creative genius, superior businessman, and has an incredible life story.  He discovered, published or managed some of the biggest acts to break out in music from the 60's to the 80's, most notably Bob Marley and U2, but also favorites Jethro Tull, Free, Traffic, King Crimson, ELP, Cat Stevens, Melissa Etheridge, and on and on.

Dapper Gent Chris Blackwell

When I met Chris, it was 2002 and we were dancing to the music of potential merger - he with Palm Pictures, and my colleagues and I with Artist Network Ventures.

Anyway, back in 1972 Chris had produced the soundtrack to "The Harder They Come" starring Jimmy Cliff and had made it a supreme international hit, and a major steppingstone in the popularization of reggae in North America.  Through my father I knew Ekweume Mike Thelwell, author of the 1980 adapted novel based on the earlier film.  But our connection to Chris here was made through Jimmy Cliff, who by now was on our label in London.

Marquee: Hendrix Ate Here

We first met in NYC for discussions about connecting Chris' Palm - and its movie, music and publishing businesses - with ANV.  We Art-Venturers were cultivating a small stable of UK-based musicians, developing television concepts, and renovating the storied Marquee nightclub venue in London.

We were also trying to develop a Napster-like service and, separately, a wildly weird installation module concept featuring 5.1 Surround Sound egg-chair listening stations for Barnes & Noble's college bookstore business... but I digress.

Talks lasted for a few rounds, and Palm was at the time involving itself with former colleagues of mine at National Geographic Society in Washington DC - connecting Palm's 'world beat' and 'indigenous' musics with NatGeo's various exoticisms.  Think "Koyanisqaatsi," Philip Glass' avant-masterpiece from Palm-predecessor Island.

Blackwell in his element, digging new music, 1982.

Ultimately, the only transaction that resulted from all this speed-dating was not between Palm and ANV, nor, really, between Palm and NGS, but rather between a junior executive of Palm placing himself into the NGS firmament... but I digress.

Anyway, on a sojourn to DC, Chris was to visit NGS and I was his envoy.  He and his entourage stayed at the new, trendy Hotel Rouge, where we sipped highballs in the dark at happy hour on Friday and then all went off together to the evening's film screening.

Kate Simon's Marley Portrait, Govinda

I asked Chris to entrust his Saturday morning to me and to trust my judgment.  Being of notoriously impeccable judgment himself - he did!  And he wasn't sorry.

My wife and I returned Saturday morning to schlepp Mr. Blackwell to the finest rock photography gallery in the US - my acquaintance Chris Murray's Govinda Gallery on 34th street, NW in Georgetown.  We enjoyed a fantastic exhibition rife with exquisite Dylan, Hendrix and other 60's/70's iconic imagery - some instantly recognizable, much deliciously unique and unforeseen.  Chris lingered and studied, immersed in the beauty of the prints and paying special attention to a set of b/w Rolling Stones images from 1964.

Coda:

Knowing Chris Blackwell and working with him, just a brief while, was greatly inspiring.  He's a decent, enthused and remarkable man with an incredible ear for talent.  And what's more, I learned something from him about keeping one's principles, even in the venal and cutthroat star-maker machinery of the business of music.  Although he'll do plenty fine without my well wishes, Chris is a super nice guy and I do wish him well in the resort biz - 

For old time's sake,

here's a beautiful video set to Bob Marley's "Waiting In Vain."

Feeding the World with Harry Chapin

Harry Chapin - Gone too soon, too soon.

"Hunger is an obscenity and hunger in America is the ultimate obscenity.. We have to stop feeding the symptoms and get to the real root causes of hunger and poverty"

Harry Chapin

Wild About Harry

At the height of Harry Chapin's considerable impact and well-earned acclaim as a troubadour in the pop music world, he was actively involved in a number of social reform movements including the Union for Radical Political Economics.  And in the summer of '79 the URPEs came to Hampshire College for a few days of fomenting to envision a new world order.  Yours truly was earning money before returning to Hamilton College, by scrubbing pots for Food Services in the Hampshire dining hall, and working occasional extra hours at special events.

One afternoon, I joined a couple of co-workers including my brother and signed on to man the cookout grill for these Radical Economists.  Experience on the grill at McDonalds made me a good man for the job.  We clowns did set-up, fired that thing up, and got the burgers and dogs cooking.  Up the hill came marching the grimy throng - one with guitar case in hand.

We the noble laborers watched, rapt, as Harry jawboned with professors and organizers - his eyes lit up, his speech and body highly animated.  It was clear he was passionate on the topic, and very inspiring to those within earshot.  Then we rang the chow-bell, and it was time to line 'em up at the trough.

To Each, According To Need

As they all filed through the line with paper plates, each had to declare "Hamburger" or "Cheeseburger."  Harry requested a cheeseburger, saying "I'll take a Cheeseburger!"  I made sure he got one, responding "Here's your cheeseburger!"

It is worth pointing out that my brother Dave was inclined in these situations to tape a sheet of paper to his apron, announcing the hand-written message "I am the Condiments Man. If you Don't See It, we Don't Have It.  So, Don't Ask Me For It."

Rumor had it that Harry would be performing, campfire-style, to rollick the assembled rabble rousers after dinner as night fell.  And we learned the next day this is precisely what happened.  He'd played Chapin, Seeger, Guthrie, and Kingston Trio numbers.  But we working stiffs had been shoo'd away (by management, not URPE mind you) as soon as the last burger was issued and the grill scraped.

Chapin was then lobbying and cajoling the Carter government to establish the Presidential Commission on World Hunger and - with New World Order subversive Bill Ayres - he co-founded World Hunger Year (now Why Hunger).  The Chapin family continues this work today.

Note: Harry's older brother Jim had graduated from Hamilton College in 1963, and by this time in 1979 Harry's step-daughter, Jaime, was attending Hamilton along with me.  Although we had not previously become acquainted, Jaime and I had a brief and lighthearted moment when I introduced myself to her later in the fall of 1979 to recount my "cheeseburger" anecdote.

31 years ago this week - a year after I graduated, but before Jaime's senior year - Harry was killed in a car accident at 38.  His stories and works live on, and on.

Chapin recorded long narrative ballads ... that told stories about the extraordinary lives of ordinary people, about the social and political events of the day and the angst and struggles of human existence.

(excerpted from a really nice post on Colin Pinter's blog).

Blow, Man, Blow! Archie Shepp and Jazz School

Archie Shepp, Professor of Jazz

Archie Shepp came to UMass in 1971 to teach Jazz Ensemble and History of African American Music, and it was the beginning of a long and fruitful association.  On tenor sax, Shepp was among a cadre of recruited faculty who would build a pre-eminent jazz braintrust in swingin' Amherst.

Drummer Max Roach was aboard for the ride.  So, by the way, was horn-blowin' elder statesman Yusef Lateef, nee Bill Huddleston, who also performed as Bill Evans ("I"), not to be confused with other jazz musicians Bill Evans ("II" - pianist) and Bill Evans ("III" - other tenor saxaphonist)... Oy!

In-Crowd scene-ster

On arrival in Amherst, Archie was already established as a giant since his groundbreaking 1960's work, which included performing on Coltrane's Ascension (Shepp's earlier contributions in collaboration on the A Love Supreme sessions were left on the cutting room floor, but can now be enjoyed here).

Archie's eldest son Pavel, two years behind me in school, was a good friend of my brother's and Pavel also played drums in Jazz Workshop, where I was swinging the bass my senior year.

I saw Archie a number of times, and met him first, when he would come to pick Pavel up from football practice as we soccer booters too were being released from locker room miasma into the same rich Amherst air.

Shepp/Porter: Rhythm Unlimited.

But it was with awestruck reverence that we Jazz Workshoppers - runny-nosed mere mortals - performed when Archie seated himself among the parents for our year-end concert.  My big moments as bassist were on the Mingus standard Goodbye, Pork Pie Hat and on Bill Evans II's awesome So What? that everyone associates with Miles Davis' Kind Of Blue LP.

As we self-consciously plowed through these standards - in-form to begin, free-form to unwind, back into form to close - I saw Archie rocking slowly to the former, and then nodding in time as I kicked off the latter.  Fortunately, I had managed to not disgrace myself.  As it turns out, 'twas the pinnacle of my jazz career.  Hot socks, we wuz hittin' on all sixes.

Archie's still at it, mostly in Paris but, like a giant who steps down from Olympus, he visits Amherst from time to time.

Here's a video of Archie playing recently, and featuring Tom McClung (Amherst Regional H.S. too!) on keys.

... to Olympus

From Earth...

How bold of UMass to assemble the jazz all-star club.  Archie and Max collaborated, and everyone grooved.  And I mean everyone!

Professor Roland Wiggins, whose daughter Roz cooked me crepes once, was the svengali behind this recruiting triumph.  We in this lovely town are truly, truly blessed.

I Tell Ya, Things Have Got To Change!

On a Wild Nantucket Sleighride with Roy Bailey

Time to dream, and dream, and daydream again about Nantucket Island summers.

Happy Father's Day to my Dad, and here's a Nantucket reprise in honor of my parents spending the week now in Wauwinet...

In the Bailey Studio...

In the 1960's, one of Nantucket's great artists-in-residence was Roy Bailey, whose upstairs gallery above Miltimore's Dress Shop was on the corner of Orange Street and South Main Street, just up from where Mitchell's Bookshop now sits, and below Murray's Toggery.

Gorgeous

My parents knew Roy through some good mutual friends - natives, I'm obliged to point out - and collected a few of his pieces.

James Dean-esque and seductively dashing, Bailey was active in the art and performing arts community, and a regular in the Opera House, where a good martini could always be had, and a Coke at the bar would cost you $1 in 1968 (at the time, it was $.10 or .15 everywhere else on the island!).

Sixties island hoi-polloi would congregate in the Opera House after sailing, for evenings of tale-telling and tail-chasing.  It was a swinging scene among the yacht club set, up-and-comers, and Snopeses of all stripes.

Porters' Quarters, 59 Fair

At the time, we had a place on Fair Street, a short stroll away.

Now, if you read your Melville, you know that a Nantucket Sleighride is local (early 19th century) slang for the ride you and your (possibly doomed) friends took once the leashed harpoon you'd hurled found its mark in the whale's flesh and he took you for a long and rough ride, sometimes for hours... sometimes to the bottom of the sea.  Reference Captain Ahab.

Gentlemen of a certain age know well, also, that "Nantucket Sleighride" refers to a 5:50 rock classic (blended ballad/dirge and riff-rock roarer) from the 1971 album of the same name by monumental heavy/dinosaur band Mountain (alternately, to its 32-minute cousin from the live "Twin Peaks" album, much and painfully inferior).  As Mountain were preparing to release the great (I think their best) album Nantucket Sleighride, the band either selected - or commissioned anew - an etching by Bailey to illustrate the inner album spread.

I'd stared at this illustration ['Drawing of a Nantucket Sleighride'] many times - but only years later, after college, did I notice the attribution and realize it was ol' Roy who'd 'drawn' it.

"Three years sailing on bended knee ..."

So when in 1998 while biking into town now on Vestal Street I spotted Bailey's shingle, I hustled in to find him, aging and a bit brittle.

We introduced ourselves and chatted about the 'golden age' of Nantucket for ten minutes or so.  Then I revealed my real interest - to buy a print of the Nantucket Sleighride key art.

"Wow!" he shouted - "it's been years and years since anyone has even mentioned that piece to me!  I didn't think anyone remembered.  I barely remember it myself!"

Visit the Nantucket Whaling Museum

He did not have the print to sell - for all he knew, it had gone ages ago to Davy Jones' locker.  We reminisced and he let me know the connection had come about through a Nantucket fellow - "young man, don't remember his name now, but might have been a Coffin descendant" - who was friendly with the band and knew of their fascination with Nantucket, whaling, and the story of the whaleship Essex, all inspirations for the album.

Here is a nice Father's Day themed article about Roy Bailey.

Roy passed away in 2002 but he lives on in the memory of many a Nantucket "Golden-Ager' . . . as does this particular work of his in the hearts and minds of many I'd venture utterly unwitting rock fans of 40 years ago!!

Discovering Mickey Hart

I am first and foremost NOT a "Dead-head."  My wife has dragged me to latterday Be-Ins with Furthur, RatDog, the Other Ones, and sundry spin-off projects but it isn't working.  I guess it's over my head.

WORLDBEAT IT!

Groovin' & Grateful

But in 1990 I really enjoyed meeting Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart a few times while he was forging his career as ethno-musicologist on the Smithsonian Institution's dime.  My close colleague Denise brought Mickey in to Explore Our World and develop a Discovery Channel TV miniseries co-production for our "People & Places" strand.  On one occasion, Mickey had worked a hat-trick on his DC tour - an honest day's work at the Smithsonian, a pop-in to see us at Discovery, and then a performance at the Cap Center.  After our afternoon meeting, my colleagues went to the show; I passed.

Mickey had great energy and charisma.  He was comfortable pitching and fielding ideas - not desperate nor conniving as was the case with some of the shysters who came to Landover to shill projects.

A real delight to get to know.

Mickey gave me a 4-CD set of project work that he had produced, which I later gave away in a lead-up to courtship with Mrs. Porter.  In the end, Mick and our gang did not work out a TV deal.  But no matter: Mickey was busy establishing what now amounts to a tremendous cornerstone in the World Music movement, in partnership with Smithsonian.  Some of this stuff is interesting, although it doesn't have the "razor edge" that I usually listen for...

... and I still lack the Vision to appreciate the Dead or their ilk!

But check out the Mickey Hart Band if that's your cup of T . . . .

Russell Smith & Co. - In Studio with the Amazing Rhythm Aces

All The Aces: Russell & ARA

Christmas week, 1977 I was in Nashville with my girlfriend's family, visiting her songwriter brother.  One night that week we went by, late, to the Jack Clement Recording Studios where Casey had lately been doing session work.

Tennessee band Amazing Rhythm Aces was in town and in tight, and laying down vocal tracks that evening for the album "Burning the Ballroom Down."  A bottle of Jack Daniel's sour-mash whiskey helped Russell Smith get exactly the right pitch and growl.  I was thrilled to watch Russell's painstaking process of one take after another singing the lead to two songs: the greazy, Skynyrd-esque "A Jackass Gets His Oats," and the one that ended up to be the album-closer, "Spirit Walk."

I've made the Nashville scene again, been in the studio on other occasions, and seen bigger stars, but this seminal evening, for me, was the fascinating topper.  Hard work and good fun, - with a great result!

"Still and all, her legs were long..."

Russell Smith & James H. Brown, Jr.

Poolside with Jeff Beck - Guitar God of Few Words

Tune Up The Motor

In 1991 on a business trip to L.A., I had a few hours to kill. Those days I always stayed at the Sunset Marquis, a block off Sunset on Alta Loma near La Cienega.

One day I had slack time between meetings and decided, instead of trucking down the street to Tower Records, to sit by the pool.

Into the next chaise lounge dropped a scruffy guy with a shag haircut and the large J.C. Whitney High Performance Auto Parts catalog in his hands. JEFF BECK !!!

Nobody makes a guitar sound like Jeff Beck can

We soaked up the sun in silence and with furtive glances aplenty I tried to determine the make & model of car he was parts-shopping for.  No luck though, as that catalog is written in 4-point type, like a phone book.

After a while I caught his eye and said "Are y'findin' anything in there?" Jeff's response was a lackadaisical shrug. "Whatcha lookin' for?" I asked.  "Nothin' in particular. Everything."  Brief silence. "Well, good luck!"

Four years later I had a pair of tickets to see Beck/Santana outdoors on a perfect summer night at Wolf Trap Farms in Virginia, and work interfered. Instead, I gave those tickets to Michael, a young friend and colleague who brought an exquisitely beautiful date for what he described as a splendid, enchanted evening.

I wished I'd been the one to use that ticket - but the following spring, when my friend died of leukemia, I was glad he'd had his own magical night in the company of this guitar god.

The Sunset Marquis: Where Rock Stars and Nobodies Alike May Mingle

...After all, Jeff and I'd already become fast friends!