Although my band is now "officially" a five-piece (drums, bass, guitar, keyboards and voice), I've spent most of my musicial career playing in what's known as a three-piece and voice. In fact, my band will still occasionally play as a 3P w/V for smaller/less $$ gigs.
In this type of band the guitarist, if he's any good, wears about 20 hats every song. He's chording to fatten the sound while playing all the hookish and familiar guitar/key/horn/string runs. The bass player can't play just the written bass part - he has to weave around the guitar player and be intuitive enough to know when to fill it up and when to stick in the pocket. The drummer has to lock in with the bass player while also knowing when to drop in a fill and when to let the song breathe. Meanwhile, the singer belts it out, and depending on the amount of backup singers in the band the lead vocalist may have to jump from melody to harmony to unison chant to melody within a few bars.
This type of band is fun, challenging and somewhat dangerous (musically, duh). For example, if the guitar player misses a chord in a five or six-piece band, it often gets lost in the shuffle behind the second guitarist, keyboardist or horn section. Same with the bass player and drummer. Being surrounded by several musicians is a good safety net - they all produce sounds that help cover up minor gliches.
However, if only three guys are responsible for the sound and one guy for the melody, and one of them makes a mistake, it's HUGE. Even the smallest mistake - the singer going flat, the bass player missing a note, the drummer dropping a beat or the guitarist playing the wrong chord - is amplified. For me, it always feels like we're standing on a coffee table with wobbly legs and it kind of shakes and teeters before we regain balance.
If this happens for a prolonged time, it's disasterous for the band. A few years back we played a gig with a bass player who shouldn't have been on stage - let alone earning money to play music - to begin with. The guitar player launched into his solo, and the bass player (who at the beginning of the song gave a fey and arrogant hand wave when asked "do you know this song?") proceeded to demolish the solo section, playing changes in the wrong key while his "stupid" fingers ran up and down the fretboard like a pinball on crack. Man - about 35 seconds of living in the pits of hell, in front of a packed house. It was humiliating, infuriating and amatuerish, but mostly it made THE ENTIRE BAND look like a bunch of novice wannabes. (Thankfully, this particular bass player was humanely destroyed behind a barn. "Bass player, thy name is 'poser!' Ka-POW!")
So, there's no safety net for a three-piece with voice. Each guy has to nail his part or risk making the entire band sound unprepared. It's thrilling. It's scary. It's cool.
And, thankfully, with the addition of a wonderful keyboardist, it'll soon be a thing of the past.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Telling Stories, Taking Lives
Selling cover music to a crowd staring right at you and demanding truth and emotion and insisting you take them to a place in their past...
...is difficult.
Through my ravings I've said playing cover music isn't great art - and it isn't. I compared it to a paint-by-numbers version of the Mona Lisa - and it is. Cover musicians didn't create "The Exorcist" - we just decided to adapt it as a musical for people to enjoy their memories while we entertain them and keep them happy.
Still, if you're going to perform music that's important to someone, you'd better make it as real as possible. Music is life's signposts and markers, intimately intertwined with our emotions, events, places, times and people. Simply put, cover music evokes memories and is a guide to our past.
Heavy, right? Reality, though.
As a cover band musician, listeners depends on you to help them revisit an event, or a friend, or place or time, or an emotion. If you can't convey truth, they won't respond. They won't trust you. I mean, face it - we've ALL heard crappy cover bands doing plastic versions of songs - sure, the basic chords are there, but where's the "oomph?" The realism? The honesty?
The answer is simple, but the technique is hard. The musician HAS to find something in the song he or she can relate to, then tap into the emotion and apply it to the performance. For example, I'm furious about our government's hypocrisy and broken promises. I tap into that when singing "Pink Houses." I remember myself as a spazzy kid running around laughing myself silly and causing trouble for "I Wish." I'd tell you where the inspiration comes from for "Let's Get it On," but I don't want to name names.
My drummer pulls every drop of emotion out of "Can't Get It Out of My Head" due to events occurring in his life while we learned the song - and you FEEL that in his playing, from his tripleted fills "pulling" against the song's time to the openness of his backbeat. His drumming's filled with tension, then spaciousness and ultimately release. It's probably my favorite "drumming" song in our list, and it gets me every time.
As a singer, one of the greatest compliments I've received is when a listener - be it someone in the crowd or someone in a band - told me my singing gave him or her "chills." That's amazing to me, and it proves that tapping into MY emotion helps make cover music a communal, sharing experience.
You know, I often think of cover musicians as actors. We know how actors earn a living - a screenwriter creates a script. The actor studies these flat, two-dimensional words on paper and, under the director's instructions, makes the words come to life. You have to believe the actor lost a lover in a car accident, or is possessed by a dark spirit, or pushed his body to the breaking point in order to save the world.
Bringing life to words on a page, written by someone else - that's an actor's passion.
Bringing feeling and emotion to a tired song, telling a story and taking lives back to another place - that's the blessing and calling of a good cover musician.
...is difficult.
Through my ravings I've said playing cover music isn't great art - and it isn't. I compared it to a paint-by-numbers version of the Mona Lisa - and it is. Cover musicians didn't create "The Exorcist" - we just decided to adapt it as a musical for people to enjoy their memories while we entertain them and keep them happy.
Still, if you're going to perform music that's important to someone, you'd better make it as real as possible. Music is life's signposts and markers, intimately intertwined with our emotions, events, places, times and people. Simply put, cover music evokes memories and is a guide to our past.
Heavy, right? Reality, though.
As a cover band musician, listeners depends on you to help them revisit an event, or a friend, or place or time, or an emotion. If you can't convey truth, they won't respond. They won't trust you. I mean, face it - we've ALL heard crappy cover bands doing plastic versions of songs - sure, the basic chords are there, but where's the "oomph?" The realism? The honesty?
The answer is simple, but the technique is hard. The musician HAS to find something in the song he or she can relate to, then tap into the emotion and apply it to the performance. For example, I'm furious about our government's hypocrisy and broken promises. I tap into that when singing "Pink Houses." I remember myself as a spazzy kid running around laughing myself silly and causing trouble for "I Wish." I'd tell you where the inspiration comes from for "Let's Get it On," but I don't want to name names.
My drummer pulls every drop of emotion out of "Can't Get It Out of My Head" due to events occurring in his life while we learned the song - and you FEEL that in his playing, from his tripleted fills "pulling" against the song's time to the openness of his backbeat. His drumming's filled with tension, then spaciousness and ultimately release. It's probably my favorite "drumming" song in our list, and it gets me every time.
As a singer, one of the greatest compliments I've received is when a listener - be it someone in the crowd or someone in a band - told me my singing gave him or her "chills." That's amazing to me, and it proves that tapping into MY emotion helps make cover music a communal, sharing experience.
You know, I often think of cover musicians as actors. We know how actors earn a living - a screenwriter creates a script. The actor studies these flat, two-dimensional words on paper and, under the director's instructions, makes the words come to life. You have to believe the actor lost a lover in a car accident, or is possessed by a dark spirit, or pushed his body to the breaking point in order to save the world.
Bringing life to words on a page, written by someone else - that's an actor's passion.
Bringing feeling and emotion to a tired song, telling a story and taking lives back to another place - that's the blessing and calling of a good cover musician.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Weirded Out - AKA "The Cobra Stare"
The cobra snake's reputation is pretty solid, right? Creepy looking, big ol' snake (some can get up to 24 feet in length). There's the hood, the deadly toxins inherent in the bite (which cause suffocation due to paralysis of the diaphragm) - man. That's enough to give most people the ol' "fear skittering up my back like a spider" feeling.
The other thing about a cobra? Depending on what you read, a cobra can hypnotise its prey by staring at while rhythmically moving back and forth. Then it attacks.
OK - time to dovetail. Playing gigs means getting attention from the crowd/customers. It's normally fun, and it's the routine - I mean, part of the job of a cover band is to entertain, and people enjoy seeing musicians singing, running around, having fun and playing instruments. Of course, gigging musicians enjoy the attention - after all, I firmly believe most musicians are insecure to beging with. So, when the crowd's digging you, you're digging them back via the music and entertainment, and it creates good synergy (I blogged about this a few days ago).
However - every now and then, there are a few people in the crowd who take it way past the "comfortable zone." Maybe it's a guy who's been pounding drinks all day long and side-stepped from the "fun, buzzed" arena to the darker "beligerant drunk" side. This guy stumbles to the dance floor, bashes into people without regard and hits on girls who want nothing to do with him. Or maybe it's the girl who's so into the band she DEMANDS you play her favorite song, regardless if the band's never done it (or ALREADY done it one set before) - to the point of yelling at the band to "&#ck off!" if the band doesn't comply.
But beyond that, there's the person who uses what I call "The Cobra Stare." THIS person weirds me right out the door. 99% of the time, this person is a girl, and here's how she operates:
The other thing about a cobra? Depending on what you read, a cobra can hypnotise its prey by staring at while rhythmically moving back and forth. Then it attacks.
OK - time to dovetail. Playing gigs means getting attention from the crowd/customers. It's normally fun, and it's the routine - I mean, part of the job of a cover band is to entertain, and people enjoy seeing musicians singing, running around, having fun and playing instruments. Of course, gigging musicians enjoy the attention - after all, I firmly believe most musicians are insecure to beging with. So, when the crowd's digging you, you're digging them back via the music and entertainment, and it creates good synergy (I blogged about this a few days ago).
However - every now and then, there are a few people in the crowd who take it way past the "comfortable zone." Maybe it's a guy who's been pounding drinks all day long and side-stepped from the "fun, buzzed" arena to the darker "beligerant drunk" side. This guy stumbles to the dance floor, bashes into people without regard and hits on girls who want nothing to do with him. Or maybe it's the girl who's so into the band she DEMANDS you play her favorite song, regardless if the band's never done it (or ALREADY done it one set before) - to the point of yelling at the band to "&#ck off!" if the band doesn't comply.
But beyond that, there's the person who uses what I call "The Cobra Stare." THIS person weirds me right out the door. 99% of the time, this person is a girl, and here's how she operates:
- Forces her way to the front of the crowd, right up to the stage - no matter who she needs to bump out of the way
- Emulates whatever I do on stage (e.g. peace sign, arms raised while singing, arching back while hitting a note, etc.)
- Stares DIRECTLY into my eyes while NEVER BLINKING - even from ACROSS THE ROOM
AGH! This happens occasionally, and - as a seasoned musician and singer - it freaks the livin' hoo-hah out of me. See, I'm a writer and creative type with a love of good horror/suspense - so of course my friggin' imagination grabs the wheel and starts telling me exactly what I don't want to hear ("She's from a pod, Kenny" "She'll swallow your soul, Kenny!" "She's the human cobra woman who'll hypnotize you, then bite you and suffocate you, Kenny!").
Bottom line? Well, I'm civil to this type of person - just like to anyone else who takes the time to come and see us.
But still...
...it weirds me out!
Sweatin' to the Oldies
What a weekend. Two gigs, two crowds, two completely different vibes, different songs, different locations, and - strangely enough! - different bands, as we introduced our female keyboardist/vocalist on Saturday.
There was, however, one consistent between the two nights. One thing that is a consistent at EVERY gig we play...
...sweat.
Sweet Mother McCreedy - is it just me, or do clubs insist on forcing the bands to lose a pound or two in water weight? In my scattered memory I can't remember one time a club's ran A/C while the band's played, and for the life of me I can't figure out why.
Is it to make the patrons hot and thirsty, forcing them to buy more beer/drinks/frosty libations? Couldn't be - food, peanuts and occasional stupidity drive most people to drop far more coin then they should at the bar and drink way too much. OK - what about saving $ on electricity? Nah, that can't be it. It'd cost pennies to run the A/C for a five or ten minutes per set, and they'd probably make the money spent on A/C 50 times over by keeping customers who run for their lives when they start to smell fire and brimstone. Wait - maybe they just don't HAVE A/C installed? Sorry, but no - though we're not at Jetson level yet, just about every club in So Cali has an A/C unit built it.
I guess there's only one reason for keeping the club hotter than an Easy Bake Oven - musicians look sexy when they sweat.
Yeah - that HAS to be it. When the drummer, guitarist and bass player look like they're coated in Crisco oil, the crowd MUST be digging it. When the singer looks like he's just dunked his head in a bobbing-for-apples sized bucket, and the water's pouring off his temples down his face and into his eyes - the girls MUST be going crazy.
Of course! And when I hug friends who've come to see the band, there's nothing they enjoy more than hugging a singer who feels like a damp washcloth.
...yeah.
...nice.
There was, however, one consistent between the two nights. One thing that is a consistent at EVERY gig we play...
...sweat.
Sweet Mother McCreedy - is it just me, or do clubs insist on forcing the bands to lose a pound or two in water weight? In my scattered memory I can't remember one time a club's ran A/C while the band's played, and for the life of me I can't figure out why.
Is it to make the patrons hot and thirsty, forcing them to buy more beer/drinks/frosty libations? Couldn't be - food, peanuts and occasional stupidity drive most people to drop far more coin then they should at the bar and drink way too much. OK - what about saving $ on electricity? Nah, that can't be it. It'd cost pennies to run the A/C for a five or ten minutes per set, and they'd probably make the money spent on A/C 50 times over by keeping customers who run for their lives when they start to smell fire and brimstone. Wait - maybe they just don't HAVE A/C installed? Sorry, but no - though we're not at Jetson level yet, just about every club in So Cali has an A/C unit built it.
I guess there's only one reason for keeping the club hotter than an Easy Bake Oven - musicians look sexy when they sweat.
Yeah - that HAS to be it. When the drummer, guitarist and bass player look like they're coated in Crisco oil, the crowd MUST be digging it. When the singer looks like he's just dunked his head in a bobbing-for-apples sized bucket, and the water's pouring off his temples down his face and into his eyes - the girls MUST be going crazy.
Of course! And when I hug friends who've come to see the band, there's nothing they enjoy more than hugging a singer who feels like a damp washcloth.
...yeah.
...nice.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
I Can See REALLY REALLY Clearly Now
About four months ago, something began happening to my voice - something that'd never happened before. My voice wasn't recovering after gigs - or if it was, the recovery was so minimal it made no difference when it was go time on Friday. I began losing range and control - I couldn't nail the highs and swerving around the vocal curlicues felt like I was driving a bulldozer on a curved mountain road greased with lard ("I canna mahk the tuhrns, cap'n! She'll fail for sure!").
Needless to say this freaked me out. For my entire life, my voice would ALWAYS recover completely in one or, at the absolute outside, two days. That is, no sign of huskiness or hoarseness or Joe Cockeriness - come Monday I could hit the notes in my sleep.
But four months ago that stopped happening. My throat wasn't recovering, and I began to worry. First thought: voice with 25 years worth of singing mileage on it, some of those years spent singing in smoke-filled bars (though I never smoked, for years I played in bars with so much second-hand smoke I felt like I was eating nicotine cotton candy) is crapping out. But it didn't feel like that. My voice felt fatigued but not finished. Next thought: polyps on my vocal cords. This freaked me out - if they don't go away on their own, then what?
Finally, I decided to control the things I could control. I committed, for a month, to have absolutely NO alcohol at a gig - not a beer, not a shot, not a bourbon seven- nothing.
(No-brainer time here, as any experienced singer will tell you this: alcohol is a drying agent, drying the vocal cords and making it tougher to sing and hit the notes. Still, as a front man and band leader, I've been expected to knock back a few drinks/shots during the night. Not that I didn't enjoy it!)
Strangely enough, six months ago (before the onset of the vocal problems) I decided to ease up and have only a beer or two per gig in order to stay sharp. But four months ago - when the throat problems really became predominant - I completely quit drinking at gigs.
Boy - reading this back, it sounds like I'm a cross between Otis and Foster Brooks at my gigs. I can definitely hold my liquor, but knocking back a few highballs didn't make me mess songs up. I'm too much of a perfectionist (and far too into beating myself up for every tiny mistake) for that! If anything, I got a bit too silly/giggly, but hell, what can you do?
Also - I'm not much of a social drinker, either. I rarely, if ever, drink during the week.
So what happened? Well, it was amazing - my voice completely recovered, and I found myself singing with the same range and control at the end of the night that I had at the beginning. No small task, considering the band plays for roughly four hours per night. It was awesome.
But something else happened, too - a really cool side benefit. I was seeing everything clearly, all through the night. Suddenly, I could really enjoy the crowd getting off on the band, or the band tearing up a song like there was no tomorrow. I found my concentration going through the roof, and it was like I controlled every note of every song with my hands - not my vocal cords.
Needless to say, my newfound water-only stance has rankled some of my great friends who come to the gigs and say (with a smile) "We liked you better when you were drinking!" It's at this point I wobble a little and slur the words to some one-hit wonder song. That always gets a laugh.
Master of Ceremonies with a bottle of water? Captain of the Enterprise passing on the tronya, instead powering down some Gatorade? The point guard at a championship celebration foregoing champagne for Sparklets?
Hey...why not? :-)
Needless to say this freaked me out. For my entire life, my voice would ALWAYS recover completely in one or, at the absolute outside, two days. That is, no sign of huskiness or hoarseness or Joe Cockeriness - come Monday I could hit the notes in my sleep.
But four months ago that stopped happening. My throat wasn't recovering, and I began to worry. First thought: voice with 25 years worth of singing mileage on it, some of those years spent singing in smoke-filled bars (though I never smoked, for years I played in bars with so much second-hand smoke I felt like I was eating nicotine cotton candy) is crapping out. But it didn't feel like that. My voice felt fatigued but not finished. Next thought: polyps on my vocal cords. This freaked me out - if they don't go away on their own, then what?
Finally, I decided to control the things I could control. I committed, for a month, to have absolutely NO alcohol at a gig - not a beer, not a shot, not a bourbon seven- nothing.
(No-brainer time here, as any experienced singer will tell you this: alcohol is a drying agent, drying the vocal cords and making it tougher to sing and hit the notes. Still, as a front man and band leader, I've been expected to knock back a few drinks/shots during the night. Not that I didn't enjoy it!)
Strangely enough, six months ago (before the onset of the vocal problems) I decided to ease up and have only a beer or two per gig in order to stay sharp. But four months ago - when the throat problems really became predominant - I completely quit drinking at gigs.
Boy - reading this back, it sounds like I'm a cross between Otis and Foster Brooks at my gigs. I can definitely hold my liquor, but knocking back a few highballs didn't make me mess songs up. I'm too much of a perfectionist (and far too into beating myself up for every tiny mistake) for that! If anything, I got a bit too silly/giggly, but hell, what can you do?
Also - I'm not much of a social drinker, either. I rarely, if ever, drink during the week.
So what happened? Well, it was amazing - my voice completely recovered, and I found myself singing with the same range and control at the end of the night that I had at the beginning. No small task, considering the band plays for roughly four hours per night. It was awesome.
But something else happened, too - a really cool side benefit. I was seeing everything clearly, all through the night. Suddenly, I could really enjoy the crowd getting off on the band, or the band tearing up a song like there was no tomorrow. I found my concentration going through the roof, and it was like I controlled every note of every song with my hands - not my vocal cords.
Needless to say, my newfound water-only stance has rankled some of my great friends who come to the gigs and say (with a smile) "We liked you better when you were drinking!" It's at this point I wobble a little and slur the words to some one-hit wonder song. That always gets a laugh.
Master of Ceremonies with a bottle of water? Captain of the Enterprise passing on the tronya, instead powering down some Gatorade? The point guard at a championship celebration foregoing champagne for Sparklets?
Hey...why not? :-)
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Just a Voice in an Empty Room
"A man plucked a nightingale and, finding but little to eat, said: "'You are just a voice and nothing more.'"
-Plutarch, Moralia: Sayings of Spartans
"Yeah baby - tired of being alone here by myself, now."
-Al Green, Tired of Being Alone
This weekend the band played a really difficult gig - performing for three people for almost two entire sets. It was painful, depressing, difficult and - for me - lonely.
(Uh-oh - the naysayers are rolling their eyes right now. Admit it! "Kenny, all you've done for most of your posts is gripe that cover band musicians are workers, grinding it out like plumbers or mechanics. THEY don't need an audience to work! Quit whining and go sing!")
Look - the thing is, musicians get paid whether the room's crowded or not. We all know that. So why gripe about an empty room? Simple - musicians thrive off the immediate energy a live audience provides. I hate words like "synergy," but in this case it works because the formula for a great live show is: band gives energy / audience receives energy, multiplies it, gives it back to the band / band receives energy, multiplies it, gives it back to the audience / etc., to the nth degree. Talk about blowing the roof off. It's the perfect relationship - everybody wins.
When a room is empty, a good cover band (like mine) still plays and sounds great. We nailed it to the wall the other night, even though for a set and a half only three people saw it. We're professionals - we circle the wagons and play for one another. But for me, I really need the crowd. I need to give them everything I have, and when I'm exhausted, sweating and gasping I need them to prop me back up and demand more. It's exhilarating and cathartic and spiritual and crazy - but mostly it's connecting with them. It creates balance. It empowers me as a singer and an entertainer - so I'm not just a voice in an empty room.
-Plutarch, Moralia: Sayings of Spartans
"Yeah baby - tired of being alone here by myself, now."
-Al Green, Tired of Being Alone
This weekend the band played a really difficult gig - performing for three people for almost two entire sets. It was painful, depressing, difficult and - for me - lonely.
(Uh-oh - the naysayers are rolling their eyes right now. Admit it! "Kenny, all you've done for most of your posts is gripe that cover band musicians are workers, grinding it out like plumbers or mechanics. THEY don't need an audience to work! Quit whining and go sing!")
Look - the thing is, musicians get paid whether the room's crowded or not. We all know that. So why gripe about an empty room? Simple - musicians thrive off the immediate energy a live audience provides. I hate words like "synergy," but in this case it works because the formula for a great live show is: band gives energy / audience receives energy, multiplies it, gives it back to the band / band receives energy, multiplies it, gives it back to the audience / etc., to the nth degree. Talk about blowing the roof off. It's the perfect relationship - everybody wins.
When a room is empty, a good cover band (like mine) still plays and sounds great. We nailed it to the wall the other night, even though for a set and a half only three people saw it. We're professionals - we circle the wagons and play for one another. But for me, I really need the crowd. I need to give them everything I have, and when I'm exhausted, sweating and gasping I need them to prop me back up and demand more. It's exhilarating and cathartic and spiritual and crazy - but mostly it's connecting with them. It creates balance. It empowers me as a singer and an entertainer - so I'm not just a voice in an empty room.
Monday, June 11, 2007
No You? No Mic. No Me.
I have to admit - I'm amazed, and for me that's a pretty big deal.
OK - by now you know that my cover band plays week in, week out. It's a gig, one we get paid for. For the club dates I negotiate the fee, we do the gig, set out our little tip jar and hope for the best. If it's a bigger gig - maybe a corporate function or private event - those who hired us will feed us or provide other perks (drinks, a bonus) in addition to whatever money I've negotiated with them.
Bottom line? We don't play for free, just like your carpenter doesn't build for free, your dentist doesn't drill for free, your painter doesn't paint for free, your waiter (or waitress) doesn't wait for free, or - and you knew this was coming - your plumber doesn't plumb for free.
Incredibly, my band has a group of friends who either make time every single week to come and see us, introduces us to others who constantly throw work our way (I guess you'd call that "networking," though I HATE that term), or are kind to us JUST for the sake of being kind. I can say this without hesitation - our friends really DO take care of us, and they do it on so many different levels it's mind boggling.
First, there's a die-hard group of people who - rain or shine - come to just about every public gig we do. Whether a club date, park function, the Long Beach Grand Prix or an auto show, these folks show up and energize us. In thinking about the "Fab Five" as I call them (Jay and Wifey, Steve and Jennifer and Julia)I get this dumb smile on my face. I truly do consider them my friends, and would feel blessed and honored if I'd met them WITHOUT being a musician. I'm constantly amazed at their energy, selflessness, sense of humor and kindness. If the world had more people like our Fab Five - well, I won't get all political on you but I'm pretty certain there'd be a lot more love in the world.
Next, I can think of a handful of people who've directly impacted how many gigs we play - whose unselfish Party Jones pimping has led to COUNTLESS gigs in an amazing, branching-off manner. I call this "putting money in our pocket." For example, Victoria - a good friend of ours - is responsible for almost single-handedly pointing eight to ten great gigs a year our way (which led to other organizations associated with Victoria's organizations offering us gigs!). Steve - who has a killer party every year - introduced us to the City of Long Beach which led to countless gigs there (and our relationship with Steve came from an annual July 4 gig we play for our friends Bob and Sue!). There's Annette, who not only got us gigs but - due to her softball connections - got us the annual City of Fountain Valley Little League celebration. Seriously - this list could go on all day (I'm not even touching on word-of-mouth recommendations - it's absolutely amazing how much our friends talk us up to THEIR friends, relations and co-workers).
Finally, we have those friends who, simply, do things for the band because they're kind, giving people. Tanya comes to mind - a wonderful person who took on crappy, thankless job of selling our t-shirts and SOLD THEM OUT on her own. By herself! This was AFTER I'd spent over a year trying to sell them! There's Sheryl who always manages to sneak a HUGE tip amount into the jar without anyone finding out. Nelson, whose kind words and up attitude make us feel like kings. Again - this list goes on FOREVER.
You see where I'm going with this? Someday I'll mock up an org chart or something, but in truth - without all of the people who come to see us, I'd never stand in front of a mic and sing. I'm lucky, and blessed, and I thank every single person who's ever come out to see a band I'm in.
OK - by now you know that my cover band plays week in, week out. It's a gig, one we get paid for. For the club dates I negotiate the fee, we do the gig, set out our little tip jar and hope for the best. If it's a bigger gig - maybe a corporate function or private event - those who hired us will feed us or provide other perks (drinks, a bonus) in addition to whatever money I've negotiated with them.
Bottom line? We don't play for free, just like your carpenter doesn't build for free, your dentist doesn't drill for free, your painter doesn't paint for free, your waiter (or waitress) doesn't wait for free, or - and you knew this was coming - your plumber doesn't plumb for free.
Incredibly, my band has a group of friends who either make time every single week to come and see us, introduces us to others who constantly throw work our way (I guess you'd call that "networking," though I HATE that term), or are kind to us JUST for the sake of being kind. I can say this without hesitation - our friends really DO take care of us, and they do it on so many different levels it's mind boggling.
First, there's a die-hard group of people who - rain or shine - come to just about every public gig we do. Whether a club date, park function, the Long Beach Grand Prix or an auto show, these folks show up and energize us. In thinking about the "Fab Five" as I call them (Jay and Wifey, Steve and Jennifer and Julia)I get this dumb smile on my face. I truly do consider them my friends, and would feel blessed and honored if I'd met them WITHOUT being a musician. I'm constantly amazed at their energy, selflessness, sense of humor and kindness. If the world had more people like our Fab Five - well, I won't get all political on you but I'm pretty certain there'd be a lot more love in the world.
Next, I can think of a handful of people who've directly impacted how many gigs we play - whose unselfish Party Jones pimping has led to COUNTLESS gigs in an amazing, branching-off manner. I call this "putting money in our pocket." For example, Victoria - a good friend of ours - is responsible for almost single-handedly pointing eight to ten great gigs a year our way (which led to other organizations associated with Victoria's organizations offering us gigs!). Steve - who has a killer party every year - introduced us to the City of Long Beach which led to countless gigs there (and our relationship with Steve came from an annual July 4 gig we play for our friends Bob and Sue!). There's Annette, who not only got us gigs but - due to her softball connections - got us the annual City of Fountain Valley Little League celebration. Seriously - this list could go on all day (I'm not even touching on word-of-mouth recommendations - it's absolutely amazing how much our friends talk us up to THEIR friends, relations and co-workers).
Finally, we have those friends who, simply, do things for the band because they're kind, giving people. Tanya comes to mind - a wonderful person who took on crappy, thankless job of selling our t-shirts and SOLD THEM OUT on her own. By herself! This was AFTER I'd spent over a year trying to sell them! There's Sheryl who always manages to sneak a HUGE tip amount into the jar without anyone finding out. Nelson, whose kind words and up attitude make us feel like kings. Again - this list goes on FOREVER.
You see where I'm going with this? Someday I'll mock up an org chart or something, but in truth - without all of the people who come to see us, I'd never stand in front of a mic and sing. I'm lucky, and blessed, and I thank every single person who's ever come out to see a band I'm in.
Monday, June 4, 2007
You Hired a WHAT?!
OK - I did it. I really did it. After consulting with the band, we decided to...gulp...
...hire a female keyboardist.
Yes. A girl has become a player in Party Jones.
YAGH!
You're reading this and probably wondering "Geez Kenny - what's the problem? Having a girl in your band is a GOOD thing." And indeed it is - for reasons like: I no longer have to sing the girl songs, the guitar player doesn't have to play EVERY single part and I don't have to hit the ultrasonic high harmony notes. Good times, right?
Yes, but...well, I'll say this: dealing with a woman in a band is completely different than dealing with a guy. I won't invoke the "diva" phrase here, though that gets bandied around quite a bit by people who've played with girls in all-guy bands (yep - I'm one of those). I have it on good authority that our new keyboardist is NOT a diva in any sense of the word. That's good enough for me.
However, having a girl in an all dude band creates a different vibe and chemistry. I call Party Jones "The Jones Boys" because we often feel like a group of renegades on the run. Roll into town, shoot 'em up, give 'em hell, make 'em fall in love with you and get lost before you're caught - all the while keeping just out of reach of the law. None of that seems like an apt description for a girl, y'know?
Also, with guys you can be harsh - you don't have to pull punches when criticizing them. You don't have to hold back when making a joke, and the cruder the humor the better (PLEASE don't tell me you gasped when you read that!). With a girl, my DNA immediately puts a governer on my mouth. My dad raised me to respect women, not be "dirty mouthed" around them and act - more or less - like a gentleman. Add to these the fact that when we're playing in a crowded club we sweat, curse, jump around and look like we've been in a 12-round boxing match. How will that work with a girl in the band? Will she curse, sweat and do the rest?
As I mentioned in a previous post, if each band member understands his or her role, plays within that role and puts the crowd and the band ahead of the individual there's really no need to be gushy with one another. It's a business. Do the job and get paid and leave your ego in the car. Still, it's a nice value add when you DO develop interpersonal relationships with the band. It'll be interesting to see how we go down that particular road with a female on board.
In the meantime?
...gulp.
...hire a female keyboardist.
Yes. A girl has become a player in Party Jones.
YAGH!
You're reading this and probably wondering "Geez Kenny - what's the problem? Having a girl in your band is a GOOD thing." And indeed it is - for reasons like: I no longer have to sing the girl songs, the guitar player doesn't have to play EVERY single part and I don't have to hit the ultrasonic high harmony notes. Good times, right?
Yes, but...well, I'll say this: dealing with a woman in a band is completely different than dealing with a guy. I won't invoke the "diva" phrase here, though that gets bandied around quite a bit by people who've played with girls in all-guy bands (yep - I'm one of those). I have it on good authority that our new keyboardist is NOT a diva in any sense of the word. That's good enough for me.
However, having a girl in an all dude band creates a different vibe and chemistry. I call Party Jones "The Jones Boys" because we often feel like a group of renegades on the run. Roll into town, shoot 'em up, give 'em hell, make 'em fall in love with you and get lost before you're caught - all the while keeping just out of reach of the law. None of that seems like an apt description for a girl, y'know?
Also, with guys you can be harsh - you don't have to pull punches when criticizing them. You don't have to hold back when making a joke, and the cruder the humor the better (PLEASE don't tell me you gasped when you read that!). With a girl, my DNA immediately puts a governer on my mouth. My dad raised me to respect women, not be "dirty mouthed" around them and act - more or less - like a gentleman. Add to these the fact that when we're playing in a crowded club we sweat, curse, jump around and look like we've been in a 12-round boxing match. How will that work with a girl in the band? Will she curse, sweat and do the rest?
As I mentioned in a previous post, if each band member understands his or her role, plays within that role and puts the crowd and the band ahead of the individual there's really no need to be gushy with one another. It's a business. Do the job and get paid and leave your ego in the car. Still, it's a nice value add when you DO develop interpersonal relationships with the band. It'll be interesting to see how we go down that particular road with a female on board.
In the meantime?
...gulp.
Friday, June 1, 2007
Finding My Ch'i Before the Gig
OK - we've determined being a cover musician is hard work. The travel, loading/unloading/setting up/tearing down gear, performing for four hours, glad handing and placating the owner/manager/crowd and tolerating the occasional in-your-face drunk is mentally and physically draining. It's true - I played sports (basketball, volleyball and softball) most of my life, but I've NEVER ached like I do the morning after a gig. At the end of the night my brain AND my body's exhausted.
As I've gotten older I've realized the absolute importance of finding my Ch'i and center (yes, "the calm place") before a gig (here's the inevitable disclaimer: I, in no way, purport to be an expert Taoist or well versed in Buddisim. All I know is what I've read and what works FOR ME. Spirituality is specific to the individual - but if you're looking for a deep understanding of these concepts, keep searching until you find what's right for you).
No, I don't go into the Lotus position and meditate in a corner somewhere while the band's warming up. What works for me is this: 20 minutes before a gig, after I'm set up and sound checked, I do a few things:
1) Concentrate on breathing for two or three minutes. Yeah - I know - we ALL breath, but Ch'i is literally translated as "air, vapors, ether, breathing, energy." At the same time it means "temperament, power, atmosphere". Ch'i is one's vital force but also the universal spiritual energy pervading all beings. I can't tell you what that means to YOU, but to me finding my Ch'i means tapping into my center, feeling powerful and being one with my band and the crowd. So, I take slow, deep breaths, filling my diaphragm and lungs to capacity, then releasing them in a slow, controlled manner. It's relaxing and invigorating simultaneously. Sounds weird, I know, but it's true. Trust me - doing this, you really feel the power of your spirit.
2) I try to visualize what the first few songs will be like, making sure to focus on the POSITIVE. In other words, I visualize the band sounding really tight, the songs sitting in the pocket like a warm muffin in a cloth napkin and the crowd receiving, then returning energy. Think of this as "the power of positive thinking." This builds on the feeling of oneness with the band AND the crowd, and believe me when I say the power of music - especially cover music - is communal. For me, positive visualization helps keep me on-track when things go wrong (and lately I haven't been spending as much time before a gig doing this - and I've noticed my patience is shorter when the train derails).
3) I like to sit down with the band and just laugh a little - be immature and silly. As I mentioned in a previous blog laughter IS release, and hanging out with the band and laughing not only releases stress but it builds character within the band. When you laugh you feel good - and feeling good before downbeat translates to the music.
As I've gotten older I've realized the absolute importance of finding my Ch'i and center (yes, "the calm place") before a gig (here's the inevitable disclaimer: I, in no way, purport to be an expert Taoist or well versed in Buddisim. All I know is what I've read and what works FOR ME. Spirituality is specific to the individual - but if you're looking for a deep understanding of these concepts, keep searching until you find what's right for you).
No, I don't go into the Lotus position and meditate in a corner somewhere while the band's warming up. What works for me is this: 20 minutes before a gig, after I'm set up and sound checked, I do a few things:
1) Concentrate on breathing for two or three minutes. Yeah - I know - we ALL breath, but Ch'i is literally translated as "air, vapors, ether, breathing, energy." At the same time it means "temperament, power, atmosphere". Ch'i is one's vital force but also the universal spiritual energy pervading all beings. I can't tell you what that means to YOU, but to me finding my Ch'i means tapping into my center, feeling powerful and being one with my band and the crowd. So, I take slow, deep breaths, filling my diaphragm and lungs to capacity, then releasing them in a slow, controlled manner. It's relaxing and invigorating simultaneously. Sounds weird, I know, but it's true. Trust me - doing this, you really feel the power of your spirit.
2) I try to visualize what the first few songs will be like, making sure to focus on the POSITIVE. In other words, I visualize the band sounding really tight, the songs sitting in the pocket like a warm muffin in a cloth napkin and the crowd receiving, then returning energy. Think of this as "the power of positive thinking." This builds on the feeling of oneness with the band AND the crowd, and believe me when I say the power of music - especially cover music - is communal. For me, positive visualization helps keep me on-track when things go wrong (and lately I haven't been spending as much time before a gig doing this - and I've noticed my patience is shorter when the train derails).
3) I like to sit down with the band and just laugh a little - be immature and silly. As I mentioned in a previous blog laughter IS release, and hanging out with the band and laughing not only releases stress but it builds character within the band. When you laugh you feel good - and feeling good before downbeat translates to the music.
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