A RANDOM PHILOSOPHER

A Novel by Brian Lockhart

Fictional biography

Prologue

" They were a struggling young band trying to find

their sound - kicking around the taverns and bars and

playing at any venue that would let them get on stage.

They would hang around the cafes discussing politics,

poetry, music, and the alternative scene with the wannabe

beatniks who trickled in from the suburbs and dressed in

black and wore shades indoors. Their reputation grew as a

club act and when they were going to perform they didn't

need to publicize an appearance, their fans mysteriously

turned out as if a secret network had leaked word of

their next move. It was a performance at the Diamond

Club in 1991 that ended with a twenty minute blow-out

version of one of their songs and a firestorm that spread

across the stage when a overloaded flash pot exploded,

that caught the eye of producers at Zergo studios who

were in the audience. While the fans screamed their

approval, thinking it was part of the show, and roadies

doused the flames with fire extinguishers, no one in the

band realized that they had just created the pathway for

the next step in their career."

Chapter one

Meeting Levon

"So you are the legendary Levon Spritzer! You have

been

described as an enigma, a visionary, a specter, and a

guitar

master. You are around every corner and yet nowhere. You

are

among the most visible entertainers of your time, yet

never

seen. A legend, shrouded in mystery, a riddle wrapped in

a

finely tailored jacket and crowned with a Panama hat.

I've

hunted you for years and still you dart like a shadow,

fleeting

across the radio waves and beaming from a satellite

hundreds

miles above the earth. How do you do?" That was how I

introduced myself to the great Levon Spritzer. At least

that's what I was thinking. My real approach was much

more

subdued. You can't go overboard when meeting a

contemporary.

At least that's what I considered him to be by the time

I

finally had the opportunity to meet him. Even then, I

felt

like a kid meeting his sports hero for the first time

and

in a way, that's exactly how it was. Except he wasn't a

baseball player or a quarterback or a gold medal winning

Olympian. He was a guitar player, singer, music

historian,

and master of several instruments. He was a man whose

life

was spent mastering the six strings and making

recordings

from a clandestine studio somewhere on the east coast or

at

least that's where it was rumored to be. He occasionally

played the clarinet on some of his tracks when it was

appropriate and he was a master of that also. No one

ever

really seemed to know exactly where he recorded and that

was

part of the big mystery. No one seemed to know much, if

anything, about him at all.

He was a man whose life was spent mastering the six

strings

and making recordings from a clandestine studio

somewhere

on the east coast or at least that's where it was

rumored

to be. He didn't do interviews and appeared on

television

only a few times. Rarely did anyone manage to get a

photo

of him when not on stage and when they did it only

served

to bring up more questions. Much of his notoriety came

from

a single picture. It was a photo of Levon on stage at a

concert

and snapped at just the right moment. His head was

tilted

slightly to one side, the brim of his hat angled down to

just

over the tip of his dark glasses. The photographer sold

the

photo to a music magazine who published it with only a

single

paragraph about the performance. It was later when the

art director started manipulating the image that the icon

was born. He created a starkly contrasting black and

white image that he thought really captured Levon's

persona. He sent a copy to Levon's manager who used it

on a poster for an upcoming tour. From there it became a

marketing tool. That single photo became synonymous with

an upcoming Levon appearance.

It became larger than life when an art house took a copy

of the photo and started marketing other items with the

image and added different slogans or catch-phrases.

Whether Levon or his manager were in on the deal, no one

knows. But that image started turning up everywhere. It

made Levon an easily recognizable figure even if a lot of

people had no idea who he was or had never heard his

particular style of music. I met a guy who owned a club

where Levon used to have a regular gig on Friday nights

when he was first starting out. His name was Bobby

Winston. He owned the Diamond club. It was a hot spot on

weekends when they featured live music. It had a decent

stage and a good sound system. It was a great place for

up-and-comers to be heard. We played at his place one

night and I spent an hour asking him about Levon. Bobby

was somewhat of a local promoter. A former musician who

always wanted to open his own club and he finally did.

He was a flashy guy who wore a lot of rings and always

had some kind of pendant hanging around his neck. I

always figured that someone had coined the phrase 'lounge

lizard' after meeting him. The glitz aside, he was

actually a decent guy who really took an interest in

helping young musicians and would routinely book acts

that were just starting out.

The place was usually filled with hipsters on the

weekends hoping to hear something new or see a

performance that was a little over the top. The rest of

the week the bar was stacked with locals who found it a

convenient place to drink without having to stray too far

from their basement apartments or flop house rooms that

lined the side streets near the entertainment district.

Even back then Levon was a mystery. He played the Diamond

club steady for about a year. Bobby could never figure

him out."He was a great guitar player. I knew that from

his first audition," he told me. "He didn't try to be a

star or anything, he would just get up and stage and

play. Sometimes he would bring a couple of guys with him.

Sometimes he was with another guitar player or had a guy

playing a clarinet or horn to back him up."

Levon's style was unlike anyone else at the time. When

most musicians were trying to catch the contemporary

sound or play like they just arrived from a tour with the

Festival Express, Levon would play these tunes that

nobody had ever heard of. The crowd was, for the most

part, under thirty, except the locals, and Levon was

playing tunes that were written fifty years before they

were even born. But it didn't matter. He was that good at

entertaining.

Between songs he would banter with the audience, telling

little stories about his life. He had a defined yet

elegant way of speaking. If you were at the club every

week like Bobby was you'd start to realize that his

entire life story when pieced together was an

impossibility.

I used to talk to him after the show sometimes, just to

find out about the guy," Bobby said. "But Levon never

seemed to tell his story the same way twice." He always

arrived in a taxi and left the same way after the show.

And he was never dropped off at the same location

twice.“He's been all over the world," Bobby told me. "A

least he says he has. He knows all these small town in

places I've never even heard of. But if you ask him where

he grew up, the town is always changing. I asked him

about that once and he told me he moved around a lot when

he was a kid." No one really knew why he was so

mysterious or why he had this image of a man with no

past. His career never really got a lot of big time

attention. Mostly he played smaller venues like festivals

or clubs and in many ways he was more of a curiosity than

anything else. You couldn't really define his audience.

If you tried to do some demographic research on who

bought his albums you'd be hard pressed to nail down a

typical group of Levon Spritzer fans.

He did have dedicated fans. They were people who

appreciated his style and talent and wore the t-shirts.

But that was after years of paying his dues and showing

up at a gig with his guitar case attached to a long strap

that he slung over his shoulder so the case would hang

down across his back.

In those early days, even Levon's manager didn't seem to

know anything about him or even where he lived for that

matter. He only had a phone number. He'd call when he

arranged a gig and Levon would turn up.

He never missed a performance.

Chapter two

The Young Troubadours

They were all dressed alike. The guys were wearing

maroon bell bottom pants and the girls were in matching

skirts. They all had names like Cathy and Tommy. Part way

through the show the emcee introduced them and when they

heard their name they did a little bow and a twirl across

the stage.

They weren't the hippest group around but their job was

to motivate young people and convince us all that we w ere

the future! As if we didn't really already know that.

I mean, if we weren't the future who else was going to

grow up and change the world for the next generation?

Even I realized that.

The Young Troubadours would sing, then do a dance, and

sometimes sing and dance. Either way, I was mesmerized by

the performance. It wasn't because I thought they were

really that entertaining. Even at twelve years old I

thought they were pretty corny but the fact that they

were on stage was what really impressed me. After all, I

was sitting in the audience and clapped along with

everyone else when they finished a song.

In between numbers one of the Troubadours would step up

to the microphone and make a little speech. The speeches

were upbeat and positive and all about changing the world

and making it a better place.

I must admit I thought they were very inspirational and

their words spelled out a future of happy people driving

fancy cars and having no worries because the new

generation was a lot smarter than their parents and would

do a better job of things. Of course at the time I was

looking at a seventeen year-old like they were old and

wise since they actually were high school and since they

could drive a car, that made them practically able to

pilot a small airplane or at least drive to the beach for

a party or something.

To me, a college age kid was super smart and probably

getting ready to get married or protest something and was

very responsible and trustworthy. They must be well

beyond the stage of doing goofy things that would get you

in trouble.

"We are the future!" Declared one of the cast members.

She was a really cute brown haired girl with a ponytail

and incredible smile. The audience responded by

applauding wildly in agreement as the girl with the

ponytail bounced back to her place in line. After it

was over, the Troubadours came out to the audience to

mingle with the throngs of kids who had come to the show.

The girl with the ponytail was extra nice as she spoke to

different kids and asked if they liked the show. There

was a spread of cookies and punch in the outer lobby of

the auditorium so people would have something to munch

on. I approached her with hopes of asking her a few

questions but stopped short a few feet away and drank

some punch from a plastic cup as I ran over in my mind

exactly how to phrase the question without sounding like

an idiot.

Besides, she was seventeen and really cute, which made it

all that more difficult to actually come up with

something to say. Finally she noticed me, standing there

with my plastic cup and staring at her like a star struck

fool.

"Did you enjoy the show?" She asked?

I nodded, "Yeah, uh, it was really good."

We chatted for about a hour. At least it was an hour in

my mind. It was more like ten seconds in real time but

finally I sort of blurted out the question, "How did you

become part of the group?"

"Lots of practice," she told me. "And I had to audition.

There was like three hundred kids who tried out and I was

lucky enough to be one of the few chosen to be in the

show. Are you interested in being in a show some day?" Of

course I told her I was. I had the attention of a high

school girl. I would have told her I had just completed

an astronaut training course and was in-line for a moon

landing if I thought it would impress her.

She gave me some words of encouragement about 'following

my dreams' before she patted me on the head and wished me

well and continued with her meet-and-greet through the

crowd.

There's something about being patted on the head that

just knocks you back into the real world and suddenly you

realize your current status on the planet.

While the Young Troubadours weren't exactly the type of

show I was interested in there was in many ways something

I liked about what they were doing. At the end of the day

people went home with a good feeling. There's just

something about seeing a performance on stage that makes

you feel you got your monies worth.

Chapter three

A walk in the park

Practice, they say, makes perfect. Who ever 'they' are,

I guess they are right.

Someone told me that Liberace practiced playing his piano

about eight or ten hours a day. At first I thought that

must be impossible. Why would he practice so much since

he was already a great piano player?

It made no sense at the time but of course it was the

truth. He wasn't a great piano player just by talent

alone. Practice was everything.

I wasn't a fan of Liberace, he really appealed to the

older crowd, but what a showman he was. He did everything

over the top. He had bigger rings, flashier costumes, and

bigger hair. That's just the way he was. And because of

that, he was famous.

I decided that I needed to practice more.

Everyone has a talent of some sort. For me, I've always

had the ability to pick up an instrument and learn how to

play it without a lot of difficulty.

I've tried a lot of different things but music was

something that was always with me.

I learned how to read music and tried arranging my own

work. Playing by ear is one thing but as far as I was

concerned if you can't actually read a chart you're like

an engineer who can't read a blueprint.

Even now I know guys that can play a great riff, but

still can't read music. I always found that strange.

One music teacher told me that even if you weren't

performing you could still make money doing commercial

work, but you wouldn't make a dime if you went into a

studio and they handed you a chart and you couldn't read

it.

He was right. You can't show up for a job and ask the

band leader to hum a few bars so you know what the tune

sounds like.

Even though I didn't like doing scales all the time, I

did them methodically every day. I wanted to learn the

small details of how to create great music and that

included hard work and basic repetition.

One teacher I met at the local Conservatory of Music used

to play drums with a touring big band.

"You don't sit down with two sticks and start to play

like this," he said, while tapping out a rhythm. "You

start by doing this." He took the sticks and hit the

snare - one, two, one, two - slowly and deliberately.

"And you work toward the rest."

It was his way of saying you have to learn the craft and

pay your dues if you want a career in the business.

I decided early on that I would be a performer. I wasn't

sure exactly how I would accomplish it or what style of

music I was going to play but I figured if I kept

playing, sooner or later things would fall into place.

I was in a band in high school. It was a quartet with two

guitars a bass and drums. Pretty standard.

We played cover tunes from just about any band that we

could copy. We used the one guy's garage as a rehearsal

studio until his parents finally gave us the boot. I

guess they didn't appreciate a loud amplifier and drums

breaking the sound barrier just feet from the living

room.

Even though we had a lot of fun and actually entered a

few local talent contests there was something missing in

this four piece orchestra. It took me a while to figure

it out, but one day I realized all we were doing was

making noise, and a lot of it. The guys seemed to think

louder was better, regardless of quality. Half the time I

couldn't hear myself play because the drums were drowning

everything else out. When I suggested we try balancing

things out a little they thought I was crazy. Here I was,

hoping for a career as a professional musician and these

guys were mostly hoping they could actually finish high

school and get a job working on the assembly line at an

auto plant. Music for them was a just a passing phase

that took up time and provided a few minutes of rock star

fantasy life every time they notched a ten on the

amplifier's volume control.

The first time I think I was truly inspired was when I

attended the wedding of an older cousin of mine the

summer I was sixteen.

The wedding reception was in the banquet hall of a large

hotel. Before the reception got started there was a

social get-together in a smaller room where cocktails and

hors d'oeuvres were served.

There was a small stage set up at one end of the room.

Then the band walked in. They were a classy looking group

all dressed in black tuxedos and looking sharp. No one

really paid any attention to them other than me. Most of

the guests were talking and mingling but I walked toward

the stage and waited to see what they were going to do.

The band took a minute to get set up while rearranging

some sheet music and getting their instruments ready.

There was five of them. A piano player, guitar player,

saxophone, stand up bass, and drums.

The bass drum had a logo and ' Izzy Maynard & Five- these

guys lay into their first tune flipped a r mega power.

They didn't need that either. The guitar player had a

small amp and the bass had a small mic attached to the

neck of the instrument. There was a single microphone on

a stand at center stage. But that was it.

It was an acoustic sound the way it was meant to be

played. It was a pure art form relying only on the talent

of the musicians.

Most of the room was still talking and mingling while the

band played and some guests left to go to the main

ballroom for the wedding reception. For the most part the

band was a minor distraction. They could have been

playing a record album for background sound as far as

most of the guests were concerned, but there was a few

music aficionados gathered around, drinks in hand, to

listen to the band. When they finished a tune there was a

smattering of applause from around the room.

After playing a forty-five minute set they wrapped up

their last tune and the sax player stepped up to the mic.

“Thank you ladies and gentlemen. I am Izzy Maynard, and

this is Five-pack," he said, sweeping his hand across the

stage to acknowledge the band. "Enjoy the rest of your

evening."

And that was it. I guess they had been hired as the

entertainment just for the cocktail party.

I walked up to the front of the stage. Izzy was placing

some charts into a folder and he looked up when he saw me

coming.

You couldn't paint a better picture of a saxophone

player. Besides the tuxedo, Izzy was wearing a black

beret and dark glasses. It was his trademark I guess, but

it certainly was appropriate, even with the penguin suit.

He nodded. "How ya doing?"

We got to talking about the music and the band. He seemed

to really appreciate the fact that I had taken an

interest in his music. A lot of kids, he said, "Were

mostly into rock."

He said it wasn't a bad thing, but it's good to keep your

record collection eclectic.

"Rock is good, but it's not the only thing out there," he

said.

I told him I played the guitar and was in a band. I don't

think he took me too seriously at first because there was

probably a million other kids who were in a garage band

at the same time. But the more we talked, I think he

sensed that I was serious about playing professionally

some day.

It turns out this afternoon gig was just a way for them

to make some extra money and keep busy.

The band was in the middle of recording some tracks for a

new album they were producing. They couldn't do the

project all at once but would do what ever they could

whenever they got the money together to go into the

studio.

It sounded fascinating. Making a record I thought, was a

huge deal.

I started asking him all sorts of questions about the

recording studio and how they actually got around to

laying the tracks for a record.

“Tell you what," he said. "Do you ever get into the

city?"

He took out a business card from his wallet and handed it

to me. It had the name and address of a recording studio.

"We're going to be there next Saturday. If you want to

come by and sit in for a while and see what it's all

about, that would be cool."

Of course I told him I would be there and shook his hand

and thanked him for the invite.

I planned for a week on how to actually get there. When

you're sixteen and a bicycle is your primary mode of

transportation, making a trip into a big city is a huge

deal.

I found the address but it didn't look like what I was

expecting. I thought a recording studio would be in some

type of modern looking glass building with gold records

on the wall.

Instead this part of town looked a little run down. Not a

bad area, just not the flashy set up I was expecting. The

address was easy to find but it was just a doorway in

between a bakery and a second hand store with a hand

painted sign. There was a stairway leading up to the

second floor. I checked my watch to make sure I was on

time and started up the stairs, wondering if I actually

had the right place.

Sure enough there was sign on the door at the top of the

stairs that said Razzle Studio. I could hear people

talking on the other side of the door. I didn't know

whether to just open the door and walk in, or knock. So I

knocked.

A moment later the door opened and there was a tall lanky

guy standing there. I recognized him as the bass player

in the band. "Pizza delivery?" he said.

"No, I'm here to see Izzy," I replied, not realizing at

the time the 'delivery guy' comment was supposed to be a

joke.

"Hey Izzy, there's someone here to see you."

The bass player stepped away and invited me into the

room.

For a few seconds I didn't even recognize Izzy. Without

the tuxedo, beret, and shades he looked totally

different. And he was bald. Without his hat and glasses

he reminded me of someone that you would see selling

insurance or working in a hardware store.

"Hey, the kid from the wedding. You made it. Come on in."

People tend to think of jazz musicians as a bunch of

hipsters who use a lot of slang and live laid back, late

night lives and drink and smoke different herbs to

excess. Maybe some do, but these guys seemed to be

regular guys, so to speak.

Izzy introduced me to everyone in the band and the two

guys who were doing the recording.

As far a studios go this was pretty simple. It was an old

building with worn floorboards and heavy beams running

across the ceiling. It was probably part of some kind of

factory at one time from the looks of it and over the

years people had converted it to other uses.

There was some kind of insulating material all over the

walls that helped with the acoustics when they turned it

into a studio. One corner of the room was divided off to

make a triangle shaped booth for the sound engineer with

a large window that looked out into the studio.

The studio itself was one big open room. It was run by a

mullet wearing guy named Dieter who brought me into the

booth and gave me a demonstration of how the mixing board

worked.

"We usually do radio jingles here," he said. "But it's a

great set up for recording a jazz combo like this. It's

good for a band on a budget who is doing self-produced

work and we turn out quality sound."

I took a seat on a stool in the corner of the studio as

the band took their positions and got ready to do a

recording. They had been rehearing all morning and were

finally ready to put something to tape.

I stayed for several hours to watch them record. For the

most part I kept quiet and tried to stay out of the way

but I was fascinated by the process and what they were

doing.

At the end of the day Dieter played back a track so I

could hear what it sounded like. For a small studio the

quality of the recording was amazing.

"There's still some work to be done on it," Dieter

explained. "We'll tweak it here and there but I think it

sounds pretty good."

I thanked them for letting me sit in on the session.

"Was it what you expected?" Izzy asked me. I told him I

really wasn't sure what to expect but it gave me a good

idea of how things worked.

"So, you are really serious about this? Becoming a

musician?" He asked.

"Yeah, I've been working on this for years."

"Do you want to try playing something with us while

you're here?" Izzy handed me a chart and the guitar

player let me borrow his instrument. I read over the

chart for a moment.

"Sure, let's give it a go," It was a simple piece. I

think he gave me that one on purpose. No use in

embarrassing the kid if I couldn't keep up. We played

this tune with me on rhythm guitar and it was the first

time I played with a professional band. When it was over

Izzy gave me the best compliment I could expect.

"You're solid," he said

Chapter Four

Eight Miles Later

"Life moves pretty fast.

If you don't stop and look

around once in a while,

you could miss it."

F.B.

If you think of life as a journey down a long road,

then each birthday would be a mile.

How many miles you leave behind you is the important

thing and what you do as you stroll along that path is up

to you. The road ends somewhere - usually with a stop

sign you didn't see coming - but why dwell on what is

beyond your control?

So there I was, eight miles later. Eight miles after

sitting in with Izzy and his crew. Who would have thought

1984 would arrive so soon? I didn't. I used to watch old

movies from the 50's and they seemed to think that by the

time the 70's rolled around everyone would be flying

around in space-cars and life would be something like the

Jetsons cartoon. Wow, were they wrong. My college

communications professor made a big deal out of 1984. He

liked to reference George Orwell and his futuristic

vision of 'thought police' and hoards of uncontrolled

government cyborgs arresting everyone for minor offenses

against the state and humanity in general. But apparently

that isn't going to happen. A least not yet.

So, yes, I did go to college. Three years worth and I got

my degree in business administration. I don't think of

myself as the business type really. I can't envision

myself going to an office every day at nine in the

morning and doing business type things. The thought of

having a secretary does seem pretty good, but I would

feel like Darren Stevens at the McMann and Tate

Advertising Agency pressing the little button on the

intercom: "Sally, could you get me a cup of coffee

please?"

That's not for me. I did take business for pragmatic

reasons. I may not have been the best student in high

school, but I did realize the music business is a gamble.

I had lots of people telling me I should continue in

music, but a few older and wiser ones, suggested I back

it up with something that might be a little more tangible

in case times got tough and I had to earn some money. I

did spend a lot of time in the music department at the

college. I wasn't registered in any courses but after a

while I became somewhat of a fixture there. I'd sit in

with other musicians, sometimes in the soundproof

practice booths, other times just jamming in the main

studio.

After a year of doing that, one of the professors asked

me to sign up in one of his classes. He said that since I

spent so much time there I should get some official

credit for it. I ended up doing a minor in music

studies. We played a few gigs in the campus pub and I got

to know some of these guys pretty well. They couldn't

believe I was majoring in business. In the music

department, studying business was like working on the

dark side of planet. By now, my major instrument was

guitar. Not that it was necessarily my favorite, it just

seemed the most practical. Someone could always use a

guitar player. French horn and flute, not so much. I

stayed in contact with Izzy over the years and he became

sort of a mentor when it came to my music career. I even

sat in with his band a few times and he gives me a call

now and then when they need someone to play with them. I

even played a few tracks for their third album. When I

graduated I worked part time in a few different places

and did music on the side but after a few years of

playing in different venues and different bands it was

time to get something together that would be a little

more permanent.

After playing at coffee houses, weddings, engagement

parties, private parties, gallery openings, night clubs,

and once at a Communist League fundraiser - I was only

the entertainment not a voter or adherent - I needed the

money, it was time to put something together that would

be a steady commercial venture. My manager Archie has

been setting most of my gigs up for me for the past four

years. He saw me play in a cafe one night after I moved

to the city to go to school. I would play where ever I

could on weekends and sometimes during the week if I

didn't need to study. Actually I didn't study all that

much, but I did pass all my courses. Archie is like the

Reuben Kincaid of local starving musicians. He manages

about thirty or forty different performers. Mostly they

are guys like me but he also has a few movie and

television actors and a couple of radio guys in his

stable of performers. He gets us all jobs, takes his ten

percent, and everyone is happy. He works on volume I

guess. Since most gigs don't pay a lot he'll book five or

six acts around the city on a Saturday night, maybe more.

If it wasn't for Archie I wouldn't have got most of the

gigs I've had. He knows just about everyone in the

business from nightclub owners to record executives. He's

really well connected. He came up to me one night after I

played a set at a place called the Bluebird Cafe and

handed me his business card. I was playing for what ever

people would throw in the hat and drinks were on the

house. The cafe wasn't licensed for liquor and since I

never did like the look of a guy holding a wine glass,

unless he was formally dressed and at the right type of

event, I would nurse a single beer for most of the night.

Archie asked me if I was interested in signing a deal

with him. He had seen me perform a few times and I guess

he liked my work because he never asked for an audition

or a resume. He said he could tell from experience that I

was 'marketable,' which meant he thought he could sell me

as a commodity. I signed on with him partly because I

trusted him and partly because I was impressed that

someone actually wanted to represent me. He made a few

suggestions about my act, but for the most part he let me

handle the creative side of things and he took care of

the business side. It was an arrangement that worked

well. So well, in fact that when I started putting an

actual band together we asked Archie to take us on as

well. He booked the band and kept me on as a solo

performer whenever he found something. The band is an

ensemble put together with a few guys from the school and

a couple that we found through trade paper ads or through

word of mouth. When we started, most of the guys also

played in other bands occasionally as well as on their

own. Working in a single band is tough. You never really

have enough work to make a living so you have to take

other gigs when they are available. We all hold down

other part time jobs to keep some money rolling in but

this band works. We play well together and seem to have

the same idea when it comes to creative influences. At

first we weren't sure what style of music we were going

to play. Playing what you like is the best but at the

same time you've got to be commercial enough to make sure

you get hired so we kind of split it down the middle.

Half of our repertoire is popular music covers, the other

half is more of a rock / jazz with horns. It all depends

where we get hired to play. Sometimes we'll put together

a whole new set if we get hired to do a gig with a

particular theme. After playing together for two years we

still haven't come up with a real name for the band. We

have a tendency to change it up a lot and quite often we

don't even know what we're called until we see our name

on the marquee. I play rhythm guitar for the most part

when I'm with the band. That just seems to be where I

slotted in. But other times I'll take the lead and

sometimes just switch back and forth. Tanner Phink plays

guitar as well, but he's more of a showboat than I am. He

likes to take the spotlight and really give the crowd

their monies worth. I've got to hand it to him, he's a

natural stage hound. He likes to bop around and get the

audience going, although he does tone it down when we

play a more jazzy set or if we are playing in a venue

were we are only thI met Tanner in school during some jam

sessions in the music department. Turns out we really

complimented each other’s style of play. He grew up on a

farm which is hard to believe because he really doesn't

seem like the type. I guess milking cows and getting up

at four o'clock in the morning didn't really do it for

him because he once told me that he didn't mind the work

but somehow having to go to bed by eight o'clock in the

evening was just brutal on his social life. Besides,

living on a farm probably limits your chances of a career

in music. Our keyboard player is a whole different

character. He grew up in the city in the good part of

town. As he explains it, he's a major disappointment to

his family who considers a career in music about the same

as working in the porn industry. They consider it an

embarrassment for the family name. His real name is

Emerson VanClouten III. Seriously, he really is referred

to as ' the third' in some circles . In school he preferred

to just be called Van. He's okay once you get to know

him, but sometimes his family background bleeds through

his exterior. One time at a medium priced restaurant he

sniffed the cork from a wine bottle and sent it back

telling the server it 'didn't appeal to his senses. We

gave him a pretty hard time over that, but he got the

message that in some circles, it just wasn't cool to try

to make a waiter look bad. Van's father is the CEO of

some huge finance company that was started by his father,

Emerson the first. He also has some kind of interest in

minerals or oil or some kind of company that does a lot

of drilling.

Van's mother is a socialite and his sister Angelica, yes,

that's her real name, is a budding socialite, meaning she

doesn't have a real job either. He also has a few other

siblings who dabble in the company. It was Van's apparent

destiny to become a lawyer, business leader, or some kind

of power broker. At least that was his parent's

intention. But Van was cut from a different patch in the

family quilt. Van is a natural on the keyboard. He can

play just about anything, and he plays it well. He

started out performing classical music for his mother's

friends at their cotillions and assorted parties. I guess

this is one time having your kid perform for the

amusement of your friends kind of backfired because he

actually enjoyed it. If anyone asks, Van's father tells

them he works in the music business but implies that he

is at an executive level and is in the business side of

things. I don't think he'd ever admit to the guys at the

'club' that his son can quite often be found entertaining

as the piano player at a private party, but something

tells me the club members probably know what he does for

a living but would never let on that they are in on it.

The three of us were the original members of the band. At

least we were the ones that started playing together and

finally decided to bring a few others on board and see if

we really could put something together.

We looked around for a drummer and auditioned a few guys.

For some reason drummers are always the strangest guys in

a band. They are always the one's with the quirky habits

and the need to always be tapping on something whether

it's a drum kit or a couple of swizzle sticks on a

cocktail glass. They just seem to have an unlimited

amount of frantic energy. We finally found Jean, a French

guy of all things. He was here on some kind of student

visa and has probably overstayed his allotted time since

he graduated a couple of years ago and is still hanging

around. He works part time in a restaurant. Go figure, a

French guy in a restaurant. I think he's part waiter,

part dishwasher, and probably buses tables as well. Jean

doesn't say a lot. He's kind of a quiet guy who shows up

for rehearsals, takes a look at the charts and plays his

drums. But he does have this thing for hats. He always

wears a hat on stage and usually off stage as well. I

don't' know where he gets them but he must have a huge

closet for his collection. He once wore a pith helmet

when were playing on an open stage in a park for some

holiday celebration. It does add something to the look of

the band though. That's one thing I've always insisted

upon - a look. By that I mean I don't ever want to have

the band performing when we didn't look like a band.

That's part of the deal, part of showmanship and giving

the audience what they want. That's one of the things I

learned from Izzy. If you're going to play the part

you've got to look the part.

I went to a bluegrass festival once with a few friends

just to hear the music and see what it was all about. The

music was great. It was all strings and no drums. It was

bluegrass like it was meant to be played. The crowd was

mostly older die-hard bluegrass fans with a few hippies

thrown in the mix but a lot of younger people did attend

and seemed to enjoy it. It's a festival they have every

year at a park in this small town but the bands come from

all over North America and they play all day long for

three days with groups taking forty-five minute on stage

at a time. People come from all over and camp out at the

park. It was a fun event, but as far as stage presence

goes, it was a disappointment. Most of the bands were

dressed in jeans, T-shirts and sneakers. It was like

watching old Uncle Ed and his buddies practicing their

banjos in the garage on a Saturday night. The only thing

missing was the beer bottles scattered around the room

and an old hound dog snoozing on the floor. Then this one

band came out for the four o'clock performance. It was a

hot day and the stage was covered but facing directly

into the sun. They were a young band, five guys all

probably mid to late twenties. They were all wearing

matching brown suits and bowler hats and they looked

ridiculous. But as performers they were playing the part.

They were performing and giving the audience what they

wanted - a show. They played their eight or nine songs

for the set and finished off with a bang. The audience

loved them and that is part of the deal. These guys

probably never wear a bowler hat anywhere else or wear

brown suits, but as for stage presence, you knew they

belonged there. We found our horn player when we posted a

classified ad in a local entertainment magazine. There

were five or six guys who came out to jam with us and see

if we gelled as a group. But when Jimmy McPhail walked in

the door I knew almost immediately we had our man. He was

older than most of us by about ten years but he had this

way of swaggering into the room like he already knew he

was the right guy for the job. He was carrying a

saxophone case and a trumpet and he said 'So where do we

start?'

Jimmy has been around the block in the music business.

He's played as a session guy on some pretty big name

albums and toured with a whole line up of well-known

outfits. I asked him why he wanted to hook up with a band

just starting out.

"I've had it with life on the road," he told me. "I just

want to play some local gigs for a while so I can go home

at night and not sleep in some fleabag hotel." Some guys

love the touring thing, but others have told me that

after a while, living from place to place can get pretty

old. Somewhere along the line Jimmy had picked up the

nickname 'Longhorn.' I'm not sure what it really means,

but it suits him. We looked around for a bass player for

quite a while and actually played a few gigs with no bass

at all. If the song needed it I'd just fill in the low

parts on my guitar. It actually worked pretty well and

for a while we almost considered just keeping the band

that way. But somehow with out the bass player we were

leaving a gap in our work. One afternoon during

rehearsal, this guy shows up unannounced and kind of just

walks in. Nobody was sure how he found out about us or

even if someone recommended him or what the deal was.

Before we could ask him, he plops his guitar case down

and pulls out this fretless electric bass and plugs it

into small amplifier he was carrying with him. He started

playing this riff and went into this whole bass solo.

When he finished, he looked at us and shrugged his

shoulders like 'What do you think?' It was kind of an

uncomfortable situation. We didn't know him but obviously

the guy could play. So after about a thirty-second round

table discussion, we decided to take him on. He's been

with us for a while but he's one of those guys that is

kind of hard to get to know.

He's from some country nobody ever heard of and no one is

really sure what his name is because it's unpronounceable

in English so we kind of skirted around it. Somehow we

ended up calling him Georgy. It was as close as we could

come to his pronunciation and he seemed satisfied with

that. He speaks English fluently, we think. His accent is

so thick that most of the time we smile and nod a lot.

Either he must figure we are the most agreeable guys in

the world or a bunch of simpletons, because I don't think

he actually realizes that most of the time no one can

understand a thing he's saying.

It doesn't really matter though. He fit into the band

really well. We tried out a few different vocalists when

we were first starting out but since we weren't exactly

sure what our style was going to be, it was tough to pin

down the type of vocalist we needed. One of the big

problems was that every singer that came in to try out

somehow thought that they were going to front the group.

We aren't the Rolling Stones and we were never looking

for our Mick Jagger. We wanted someone to compliment the

band, not star as the headliner and end up dead in a

hotel room at age twenty-seven from a heroin overdose.

The vocalist we wanted would be someone with another

instrument, their voice.

Then we found Lacey.

We sometimes hang out in this small diner near our studio

after practice. It's kind of a small neighborhood place

where hamburgers and fish and chips are the specialty of

the house. There is a long counter and the owner always

sits by the cash register. He has owned the place for I

think around a hundred years and considering the way he

treated his customers it was amazing anyone actually went

back a second time. He's a gruff old fat guy named Gus

who always eyed you with suspicion even though we were

always patronizing his place. I don't know why we hung

out there other than it was close by and they did have

good hamburgers. We always took a seat in this booth near

the back of the diner and quite often hashed out band

business and made notes while scarfing down

cheeseburgers. Lacey was a waitress at the diner. Most of

the times we were in there she served us and we got to

know her pretty well. At least as well as you can get to

know someone over a thirty second conversation about what

you were going to order. After a while she knew us by

name and occasionally would let out a little personal

information like what she did over the weekend.

Lacey wore glasses and always had her hair pulled back

and kind of tucked up on top of her head. She wore this

little waitress cap as part of her uniform. One night

Tanner, Jimmy, Van and I dropped in and ordered the usual

burger, fries and coke. When Lacey brought us our order

she asked if we needed anything else. We were good, so

she turned to leave, butthen stopped for a moment and

turned around.

"You guys are in a band aren't you?" She asked. "Do you

ever need a singer? I mean, sometimes to do a few songs

or anything like that?" In a way we pretended to be

interested because she was a nice girl and all, but she

just didn't seem like the type. I pictured a wallflower

coming out and singing a show tune a-Capella like she was

auditioning for a high school musical. I took out a

business card and wrote down the address of the studio on

the back of it and told her we had a rehearsal on Friday

night and if she wanted to come out she was welcome.

We were setting up that Friday night and were just kind

of hanging around the studio when Lacey arrived. We call

it the studio, but it’s really just a big room we rented

in the rear part of an old warehouse building. It's off

the street and out of the way. There's a small room in

the back we call the lounge with an old sofa and a couple

of chairs and a television with rabbit ears. It sort of

has become our clubhouse. It's a place to hang out when

you don't want to stay home but don't have enough money

to go out. When Lacey arrived there was a moment where we

all stopped talking and just sort of stared at this girl

who quietly knocked and opened the door. I guess she felt

a little uncomfortable, because when you get down to it,

she really didn't know us other than serving our table at

the restaurant and making minor small talk. But the

nervous waitress was gone. She wasn't wearing glasses,

her hair was flowing down over her shoulders and she

wasn't dressed like a waitress. The girl was a chameleon.

Georgy stood up and tripped over his amplifier while

mumbling out some kind of introduction that no one

understood.

When we got down to business it was pretty amazing what

she could do. We played through a few different songs and

Lacey picked them up right away and delivered a perfect

pitch and she could change her style depending on the

mood of the tune. She's talented, no doubt about it. And

she seemed to know how she would fit in the band. She

wasn't looking for stardom and she wasn't a diva. She was

a singer. At the end of the audition, Lacey picked up her

bag and said, "Thanks for the opportunity," and turned to

leave.

"Maybe you could hang around for a while," I said.

I wanted to talk to the other guys and see what they

thought. It didn't take us long. She was the perfect

fit. We offered her the position before she left. It

turns out she has been singing in different places since

she was a kid. Church choirs, glee clubs, and some local

ensemble that performs show tunes at senior citizen

homes. But she was ready, she said, to take it up a notch

and sing with a band. The first time she appeared with us

on stage was at a wedding we played. Not a big wedding,

maybe 200 people held at a local community hall.

She was flawless.

#

I'm always watching other performers and bands. I like to

listen, hear what's new, what's old, and just take in

other styles. I'll drop into local clubs from time to

time and hang out at the occasional festival. I guess

most musicians do this. It's a way of keeping on top of

things.

I was in the studio last night with Tanner and Van and we

were just hanging out and watching TV. It was getting

late and I was getting ready to leave when Tanner turned

the channel to some late night talk show. At first I was

really paying attention but then they introduced this

musical guest.

The camera cut to this guy sitting in a chair with what

looked like a 1930s Gibson archtop. He was dressed in a

white suit with one of those string bow ties and he was

wearing dark glasses and a white panama hat. There was

another guitar player seated just behind him and half in

the shadows.

At first I though it was kind of a kick the way this guy

was dressed but when they started to play I really took

notice. The rhythm guy in the shadows played a few bars

of this crazy syncopated technique before the guy in the

hat started playing the lead. It was wild. It was an old

tune, Sweet Georgia Brown, but the way they laid it out

brought a whole new sound to a familiar song. The rhythm

guitar kept the beat, playing these fast percussive

strokes while the lead carried the melody.

When they finished, the talk show host walked over and

said his name to the audience.

"Levon Spritzer, everybody!"

As the audience applauded Levon nodded and tipped his hat

slightly. He stood up and walked off as the show cut to a

commercial.

"Ever head of this guy?" Tanner asked.

"Never seen him before."

We both agreed he had a unique style and delivery and had

a lot of talent when it came to playing the six strings.

I want to find out more about this him. Anyone who can go

on stage and play an old tune like that in this day and

age must be doing something right.

Chapter Five

Scheherazade

"She took me in her car, she took me to her house,

she took me in her arms, she took me to her bed,

but she would not take me into her heart."

B.V.

It's funny how you remember some moments in time so

clearly and others just fade away.

Why is it I remember very clearly the face of a girl

named Anne that I met only twice at a roller rink when I

was fourteen and yet some of the people I went to high

school with and saw daily for four years are just a

blurry spot in the back of my mind and they only come to

life in my world when someone else mentions them?

Others are just gone and will never come back.

Chucky Pinster was one of those guys you never forget.

He was always kind of a strange guy. He was a nice guy

but a little odd. During our high school graduation his

parent's didn't show up and he walked out to get his

diploma and there was no one there to congratulate him.

He was kind of a hanger-on I guess. We all liked him but

he was one of those guys you hung with during school

hours but never really socialized with after school.

Chucky didn't play on any of the athletic teams and he

wasn't much of an academic either. He was a pretty small

guy and his vision was bad even then. He always wore

these thick glasses that looked like they were probably

the same pair he wore when he was about eight years old.

They were black rimmed and square and looked like they

went out of style ten years earlier. When it came to

electronics or anything like that, Chucky was a wizard.

He used to be the guy that would hook up the school

auditorium for an audio-visual show or run the film

projector in class. He helped us out a few times when we

had our garage band and knew exactly how to run cables,

wire an amplifier, or set up the mics so they wouldn't

feed back.

I saw him a few times after high school and he seemed to

be getting into the drug scene, or at least he liked to

tell people he was. I think maybe it was a lot of talk.

He didn't seem like the type to just suddenly develop a

life altering bad habit. The last time I saw him was a

couple of years after we graduated. He told me he was

going to Holland because drugs were legal there and he

could hang out in one of those hash dens. I think his

parents were originally from there so maybe he had duel

citizenship or something. I hadn't seen him in years.

I was in a downtown electronics store just looking around

one afternoon when I saw Chucky kneeling down in an aisle

shelving some boxes. I recognized him right away.

"Hey, aren't you Chucky?" I said.

For a moment he looked at me like he had no idea who I

was, so I told him my name. He stood and shook my hand

enthusiastically like you do when you are happy to see

someone after a long time. I'm not sure but I think his

eyesight has gotten even worse over the years. It wasn't

that he didn't remember me at first, but the way he was

squinting through those jelly jar-bottom glasses, I think

he didn't recognize me because I was just a blur. We got

to talking and of course the usual topic came up when you

haven't seen anyone for a long time.

"So what have you been up to?" I asked.

It turns out he did make it to Holland, and on his first

day there a soccer riot broke out with some visiting

British fans and he got caught up in the middle of it

purely by accident when the riot spilled onto the street

and he just happened to be walking by. When the police

circled the group he was in the middle of them looking

for a way out. He was arrested along with a bunch of

soccer hooligans and thrown into the local jail. Somehow

during the melee he lost his bag which also contained his

passport. He was deported to England, and he's not even

British!

It could only happen to a guy like him.

So off he goes to England with no passport, no clothes,

nothing. He ended up living in some halfway house for

derelicts and found a job working on a canal barge

hauling manure up and down the country for a year until

he made enough money to come home. Then he found out his

parents moved while he was gone and he has no idea where

they went. That's when he moved to the city and is

working part time in a second hand electronics store

fixing stereos and whatever else people bring in.

We had been looking for a roadie for a while. We need

someone who can help set up the equipment, run the

cables, do a sound check and run the console. It doesn't

pay a lot, just per gig, but I asked Chucky if he was

interested and it really sparked him. He loves this type

of stuff. I introduced him to the guys in the band and

he's been hanging around ever since.

I guess everyone has someone in their past that became a

special part of their life then faded away.

People who were once your best of friends have moved

away, moved on, started a new life, then one day you

realize it's been years since you've even spoken to them.

And sometimes they come back in the most unexpected

situation, like last Saturday night.

We were booked in for a couple of nights at this club in

the entertainment district. Archie set it up for us

because he knows the owner and he's been trying to get us

in there for a while. It's considered one of the better

clubs in town called The Twilight Room and is known to

have launched the careers of more than a few bands into

the next level. A lot of music business executive types

will come to the shows and blend into the crowd just to

see if there is a band worth pursuing.

It's known as an upscale club because they have a dress

code, which basically means no jean and no t-shirts. I

guess it's away to avoid trouble in two ways. Guys are

probably less likely to get into a drunken brawl if they

are wearing a pair of pants that cost them more than a

nineteen-dollar pair of jeans and they want to attract a

crowd with a little more money. People who spend money on

clothes will also most likely splurge on a night out.

I like this club. I've been there as a customer although

I don't think I really fit the tone of the place. It is

trendy though. It's a place were most of the clientele

order cocktails. If you do order a beer, swigging it out

of a bottle would be considered pretty tacky, and you

certainly couldn't order a typical beer. It would have to

be some foreign brand that either no one ever heard of or

just happened to be the hip beer of the moment. That was

the type of club it was.

We were billed as Twelfth Avenue, and there was a poster

of us on a sign in front of the place. I asked Archie

about that and he said that he had the poster from

another gig and just placed our photo in there for the

night. We were set up to do our jazz / rock show. Nothing

too hard, nothing too outrageous. We had a repertoire of

cover tunes and a few that we had written ourselves just

to gauge the audience reaction.

We came out for our nine o'clock show and opened with a

tune we liked to play to start off the show. It's high

energy and lets the audience know we are there and they

are going have a great experience. Everyone was on top of

the game. Lacey was perfect, Jimmy was as smooth as ever,

and Tanner and I traded back and forth and ended with

this long sustained finish. I knew it was going to be a

great night.

Tanner saw her first, and before we started the second

tune he leaned over to me and said, "Have you seen who's

in the crowd?" He nodded his head toward the left side of

the stage.

Jean started his beat to get the next song going and we

began to play. I looked around expecting to see some

local celebrity in the crowd or some record executive.

It's sometimes hard to see who's out there when the

lights are on the stage.hen I saw her, sitting at a table

with a couple of friends, about three rows down from the

stage.

It was Suzanna Miller.

Tanner recognized her because we all used to hang out

together and he knew the whole story. Suzanna and I were

an item at one time back in college and for a few months

afterwards. We were together for more that a year. She

was a drama student and we met when I was helping a crew

in the arts department put together a film project and

they needed someone to play some instrumental stuff for

their movie. She was one of the actors in the short film.

It didn't take us long to get together. We hit it off

right away. If ever there was a girl I'd be devoted to

for a lifetime, it was her.

That year was one of the happiest of my life. Suzanna

lived at home with her parents which was actually a

considerable distance away, but I always made the effort

to get there as often as I could. On Friday afternoons

she would come straight from school to my apartment and

we'd spend the entire weekend together. I used to call

her Scheherazade - not because she talked a lot, or told

a lot of stories, but because she was the one that could

captivate me for ten thousand nights and I'd never be

bored. We became pretty serious and talked about a lot of

things including moving in together and maybe getting

married in the future. I met her family, her relatives,

had dinner at their house, and went to family functions.

I thought things were going to last, but at the same time

I sensed a little pressure from her parents. They were

nice enough people and seemed to like me, but there were

little things going on that I was aware of like her

father asking me what I planned on doing with my life.

And when I said I was planning on being a musician, he

said, "That's great, but what are you planning on doing

for a living?"

It wasn't that they disapproved, it was more like they

just couldn't take something like being a musician too

seriously. Even with Suzanna's acting they always treated

it as if it was just a passing phase and sooner or later

she would branch out and study something more serious.

She was an only child, and I guess a bit of a princess in

the fact that they could never find anything wrong with

her, no matter what she did. And in a way, I felt the

same.

It was one of those years you can never get back once

it's over. There were no real responsibilities, no real

pressure. We went out when we wanted to. There were lots

of parties, hanging out, concerts, and every weekend we

had something planned.

Then it was over. Just like that.

I noticed she had been acting a little distant for a

couple of days. No big deal really, just a little

withdrawn. Then one Sunday I had spent the evening at her

house. We were just watching television and talking. When

I decided to leave, I stood up but she sat still on the

sofa and kind looked down at the floor.

"I don't think I can continue with this relationship any

longer," She said. It was so formal, like I was being

fired or something. Considering we had been together for

a year, I expected more. But I didn't put up a fight, or

even ask her why. I just said something like "Well, if

that's the way you feel, then.. " and I never even

finished that sentence.

I drove home in a fog of sorts, not even really sure what

had just happened or why.

We spoke a few times in the few weeks after that but it

was more of a courtesy thing. But after a few weeks, it

was all over. In the back of my mind I figured she'd get

over it and call me and come up with some ridiculous

reason about having doubts, but now had changed her mind

and everything would be good again.

She never called.

I saw Suzanna only once after that. About six months

later I was taking a part-time course and she was still

enrolled at the college. It was a couple of weeks before

she was going to finish the year and graduate. I was

waiting for the class to start and talking to a couple of

people on the third floor of the business building. I

looked down to the courtyard below and saw her sitting on

the stone ledge around one of the garden flower beds

talking to a few friends. She just happened to look up.

Why, at that moment, I don't know, but she saw me right

away and waved. She gestured to tell me to stay put, and

she would come to see me.

Suzanna seemed thrilled that we met up, asking what I had

been up to, how the music thing was going, and all that

stuff you catch up on when you haven't seen someone for a

while. She told me was had hooked up with a theater

company and was going out of town for a few months to do

a play.

"I'll call you when I get back," she said, "and we'll get

together."

I'm not sure if I really expected her to call or not, but

that night all I could think of was that I had blown the

chance I had been waiting for. I should have taken the

initiative and asked her to meet me that night and tell

her how I felt, and that I wanted her back in my life

more than anything else.

That was about five years ago. Of course I thought about

her, in fact all the time. I tried calling her parents

house once a couple of years ago just to say hello and

ask where she was but I got a message saying the number

was no longer in service. Once when I was in the area I

drove past their house. Somehow it was different. The

house had been painted a different color and new shrubs

were planted along the driveway and there were all these

little lawn ornaments in the front garden. It was a sure

sign that her parents had moved and the new owners were

doing the place up to suit their taste.

It seemed so long ago that we were together, and yet

there she was, only twenty feet away. For the rest of

that set I had a really hard time concentrating. Seeing

someone in the audience like that can mess up your

rhythm. It was like the spotlight had been turned around

and was shining on her. I wondered if she had seen the

poster or the advertisement Archie place in the newspaper

about our band playing at the club and decided to come

and see the show. It turns out it was just one of those

coincidences that happen. She was with a couple of

friends and they decided to come to the club to see a

show. She had no idea I was in the band. When we finished

the first set I walked off the stage and went out to the

back hallway for a few minutes. I didn't want to run out

to her table like some over excited lap dog, but at the

same time I knew it would be ridiculous for me not to go

out there. I had looked right at her and even from the

stage we had a moment of recognition.

I went to the bar and when the bartender asked my what

my preference was, I said, "Just give me your house

specialty, what ever that is."

I didn't know the house specialty was some drink with an

umbrella and more fruit piled on top than there was

liquid in the glass. I didn't even notice because I was

trying to think of what I was going to say when I walked

over to Suzanna's table.

That was the longest twenty steps of my life.

"Hey, Suzanna,"

I was cool and calm, but pretty much a nervous wreck

inside. She was friendly and pleasant, but slightly

aloof.

It was strange. It was like meeting someone you used to

know, but somehow time and distance had dropped a wedge

between you and that close familiarity was lost. We

talked, like two old friends, not like two people who had

considered spending their lives together. She introduced

me to the two girls she was with. They were a pair of

flaky over fluffed-up dance club types with an attitude

to go with it.

"Your band sounds great," she said.

What else could she say? It's kind of a standard line

even if people don't like your music. She told me she had

gone back to school to get a degree in biology. That made

sense. She loved animals and always had a couple of pets,

either the kind you take for a walk or the kind you keep

in a cage. She loved them all. She was working for some

lab at a university as a research assistant. One of her

flaky friends nodded at the drink I was holding and told

me not to poke my eye out with the umbrella.

Tanner came over to say hello to Suzanna and for a moment

it was almost like old times, but not quite.

"I've got to get back, we're going in a couple of

minutes. Hope you enjoy the show," I said as I started

back toward the stage when I saw the guys get ready to

start the next set.

A couple of tunes later I noticed her table was empty and

a waitress was clearing away a few empty glasses. We

finished the set and packed it up. When I drove home

alone that night I could still remember the scent of the

perfume she used to wear.

#

There is one thing in the music business that is

consistent. And that is the fact that it is inconsistent.

You never know exactly what is going to happen next or

where you'll be playing. Sometimes you've got something

lined up for a while and other times it just goes dry.

Then you get those days when you get a call in the

morning and they want you to play somewhere that same

night.

That's why you've always got to be on top of the game.

You have to keep your repertoire current so if you do get

one of those late calls you can still make the venue and

turn out a performance. We had a meeting in the studio to

try to figure out where our band was heading. Fortunately

we all seem to agree on a lot of things. There are always

a few minor disagreements about creative content but

nothing that has ever been settled without sort of

getting the general consensus of the band. We don't vote

on it but you sort of understand the way everyone feels

about things. Mostly it's myself, Jimmy, Van, and Tanner

who hash out what tunes we are going to play.

Jimmy does a lot of work on the arrangements we are going

to use. He's got a real talent for it and understands how

the group will perform. He's the band sage. He's a smooth

talker and a gentleman and he takes his work seriously.

Jean doesn't seem to care either way. He takes a look at

the charts and plays. He doesn't care what the tune is as

long as it gives him something to play. Georgy is the

same way, we think. Occasionally he'll throw in a comment

and we'll all agree with him, and that seems to satisfy

him. We do keep in mind that Lacey is our main vocalist.

I sometimes think we should hire a couple of girl backup

singers to round out the sound, and maybe we will in the

future. But if your main singer is a woman, you've got to

focus on a lot of tunes that she can carry and make

sense.

Lacey always shows up for practice and usually dives head

first into any new song we're trying. She's really good

that way. She rarely hangs around the studio after hours

though. She still works part time at the restaurant.

After two years of performing at all these different

clubs and events, we started tossing around the idea of

actually coming up with a name for the band. We've been

billed under all sorts of monikers. Sometimes it varies

from night to night. For a while we were the Pistolas,

then we were the Tree Top Avengers. Neither name made any

sense at all, but during the time it seemed to be a phase

for every band to have a goofy name.

Archie has been after us for a while to finally give the

band a name that will stick so he can work on some

posters and promotional material. Without a name, he

said, people won't come to the next show because they

won't know who we are.

Of course he's right. What's the point of gaining an

audience if they can't find you again? We tossed a few

names around, but none of them seemed to have the right

vibe. We opened it up again a few nights later and again,

we just couldn't find the right sounding name.

It was Chucky who sort of stumbled on it. He was

listening to Jimmy talk about finding the right name and

how it should reflect the band's attitude.

"You're a real philosopher," he said to Jimmy.

Chucky was a smart guy when it came to electronics and

technical things, but he seemed to stumble when it came

to grasping some of the simple things in life that most

people just learn as an adult. Talking to someone at a

bank or setting up an new policy with your insurance

broker was a big deal for him. Chucky always had to ask

someone for help and quite often he would query Jimmy as

to what he should do. I laughed, "Jimmy's the

philosopher, what does that make the rest of us?"

"Oh, you guys are too," Chucky replied, "You're just more

random."

We all sort of hit on the idea at the same time that it

came out of Chucky.

The Random Philosophers. It just sounded right, and the

name stuck.

Jimmy said we needed to come up with some wild story

about how the band got its name, just in case someone

from a magazine ever thought of asking. Chucky was given

the task of coming up with a story although I was half

kidding when I told him it was his job. He took that

assignment seriously and several weeks later he

approached me and told me he was still working on it. I

decided to keep the Tree Top Avengers as a special name

for any gigs I did solo or if I paired up with anyone

else. I needed a separate identity if I got some work

outside of the band.

We've started doing a lot more work when it comes to

writing our own material. We can cover everyone else's

stuff till the cows come home but what's the point? After

all, you'll never gain much of a real reputation unless

people recognize one of your songs. We've been putting a

lot of it on paper lately and doing a lot of

experimenting in the studio. Tanner writes a lot of the

lyrics and I've been writing a lot of the music. Jimmy

will usually listen to the first run through then make a

few suggestions. We are trying to stay away from the

standard pop type stuff. We've had enough of every song

swooning over a girl you know, or one you lost, or one

you want to get to know. The music scene is overloaded

with that same tired old theme that has played out

endlessly since the 1950's. I want us to be different and

write clever tunes on a wide variety of experiences or

themes. After a while we had quite the library of written

material. Some of it wasn't so good, but a lot of it was,

at least in my opinion.

"We've got to record some of this," Jimmy said. "We've

got some good music, but you can't sell a performance

like you can a record. If we can lay some tracks we can

take a demo reel to some record labels."

I called Izzy and he met Tanner and me down at Lacey's

restaurant one night.

Izzy had seen us perform a few times and even came out to

the studio and jammed with us some nights.

"This is the business side of it," Izzy said. "Once you

try to sell a demo, you've got a whole new deal going.

It's all about marketing and selling records. Record

companies aren't there because they like to promote the

arts. They're they because they want to sell records.

That's the bottom line."

He told us we should handle the creative side but when it

came to selling the demo we should let Archie deal with

it.

"Archie's a businessman. He knows that side of it. Do

yourselves a favor and if you get a meeting with a record

company, show up, be polite, and let Archie do the

talking."

Making the actual demo, he said, is the easy part. He

would even help us out by getting us into the recording

studio he used.

"Take your five best tunes," he said. "And work on them.

Make them flawless. When you're ready, give me a call and

I'll arrange it."

We left the restaurant and Tanner and I hashed out a few

ideas as we walked down the street. We stopped in at a

record store to get a little inspiration I guess. There

was a stand near the front promoting new albums and it

caught my eye right away. It was a self-titled Levon

Spritzer album.

Levon's picture was on the jacket cover. He was sitting

in a chair, legs crossed, his old Gibson resting on his

knee.

I bought that album and listened to it a couple of times

when I got home. The style of the rhythm guitar

punctuated by the lead melody was fantastic. He had

several tracks with a fiddle and a couple with a

clarinet. And Levon did his own singing.

He isn't what you'd call a virtuoso, but he has his own

distinct style that fits well with the tunes he plays.

Chapter Six

Welcome to the Cucumber Festival

“As sure as night is dark and day is light

I keep you on my mind both day and night

And happiness I've known proves that it's right

Because you're mine, I walk the line"

JC

One thing I like about the music business is you can

travel around a lot. You're not always going to far off

glamorous places, but you move around enough that you see

different cities and towns. For me it beats going to the

same location day after day and year after year.

We had a gig at a coffee house in this town that's about

an hour away. It was just Lacey and me. We teamed up for

this and had a couple of rehearsals together so we could

do a set as a duo.

Archie had called me about a week before and said the

spot was open if we wanted to go out there and do a

couple of sets just for some practice. This place was

what I would call a typical small town. There is a long

road leading into the downtown core that passes a

cemetery and a couple of small strip malls before you

enter the downtown area of stores, shops and businesses

that front the sidewalk. We drove there in my van and

when we finally found it we passed a sign that said the

name of the town and 'Welcome to the Home of the Cucumber

Festival.'

I don't know what happens at a cucumber festival but I'm

guessing cucumbers must account for a lot of the local

economy given the fact that they hold a festival and

celebrate a vegetable. The coffee house was on the main

street with two big windows facing the sidewalk and a

neon sign shaped like a coffee pot pouring into a cup. It

wasn't a big place but it was pretty good for an acoustic

set. There were tables set up around the stage and while

you performed the waitresses would dodge through the

crowd serving specialty coffees and deserts that looked

like they had been carved from marble and hand painted. I

was surprised how many people turned out and seemed to

know a lot about music. There was one other performer on

the bill that night so we would rotate between a couple

of sets, which was fine by me. At least it was a paying

job. It didn't pay much, but it made it worth my while to

go out there and perform and it gave me the opportunity

to banter with a small crowd in between songs.

The audience was a real mix of kids from the high school,

early twenties, right up to the older crowd, all together

in this one place. They didn't seem to mingle that much,

other than with their own little group, but they all

seemed to appreciate this hangout in the middle of their

town.

After our first set I got a coffee and sat down in the

small alcove at the back of the room where people lounged

on a big leather sofa and matching chairs with a coffee

table that held a stack of magazines. It was a place for

the regular customers who came to the cafe on their lunch

hour or break during the day to relax for a few minutes

before heading back to work.

I was talking to a few locals and found out that on

Thursday nights they hosted an open mic night and a lot

of the kids that turned out for our show would also play

there during the week with their own bands or give a solo

performance. Write your name down on a sheet of paper and

you got your time slot for a three song set. It was very

popular. The funny thing about this place was people

talked while you performed. It wasn't like you were in

the spotlight and had everyone's attention. Some people

focused on the stage but a lot talked across tables and

there was this constant murmur that wafted through the

room. Everyone seemed to know everyone else.

When you finished, it didn't matter what song you played

or who was performing, they would clap. And not just the

type of polite applause that people do when they feel

it's necessary. I mean they would applaud like they

really loved what you were doing. At the beginning of our

second set, this guy walked through the crowd and placed

his chair about five feet in front of the stage. The

stage was just a small riser about eight inches off the

floor which meant this guy was sitting pretty close and

almost at eye level. And he just sat there looking at me.

He was dressed kind of strange like he just pulled his

clothes out of the reject section of a basement used

clothing bargain store and he had these long side burns

that made him look like he was in an advertisement from

an early 70s' used car television commercial.

When we started to play he began clapping his hands in

time to the music and was bopping back and forth in his

chair. The next thing you know, another guy pulls up a

chair beside the first guy and there's two of them

sitting side-by-side right in front of me. After the

song, I said "Are you guys okay?"

They just nodded and smiled.

I took a moment to tune a string on my guitar and while I

was trying to get things set up for the next song Lacey

chatted to the audience to fill the lull. Another guy and

two girls came up with chairs and they also sat down

right in front of the stage so there is this little group

of strangely dressed people forming a little semi-circle

around the front of the stage. When I started to play the

next song this group started clapping along like they're

at a campfire sing-along or something. It was one of the

strangest moments I've ever had on stage. It turns out

they were all from a community group home for mentally

challenged people and this was one of their weekly

excursions out on the town. Apparently they had recently

watched an old 1960's movie musical and thought that the

performance scenes from 'Beach, Blanket, Bingo' was how

you were supposed behave when someone was playing a

guitar.

Once I got that figured out I didn't mind them clapping

along and having a good time and they really seemed to

enjoy the show. Lacey loved it. She got a real kick out

of their enthusiasm. I did mention to the cafe manager

that maybe next time they could give me a heads-up if

there is going to be an unusual crowd.

As a band we've been working a lot on our writing lately

and trying to collaborate on some new tunes. It can be a

challenge sometimes but then you hit on a rhythm or

melody that sticks with you and you can build from that.

Sometimes Tanner will come up with a lyric and I'll try

to fit a song around it. Other times we work the other

way around.

We've spent a lot of late nights in the studio trying

different methods and arrangements. I always try to avoid

getting a particular 'sound.' What I mean is I don't want

all our tunes to be instantly recognizable as being

written by the same persons. I know that we are going to

develop a way of doing things but if we ever manage to

get an album out I want our second one to sound totally

different than the first. That's just my way of thinking.

After getting a bunch of our material pretty much

finalized we decided to step out of the studio and try it

all in a different venue just to see how if feels if we

played an entire set of our original stuff in a different

place.

At Tanner's invitation we went out to his family farm.

They've got around one hundred acres with a big wooden

barn that has been empty for a couple of years since his

father retired from farming. Tanner said the old barn

boards would be great for absorbing the sound and provide

some really good acoustics or at the very least a

different sound than what were used to in our big hollow

studio space. The barn had been cleaned up and all the

old farm equipment had been removed. It was now a big

open area with a huge peaked roof that must have been

forty feet high. We were setting up the equipment when

this dog came walking into the barn. Nobody really paid

any attention to it because we all figured it was

probably just a farm dog that loafed around the place all

day. That is until it walked right up to Georgy and

latched on to his leg for no reason.

It was one of the craziest things I've ever seen. Georgy

started screaming while the dog was shaking its head back

and forth trying to take a piece out of him. Jimmy was

yelling at the dog and Jean took a couple of whacks at it

with his drumstick.

Tanner finally grabbed a hose that they used to use to

wash down the dairy stalls after the cows had been in

there and let the dog have it will a full blast of cold

water. That was enough to convince the dog to let go and

it wandered over to a corner and sat down. It still kept

its eyes on Georgy like it had some personal vendetta

going on with him.

Tanner's Dad burst through the barn when he heard all the

commotion.

"What's going on?!"

"One of your dogs bit Georgy on the leg," Tanner told

him.

Mr. Phink walked over to the corner and took a look at

the dog.

"That's not one of mine," He said. "I've never seen that

dog before." The entire session was lost because we had

to take Georgy to the local hospital to get stitched up

and get a rabies shot.

The doctor was a foreign guy who was on some kind of

exchange program to learn about rural medicine. At least

that's what the nurse told me when I asked, because he

had an accent that was so thick I couldn't understand

much of what he said. He said something about a 'big

needle' pronounced like he was reading it phonetically

from a medical text book.

The strange thing was this doctor and Georgy carried on

an entire conversation like they understood exactly what

the other guy was saying even though no one else could

understand either of them. How that happened, I don't

know.

I'm not sure if Georgy actually got a rabies shot or not

because the doctor didn't seem to understand the part

about getting bit by a strange dog. For all I know, he

may have just given him a measles vaccination. If Georgy

starts acting weird, like gagging or can't drink water,

we'll have to take him back for a second look. He got off

lucky compared to the dog though. When we were leaving

the farm I saw Tanner's dad walking toward the barn with

a really big gun.

The weekend was kind of lost because of the dog bite

incident. Georgy went home to nurse his wounded leg and

Jean and Jimmy went with him to make sure he didn't pass

out or something in the car. Tanner and I played a few

licks in the barn just to test it out. It went okay, but

didn't give us the same sound as if we had the whole band

there. We may not have been able to try out our new

material in a one hundred fifty year-old wooden barn but

we might still give it another shot later

One night we were tossing around some ideas in the studio

when Chucky came up with this suggestion.

"Lets invite a bunch of people we know to the studio and

put on a small concert. Well have just the band and some

friends. Play it like it's a real gig and get their

reaction to the new music."

Chucky may have been our wiring and sound guy but

sometimes a light bulb would turn on in his head and he

would come up with a pretty good idea. At first he

suggested we play on the roof of the studio and see if we

could get people on the street to stop and listen and

maybe get a television station to show up and film us

live. We decided that playing on the roof had probably

already been done and maybe we should just stick to an

indoor performance. We started working out a few details

for this small concert and decided we might as well turn

it into a party as well. No use in invited some people

over just to watch us play and say, "What do you think?"

I called the guy who owns the building where our studio

is and he said he would let us use the unit next door.

It's empty and about four times the size of our studio

space. He said we can have it for one night for free as

long as he could come out and watch.

We figure if all of us invited three or four people that

would give us an audience of around thirty. That would be

enough to get a decent response and some feedback about

the new tunes.

We decided on a Saturday night at eight o'clock and

started letting people know what would be going on.

The day before the concert we brought in some risers for

a stage and Chucky set up the lights and sound system. It

wasn't anything too elaborate, just a spot and a few

stage lights. I've never been a fan of laser light shows

or flash pots, or anything like that. They have their

place, but I've always said, 'If you can't satisfy an

audience with just the music you are playing, then what's

the point?'

Lacey borrowed a couple of catering tables from her

restaurant and placed them at the side of the room and

arranged to have a buffet style deal available after the

show. She even invited Gus, the gruff old fat guy from

the restaurant. He was so thrilled at actually being

invited somewhere he offered to make the buffet and have

one of his bus boys bring it to the studio for ten

o'clock.

Gus showed up with his wife that night and they brought

some other people with them. Gus was even wearing a

necktie for the occasion. Van used some of his

connections to get a case of wine and several bottles of

various liquors that most likely came out of his father's

stock. We weren't sure how many bottles you need for

thirty people, but we seemed to have enough. Jimmy bought

a few cases of soda for mixers and some bags of ice that

he put in a cooler and stashed under the tables. We all

pitched in and bought a few cases of beer.

By seven o'clock, we were ready. The band looked good. We

were all dressed in black and white. Not identical

outfits, that would be a little too corny, but we had the

look of a professional band. All except Jean, who wore a

black tank-top, white shoes, and a pork-pie hat. You've

got to give the drummer that extra leeway. We were

hanging out in this little back room behind the stage we

were using for a green room when Chucky came in and ask

how many people we had invited. “There's a pretty good

crowd out there,” he said.

I went out to take a look. Sure enough, there was around

seventy-five people milling about in this place. We had

set up around forty chairs on the floor and there was

some old wooden benches left over from when the place was

a warehouse but mostly people were standing and

socializing.

It seems that everyone who had been invited took the

liberty of inviting a few more of their friends. Lacey's

new boyfriend was there and he brought five or six of his

friends and her sister brought along a few from her

crowd.

I saw Archie arrive with a few of his cronies from the

music industry. There was one group of people huddled in

the corner and I had no idea who they were at all.

At eight o'clock we were ready. Chucky turned out the

warehouse lights and we walked out as he lit up the

stage. We wasted no time in getting started. Jean tapped

his sticks together four times for a cue and we kicked it

off with a tune called A utumn Retrospect. The title has

nothing to do with the song or the season. Jimmy named it

after the way he was feeling when he wrote it. It's a

real kick-ass number with a fast tempo that sets up the

tone for the night and ends with this finish that is

really a show stopper.

The audience loved it.

I started a little speech to thank everyone for coming

out and when Chucky dimmed the spotlight, I could see

people lined up against the back wall. There was at least

another seventy-five people in the place. By the time we

came out for the second set there was over three hundred

people jammed into that warehouse. Lacey's sister opened

the bar during the break and I think a lot of people had

brought their own.

I like to think this was a legendary night in the history

of the band. At least as legendary as a night can be in

our world.

We were on top of our form and the audience was having a

good time. A bunch of girls with tall hair and short

skirts wandered in from some club down the street when

they heard the music wafting out through the alleyway and

started dancing up a storm in front of the stage while

others took the cue and were dancing on top of the wooden

benches at the side of the room.

For a low-key affair, this was getting pretty wild.

We wrapped up the second set and Chucky took over as DJ

as we wandered around and mingled with all these people,

most of whom we didn't even know. The music played well

into the morning and our entire bar was emptied out but

new bottles kept turning up and someone got up on the

stage and sprayed champagne, or least some kind of fizzy

liquid, over the crowd.

Chucky made friends with a couple of the tall hair girls

and they took him out on the floor where he seemed to be

starting his own wild dance craze. We found him later

where he was passed out on one of the benches with one of

the dancing girls.

I'm not sure what happened to everyone else. We didn't

see Jimmy for a few days after that but someone told me

they saw him crawling into the backseat of a car around

three in the morning and yelling something about going to

Mardi Gras.

Got to admit that I did drink more than I normally would,

but sometimes you've just got to let loose and throw

caution to the wind.

"How many people did we invite to this party?" Tanner

asked while we surveyed the mess the next day.

"I think it was around thirty." I replied.

"Yup," he said. "Now that, was a great party."

Chapter Seven

' You're not really here,

It's just the radio'

C.

Sometimes you've got to take a break. A break from your

job. A break from your girlfriend. A break from routine.

A break from life.

We played six solid months of gigs. Two or three shows a

week at different clubs, trade shows, conventions, county

fairs, weddings, and just about any place Archie could

book us.

Archie was on a roll, that's for sure. He kept reminding

us that you've got to take the work while you can get it.

He really believes in the band, there's no doubt there.

He was our agent but he's also turned into a manager and

spends a lot of time figuring out logistics, planning

routes, and making deals. He gets the promotional work

done and takes care of things like marketing and getting

our name out there. He had a logo created for all the

posters and set up a photo shoot so we had pictures to go

on our promotional material.

On top of it he was still getting me work as a session

guy and I occasionally sit in with other bands in a

studio and I've worked on a few radio jingles as well.

The best thing is I'm actually earning a living at it. We

all are. Not a huge amount of money, but enough that I

can pay the rent and get by and put a few bucks away in a

savings account.

Working two or three days a week doesn't sound like a

lot, but there's a lot more to it than just showing up

for a couple of hours and playing some music. There's the

travel time, setting up the stage, sound checks,

everything that goes into putting on a show. On top of

that we still have to rehearse.

We actually hired a couple of guys as drivers and

roadies. They load the equipment and get it to the venue

and set it all up. We placed them under the supervision

of Chucky.

I've got to hand it to them, they do a great job. They

are two guys who own a truck and rent themselves out to

do moving jobs. They will move just about anything that

they can fit inside the twenty-four foot box of their

truck.

"I love working in show business," one of them told me

when I asked how he liked the job. He was slugging a box

of lights up a ramp at the time.

After months of solid work we all gathered in the studio

one night to hash things out and see what we would do

next. Everyone showed up including Archie.

Somehow we were all spent. We had no ideas, no new

creative input, nothing. "I think we need a break," Jimmy

said. "We've been working hard. If we take a couple

months off, we'll come back fresh. It will give us some

time to regroup and come up with some new ideas."

He was right. We had spent a lot of time together and

even though the band gets along really well, sometimes

you just have to step back and take a breather.

I looked over at Archie, who up until now hadn't said a

word.

"What do you think?" I asked him.

He seemed a little lost for words. Maybe he was

disappointed that we wanted to slow it down after all the

hard work he put it. But Archie was a diplomat. He never

made quick or irrational decisions. He could always see

the bigger picture. After turning it over in his mind for

a few seconds, he leaned back in his chair.

"I think... you should take the summer off. You've all

worked hard at this. You deserve some time to have some

fun. Give it a rest, and in September we'll put it all

back together and cut the demo tape."

e he brought to our party were with some record company

and they like what they saw and they like our sound.

Archie had been talking it over with them on his own and

arranged a deal that if we could produce a good quality

demo and they liked how we sounded on tape, there was a

good chance they would be interested in working with us

to cut an album.

He had already made an arrangement with a studio to

record a demo and had put aside some cash from our

performances to pay for it.

He was a good businessman alright, he never missed a beat

or an opportunity and was always figuring out the angles.

I don't think he really wanted us to take the summer off.

But he was smart enough to listen to what everyone was

saying before he gave an opinion. I think he realized

that we were just burned out enough that if we tried to

go ahead and make a recording right away the work would

suffer.

We were all pretty excited to hear that we would be

recording a demo. I had only one request. I wanted Izzy

to be in on it. He's one guy whose opinion I'd trust when

putting something like this together.

"I already called him," Archie said. "He can't wait."

There was a sudden squeal of feedback coming back from

the sound system in the studio. Chucky was out there

stringing along some wires and doing who knows what. He

was always wiring and re-wiring something or re-doing the

lights.

I went out to see what was going on and he was hunched

over one of the speakers with a handful of wires in his

hand and a flashlight attached to a band around his head

sort of like miners wear when they are underground.

"Sorry," he said. "I got the wires mixed up."

I'd never seen him make a mistake like that before. He

was always pretty careful about what he was doing. He

even gave me a lesson once on the importance of color-

coded wiring or something and how not to get electrocuted

when you're working with live power. Not that I ever had

an inclination to try.

"What's with the flashlight?" I asked.

The room was brightly lit but he looked like he was about

to do some exploring in a cave.

"Just helps me see better," He said and he went back to

his work with his nose about three inches away from the

wires.

I was going to suggest that maybe he get a new

prescription for his glasses but I figure no one would

know that better than he would.

#

It was a good summer. Long, hot, and dry.

I spent a lot of time at the beach and just hanging out

at different places along the boardwalk near where I

live. It's a fun neighborhood in the summer, but once the

fall sets in it's a ghost town. It's no fun sitting at an

outdoor patio when there is ice forming across the lake

and the mist freezes on the sidewalk.

I bought a new car. Well, the bank bought most of it and

I owe them. Just forty-eight 'E-Z' payments and it will

be mine. I had to get rid of my van. It was good

transportation when I needed it and the real reason I had

it was to cart equipment around. But now that we've got

our own roadies, I don't need it. Besides, no matter how

hard you try, you just can't look cool driving a van.

My apartment is on the second floor of this old Victorian

style house. I guess at one time the street was

considered an upscale neighborhood. But over time things

change and pretty much every house on the street had been

converted to small apartment buildings. I like this

place. It's a step up from the sinkhole I was living in

when I first got out of school.

The first week of July I saw a truck parked outside of

the building next door and furniture being moved in.

Usually I don't pay much attention to such things as

there's always people moving in and out if these places.

But when a car pulled into the driveway and four really

beautiful girls got out and walked into the building, I

took notice.

It turns out the place had been rented by one of the

airlines out at the airport and they were going to use it

as a stop-over place for their stewardesses when they

were in town.

I'm not sure if the old rule about stewardesses all being

fun and good looking is still true, but from what I saw,

this airline doesn't hire the fat and ugly ones to serve

its customers.

Fortunately, I was in a position to go over and introduce

myself as a neighbor and see if they needed any

assistance. For a bunch of good looking stewardesses,

they were pretty friendly.

They seemed to find it interesting that I was in a band

so I invited them to one of our upcoming shows just to be

neighborly.

The summer hasn't been all goofing off though. Me and

Lacey continued with our duo act. We were billed as the

Treetop Avengers and we played one or two gigs each week

at small places. One restaurant hired us to play a set

every Thursday and Friday night as background music for

their customers. We just set up in a corner and play some

quiet tunes as light entertainment. Lacey sings and I

even do a little background vocals. I still don't

consider myself a singer but she seems to think I'm

pretty good. It's not like I ever take the lead but I

guess I'm okay at chirping out the odd refrain

sometimes.

We work well together, Lacey and me. We get along

professionally and personally. There are times when I

watch her at these little venues and she delivers these

songs in perfect pitch with this heartfelt delivery that

almost says more about her as a person than as a singer.

It has been a few years now that I've known her and

sometimes I think we would make a good couple. She's

attractive, sometimes downright beautiful. She has this

way of making anyone feel at ease when you're around her.

That's why I've never really made a play for her. We work

together and it could really mess things up if I made a

pass, and it was an uncompleted effort. The odd time I'll

catch her looking at me the way girls do where they are

interested in someone, but I could never tell if it was

me she was interested in, or just her way of being

friendly. She smiles a lot, and because of that a lot of

guys think she's interested in them when she's just being

herself.

Besides she's got this boyfriend she's been with for a

couple of years. She brings him out to the occasional

show and a few times he came out to watch us rehearse

when he was going to take her out afterword.

We don't usually allow people at rehearsal. We make the

odd exception and once and a while we'll open it up and

let anyone come just to have some fun. But the general

rule is, rehearsal is work. You don't show up at your

regular job with a girlfriend to hang out with so why do

it here?

I've never understood this whole rock star thing of

trying to rehearse or record an album and having all

these groupies hanging around like Yoko Ono. All that

does is slow down your progress. Most of the guys in the

band think the same way. There's a time to get serious

and get work done, and there's a time to kick back and

relax.

Sometimes Lacey and me will hang out after a show and go

to a restaurant in whatever town we're in for something

to eat before driving home. It's a social thing for sure,

and it usually ends with me dropping her off at home like

I'm dropping off a friend after a night out.

I think having someone like Lacey in your life is one of

those rare privileges when you should do your best to

turn out an all-star effort. I mean really go the extra

mile every chance you get. I don't know much about how

she and her boyfriend get along, but I do know you can

ruin a good thing with a little bad judgment.

I went to a gathering of friends one night at a local

watering hole during the last week of August. It was an

excuse for a night out and two groups of people who knew

each other decided to get together to have some drinks

and play some pool.

Some of the people I knew, others I met for the first

time that night. There was around ten of us taking up a

few tables in the back of this place. There was this one

couple that I'd met once before at some other gathering.

The guy was named Brad and his wife was Susan. They were

kind of a Ken and Barbie type couple meaning they were

very well suited for each other, dressed really well, and

just looked like they belonged together.

Brad has this unusual way of speaking. He always tries a

little too hard to impress. He speaks like he is reading

from a script.

When they arrived Brad announced "Greetings! Greetings

everyone! It is a pleasure to see you all tonight."

He comes off a little superficial, but all in all he

seems sincere. His wife Susan is the type of girl that

catches the attention of everyone when she walks into a

room. She's tall, with long dark hair, and what I would

call striking. That's the only word I can think of to

describe her. She is charming and funny, a real crowd

pleaser on both sides of the fence. She was wearing a

short black skirt and a tight low-cut sweater and she

looked like she just auditioned for a part in a James

Bond movie.

What happened next was pretty strange.

We were all having a few drinks and finger foods,

listening to the music and talking when this woman came

into the place through the front door. I noticed her

right away and it wasn't because she looked like she

belonged on a poster to recruit cheerleaders for a

religious school. She wasn't the fresh and wholesome

type. The first thing I thought was she must live in a

trailer park or something because she really had the

look. She was wearing skinny jeans and a tank top and had

tattoos on her forearms. That's a sure sign she wasn't on

the list for this season's debutante ball. She looked

around the room then focused in on our table. She made a

beeline directly across the room. I wasn't sure why she

was coming over to us but something told me nothing good

was about to happen when an angry looking woman with navy

anchors and skull tattoos adorning her arms was coming to

join your party.

She stopped at our table and stood there for a moment

with her arms crossed and an evil sneer she might have

acquired while spending time in prison. We all kind of

looked up at her wondering what she wanted as no really

seemed to know who she was, and no one dared to ask her.

It was then I noticed that Brad had this look on his face

like he had just witnessed an execution or something. He

was the only one not looking at this trailer girl. He was

staring straight ahead like he was waiting for the Angel

of Death to drive a sickle through his back.

Just as someone started to ask what she wanted, she

reached across the table, picked up a full pitcher of

beer and dumped two quarts of draft right on top of

Brad's head. It was such a bizarre moment that everyone

at the table just sat there in a stunned silence. I guess

we were waiting for Brad to do something, say something,

or at least react to having his hair shampooed by a jug

full of hops and barley.

The only person who spoke was Susan.

"What the...?"

That pretty much summed up what the rest of us were

thinking.

The weird thing is Brad doesn't do a thing. He just sat

there like a statue and didn't even bother acknowledging

what just happened.

The trailer girl didn't say a word. She turned around and

walked back across the room and out the front door.

There was what you might call a really uncomfortable

moment. No one knew what to say because this has turned

into a really strange situation for everyone.

Susan was the next to go. Without a 'goodbye' or 'see ya

later' she stood up and walked out of the place.

I was kind of expecting Brad to call out after her or at

least say something but he didn't move at all. He picked

up some napkins and started wiping the beer off his face.

By now, everyone there is thinking the same thing. We all

realize that Brad has taken a dip with the trailer park

girl, for whatever reason, and she is not too happy that

he didn't call a second time. I guess Susan figured it

out as well.

Brad stood up and dropped the napkins on the table.

"Thank you everyone. I'll be leaving now. It's time to go

home and keep my car running inside a locked garage.

Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes to get the job

done."

I'll never understand guys like that. He probably just

ruined his life, maybe more, for what? A night with a

girl who he probably wouldn't even introduce to his

friends. I'm not sure what the ending of that story was,

and I'm not sure I want to know.

Levon Spritzer came out with a new album. I read about it

in one of the trade magazines. It wasn't much of an

article, more like a press release. There was a photo of

the new album with Levon on the cover with his guitar and

a caption that said, 'Levon Returns!' and in smaller

print underneath it said 'In stores now.'

Considering it was a brand new album I thought the

release was understated. There was no more information

about either Levon or the album. There was nothing about

concert dates or appearances. I did find a small article

in the back of the magazine about a concert he played at

an outdoor stage at some fair ground. It only referred to

him as a 'talented but quirky' guitar player who

specializes in old style music.

It was a good photo though. He was wearing his hat and

sort of leaning in to the camera.

I bought the new album and listened to it a few times

then asked Tanner to try playing along with me while I

tried to nail this particular style. This album was

different than his last one. It had more of an old jazz

style with one guitar playing a hot jazz type of rhythm

and Levon playing old time jazz licks. Even Tanner was

impressed with this album.

"It's Gypsy jazz," he said.

We spent the better part of an evening trying to figure

it all out and copy the style, just for something to do.

I'm going to try to find out if Levon is playing any gigs

around here in the future. I'd like to hear him perform

live.

Chapter eight

Hair of the dog

I've always liked the fall. It's not that I don't like

the summer but I've always found that after several

months of the same weather it's good to change things up.

You can get into some different clothes and there's

always a lot of new things going on.

The band got together in the second week of September to

make a few plans for our demo tape. All except Georgy and

we're not sure of where he is. He called Tanner a couple

of weeks ago and told him he got bit by another dog when

he was walking down the street and had to go a hospital

and get stitched up again. How could that happen twice?

Then he called him back the next week and said he was

traveling overseas to visit some relative in what ever

country he is originally from. He seemed to think that he

would be inheriting a pile of cash from some uncle who

owns a goat farm, or a cheese factory, or some kind of

business they do in the old country. We haven't heard

from him since.

We started deciding on which songs we would do for a demo

tape. For the most part we all knew which were our best

and the ones we would like to record. Jimmy already had

the arrangements done and all we had to do was get a few

practice sessions in and we would be ready to go. When

you're doing this type or work you can't fool around when

you're in the studio. It costs money to rent the place

and a technician and you pay by the hour. You get your

act together before you get in there and don't waste time

trying to figure things out once you've arrived.

Getting back together with the band after a few months

off felt like we all knew where we were supposed to be.

We slotted right back in where we left off and gelled as

a unit as soon as we started playing. Archie made the

arrangements for the recording studio and booked two

sessions at four hours each. It wasn't a lot of time but

it is enough get it done.

We had evening sessions booked. For some reason I think

all musicians perform better at night. Maybe because it's

what we're used to it since most gigs are nighttime jobs.

I know I wouldn't be at my best at eight in the morning

and I don't think the rest of the guys would be either.

The studio isn't a high-end outfit but it was good for

what we needed and the two guys that run the place do a

lot of demo tapes so they really know how to do it right.

It has a nice size 'live' area were we set up. This

wasn't going to be a long drawn out recording session. We

were doing this live. All of us playing together and

recorded as it happens.

This type of recording has its advantages, at least in my

book. I've always thought it gives a live vibe to the

music. There really aren't any re-takes of individual

instruments, so if the drummer slows or speeds up the

tempo slightly you have those little imperfections that

make it real. It's the same with everyone else. The only

time you would have to redo it is if someone really blows

it and ruins the song.

We were booked for Friday night. I got there a little

early just to have a look around. The two sound

technicians were there and already had some mics in place

based on what Archie had told them about the band. They

told me they had completed two sessions that day already.

Since I was early and they were just hanging around I

brought in my guitar and amplifier and plugged in and got

in a little practice. Chucky showed up about ten minutes

later with one of our moving guys and started bringing in

the drum set and keyboards. Everyone else would just need

to show up with their instruments. Izzy came with the

bass player from his band who was going to sit in for

Georgy. He knew all our material and it would be easy for

him to play along.

The first session went well. We got through the songs and

had time to do a few retakes on Izzy's suggestions. He

sat in the sound booth with the technicians and would

make some adjustments on the board as we went along,

boosting some levels and basically fine tuning how the

sound would reproduce on tape.

At the end, we did a play-back and listened to what we

recorded. It was that easy. Technology is an amazing

thing. Considering we were playing live like that, the

reproduction when played back on those studio speakers

was incredible.

"You guys are smokin'," Izzy said when we finished the

last song. "If I was a record guy, I'd cut you a deal

right away before someone else signs you up."

We had two weeks before we were due to come back to the

studio so Archie booked us in for a couple of shows in

the lag time.

We traveled to this out of the way town about three hours

from here where we were booked to play a two night deal.

We played the usual three sets on the first night to a

full house. And this place was packed. At first we were

pretty happy to see so many people had come out for the

show. I thought Archie must have done a good job of

promoting it, but after a while, we realized that

everyone didn't come out to hear us in particular. They

had come out to hear a band, any band. This was the only

place in town that had live music. In fact it was the

only place in about fifty miles that had live music. In

fact it was one of only two bars, clubs, what ever you

want to call it, in the whole region.

After the first set I went up to the bar to get a drink.

As usual it was part of the deal that the band drinks for

free, not that we drank that much. Usually only one,

maybe two, and that was because it was free and we

figured we shouldn't pass up a perqs of the job. Having

someone drunk on stage wasn't good for the band, or

anyone for that matter. We usually kept that sort of

thing under control. I leaned back on the bar and looked

around at the crowd in the place. What a mix. With only a

limited number of places you could go on a Friday night,

everyone who wanted to party, in some form or another,

came to the same place. It was strange.

I saw two older guys sitting at one table. Both were

wearing farmer caps and dressed like they just finished

plowing the back forty and at the next table there were

two girls, maybe twenty years-old, and both dressed to

the nines for a night out on the town. That's the kind of

crowd it was. Forget the hip, swinging disco scene or the

dark, brooding tavern owner with an angry bartender

wearing an apron and holding a sawed off baseball bat

under the counter for security. This place had everyone

thrown in together in one big mish-mash of small town

revelry. I noticed one guy who had been sitting by

himself at a table close to the stage. He was wearing a

business suit and was chain-smoking through the entire

set and he was the only guy in the place drinking from a

martini glass. Pretty much everyone else was swigging

beer from a bottle. He really stood out. He was listening

to the music and paying no attention to anything else

going on around him. He was focused.

After our second set this same guy came up to me and

handed me his business card.

"I like your sound," he said, "Why don't you let me take

you and the other guy out for lunch tomorrow. I think me

and my company would be interested in working on a deal

with you."

The 'other guy' was Tanner. I guess he figured we were

the band leaders or something like that.

His card said his name was Gerrard J. Blackstock, and

listed his business as producer, director, and

promotions. He emphasized the 'J' in his name when he

introduced himself.

I showed the card to Tanner.

"I think I've heard of this guy," he said. "Isn't he that

producer that goes out scouting out bands for his label?"

We arranged to meet Mr. Blackstock the next day at the

best restaurant in town. It was pretty nice place. It was

a really old house converted into a restaurant with a

back room that that was surrounded in floor to ceiling

windows like a sun room. When we walked into the place

Mr. Blackstock was sitting at a corner table puffing on a

cigarette and slurping down oysters right out of the

shell. He waved us over to his table.

"Hey, band guys, sit down. What'll you have to drink?"

He snapped his fingers at the waiter and yelled out a

couple of drink orders across the room like he owned the

place.

I've never seen a guy smoke like he did. He stubbed one

out in the ashtray and pulled out another one right away

and lit it up like he was in a hurry to finish off the

pack.

When our drinks arrived Mr. Blackstock ordered some

appetizers and another plate of oysters and told the

waiter "Don't be stingy."

"Now fellas," he said, "I think I can help ya. I've been

in this business a long time and I'm the guy behind some

of the biggest bands you've ever heard of. Know what I

mean?"

It was about this time that I thought that something just

wasn't right about this situation. Mr. Blackstock seemed

legit the night before, but that was late at night in a

rather dark bar room. Now we were sitting with the same

guy in a brightly lit room at noon on a Saturday in a

nice restaurant and he's wearing the same suit he had on

the night before. And it was an old suit and he had all

these little stains on his tie. I guess Tanner was

thinking the same thing.

"So, you're a producer?" Tanner asked him.

"Producer and director," Mr. Blackstock replied. "I

produce and direct a multitude of productions. And of

course I have other business interests in various

industries. I like to stay diversified to keep my capital

flow limitations ... unlimited, while investing of course

in the... wider spectrum of the industry. This keeps my

cash flow uninhibited while allowing me to invest in

other fiduciary ventures which I find to be of my

liking."

He swallowed an oyster and washed it down with the rest

of whatever was in his glass.

That was a red flag. I've always found that the guys who

are eager to tell you about their business interests

before they even really know who you are, are the ones

that generally don't have any real business empire, or

their business is usually something that involves some

kind of shady, borderline scheme. Together with the fact

that what he just said didn't make a lot of sense had

Tanner and me looking at each other across the table like

we had little cartoon question marks floating over our

head.

"So what exactly do you produce?" I asked him.

He lit up another smoke and leaned across the table like

he was going to let us in on some kind of insider

information.

"I produce, you know, different things. Productions,

records, movies, what ever it takes to make some money.

We can work out a contract. I have a guy who takes care

of the legalities and all that stuff."

Movies? He produces movies? We were in small town that

might as well have been a million miles away from

Hollywood and this guys is telling us he produces movies.

I never got my next question out.

"Excuse me, are you Mr. Blackstock?"

The waiter had returned to our table.

"Yeah, that's me,"

"How are you planning on paying for your meal today sir?

Mr. Blackstock sort of waved the waiter off like he

couldn't be bothered with such trivial things as how he

was going to pay his restaurant bill.

"Just put it on my tab."

"You don't have a tab sir."

About this time I noticed two cops had walked into the

place and were talking to a man in the foyer wearing a

chefs hat and smock. The chef pointed to our table.

It turns out that Mr. Blackstock was a local con artist,

crook, and crazy person who lived at a halfway house in

the middle of town and was well known to the local

police. He had been banned from pretty much every

business in town including the restaurant and the only

reason he managed to sneak into the restaurant that day

was because the waiter was new and didn't know him.

The cops hauled him away in handcuffs and dropped him

into the back of their car. For a moment we thought we

were going to be next but the cop had been through this

routine before. Apparently we weren't the first people

who had come to town and were approached by Mr.

Blackstock about doing some kind of deal. At least we

didn't buy his act. The cop told us some people had

actually given him money when he convinced them it was

going toward publicity and other businesses expenses and

he assured them they would get it all back plus a salary.

"We have to take him in," the cop told us. "He's already

on probation. Some guys just never learn."

We decided we had better settle up with the restaurant,

at least for the drinks we had. The chef also turned out

to be the owner of the place and he was pretty agreeable

about it considering Mr. Blackstock had already eaten

around thirty dollars worth of oysters and had three

drinks before we had even arrived and that would come out

of the owners pocket since Mr. Blackstock never paid his

bill in a restaurant. He usually either tried to sneak

out or would provide a credit card that wasn't worth the

price of the plastic it was made from.

While I was paying the bill Tanner wandered around the

foyer which was also a kind of local bulletin board for

people selling their services or having garage sales.

"Check this out." He pointed to a poster stuck to the

wall with a thumbtack. "Isn't that the guy you're always

listening to?"

Sure enough there was a photo of Levon Spritzer on a

poster about an event that was going on in a town not too

far away. They had a beer garden with a full line-up of

talent and as well as a stage set up in the local arena.

Levon was scheduled to appear last on Sunday night at

seven o'clock. We decided to make the effort and go see

the show. On Sunday when the rest of the band headed for

home, Tanner and me got into his Ford Escort and started

the one hour trek. We should easily be there early enough

to hang around for a while and see a few bands, see

Levon's show, and then make the drive back to the city.

This is were we learned a lesson about driving a fifteen

year old car with a manual transmission that should have

been relegated to the scrap yard five years earlier. We

were stopped at the main intersection in a town about

forty-five minutes from where we started out, and when

the light turned green, nothing. "Uh oh," Tanner said. He

started pushing and pulling on the shift, but it wouldn't

budge. "It's stuck!"

It wasn't exactly a traffic jam, but the light was green

and we were doing a good job of blocking the cars behind

us.

We finally managed to get through the intersection at

about three miles-per-hour with the clutch screaming and

the engine whining and pulled the car over to the side of

the road. Tanner was shaking the gear shift and pushing

down on the clutch but the shifter wouldn't budge. We

were stuck in third gear with a couple of hundred miles

left to go. I've always had this thing about guys who buy

crappy cars. Not crappy in the way that the car is old,

slightly rusty, or even has a mismatched fender because

someone is half-way through rebuilding or painting an old

car. I mean crappy in the way of a guy who buys a car

because it gets 'good mileage.'

I used to know this guy who was always driving these

cheap little cars and they always had a manual

transmission because he said a four-speed gets 'better

mileage" and were 'quicker.'

Every time we went out somewhere and he drove, it was a

night of constantly being thrown forward and back into

the seat every time he shifted gears. This wasn't a high

performance sports car, it was a cheap compact built as

an inexpensive second family car. His claim about it

being 'quicker' is some kind of illusion these guys

experience when they grind through the gears and somehow

think they are going faster than everyone else. Whenever

we were planning to go somewhere he would say, 'I'll

drive. It will only costs us five bucks in gas."

It didn't matter if we were driving across town or across

the country, he always claimed five bucks was the cost to

go anywhere.

The big flaw here is these cars have room for two people

if you don't mind having your knees tucked up under your

chin while you're crammed into the front seat. As for

mileage, spend a few bucks on gas and buy a decent car.

Somehow you can't respect a guy driving a tiny little car

to save ten cents on a local joy ride.

So there we were, stuck three hours from home on the side

of a road with apparently only one option and that was to

drive home in third gear. That pretty much blew our

chances of seeing Levon on stage. We made it home that

night although it did get a little dicey when we had to

slow down. Once we were up to speed things were fine as

most of the return trip was on the highway. Tanner took

the car to a transmission place the next day and a

mechanic fixed it with a swing of a hammer. Tanner said

he thought it was an accident and the guy was just

tapping it for effect to show him what the problem was

and he accidentally freed up what ever was making it

stick.

"Good thing I was there and saw it," he told me later.

"Otherwise that tap of a hammer probably would have cost

me fifteen hundred in repair bills if we had spoken over

the telephone."

The weekend ended on a good note. When I got home the

stewardesses next door were having a party to celebrate

someone's birthday. I'm not even sure who the birthday

girl was but three of them were hanging out on the front

porch and waved me over when we pulled into the driveway.

Sometimes a bad day takes a good turn when you least

expect it.

Chapter nine

I'm here for the audition

"Have you ever seen a sight as beautiful,

as a face in a crowd of people,

that lights up just for you."

CJ

"Sometimes I think I'd like to go back on the road. I

know I used to complain about all the traveling and not

having a place to hang my hat, but there was a good side

to it. You always saw something new. A different place

every day."

Jimmy was sitting in his special chair in the studio and

writing a few notes while he talked. We were waiting for

the rest of the guys for our regular rehearsal.

"Sometimes I didn't even know what city I was in. We

would ride the bus all night and just get off at the next

stop. Did you know western performers are really popular

in Japan?"

"Japan? Really?"

"I knew a guy who played in a nightclub in Tokyo for a

solid year. He had a spot in this lounge on the top level

of some hotel right downtown. A really classy place. All

he did was play two sets each night, five nights a week

and got top dollar for it. Kind of strange isn't it? I

mean when you think of it from our perspective. In Japan

they consider a western performer to be exotic or

something. I guess it all depends on which side of the

ocean you're on."

Jimmy was one of those guys you could know for ten years

and still really not know much about him at all. He never

really spoke about himself a lot but every once in a

while he would come out with some story about when he was

on the road and some of his experiences in the past.

Occasionally he would drop a few names of people he had

met or played with but other than that, he never really

opened up about his life story.

"Would you go there if you had the chance?" I asked him.

"Japan? Sure I would. But you just don't sign up for a

gig like that. It usually comes through some kind of

offer."

It's been a few months since we finished our demo tape

and we haven't had any offers from record companies yet.

Tanner and I went with Archie to a few meetings with

these record executive types who would talk to us and

take a copy of the tape but so far we haven't had a call

back. Archie says that you can't expect results over

night.

"They don't make decisions on a whim," he said. "There's

a lot of money involved here. They won't put out the cash

for a recording session and promotional material unless

they are going to get something out of it. They get a lot

of tapes every year and they don't decide to put out a

new album every week. It takes time."

It does take time, and we all realize that, but sooner or

later you either have to get on with it or move on to

something else. I've seen all sorts of young bands

cutting albums but a lot of them never seem to last. Very

few groups ever go on to have an entire selection of

music over a long period of time. Here we are, a

professional band and we still haven't made our first

recording.

Chucky arrived at the studio with Tanner to run some

cables or wires or whatever it was that he was always

monkeying around with behind the scenes. He had a black

eye and a welt the size of an egg over his left eye.

"What happened to you?" I asked him.

"I walked into a pole."

"A pole? Was it moving at the time? How could not see a

pole?"

"Accidents happen," he said, and tried to fluff it off.

"And he's got a new tattoo," Tanner said, "Show them what

you got."

Chucky pulled up the sleeve of his t-shirt and sure

enough he had this brand new tattoo on his shoulder.

I've never really been a fan of tattoos but I could

certainly tell the difference between some high quality

ink and a poorly drawn and executed effort. I'm not sure

what it was supposed to be. I think it was a Tasmanian

Devil wearing a top hat, but it could have been a small

bear with an oddly shaped head.

It was done by a traveling tattoo artist who brings his

ink and needles to your home.

"I didn't even have to pay full price," Chucky explained.

"The tattoo guy asked me about his money so I told him I

only had about half of it with me and I would pay him the

rest the next time I saw him. So when he finished the

tattoo he just took the money I had and told me to forget

about the rest. I guess he was giving me a break."

Here's a couple more of life's little lessons; If you

sell illegal guns for a living, never sell the bullets at

the same time you are handing a pistol to a criminal, and

more importantly, if you are getting a tattoo, never tell

the artist that you don't have the full amount of his fee

after he has already started putting ink to skin.

It's been a few months since anyone has heard from Georgy

so I guess he's not coming back. Somehow I picture him

sitting on a wooden fence and playing his bass to his

goats on the cheese farm while regaling the local village

people about his time in the west when he was in show

business. At least the villagers speak the same language

and could understand what he was talking about.

We put out a call for a new bassist. It was just a small

ad in a local trade paper that said we were looking for a

bass player for an established band. We didn't want to

get too specific and scare some people off and we didn't

want to make it too broad and have every guy in the city

who owns an instrument turn out. We had around ten calls

and narrowed it down to five with just a telephone

interview. Some, we decided were not right for the band

and some of the callers decided they weren't right for

us. It's really a personal decision and when you discuss

what the band is all about and the style of music we

play, you can usually figure out during a phone call if

it is worth the effort to do an audition. If you're going

to spend a lot of time with the same people, traveling,

over night stays, and all that kind of stuff, then

finding someone who will be the right fit is a big deal.

It's the same thing when you're joining a band. If you

meet with them and your lifestyle just isn't going to gel

with the rest of the members, it’s better to say thanks

and keep looking.

We set up auditions for a Saturday afternoon and spaced

them out about an hour apart. To make it easy, Jean would

tap out a beat on the drums and Van would play what ever

tune the guy requested on the keyboards. We had each

prospect give us a few tunes he thought would be good for

his audition, then try a couple others out to see if they

could pick it up and play along as well.

The first two guys that showed up were pretty good, but

the one guy played a really technical style more suited

for a country band or something, and the second guy just

wasn't what we were looking for. He didn't know how to

drive and arrived at the studio on a bus. That usually

means you've got one guy always looking for a ride

somewhere and it's just a pain when that starts

happening. We thanked them for coming out and told them

we would let them know of the final decision.

There are times when entering a room will set the tone

for the rest of your day. What I mean is, if you are

going to a formal dinner or some other public function, I

think you should walk through the door like you are the

most important person there, even if you're nothing more

than in invited guest. It will, at the very least, give

everyone else in the room the feeling that you have

confidence in yourself. When Lenny Bruce arrived at the

studio he did it in style. The door crashed open and

Lenny fell flat on his face.

"Sorry about that," he said as he picked himself up and

grasped at the pair of crutches he was holding. "I'm here

for the audition."

He hopped up on one leg and adjusted his two walking

sticks. His other leg was missing. He had the pant leg

tucked up and pinned back to keep it out of the way.

"Are you alright?" I asked him. After all, he really hit

the floor pretty hard.

"Yeah, I'm okay, happens all the time. I could use a

little help getting my bass in here though." "I'll get

it," Chucky said.

The guy hobbled across the floor and sat down on an empty

chair.

"I'm Lenny Bruce. Did you get my message? You guys have

anything in particular you want to play?"

Chucky returned with a guitar case and handed it to Lenny

who opened it and looked around for a place to plug it

in. Chucky took the cord and hooked him up to a small amp

we had set up for the auditions. Of course we were all

thinking the same thing, but you don't ask a handicapped

person why they have a particular short-coming. Well most

people wouldn't anyway.

But Chucky, for whatever reason, seemed totally perplexed

by this one legged bass player.

"Can you play, well... you know... with those crutches

and everything?" Chucky asked him.

"I don't play it with my feet," Lenny Bruce replied. "And

even if I did, I've still got one foot."

He did have another leg, he explained, but apparently you

have to have an artificial leg tuned up occasionally to

make sure it fits correctly. His was in the shop.

"I just use these crutches when I have to," Lenny Bruce

said. "When I get my leg back you won't even know I have

it on."

He played a few riffs on his bass just to get warmed up.

That was almost enough for me right there.

Lenny had a style for sure. He crossed over and switched

beats, all while tapping his one good foot. He played

along with Van and kept up with him as well even when Van

tried to trip him up. Lenny switched along with him. It

wasn't really a fair thing to do to the guy but he didn't

miss a beat.

We hired him on the spot and told him to come out to the

next rehearsal.

I spent most of the day at the studio and ordered in some

Chinese food from this place down the street. 'The Lucky

Star' was what I would call a typical small Chinese food

restaurant. It had a seating area for about ten people

and sixteen people working in the kitchen and they were

all related. I could never understand how they can employ

so many people and everyone still make a living at it.

What always made me laugh is every Chinese restaurant

I've ever seen always has the phrase "Famous Chinese

Food" on their sign. Is it that particular restaurant

that lays claim to being famous or is it the food in

general that is considered famous? Either way, you've got

to love their style of cooking. A good Chinese cook can

toss several handfuls of vegetables, some kind of meat,

and quart of MSG into a wok and always turn out something

good.

I was opening up a carton of some kind of beef and noodle

dish when Chucky approached and asked if he could speak

to me for a minute.

"I've got a problem," he said. "I lost my driver's

license."

"It's got to be somewhere," I replied. "Did you keep it

in your wallet?"

"No, I mean it expired. I don't have a valid license."

"That's not a big deal. You can just re-apply and pay the

fifty bucks or what ever it is."

"It's not just that.. I don't have any insurance, and

they won't give me a new policy. I can't drive any more."

He had a very worried look on his face and he had one

hand bunched in a fist while his other hand worked it

over with clenched fingers. If he was worried about his

job with the band, that wouldn't be a problem. Chucky was

a part of our group. He was an insider and an A-lister as

far as we were concerned. He put more effort into his

work than just about everybody. What ever was bothering

him was deeper than just being turned down for an

insurance policy. Whatever it was, he was holding on

pretty tight.

"Don't worry about it," I told him. "We've got the

roadies.

They can drive. You'll still be in charge of the crew.

You don't have to be able to drive to set up the stage

and sound system."

"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate that."

He went back out into the studio and started tinkering

with the speakers and running more wires and cables.

I think some people take the curves life can throw at you

a little harder than others. Some people can fluff off

even the most dire of circumstances while others fall

apart over the simple things. Sometimes you just have to

sit back and evaluate the situation. Sometimes, a day can

make all the difference in the world.

Chapter Ten

Blowin' in the Wind

As much as I am a part of it, at least in some small way,

there are times when I just don't understand the whole

pop-culture phenomenon.

There seems to be this diametrically opposed way of

thinking that alters the minds of a generation every few

years and fulfills a need for change. They need a change

in style, music, hair, clothes, and cars. You name it and

it's going to change, and soon.

I can understand how technology will change the way

things appear. After all, design and research will alter

the way a newer and faster airplane will look and the

same goes for a car that is faster and hugs the ground in

a corner, but in pop culture there seems to be no actual

rhyme or reason to a lot of it.

The early 60s was the swinging era. Everything was 'mod'

and psychedelic and everyone thought they had reached the

pinnacle of cool behavior, but if you walk around in a

Beatles suit today, with the skinny tie and missing

collar, you'd look like you were planning to audition for

a low budget movie about East London when driving a

scooter was considered a hip mode of transportation. For

some reason it seems that the entire dynamic shifts

around every four years, quite often with a few

variations on the old theme. And it seems that half the

time no one even knows why they're wearing a fashion

statement. Which seems to mean it's not really a

statement. It's more like an excuse. Although I can

understand why no one wants to dress like their parents.

I went to the local hotdog stand the other day. It's one

of those street level carts with a foreign guy selling

hotdogs

and sausages. A lot of people call those dogs 'mystery

meat' but I prefer to think of them more as bovine

leftovers. It doesn't matter because they're still good.

The foreign guy who owns this hotdog stand is a friendly,

well-liked guy in the neighborhood. He's from Tunisia and

likes to tell me stories of his fig plantation over there

and his trips into the desert. I was waiting for my

hotdog when these two guys come walking down the street

and stop to place an order.

One of them, a tall skinny guy with spiky hair, was

wearing a red T-shirt that was hanging down loosely over

the top of his jeans. While they were placing their order

I realized there is a photo, more a like a illustration,

of Levon Spritzer printed on the front of his shirt.

It was a black and white monochrome style print of Levon.

It was the same photo that was on his last album with

Levon wearing his trademark dark glasses and hat.

"Did you go to one of his concerts?" I asked the skinny

guy and gestured to the image.

"What concert? You mean this?" he replied while giving a

tug to his shirt. "He doesn't give concerts man, he's

dead."

That reply caught me by surprise.

"He's dead?"

The guy kind of snickered like one of those guys who

thinks he knows everything there is to know that's

important, and he nodded to his friend as if to say "Get

a load of this guy."

"He's been dead for years. The revolution is over, man."

He gave a shake of his head as if to imply that somehow I

just wasn't clued in to what was going on in the world.

It was then I noticed the jacket he was carrying had the

crest from a local university and 'political science'

embroidered in gold letters under the logo. Normally, I

would have just carried on with my business and put it

down to the fact that this guy was just lacking in basic

manners. One thing that has always bugged me is when you

get these guys who have completed a couple of years of

college and figure they know everything. That usually

wears off after a few years in the real world, but

political science students? I couldn't let it go so easy

on a guy whose career ambitions included never finding a

real job.

"I think you better ask for your tuition money back," I

said.

"What?" he replied with a smug attitude and a roll of his

eyes.

"That's Levon Spritzer on your shirt. He's a jazz

musician. That's a photo from one of his albums. Did you

think you were wearing a T-shirt promoting some South

American revolutionary or something?" For a moment, the

skinny guy didn't speak. He just looked at me with this

dumb expression because I guess he really thought Levon

was a revolutionary who fought in some jungle and died in

a hail of bullets while clutching a copy of his manifesto

and damning the capitalists with his last breath.

What made the moment that much better was when his friend

started to laugh. And he didn't just snicker, he laughed

loudly. I'm just guessing that his buddy had already been

through the attitude thing with Mr. Spikey-hair. I picked

up my hotdog and said "Good luck with the revolution,"

and continued on my way. Somehow I think he probably took

that T-shirt off as soon as he got back to the dorm and

never wore it again.

By the time I got to the studio everyone was there. No

one was really doing much other than hanging around. The

studio had become somewhat of a hang out over the years.

The back room now looked more like a den with a couple of

sofas, a few chairs, a desk in the corner, a television,

stereo, and even a small refrigerator. We called it the

club room. You could go there any day of the week and

probably find someone hanging around.

Lenny Bruce had been with us for a couple of months now

and fit in pretty well. He always turned up for

rehearsals and produced some solid results when we were

on stage. We were making small talk about different

things when Jimmy finally asked him the question that I'd

been curious about.

"So Lenny, were your parents fans of the comedian?"

"What comedian?" he replied.

"Your name, Lenny Bruce. Is that a coincidence or were

your parents beatniks or something?"

"Actually," Lenny said, " My first name is Bruce, but I

didn't think it sounded right for a guy in a band so I

switched my names around. My real last name is Leonard,

so I shortened it to Lenny. I needed something original."

Jimmy just nodded and smiled. I guess there was no need

to point out the connection to a guy with the same name

known for being arrested on obscenity charges and having

a serious drug addiction. It was on that hot, do-nothing

Saturday afternoon when we found out the news that would

change the direction of our band.

Archie arrived unannounced. Usually he would call someone

to make sure we were in the studio before he would ever

drive across town to see us. But there he was, in plaid

shorts, a golf shirt, and socks and sandals. I almost

didn't recognize him since I'd never seen him when he

wasn't wearing his typical business suit. He seemed

pretty excited about something.

"I tried to call you last night but there was no answer,"

he said as if I should be sitting at home by the phone

all the time.

"The stewardesses were having a party. I was out kind of

late."

"I need to talk to you guys," he said, then looked around

the room at the assortment of other people that were

hanging out in our lounge that day. "It's business, it's

important."

That was a cue. Chucky stood up and clapped his hands.

"We've got to clear out everyone. band meeting going on.

Band members only."

Archie shut the door and took a seat on the coffee table

in the middle of the room.

"Good news," he said. " Hurricane Records wants you to do

an album."

For a moment there was kind of a stunned silence. I guess

it was something we had always hoped to do but to

actually hear it was entirely different.

"They'll cover all the costs," Archie said. "They're

going to promote it big time. Their marketing department

has already started working on it. We'll get some great

promotion, concerts, photos, stories in the industry

magazines, you name it. They're going to go all out on

this."

"Wow," I said, but that was all I could come up with. It

was big news all right, almost overwhelming at first.

This was a big moment for the band. It meant our demo

tapes had impressed some big shots in the music industry

enough that they were willing to take a stake in our

careers, invest some money, and hopefully get a payoff.

For a group of people who just received probably the best

news of their careers, everyone was pretty low-key with

their enthusiasm about Archie's announcement.

"Well? What do you guys think?" Archie asked. He looked

around the room at everyone and I'm sure he was expecting

to see people doing cartwheels and firing off rockets to

celebrate. Instead there was a murmur of approval and a

few nods of the head, but that was about it.

"Guys, this is big news!" he said, "Aren't you excited?

This could take your career to the next level!"

"Yeah, of course we're excited," Tanner replied. "It's

just kind of sudden. We weren't expecting it."

Archie said he would call me later in the week and we

would set up a meeting with the record company executives

and work out a deal. He would handle the details and get

his lawyer involved. All we would have to do is sign the

contract and turn out forty-five minutes of music.

Success is a strange thing when you think about it. It's

a hard word to define. Toss aside those things which are

obvious failures and success becomes degrees of

satisfaction with each level depending entirely on the

perspective of those reaching for that degree of

gratification.

My friend the Tunisian hotdog vendor is a success in his

world. He sells enough hotdogs every week to pay his

rent, keep his kids fed, and at the end of the day he

goes home happy with a certain amount of job satisfaction

knowing that he has fired up enough sausages to keep his

world intact. I don't think I'd ever want to be a hotdog

vendor, but at the end of the day if you can go home

feeling good about what you've accomplished I think you

can consider yourself a success.

I think a lot of people live their lives in quiet

desperation.

When I was in school I worked for a summer at a company

that produced parts for the auto industry. That was one

long summer. It was an assembly line set up were the raw

parts would come in one end, go through a whole process

where they would be assembled, welded, and painted, then

loaded onto trucks and shipped off to the plant and

installed into new cars. If anything, that job was a

motivation to stay in school. I may have lasted through

that three months of mind numbing repetitive work, but

the only thing that kept me going was knowing that it was

a temporary job. I would see the long-timers show up

every morning and stand at their stations as the parts

went by on a conveyer. A bell would ring to signal a

break and a bell would ring to tell you to go back to

work.

That's what I mean by quiet desperation. Many of them

worked at this plant for over twenty years and never once

had any control over anything they did. They would stay

for the paycheck and become so reliant on that weekly

payout that it became a lifetime trap of enduring eight

hours a day of absolute boredom with no real hope of

escape.

It was just after midnight when Chucky wrapped up his

business in the studio. He was re-wiring something in the

soundboard and had all these coils of colored wire piled

up and had been tinkering around out there for most of

the night. When he left there was just Jimmy and me still

hanging around. "Exciting day," Jimmy said. "I guess all

our hard work will start paying off once we cut this

album."

"Is that experience talking or are you just guessing?" I

asked him.

He laughed, "A little of both I think."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes while the radio

played in the background. Chucky had turned the lights

off in the studio and the club room was lit only with one

bulb from a floor lamp that we kept in the corner. Jimmy

sat in his chair puffing on a Colt cigar and writing

notes in his book.

"Did you notice everyone seemed kind of subdued?" I asked

him. "Considering how long we've been playing together I

thought this was what we were waiting for. Shouldn't we

have been more exciting about getting a record deal?

"They're all afraid," Jimmy answered.

"Afraid? Afraid of what? You don't think we can turn out

a good album?"

"I'm sure we can. We've got good tunes, great

arrangements, and a really good group of talent."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair and stubbed out his cigar

in the art deco ashtray stand with the model of the

nickel plated DC-3 that someone had picked up from a

nearby second hand store a few years ago.

"They're afraid of success.”

Jimmy was the band's sage. He was the older wiser guy who

had seen and done a lot. At least that's the way we

thought of him. He offered his advice rarely but the guys

usually listened to him. I know I did. A couple of times

someone tried to call his bluff but that didn't phase him

at all.

He would just say, "That's my opinion, you can take it or

leave it."

So now he was telling me we were afraid of taking this

band to the next level.

"Sometimes people are just comfortable with doing what

they're good at and flying under the radar. Soar too high

and it means you have farther to fall when you come back

down," he said. "Doing an album is a lot of pressure.

Especially when someone else is footing the bill. I'll

bet you anything all those guys are thinking about that

tonight. What if the album is a flop? Or no one likes it?

They're thinking a whole career could be on the skids if

things don't go well."

"But you just said you thought we could put out a good

album. What if it goes over really well?" I asked him.

"That's the flip side," he replied. "What happens if for

some reason this album is a big hit. A monster hit. We

usually play for what? A few hundred people at a time at

the most? How would you feel about stepping out in front

of a stadium of ten thousand people and it all happens

over night? I've know more than a few guys who just

couldn't handle that kind of pressure and quit to join a

smaller band. It happens all the time. They are all

thinking about this right now, I guarantee you that."

It was, in some ways a revelation. At the same time it

was something I had known all along but thought of it in

a different perspective. There's this common way of

thinking that people get into music because they want to

hit it big and enjoy some kind of celebrity status with a

lot of money. The truth is most people get into the music

business because they are good at it and they enjoy doing

it. Like I've said before, it sure beats working in a

factory. I must admit the thought of turning out an album

does make me a little nervous. For me it's not that I

don't have confidence in what we can do, I just never

want to end up on an album cover were some day someone

will pick it up in one of those second hand stores that

sells used records and say, "What ever happened to these

guys?"

One thing I've discovered is that no matter how cool you

think you are, one day some kid will look at your photo

and get a laugh out of it. It's sort of the way I look at

records from the 50's and 60's. It may have been cool to

wear flowers in your hair in 1967, but those same guys

would look ridiculous to trying to stick posies on their

now balding heads and perform for a modern crowd. If we

are going to move ahead as a band we've got to come to

some kind of agreement on what we are going to do. I

think we should just wait a few days and see how it all

shakes out. If the guys got the jitters then they'll

either have to get over it and take the business of

making an album seriously or bow out and move on to

something else.

I went home and put on a Levon Spritzer album and played

along. I can cover every lick on that album note for

note.

At least the music on Levon's albums are timeless.

Chapter Eleven

A casual observation

"How can I keep on smiling at their disguise?

When I know nothing good ever comes from lies

My heart is no beginner

But still I can lose my temper"

A.S.

" Dress like you mean business. Wear something nice, but

not to nice. Remember this is a record company not a

funeral parlor so don't wear a tie or anything like that.

Dress like a musician."

Archie had arranged a meeting between the record company

and us for a Monday afternoon.

"Dress like a musician? Well, I can have the guys wear

those fruity Cuban shirts they used to wear in Ricky

Ricardo's band if that's what you mean."

"Be serious, just... wear something appropriate."

I can understand why Archie might be a little tense about

this meeting. After all he's got a lot at stake in this

band as well. But last count, I'm in my early 30's, I

don't need someone telling me how to dress. I did

however, take a while standing in front of the mirror to

make sure things looked right. I didn't want to go in

there looking like some kind of cheese-eating high school

kid but at the same time I didn't want to show up looking

like I just raided my grandfathers closet either. This is

actually an awkward age for some reason. It seems you're

on the cusp of something new but not sure exactly what.

By the time you turn 30 you've definitely outgrown the

style the younger ones are wearing and for some reason

you don't even know what that current style is. In high

school the difference between being the cool guy and a

geek could be a simple as a pair of shoes. You just had

to know which pair of shoes made the difference. I've got

some friends who routinely dress like they're going out

to the back forty to fire up the John Deere and others

who go to work every day wearing slacks, loafers, and a

short-sleeved shirt with a tie. I like to be in the

middle ground. I decided on jeans and a dark blazer with

a black shirt. I think I looked good. Not businessman

like, but not like I didn't care either.

I showed up at the record company office a few minutes

ahead of time, introduced myself to the receptionist and

took a seat in the lobby. Jimmy strolled in through the

front door of the lobby a couple of minutes later wearing

the loudest shirt I have ever seen. I mean I think I

actually heard him before I saw him.

"What's with the shirt?" I asked him, "You look like

you're on vacation in the Caribbean."

"Watch and learn," he said.

Tanner arrived a few minutes later followed by Archie and

his lawyer, T. Lawrence Cheatum. The irony of having a

lawyer with a name like Cheatum certainly wasn't lost

every time we met this guy which up until now, had only

been a couple of times when we had to sign some

performance contracts. Jimmy always refers to his law

partners as 'Dewey and Howe.' I guess he was a real fan

of the Three Stooges. Cheatum is an expert, Archie said,

in contractual law among other things. He would pass out

his business card to anyone who would take one. He was a

shameless self-promoter. P.T. Barnum would be proud.

He always introduced himself as 'T' Lawrence Cheatum. I

have no idea why guys do that. If you don't want to use

your actual given name, why insist on adding that first

initial? I think it's just another way of trying to be

pretentious. It's like a guy who gets a Ph.D. in some

university by completing a thesis on why bananas are

curved, then insists on being call 'Doctor.'

"Mr. Anchorage will see you now."

I guess she was Mr. Anchorage's secretary, personal

assistant, or what ever you call that position these

days. It didn't really matter. She looked like she just

walked out of the of a photo shoot for the cover of some

high fashion model magazine. All I could see was this

pair of legs in a short skirt. We followed Miss Legs down

a long corridor that was lined with gold records framed

and hung like trophies.

We stopped outside of an office door and waited for the

official nod to enter this sacred inner sanctum of the

recording world. There was an open office area with

several more administrative assistant girls either

sitting at their desks or scurrying about doing office

things. Each one was dressed to the nines and they all

looked like they belonged on the cover of a magazine. It

was a sight that didn't escape the five of us while we

were standing in the hallway like we were waiting so see

the school principal. Tanner leaned over to me an said,

"Forget the album, I might just try to get a job as a

janitor in this office building!"

Miss Legs opened the door and asked us to enter.

"Gentlemen! Hello, I'm Framil Anchorage, CEO and

President here at Hurricane Records."

He went around the room shaking everyone's hand with that

two-handed grip where one hand grasps yours while the

other goes on top in a phony gesture of sincerity.

Framil Anchorage already knew Archie and Cheatum. He

greeted them then took a step back and looked at the rest

of us with a forced grin and some slightly over the top

enthusiasm.

"And you are the band! Welcome to Hurricane Records."

He gave Jimmy a second glance.

"You must be Jimmy the horn player!"

Jimmy gave me a wink and discreetly tugged on the lapel

of his loud shirt. The were five more record company guys

in the room and Framil Achorage introduced them and

explained their individual specialty in the company.

It was a large office, more like a boardroom but

informal. One side was all glass over looking the street.

There were even more gold records on the walls and a

shelf with a bunch of music industry awards, none of

which I recognized off hand.

"What can I get you to drink before we get started?"

Anchorage asked, "Water, coffee, tea, soda? Or do you

guys prefer something with a little more bite? We've got

it all. We run a pretty informal ship around here."

What followed was a briefing of sorts. It was a

presentation of what the record company was going to do

for us. It was impressive, that's for sure. There were

graphs, charts, cost estimates, promotional material,

everything needed to produce and promote a successful

album. One of the executives stood up and pointed out

slices on a pie graph dealing with current demographics

in the industry.

"While we understand you are artists, and as such, have a

certain vision of what you would like to accomplish, I

work on the business side of things, "he said. "It is my

job to make sure we sell records. My research indicates

that you are in a position to appeal to a wide

demographic. With the right promotion and a combination

of airplay and other resources, we can sell this record."

"We really believe in you," Achorage said. "We think your

demo tape has the inspiration and talent to make a great

album."

The phone rang in the middle of the presentation and

Framil Achorage walked casually over to his desk, never

skipping a beat in his presentation.

"Hello? Really? That's great news! Thanks for calling."

He looked over to his executive pals with a big grin and

a nod.

"Another one of our records just went gold," he said.

"This is a great day for Hurricane records."

As much as I appreciate the fact that these guys were

promoters and advertising people, having a phone call

announcing 'another gold record' in the middle of a

presentation pitch to a new client smacked of a real

amateur effort. If the guy running the place didn't know

they had another record about to break sales records, who

else would?

The only one of us that really sounded excited by this

breaking news was Cheatum.

"That's terrific!" he gushed, "Another gold record? You

men really know how to run a successful operation."

By the time the presentation was over, Framil Achorage

was piling papers all over his desk. They were contracts

that had to be signed before we could take the next step.

The numbers on the charts and graphs looked good. They

described in detail how we would be fronted the money to

go into the studio and make a record. Costs were covered

for recording and so were the costs of promotion. All we

had to do was make the album and follow a tour schedule

to promote it.

"What about creative control?" Tanner asked. "I hope

that's part of the deal."

"Don't you worry about that, " Anchorage replied.

"Everything will be taken care of. We've got great

producers."

"We already have a producer," Tanner replied. "Izzy

Maynard. He's helped us out quite a bit."

"I know Izzy," Anchorage said, "Great guy, good musician.

But we've got some top notch talent. Wait until you meet

them, I think you'll agree that the people we have in

place really know the industry and what we need to do to

be a success."

Anchorage handed a pile of papers to each of us.

"Lets get started shall we? We just need you guys to sign

on the dotted line and we've got ourselves a record

deal."

I wasn't expecting to sign a contract the same day we

went in there to discuss things. Usually it's a smart

move to take a few days and think it over. I looked

through the contract quickly. There was all sorts of

legal mumbo-jumbo and references to first parties, third

parties, therefore, wherefore, herein, and even some

Latin phrases of which I had no idea what they meant.

"Looks good," Cheatum said, "A pretty standard contract.

My recommendation is that we sign."

I pointed out that there were four other members of the

band that weren't present.

"No problem," said Cheatum. "It's still legal. You guys

can sign today and we'll bring the rest of the contracts

to the others later. No big deal."

But it was a big deal. Tanner told them that we were a

band and we operated as a unit both by mutual agreement

and respect.

Anchorage still had that smile frozen on his face as he

stood up from behind his desk and started a soliloquy

that he must have had written out for him by one of his

senior advisers or maybe some student intern he kept

around the place.

"Gentlemen," He said. "We know you want to think this

over. You're practical people with good business sense.

You're talented musicians. Mr. Cheatum, and of course

Archie have your best interests at heart, and so do we.

However, this business works fast. It's a fast paced

industry. We just want to make sure we can work together

and place your record at the top of the charts as soon as

possible. By signing with Hurricane Records you'll be

placing yourself at the top of the list of our

considerations and you know, given our track record, that

you'll be in good hands."

Jimmy had said very little up to this point. He finally

offered an opinion in that diplomatic style he was very

good at.

"We're musicians Mr. Anchorage, we do this for a living.

We know you want this record to be a success and so do

we. We have faith in you and your team of experts.

However, we are also pragmatic individuals who have just

been offered a contract that may effect not only our

careers but our entire lives."

Anchorage started to say something but Jimmy talked right

through him in a very deliberate, calm, and rather

impeccable manner.

"I think your top advisers, these gentlemen here that you

rely on to produce business results, would agree, that if

they were offering council to clients that they

represent, a slower and level headed approach to any

business deal would be a smart move and would require a

few days of contemplation, especially since some of our

members aren't present. I'm sure you would agree that if

our music is good enough to be recorded and sell, then

waiting one week certainly won't be a long enough period

to change the successful outcome of a record."

We ended up leaving with the contracts and a tentative

meeting scheduled for a week or two later.

"Now that, was an impressive speech," I said to Jimmy as

we left the building. "Very articulate."

"I've learned a few things in this business," he replied.

"I've been through this all before. Just remember, before

you present an argument to one of these corporate types,

the smart move is always to agree with him first, and

tell him he's right. No matter what you say after that

you've already taken the wind out of his sails. Besides,

I think his secretary in the short skirt is interested in

me."

For a guy who was wearing a shirt that had every

imaginable color, he made a lot of sense.

Our regular Friday night rehearsal was changed to a

business meeting. Everyone in the band was there

including Chucky who was assigned dinner detail. We

always kept aside some money from operating expenses so

we could have a small party of sorts whenever we got

together. It made rehearsals seem more like an event

rather than work and gave us a chance to talk things

over. Having dinner together before we got down to

business, even if it was just take-out pizza, gave us a

chance to hang out a bit and talk about things other than

music. It was the part of our work that made us friends

as well as co-workers.

Tanner and I handed out copies of the contract to

everyone and explained as best we could what the contract

would mean to each of us. Jean and Lenny Bruce didn't

seem either too interested or too worried about the words

on the pages.

As Jean put it, "What ever you guys decide is fine with

me."

Lenny Bruce just nodded and shrugged in agreement.

Chucky arrived with several bags loaded with take-out

food from some local restaurant with a Pacific Rim flavor

and everyone filled their plates with stir fried

vegetables and noodles and what ever else that was in

those little cardboard boxes. We hashed out some ideas,

talked about the contract, and for a few minutes, got

ahead of ourselves with talk of what might happen if we

record this album and it really goes over big.

At the end of the night the talk had turned in favor of

signing the contract and going ahead with the deal.

We packed it in early and when I got home the

stewardesses were just arriving after getting in from

some Scandinavian country. They waved me over when I

pulled into the driveway and said they were celebrating.

I'm still not sure what the celebration was about but

these girls could get a party going at the drop of a hat

- any hat. Within ten minutes another twenty people

showed up and it was a full scale affair that went on

until early morning.

Chapter Twelve

Decisions, decisions

There is a time in the night when the sky takes on a

mystic quality unlike any other hour in a single

revolution of the planet.

It's a time when the sun shines on the people who are

having lunch at noon at an outdoor cafe on the other side

of the sphere. It's an hour were you can look straight up

and have no real focal point because you are looking at a

billion stars that may have all turned out their lights a

million years ago.

I was up late last night. Usually I'm in bed around

midnight or a little later, but I was working on a few

new projects and didn't want to stop. Once you get a

creative concept going and it's working, it's hard to put

it down and carry on the next day.

By two-thirty in the morning I was starting to feel the

effects of a long day. I found my bottle of rum. It was a

forty ounce bottle that I had won at a bachelor party

that was held for some guy I didn't even really know. I

just went because he was a friend of a friend. They were

selling raffle tickets at the front door and they drew my

number and I won a bottle of rum.

That party was about a year ago and I still had a quarter

of this bottle left. It is good rum though. It's dark and

from Jamaica. I've never really been much of a liquor

drinker. I don't know why anyone gets any satisfaction

out of a drink made from distilled grain or potatoes, but

rum has a flavor that I like. As much as I would have

liked to whip up some fancy cocktail with a blend of five

liquors, shaved ice, sliced lemons, a sprig of mint, and

a cherry on top, I settled for ice cubes, a couple of

ounces of rum and three-quarters cola.

Even in the absolute darkness on the far side of the

planet there seems to be a faint glimmer of light that

hovers low in the horizon and bleeds through the gaps in

the branches on the tree that grows in my neighbor's yard

and creates a silhouette of leaves moving in a warm mid-

summer wind. Maybe it's just the clouds reflecting off

the moon or city lights bouncing off the streets.

The balcony of my apartment faces south and looks down

the middle of two rows of houses that face east on one

street and west on the other. From that vantage point I

can always see what's going on in everyone's backyard all

the way down the block, but it's not like I spend much

time out there watching.

I sat down on on a chair and put my feet up on the

railing.

I'm not sure if there is a real name for this time of

night. Maybe it's just called early morning.

If time ever comes close to slowing down, this is it.

Birds stop flying, people are sleeping. Every house on

the street is blacked out. It's like everyone and

everything is just waiting for the earth to complete

another turn and start the cycle again. Although I'm sure

somewhere there is room full of people working the night

shift or someone is hanging out in an all night coffee

shop. Even in the dead of night it never really gets that

dark. Street lights burn all night and the odd porch

light is left on. I don't think a lot of people in modern

society realize how truly dark the night is.

A few years ago we had a major blackout. There was some

kind of failure at the power company that killed the

electricity grid and shut down the entire region. No

streetlights, no traffic lights, you couldn't even buy

gasoline because the pumps wouldn't work. After a few

hours they announced by radio that it was a major failure

and expect to be without power for at least two days. Of

course to listen to the radio you had to have some

batteries or sit in your car with the key turned on and

listen for news like I did.

A couple of hours after the sunset it was dark like many

city dwellers have never experienced. People all along

the street were sitting out on their front porch and

talking because you couldn't really do anything inside.

It was hot and no one's air conditioners were working. I

could hear conversations and laughter wafting up the

street but could see no one. Once in a while someone

would pass by while out walking the dog and everyone was

carrying flashlights so they could see where they were

going. Just being out on the street was dangerous.

Occasionally a car would come very slowly down the street

and the beams of the headlights cut straight paths across

the pavement. Without streetlights driving became an

adventure for people used to navigating when you could

see the sidewalks and the next intersection. Someone

walking down the street could easily find themselves

suddenly posing as a temporary hood ornament if they

weren't careful.

You never realize how much you rely on electricity until

you haven't got it.

There is something about this late hour and the absolute

stillness that allows you to toss ideas around in your

mind. I started thinking of pass successes and past

failures. Not that my success or failure has been the

result of a grand effort either way, but there are the

little decisions that point you in a new direction every

time you choose a path. I started counting back the years

and the decisions the led me to where I am. I'm pretty

sure everyone does this at some time or another and

wonders if a decision cost them another opportunity in a

way they could never imagine.

There are a lot of people who don't really care. They

never really contribute much to society other than paying

some taxes and seem to accept the fact that it is their

lot in life to simply hold a job and get through another

week. Then of course there is the other side. It is those

people who strive for success and accept nothing but a

top notch effort always. Once again I seem to find myself

living in the middle ground.

I could see this tiny flashing light in the sky. It was

an aircraft probably seven miles high and flying at five

hundred miles per hour.

I watched as it traversed the sky in a straight line and

flew from horizon to over head then faded away. There was

probably two hundred people sitting in that flying tube

going somewhere.

I sometimes think I should be on that airplane.

I started writing a new song the other night based on

flight, well sort of. I had read a story in an old

edition of Time magazine about the guy who holds the

record for the highest altitude parachute jump in

history. He jumped out of a gondola that was attached to

a balloon what was one hundred twenty-five thousand feet

above the earth. The air was so thin he had to wear a

space suit. When he jumped, there was no wind rushing

past and no sense of speed or falling. For the first few

seconds he started to worry that maybe he had gone higher

than he was supposed to and that he was weightless,

caught in a strange void between space and earth. After a

few moments he started plunging into thicker air and it

was only then he could sense the pull of gravity and the

feel the sensation of falling.

I'm trying to capture that in music. It's a tough one

since I've never actually been there, but that's one of

the things about writing. You don't have to actually

experience it to write about it. A lot of it has to do

with interpretation.

I have all sorts of notes and projects on the go. Some I

start and wrap up quickly, other take a while, and some

will never be finished. That's just the way it is.

Sometimes I'll pick up something I started months earlier

and suddenly feel inspired to finish it.

I went to bed around three thirty.

#

"Hey, have you seen Levon Spritzer's new commercial?"

It was Friday night practice and Tanner came into the

studio and told me that Levon was doing a beer commercial

on television.

"I just saw it on channel eleven a few minutes ago," he

said. "Maybe they'll play it again."

He turned on the set and sure enough at the final

commercial break in this show, there was Levon. He wasn't

really doing a stand up commercial. It was more like him

playing his guitar and singing while floating in and out

of the screen at all these crazy angles. At the end of

the thirty seconds he held up a beer can and said a tag

line.

"He's gone commercial," Van said. "He sold out."

This is one thing I really don't understand about this

business. For some reason if an artist makes enough of an

impression on someone or some company and agrees to do a

commercial or sells the rights to a song for some extra

cash, there is always this element in the business that

accuses them of 'selling out."

I don't even know what that is supposed to mean other

than the fact that they are earning a living by using

their talent. If these 'true artists' want to live their

lives by playing at different venues for what people drop

in the hat, good for them. But if someone else hears a

tune or thinks you have a personality or image worth

paying for, I say take advantage of it while you can.

The record business IS a commercial venture. The whole

idea is to make money. Otherwise no one would ever make a

recording. Why is it if a band makes a record and it

sells ten million copies and they all get rich off it and

gain a lot of fame, no one ever says they have gone

'commercial?' But another guy makes a recording that

doesn't make him rich but he gets an offer to make money

by letting someone else use the song, its called selling

out?

We've all got to pay our bills. Levon included.

"Hey, is that Levon Spritzer?"

Izzy had come to the studio to sit in with us for the

night.

"Yeah, you know his music?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, I've met him a couple of times. He's a really

talented guy, knows a hell of a lot about old music."

"You met him? Where?"

"At a couple of festivals we were playing. We went on

before him. I spoke to him back stage for a couple of

minutes."

Izzy seemed a little surprised that I found it to be

somewhat of an exciting experience to meet Levon. I guess

I forgot that Izzy himself was a well-known musician in

his own right.

"We did share the same stage," Izzy reminded me, "It's

not like we were opening for him. We all had equal

billing."

Still, I peppered Izzy with questions about Levon. What

is he like? Did you play with him at all? Where is he

from?

"He's a nice guy," Izzy said. "Didn't say much though,

but he did say he likes our sound. He took off right

after his set. I met him about a month later at another

festival. It was the same deal. He played his set, then

left."

He had a back up ensemble at those festivals. There was

one guy on a bass who also filled in with other

instruments and another guitar player. They hung around

after the show and took in most of the festival either

from behind the stage or out in the audience watching

other bands. They told Izzy that they never hung out with

Leon. They practiced as a trio and that was it.

"They told me they didn't even know where he was from or

if he had a place to live," Izzy said.

I told Izzy that I had covered most of the songs on

Leon's albums, just as a way to practice and that I

really liked his style, mostly because it was pretty

unorthodox for the time.

"Did you know he got his start just around the corner

from here?" Izzy asked.

"Where?"

"At the Diamond. He used to play there every Friday or

Saturday night. I'll bet he was there for six or eight

months, maybe longer, I can't remember, but I do remember

seeing him there."

"I didn't know that." I said, "I've played there a couple

of times. Did he play the same style music?"

"Yeah, pretty much. He's a real expert on guitar. I

remember him more for his stories. He had kind of a

comedy act in between songs. He was always throwing out

these little gags about people he knows or where he grew

up with. He didn't really bring the house down, he was

more low key but people loved him. Next time you're in

there ask Bobby if he remembers him."

Tanner picked up his guitar and gave me the nod.

"Lets do that one from the commercial."

We started playing the tune he played on the television

commercial. It was one of the first Levon tune we

mastered. It was an old piece, two-part guitar, lead and

rhythm with a 'la pompe' beat. Lenny Bruce jumped in and

laid a bass track that rounded it out.

"Solid man, you really got it down." Izzy said when we

finished. "You should put a couple of those tunes into

your act."

Funny enough, ever since that night, whenever I hear a

tune with that style of guitar and backbeat, I think of a

particular brand of beer.

I guess advertising really does work.

Chapter Thirteen

"That gum you like, is going to come back in style"

"Somehow I feel inside,

You never ever left my side,

Make it like was before,

Even if it takes a lifetime,"

BG

Why is it the things that make the most impact on your

life always seem to come as a surprise? No one ever gets

fired or loses a job when they are expecting the ax to

fall. It's not like you are driving to work and pull into

the parking lot thinking 'Hey, maybe I'll get fired

today.' Usually it's the day when everything is going

right, there's not a lot of traffic and you are planning

the day in your head when you get called into the bosses'

office out of the blue.

"We're moving the entire widget operation to Katmandu.

Clean out your desk."

Getting blind-sided seems to be a part of life.

Even those things you know are inevitable seem to come as

a shock when they do actually happen. For the most part

I've been pretty lucky. I don't have a lot of strife in

my life. Things are going good.

I've been seeing this girl for the past nine months,

which for some reason seems to be the defining period of

just about every relationship I've ever had, except for

one. Why nine months? I have absolutely no idea why that

number keeps coming up. There is no rhyme or reason to it

at all. It's not like we hit nine months and I consider

it a done deal.

We were having dinner in this casual restaurant the other

night. Cindy and me. She's a nice looking girl that I met

at a party I played at with Izzy's band one night. It was

a corporate gig and we played a couple of sets that we

were hired to do then hung around for a while because it

turned out to be a pretty good party and they invited us

to stay for the rest of the night as guests. This

corporation was hosting an art show in the lobby of their

building as some kind of fund raising event to send money

to some place were people are apparently starving. It's

not that I'm against helping starving people but when you

watch how these people operate you can see it's just a

slick advertising campaign with all the executives having

their photos taken in front of the company logo and a

photo of a starving kid to show how compassionate they

are by having a really good free meal, free drinks, and

still picking up a million dollar bonus at the end of the

fiscal year. They have their picture on the front of the

society page in the newspaper and a glowing tribute to

their philanthropy even though they themselves donate

nothing and wouldn't have actually invited one of those

starving people to the party because they just aren't the

right kind of people for a festivity of this magnitude.

Cindy and me hit it off right away after we struck up a

conversation by this really bad painting of a woman

holding a bird. It looked like it was done by someone

with a paint-by-numbers kit who also had a neurological

disease and couldn't always get the paint inside the

lines.

Normally I wouldn't make a negative comment about

someone's artwork. Most people are flattered by a

compliment, but who really likes criticism? If you don't

like something it is better to say nothing or depending

on the circumstance, lie, and at least make someone feel

good about what they have done.

In this case I couldn't help but borrow a line from Fred

Flintstone.

"I don't know what the artist got for painting this, but

they should have got life!"

Cindy seemed to think that was the funniest thing she's

ever heard. She works at the corporation in the billing

department. We decided to go out together after the art

show and stopped at this small cafe just to talk and get

to know each other. We seemed to get along well and

started going out on a regular basis. I find it always

takes a while until you start finding out all those other

things about a person you should be aware of. Not bad

things, but maybe the differences that might cause

problems in the future.

I once went out with a librarian. Yes, a real librarian.

She wasn't the kind with the bun in her hair, thick

glasses and penchant for wearing brown clothes and

sensible shoes that look like combat boots. She was

actually a good looking girl who just happened to like

books. My mistake was saying the Dewey Decimal System

will probably be replaced by a computer program in the

near future. Apparently saying something negative about

the Dewy Decimal System to a librarian is the same as

going to a Veteran's reunion party and casually asking

about 'All the good things Hitler did?"

That was our first and last date. It ended nicely enough,

but not before I got a full history of Mr. Dewey and the

importance of shelving your reading material according to

the numbers listed on the spine of a book.

So here I was with Cindy in a restaurant on a Saturday

night. We were there only because it gave us an excuse to

go out somewhere. She looked good, she always does. She

always had this little curl of hair that twirled down

over her forehead. It was her trademark. Usually when

you've been seeing someone for a while you start putting

together a vision of the future, good or bad. She found

it strange that I worked as a musician. A few times she

had made a comment about me getting a 'real job.' I

wasn't sure if she was taking a good natured jab or if

she really thought I should find employment that includes

working a regular shift. Sometimes I felt that she

resented the fact that I didn't get up early and punch a

clock every day. I don't think she really likes her job a

lot. I don't know what they do in a billing department

other than prepare invoices and that does sound like a

pretty repetitive and boring way to spend eight hours.

She only came out to see us play a couple of times and

didn't seem very impressed by our performance.

"It was okay," she said after watching us perform one

night.

She seemed to struggle when it came to saying something

nice. Some people are like that.

I didn't expect her to rave over our performance or

anything like that, however I did expect someone you're

involved with to at least take an interest in what you

do. It works both ways. I always asked her about her work

and quite often we went out with some of her friends, but

when it came to the band or my friends she seemed to have

no interest at all.

The last few times we had been together she seemed bored.

And to be honest I wasn't feeling that same thrill when I

saw her. At least not like the first few times when you

meet up with someone and everything is new and exciting.

I looked across the table at her as she toyed with a

plate of linguine and clam sauce. The conversation was as

flat as the noodles on her plate. There just wasn't much

to say.

Looking to a future with her just drew a blank picture of

a curtain with nothing on the other side. For some reason

things just didn't evolve between us. I asked myself if I

would miss her if I didn't see her again. She must have

been thinking the same thing. After dinner we got into my

car and for a moment we discussed going somewhere else.

She finally said, "Why don't you just take me home."

That was a long silent ride. I guess we were both

thinking the same thing. Sometimes it's best just to end

things while you're still on good terms.

By the time we got to her place it was obvious that

things were over between us. She asked me to call her

sometime just to let her know how I was and I said the

same thing to her.

Usually that's just a polite way of saying you won't be

hearing from someone.

Two days later I did get blind-sided when I got a

postcard in the mail. I didn't think people even sent

postcards any more. I always wondered if anyone actually

did send a postcard that said 'Having a great time, wish

you were here.'

Isn't that the whole idea of a vacation? To get away from

everyone you know? At least for a while? Why would you

write 'Wish you were here'? It should read 'Having a

great time, glad you're NOT here!"

It was a postcard with a nighttime photo of the Eiffel

Tower lit up like a Christmas tree and the Champ de Mars

reaching out toward the camera.

"Hope things are well with you. I'm in Paris for a few

months. Would like to see you when I get back and have a

coffee."

It was from Suzanna Miller.

I don't know why she was in Paris except she was the type

of girl that had that romanticized view of that city

being the center of modern civilization. For some reason

a lot of North Americans seem to think that everyone in

Paris spends their days sitting in outdoor cafes drinking

wine and eating nothing but brie spread over a baguette

and when they do get down to business they hang out by

the river painting streetscapes of other people hanging

out in cafes. I haven't been there but I'm pretty sure if

people are sitting in cafes, someone is also working as a

waiter bringing out the wine. And unless living is so

easy people don't have to pay rent and the city streets,

sewers and electrical grid magically maintain themselves,

there's a lot of Parisians that actually go to work every

morning.

Getting a postcard from Suzanna was a surprise to say the

least. Why, after all this time would she send me a card?

It's been five or six years since the last time I saw her

and that was only for a few minutes in a nightclub. I

don't even know how she would know where I live or what

my address is.

I don't even have a way of returning a postcard with a

note to say hello. I showed the card to Jean and asked

him if anything looked familiar. He grew up in a town not

far from Paris and spent a lot of time there.

"I know this place," he said. There was a stamp on the

back of card with a hotel name and address. "It's a well

known hotel. I've been there. It's right in the middle of

the city. Who is this girl? Is she French?"

"No, just someone I used to know."

"She wants to see you?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't seen her for years."

"Give her a call," he said. "When I lived in Paris I saw

this type of girl all the time. They come from other

countries to live in Paris to be around the artists and

the poets. Then after a while they realize that

Casablanca was just a movie and Paris is an expensive

place to live. It's a lot of fun, but if you want to be a

poet or an artist you better find a regular job or you'll

starve to death."

I tucked the postcard in a pile of other cards and

letters I had saved over the years that I kept in a

shoebox in a back closet. I have a habit of doing that. I

rarely throw things like that out. I've got cards and

letters dating back years. I don't know why I keep them

all. In some ways it's a way of creating a journal I

think. Every few years I'll take out that shoebox and

read over some of those old letters and be reminded of a

time or event that I had forgotten about. In another

fifty years I hope to read them over again and still be

reminded of things I've done and people I've known.

I've kept a lot of the band's promotional material as

well. I've got concert tickets, brochures, posters, all

that stuff

he came up on some of his movie posters."

He had a point. Hal had turned out some pretty amazing

work in the past and he was well respected for his

designs. We had a quick vote and decided to go with what

ever he decided. Unless of course it was something so

over the top that anyone could blackball it if somehow

the entire concept was just too weird that they just

didn't feel right about it.

The photo shoot was scheduled for a Saturday morning.

The morning light is better for what we were going to do,

Hal explained. There is an old estate with stables and a

lot of land down by the lake. It's been there for

probably one hundred fifty years and at one time the

family who owned it were settlers in the area and a

prominent family who got rich by exploiting the land in

what was then a relatively new frontier. After several

generations had lived and died in the place they willed

it to the city to be turned into a park and cultural

center.

Archie had scored the permit to allow us to turn up with

a van load of props and our crew along with Hal and his

assistants. The photographer showed up with another truck

and two more helpers. Considering we were just having our

picture taken this was starting to turn into a pretty big

production.

There was going to be eight of us in the picture. There

was the band and Izzy. He's been doing a lot of work with

us lately and we wanted to include him as a sort of

'special guest' in the photo. We were at a spot behind

the estate guesthouse in this park.

It's an impressive two-story building with a lot of stone

work, stucco, and huge windows leading out to the patio

where we were setting up. The was a rock garden

surrounded by a stone retaining wall where Hal was

flitting about directing the roadies to drop a table in

one place and arrange a couple chairs here and there. He

changed his mind a few times as he pranced about looking

at the way the light played on the garden and the way the

chairs were arranged. Izzy was holding his saxophone and

Hal asked him to simply cradle it in one arm.

"We don't need a lot of instruments," Hal said. "The

concept speaks for itself. We are selling you, the band.

We're not doing a commercial for a music store."

Archie was sitting in a chair off in the distance

watching as the whole thing came together. He never said

a word. He just sat there with his elbow on the arm of

the chair and his chin resting on the top of a closed

fist. Hal's makeup girl was walking around putting little

dabs of powder on everyone's faces. She would bend over

to look you square in the face then do a little side to

side shuffle before making quick adjustments like pulling

a collar one way or tweaking someone's hair. It was very

Hollywood.

It was starting to make sense to me as Hal walked about

ten paces away from the group and turned around to look

over the set, taking in every detail and everyone's

position in the photo.

"Almost," Hal said. He made a few more changes in

positioning then nodded to the photographer.

"Let's shoot it."

Chapter Fourteen

Symphony # 11

I don't belong to a country club. I didn't think I even

knew anyone who belongs to a country club. As far as I'm

concerned I follow the musings of Groucho Marx.

"I don't want to belong to any club that will accept

people like me as a member."

That may have been a good line from Groucho, but there's

actually a lot of merit in it.

It's not that I don't think I'd be suitable member and a

good catch for any reputable club, but it seems the real

reason for any country club is to make sure you can keep

other people out. That, and to make sure you have enough

business contacts to make you more money while at the

same time ensuring your daughter will meet the right kind

of guy to marry so you're fortune will merge with some

other rich guy's money. So I figure any club that would

want me as a member hasn't got my life strategy figured

out.

I was a little surprised when Archie called me on a

Friday afternoon and asked us to come to his country club

on Sunday morning for brunch.

"Brunch?" Jimmy said. "I've never been to a brunch. I've

had lunch, dinner, supper, breakfast, late night snacks,

a barbeque, and I've even eaten a hotdog out of a vending

machine, but I've never been to a brunch."

It did seem like kind of an odd choice for us but I'm

always up for trying something new. Besides Archie seemed

kind of serious when he called like he had some news of

some sort.

I picked up Jimmy and Lacey on the way to the club and

Tanner met us there when we arrived.

Archie was waiting for us in the lobby of the club house.

It was a new building but built like it had old money

involved. There was a lot of dark wood trim and very high

ceilings. I've never seen so many brightly colored golf

shirts. There was a buffet table in the club dining room

with all sorts of fruit and pastries and a whole

assortment of other items spread out on fancy serving

dishes. Two club employees who were very friendly and

very polite would serve you as you moved down the table

and made your selection. I think this club is the second

home to most of the members. Why stay at home and make

coffee? All you have to do is drive over to the club, get

a full breakfast served to you and you've also got a

place to hang around for the rest of the day. I guess

when you're paying big bucks for the privilege of being a

member this is part of the deal.

Archie had a table for us at the corner of the room where

floor to ceiling windows provided a vista overlooking the

ninth hole.

"What did you want to see us about?" I asked him.

"No hurry," he replied. "First, I just want you to enjoy

yourselves as my guests. We don't get to socialize

enough. It's always business."

We spent close to an hour at that table talking,

laughing, and just having a good time. Me and Jimmy both

made it up to the buffet table three times and each time

we were greeted warmly by the serving staff as if we were

the most important people there. I'm pretty sure they

really didn't care who we were, but they sure were

trained well. Sometime is seems that when you think you

really know someone you discover something new that can

really change your perception of a person. Midway through

our meal this attractive well dressed, well coiffed woman

approached our table and stood next to Archie putting her

hand on his shoulder.

"Are you all enjoying your brunch?" she asked.

Archie stood up immediately.

"We certainly are," Archie replied. He put his arm around

her waist as he introduced her. "I'd like to you meet my

wife Janet."

It was MRS. Archie! In all the years I'd known him he

only mentioned a couple of times that he was even

married. Of course we had never really socialized. The

only time I ever really saw him was at a club or his

office. It never occurred to me that he had personal

life. What really struck me was that he behaved like a

perfect gentleman while he introduced us all. He stood

next to her like he was eighteen years old and on his

first date with the prom queen at a debutante ball after

first being warned by his father about appropriate

behavior when out with a girl.

I realized we had crossed through to another world. There

was Archie the agent - a smart, business savvy guy who

could speak the language of business or music and

negotiate a contract, and Archie the family man - the

private side of him were he left business behind and

became another man in the neighborhood who waters his

lawn, spends weekends at the club or the cottage, and has

friends who have no connection to his line of work. And

those two worlds never collided.

"I've really enjoyed seeing you perform over the years,"

Janet said. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."

"You've seen us?" I asked. I don't ever recall seeing her

at a show.

"Yes, quite a few times. I remember seeing you were you

were a single act." she said to me.

It turns out Janet was more interested in her husband's

work than we ever knew and she would occasionally slip

into a club and watch from the back of the room, although

she never made it her place to become directly involved.

Instead she would just wait for him after the show and

they would leave together.

"It was nice meeting you all," she said before she

wandered to another part of the club to meet with some of

her friends.

Archie finished his cup of coffee and leaned forward,

putting both of his elbows on the table and clasping his

hands together under his chin.

"I wanted to talk to you about the record deal," he said.

"I don't think you should sign it. In fact I think you

should just withdraw and not deal with Hurricane Records

at all."

That was a shocker. A couple of weeks ago things seemed

to be looking up and the record deal sounded like a sure

bet.

"I thought it was a good deal?" I asked him.

"It is a good deal - for the record company. If you sign

it, they'll make money. I'll make money. Cheatum will

make a lot of money. But you guys, the band, well, it's

just the way this business works. You'll still be owing

on all the promotional fees and everything that goes with

it. You'll be on the hook for everything. Anchorage and

his cronies pocket the profits and bill everything else

back to the band. It's all in the contract and it's all

pretty standard."

"He's right," Jimmy said kind of quietly.

"You knew this?" I asked him.

"I've seen it happen before. You know, when I was with

other bands. I've seen guys pushed into bankruptcy over a

deal. It's a sleazy business."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, I wasn't sure," he said. "Besides, did you really

want me to be the one guy to tell you that you shouldn't

try to make a record?"

There was a moment when the table went quiet. I guess

everyone was just mulling over this new development.

"It's just a set-back," Archie said, "No big deal. I

think we should look around and find another label or

maybe do it ourselves. I can't ask you to sign something

I know won't work out for you."

"We've got an honest manager," Jimmy said. "Listen to

him. He's probably the only one out there that would

actually turn down a deal that would make him money."

It was then I noticed Lacey, eyes down with a look of

total disappointment. She didn't say a word.

We left the country club and Lacey and I stood outside in

the parking lot for a few minutes talking things over.

It was a perfect day. It was seventy-eight degrees and

sunny, not a cloud in the sky.

"A little disappointed?" I asked her?

"Yeah, I guess. But I'll go along with whatever you guys

decide. Sounds like this deal wasn't so good for us. At

least we found out before we signed something and ended

up in some kind of trouble."

"Well, like he said, we can find another label or do it

ourselves. It's just one album. It's not that big of a

deal to make a recording. I've seen high school bands do

it."

"It's just that.. I want to make at least one." She

leaned up against the side of the car and faced the sun.

"You know what I mean?" "The first one's the hardest.

After that we've got some credibility in the recording

world."

Sometimes Lacey didn't express herself well. In many ways

she was still the same quiet, shy girl that used to work

at the diner serving tables. We stood there in silence,

just for a moment. A breeze swept across the parking lot

and feathered her blonde hair across her shoulders.

"I'm not in this for the long term," she said. "I know

we've been doing this for a while, but I don't expect to

be singing in a band twenty years from now. I want to be

the one that can tell my kids about when their mother was

young and she sang in a band and liked it, but gave it up

to raise a family. I don't want to be the one to hire a

babysitter because I have to be singing in some lounge

somewhere. Does that make any sense to you?"

"Yeah, it does," I said. "In fact it makes a lot of

sense."

I had often though about how long a career in this

business can really last. I know some guys can turn it

into a lifetime of being on stage and do it well. But

I've seen other guys who hit 40 and try to squeeze into a

pair of leather pants that were out of style and several

sizes too small five years earlier. I don't want to be

one of those guys.

The problem with the music industry is so much relies on

image. I was flipping through a magazine one night in the

club house. It had several feature articles on rock stars

from the 70's.

"Hey, he looks pretty good," I said of one guy from a

well known band which was going through a retro phase and

re-released their 'remastered best of' album. I guess

they need the cash.

"He's still got all his hair."

Jimmy leaned over and looked at the photo.

"Yeah, it's a wig," he said, "Or toupee. Some kind of

rug."

"Why do you say that?" I asked him. "I think he looks

good."

Jimmy flipped through some of the pages and pointed to

all of the rock stars who posed for the magazine for

publicity purposes.

"Look at these guys. Everyone of them is in their mid

fifties or older, and yet for some reason they are the

only guys that age that have the hairline of a twelve

year old boy. Do you really think that being in a popular

band gives you super powers to grow hair? I'll bet if you

went down to the plumbers union and did a hair survey on

guys the same age you wouldn't find one guy with that

much hair."

He's right of course. And image really is everything in

this business. Not your image of course. Not the real

you. It's the persona of who appears on stage and what

the audience thinks. I'm pretty sure the Marx Brothers

didn't always go around wisecracking to everyone and

bumping into each other when they weren't making a movie

or performing. You never, ever, heard Harpo speak or

appear on screen without his ridiculous blonde wig. He

was a character and he made sure the public saw him that

way always. I read somewhere that when he was out of

character he could walk around Hollywood and no one would

recognize him. I think I'll just play it as it happens

and hopefully one day I'll know that either I'm a lifer

or it's time to hang it up and try something new.

Jimmy, now he's the kind of guy that could do this

forever and never seem out of place.

Lacey knows she won't last, and Tanner and Van? Who

knows?

Life doesn't follow a direct path. It seems to evolve. It

happens slowly, but life is sometimes like a big ship.

The bigger the ship, the slower it turns.

Chapter Fiftee n

A Second Wind

"I think you're going to like this!"

Hal the art director was busy setting up a couple of

easels in the clubhouse. Our photos had come back from

the printers and he was making one of his rather

elaborate presentations. He even had little covers over

the artwork like we were at the unveiling of some

important monument. All he really had to do was show us

the pictures but we indulged his over the top way of

doing things.

When we were all seated, Hal did the unveiling and swept

his arm across the photo like he was introducing a famous

actress to a room full adoring fans.

They were fantastic. His concept really worked. It's not

like we were really all that worried about having a bad

photo, after all it's just a picture of the band for

promo purposes, but in the end, I've got to admit his

talent paid off. We looked really good.

It has been a couple of months since we turned down the

offer at Hurricane Records and since then we haven't

really done anything new. Our act hasn't really changed

and we are banging out the same tunes night after night.

We finished a rehearsal one Friday night and as everyone

was packing up to leave it was evident that we are in a

rut. Not just musically, but the enthusiasm we had was

ebbing to a new low.

I called Izzy the next morning to see what he thought

about it.

"It happens," he said. "You can only pump out the same

stuff so many nights in a row before it starts to become

a grind. You need to take a couple of weeks off and think

about."

My next call was to Archie.

"Alright, let's get everyone together and make some

plans," he said.

It wasn't a mixed reaction when we got together for our

next rehearsal and Archie announced it was time for a

break. Everyone was happy to take some time off.

We didn't even take our instruments out, we all just

seemed to find a place to sit in the club room.

"Thank God. I need a break," said Van.

Everyone else managed to say something that agreed with

him.

Archie, always the pragmatic manager, had already put the

word out through his network of industry spies, cohorts,

business contacts, and who ever else he was always

networking with, that we were going to be available for

other work.

"Two months," he said. "I won't be booking the band for

two months. You can take the time and do what you want,

but if you want to keep working I can book you in with

someone else. What do you think?"

"Count me out," piped Jimmy. "I need a vacation. I'm

going to book a flight somewhere and hang out on a beach

for a while."

It was the same with Lacey.

"I need some time," she said.

Van was the other one who opted out.

I wanted to keep working. I didn't want to do a lot but

enough to keep me busy and occupied. I've never been one

to just hang around the house and wait for something to

happen. But I am going to slip in a couple weeks away

somewhere just to relax.

Archie figured I'd want to keep busy so he arranged a few

dates for me to go over to Sparky O'Flannigan's studio.

Sparky is a producer of radio and television commercial

jingles. He not only produces, he writes them, records

them, and does just about everything else to turn out

these short fifteen or thirty second mini tunes to

promote any product or service that comes his way.

In the industry he is considered some kind of advertising

jingle genius, but the average person on the street has

never heard of him. They may not know his name but anyone

who ever watches television or listens to radio has heard

his work and has probably hummed a few of the jingles he

has written.

Sparky works out of a studio in a second floor loft in an

old building that used to be some kind of garment factory

that was reclaimed and turned into office space,

condominiums, and store fronts. You wouldn't even know

where his studio was unless you had directions. He

doesn't have a sign on the door and he doesn't advertise.

His reputation is so solid his phone never stops ringing.

I like working with Sparky. He's got this style of

speaking that sounds like he is working in a 1950's

beatnik cafe. He uses phrases like 'gang busters!' and

calls everyone a 'cat,' like 'that cat is a real hot

bongo player!"

He's one of those guys that seems mis-matched for his

type of work. He always wears a suit. It doesn't matter

what day of the week it is, if you see Sparky he's

probably wearing a gray suit and a snazzy tie. He's only

about five feet, three inches tall, with glasses and a

short flattop buzz-cut. Sometimes he'll show up at a club

when a band he knows is playing and quite often he will

get up on stage and sing at least one song. Someone told

me that Sparky was some kind of child music prodigy and

that he had performed on some pretty big stages by the

time he was twelve years-old playing the piano using his

real name, Francis O'Flannigan. Why or how he got into

commercial jingles, I don't know. But he excelled at it.

He would get an assignment and think about if for a few

days and study the product and what they wanted to do.

Then in a burst of creativity he would write it all down

in a matter of minutes.

I once asked him how he got the nickname 'Sparky,' as

somehow it just didn't fit a guy who looked more like an

used car dealer than a jingle writer. It was, he said,

the result of an ‘incident' as he called it. When he was

fourteen, he and some friends formed a band and they

would practice in the one kid's basement that also served

as a hobby and junk room. In this band, Sparky traded in

his keyboard for an electric guitar.

The kid's brother had a pet turtle that he kept in an

aquarium filled with rocks and water. One Saturday

afternoon during a jam session the turtle fell off its

rock and landed upside down in the water.

"Hey Francis, get the turtle will ya?" The kid asked him

because he just happened to be standing next to the

aquarium.

That's when Sparky found out that a container full of

water made a good conductor when you were holding the

neck of an electric guitar with your other hand.

The current that passed through Sparky and into the

aquarium didn't seem to do much harm to the turtle or

Sparky but it did cause their one amplifier to blow just

about every vacuum tube and erupt into a smoke spewing

fireworks show of sparks.

The band dis-banded after the incident because no one

else had an amplifier and playing an electric guitar with

no amp just wasn't the same. That kid kept that amplifier

for years always hoping he could somehow get it fixed.

They started calling him Sparky after that and he liked

it so much he's gone by that moniker ever since.

I went to his studio for a mid week afternoon session.

There was eight musicians, a female vocalist and four

backup singers that he had auditioned for the spot. He

gave us all the charts and a few minutes to look them

over. My part was simple enough - just bang out some

rhythms as they were written. "Okay cats, here's the

deal."

Sparky had a habit of setting up his musicians with the

scenario that went along with the commercial. In a way it

really did help you get an understanding of how the tune

should go. You're going to play a tune for a grocery

store a lot differently than you would for a funeral

home.

"It's a car. A new car. A new model. Here's the idea.

It's four door sedan but we are going to sell it like its

got all the appeal of a sports car. You're riding in the

car down a winding, hilly country road with your wife and

two kids. But this doesn't feel like a Sunday afternoon

drive, it feels like you're hugging the road with a lot

of horsepower and a suspension that grips every corner.

The wife and kids just happen to be there at the time.

Got it?"

Fair enough, I thought. I knew how I was going to play

this.

We ran through the piece a few times just doing the

instrumentals and getting a feel for it. Then we tried it

again and Sparky would yell out some direction. That was

his style. He would tap his foot and bob his head and

yell out places where he wanted more of something and

less of something else.

It didn't matter to me. These session spots paid a lot of

money for a couple of days work. We were never paid any

kind of royalties or residuals, just a big fat paycheck

when it was completed. Usually the way it worked was on

the first day we would take as much time as needed to get

the whole thing worked out. When the instrumentals were

all set we'd start working with the vocalists. When we

felt confident of what we were doing we'd pack it in then

come back the next day and start over.

The second day we'd run through it again then record a

several versions live in the studio with the full band

and vocals. In this business there are no nine-to-five

hours. For the most part you work until you get it right.

Usually a session wraps up when you get the general

feeling that everyone has had enough. But there are days

when you're going to be working well past midnight.

Depending on how everything went we might be back for a

third day to record the parts independently. Sparky liked

to record the rhythm section as a unit sometime re-

recording over the first track so it sounded like we had

several guitars playing. It all depended out how the

final product should sound. Sometimes the sessions ran a

fourth day. These big companies were spending millions of

dollars on their ad campaigns and there were no short

cuts. Everything had to be perfect. Besides, in the ad

business you have to present the client with a huge

invoice. If you don't, they think they got short changed

on quality. It's just the way it works.

A guy I know works for a big ad agency and he was doing

something on a television commercial for a soft drink

company. They were shooting a baseball game in a local

park as part of the commercial and he invited me down to

watch. It was going to be a fifteen second commercial

about people having fun at a local baseball game and

drinking this particular brand of soda to show how better

things are with this drink. There was a crew of at least

twenty people milling about. They had assistants, make-up

people, camera people, and a few people walking around

with clipboards. On top of that they had a caterer who

kept putting food and drinks out on this table for the

crew to eat.

I watched them for three hours and all they did was shoot

and re-shoot the actors who were hired to fill the three

rows of bleachers in the park. When the director yelled

'action' they would cheer and wave their hands and act

like someone had just hit a home run. It was three hours

of shooting what would come down to probably two seconds

of screen time when the commercial was finally edited and

finished.

"Are we almost done? I've got some stuff to do."

One of the backup singers approached Sparky when we were

taking five to get a drink and relax for a few minutes.

"Almost done?" Sparky replied. "You haven't even started

yet. Have you sung a single note since you came into this

studio?"

"Well, no, but I've got things to do," she said. "I

didn't think we'd be here for, like, an entire day."

I've seen this type before. They are bubble-heads who

have never held a real job in their lives. These ditzy

wannabes are the same type that move to Hollywood because

they think they can become a movie star with no

theatrical training, no connections, and absolutely no

idea how the industry works in a business where beautiful

women are a dime-a-dozen.

They don't want to work at a craft, they think they can

glide in on their looks and people will pay them for

that.

"Well then, I guess you should be going." Sparky told

her. "I don't want you to have to put in an entire day's

work."

"So, like, when will I get paid?" she asked.

Sparky, ever the gentleman could have ripped a strip off

this girl for even asking about pay. Instead, he took a

fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and placed it in her

hand.

"There you go," he said. "That should take care of you

for your time sitting on that sofa in the corner."

What he was really saying was, "You will never get

another job in this business again."

A few moments later he made a quick call to the talent

agency and I could hear him yelling at someone on the

other end of the phone. It turns out this girl was

someone at the agency's niece, daughter, or some other

friend or relative. It was probably the biggest career

mistake they ever made by sending her over to this

studio. Sparky had the remaining vocalists go into

another soundproof room with his assistant to start

working on the vocal arrangement. They had listened to us

playing the music to give them a feel of how it was all

going to go together.

At the end of the day the vocalists never recorded a

note. But the remaining girls were professionals. They

thanked Sparky and prepared to return to the studio the

next day.

In the music business things rarely get moving early in

the day. I don't know if it's the lifestyle, the

industry, or just that fact the musicians tend to be, by

nature, nighthawks. You never hear of a industry meeting

at nine o'clock in the morning. That would be like asking

a vampire to show up for a meeting just as the sun was

rising. We returned for an eleven o'clock call the next

morning. Four hours later we had laid most of the tracks

in a blitzkrieg session of creativity that for some

reason turned out really well. It was just one of those

days when everyone was on top of the game.

Sparky worked with the vocalist in the sound booth

recording her voice over a simple bass and rhythm track,

then had the three remaining back-up singers start their

work. We left around ten o'clock that evening.

On Friday afternoon we wrapped it up. The tracks and

vocals had been recorded including some additional work

we did so Sparky could mix it all together in one

glorious fifteen second spot of some family careening

around country roads or along the coastline in their new

car, all the while accompanied by this tune to make it

even more exciting.

"Thanks for the gig Sparky."

I leaned into Sparky's office on my way out. Everyone

else had left and he was doodling some notes at his desk

and I was just doing a courtesy to let him know I was on

my way.

"Come on in," he said. "I wanted to talk to you before

you left."

Sparky, while sometimes over animated, was for the most

part a serious kind of guy in his every day habits. He

motioned to the chair in front of his desk so I took a

seat.

"I heard about your record deal. It fell through." How he

had heard about that, I wasn't sure, but in this business

word seems to spread about everyone else's business like

there is some kind of central gossip control group that

farms out information. Sparky opened the top drawer of

his desk and took out a business card. He slid it across

the desk to me like he was passing me some cryptic spy

note that he didn't want anyone else to see.

"Give him a call," Sparky said.

I looked at the card. It was black with gold lettering.

'Zergo Studio' was printed in script and there was a

couple of music notes dancing across the face of the

card. It was clichéd but made the point.

"You want to make a record? He's the cat that will make

it happen. His name is Emmett Zergo. Best damn music

producer I know. Actually, don't call him a producer. He

hates that. He calls himself a facilitator or something.

Doesn't matter, just give him a call and tell him I sent

you."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"Friend, acquaintance, business contact, it's all the

same. I've done a lot of work with him and every now and

then I'll refer someone to him. I've seen your band and

I've heard you play. I wouldn't give you his card if I

didn't think you should meet him."

I had heard of Emmett Zergo, everyone in the business

has. He's got a long list of credits with some big name

bands and in some circles is thought to be one of the

best recording producers there is. His recording studio

is somewhere out in the country. He's one of those guys

you don't just pick up the telephone and call. Apparently

people have tried but he's impossible to get a hold of

and his telephone number is a mystery. Things just happen

with him. How it all works I don't know. Maybe its just

like this. Someone slips you a card and you get the green

light. Zergo bought some old farm and tore down some of

the buildings and built a studio out in the middle of

nowhere. And from that studio he has turned out some

pretty impressive material.

I called Archie on the weekend and he met me, Tanner, and

Jimmy at our clubhouse. Jimmy was back from two weeks on

some Caribbean island and he looked like he had spent the

entire time cooking under the sun.

"Have a good trip?" I asked him.

"It was perfect," he said. "I drank a lot of rum and did

nothing for fourteen days. I could get used to that. I

wouldn't mind being one of those guys who has a little

hut selling tourist crap to people on the beach."

I showed Archie the Zergo business card.

"Where did you get this?" He asked. "These are rare. He

doesn't give these out to many people."

I told him of the short meeting in Sparky's office.

"Do you want to give him a call?" I asked.

"No, I can't. It doesn't work that way. If you've got

this card, I guarantee Emmett Zergo already has your name

and is expecting you to call him. If anyone else calls,

they won't get past the gatekeeper. His secretary will

just take a message and you'll never get a call back. The

call has to come from the person that was given the

card."

"What did I tell you," Jimmy said. "This is the flakiest

business in the world. We're not an international spy

agency. What next? A secret knock and password to get

into the studio? It's the only business in the world that

turns down customers who call them."

"Yeah, it's flaky alright," Archie replied. "And that's

only on the surface. You'd be surprise what goes on

behind closed doors."

"What do you guys think?" I asked them, "Do I call him?"

"Call him," Tanner said, "We've got nothing to lose."

I looked at Archie. He nodded. "Give him a call. Not

right away though. Wait a couple of days. Don't sound too

eager."

I did wait a couple of days before calling. A woman

answered the phone and when I told her who I was she said

that Emmett was 'expecting my call.'

We only spoke briefly. He invited me out to his studio

along with who ever else I wanted to bring from the band.

"We'll talk it over and see what we can do," he said.

That simple conversation was the start of something new

for the band.

Sometimes all it takes is a new opportunity and an open

door.

Chapter Sixteen

Xanadu

Zergo Studios was out in the country. It was a two-hour

drive through several small towns along a two-lane

secondary highway that passed by farms and roadside

vegetable stands.

Archie had mapped it out and we had to take a couple of

secondary roads and finally a gravel side road following

the numbered fire-lane markers that were leading into

rural properties.

We made the trek with Tanner, Jimmy and Izzy.

We found the lot number. There was a field stone fence

along the front of the place, probably built 150 years

ago and a small sign on the fence said simply 'Zergo'.

You couldn't see the place from the road. The lane way

was lined with large oak trees that formed a canopy over

the road. Someone planted those trees a long time ago and

never lived to see what they look like now. We rounded a

curve and the house was straight ahead. We weren't really

sure of protocol when we arrived. We didn't know if we

were supposed to go to the front door of the house or

look for the studio which must be somewhere on the

property. Jimmy walked right up to the front door and

rang the bell. A young woman answered the door.

"Come on in gentlemen, Emmett's waiting for you."

She opened the door and we filed into the front foyer of

the house. The front exterior of this place did not do

this house justice. It was impressive.

Apparently Emmett had bought the original farm house and

over a few years started building additions. The main

floor had a cathedral ceiling that was at least twenty

feet high with huge panorama windows from floor to

ceiling. The property was built on a hill so the rear of

the house dropped down another level that walked out to

the back of the property.

There was a spiral staircase next to the foyer made from

wood and iron and was obviously finely hand crafted. From

where we stood it went down to the lower floor and up

three more levels and wound up in a turret room that

could be seen from the driveway.

"I'm Cathy, Emmett's assistant," she said. "Emmett's out

back."

She led us down a hallway to a flight of stairs that

passed through a doorway at the back of the house. There

must have been a couple of acres of lawn surrounded by a

wooded area and a fenced off swimming pool right in the

middle of the lawn complete with pool-house.

"Hey guys, come on out! Glad you could make it."

It was Emmett. He was wearing shorts, sandals and a tank

top. He was at the pool and waved us over. None of us had

met him before so we weren't sure what to expect.

"You found the place," he said. "A lot of people get lost

coming out here."

He asked us to sit down around a glass topped patio table

that was under a canopy. There were also two girls at the

pool who were just lounging around and didn't really

acknowledge that we were there. Another girl wearing a

bathing suit with a sarong wrapped around her waist came

out of the pool house holding a tray with glasses and a

big pitcher full of fruit punch.

"This is my house keeper Kasey," Emmett said.

Kasey smiled and started filling everyone's glasses.

On the surface, Emmett seemed to be quite a character. He

had what you would call, a high hair-do, sort of combed

upward and piled on top, and he had a long handlebar

mustache. He was one of those guys who seemed over the

top in his personal delivery, but he was genuine.

"I hope you guys don't mind my casual attire," he said.

"I'm on vacation for the summer. You guys smoke cigars?"

Emmett opened a humidor that was on the table and offered

us all one of these big stogies that filled the box.

"Cubans," he said. "Hand rolled by orphans and post

revolution survivalists."

Jimmy and I both accepted. It's not that I usually smoke

cigars but it just seemed like the social thing to do. We

puffed up a storm while making small talk around this

pool. From the rear of the house you could see another

lane-way that curved around the other side of the house

to a three car garage built against the side of the hill.

A Corvette convertible was parked on the asphalt next to

a Land Rover and a motorcycle.

Two more girls came out of the lower level of the house

and walked across the lawn, talking and giggling. They

slipped into the pool as if no one else was even around.

Jimmy leaned over to me and quietly said, "This place is

Xanadu!"

Emmett took a long draw from his Cuban and said, "So, you

guys want to make an album. You want to make it here?"

"We're very interested," I replied.

I didn't want to seem too eager and come off like some

amateur. At the same time we obviously wanted to make a

deal with a guy whose record of success is one of the

best in the business.

"Who's your producer?" Emmett asked.

"Well, Izzy, he's our main adviser. We've worked with him

for a quite a while," I told him.

I don't think any of us really understood what role

Emmett was going to play in recording until Archie came

right out and asked him.

"So, Emmett, just so I've got this clear in my mind, do

you want to produce, or what would really be your role if

we recorded here."

"I don't produce anything," Emmett replied. "I just

record in my studio. I've never understood why a band

goes into a studio to record and then has some hired gun

from a record company come in and tell them what to do.

Who am I to tell you how to make a song better or change

it to my way of thinking. What would be the point of

that? It's your music. If you ask my opinion I might

offer it. Other than that it's my job to make it sound

good on tape. I'd just like a credit on the album as

sound engineer."

His studio was hidden in a clearing in the woods behind

his home. We climbed aboard two golf carts that he used

for running around the property and drove down a grass-

covered path through the trees. On the outside you would

never think that many great albums had been produced

here. On the inside it was a state-of-the-art studio with

two recording areas, an engineering room, a lounge and

even a kitchen.

Emmett gave us a tour.

"What do you think?" He said.

To say we were impressed probably would have been an

understatement.

By now it seems we had an agreement to come and record.

At least that was the general mindset. No papers had been

signed and no lawyers were involved. It was probably the

most relaxed deals of all time. Archie and Emmett

retreated to a corner of the room to talk business. It

was, Archie said later, the most informal agreement he

had ever encountered. Emmett told him the recording

studio was available for us. He asked that his deal would

be to record the album in a specified period of time and

he would take points on any sales and a small percentage

of any money earned from concerts promoting the album as

well as a cut of any related promotions material. It was

straightforward. Emmett had connections to have the

record distributed and also owned a company that would

handle publicity and promotions. That was it.

When Archie asked about drawing up legal papers, Emmett

shrugged it off.

"You're a straight arrow," he said to Archie. "And so am

I. We'll work out that legal mumbo-jumbo later."

They sealed the deal with a handshake.

The lounge in Zergo studios was a little oasis out in

this backwater area in the middle of nowhere. It was

decorated all in art deco, a style that I have always

liked. There was a lot of metal and geometric patterns

and some wild artwork on the wall. A large mural covered

the wall behind a well stocked bar that was complete with

a brass foot rail. Along one wall there was a photo

gallery of people who had recorded at the studio. It was

an impressive line-up of well known and lesser-known

people. And there was a photo of Emmett with Levon

Spritzer. Emmett had his arm around Levon's shoulder and

they were posing for the camera. Both were holding a

stogie and Levon was blowing a smoke ring.

"Levon Spritzer recorded here?" I asked Emmett.

"Yeah, he was here a couple of years ago. Recorded his

entire album in two days. He was the most well rehearsed

guy I ever worked with. Did most of the songs in a single

take. No fooling around. We started tape, Emmett played,

and that was it. We filled in some of the other tracks

after he had left."

"What's he like?" I asked him.

It sounded like an amateur question coming from some fan,

but he must have had some insight as to who Levon really

was.

"Like I said, he's a real pro. Now, lets gets some rules

straight about recording here, just so we're all on the

same page."

Emmett had dodged my question about Levon just like Levon

dodged every query that had ever come his way.

We all took a seat in the lounge.

"I think we've worked out a pretty good situation here,"

Archie said. "If you're all on-board, I think we're good

to go."

We all nodded in agreement. At this point we were

trusting Archie's judgment on what he and Emmett had

discussed.

"Izzy, we want you to produce the album. We'll tell the

rest of the band members what we've decided. It don't

think anyone is going to object."

Before we had come out here I had called everyone in the

band and told them we were going to the studio and asked

them if we could negotiate on their behalf. Everyone

agreed.

"Here's the thing," Emmett said. "I don't know what you

guys have heard about recording here, if anything, but

there's always some kind of wild rumors and stories that

come out of these sessions. Don't believe it. When it

comes to getting the job done I don't have time to waste

for somebody who always shows up late or causes delays.

Time is money. We set a schedule and stick to it. I

expect professionalism from everyone."

We all nodded in agreement.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, "I like having fun while

I'm working, just like everyone else. In fact, this might

be the best time you've ever had when working. I just

don't put up with the crap that went on in the 80's. That

was crazy. Too many of these guys showed up drunk or

stoned and they had these drugged up groupies hanging

around. I don't need any of that. If you guys want to

bring girlfriends or anything like that, that's fine.

Just not in studio. The lounge, the pool, the house,

that's cool. But not in the studio."

We left Zergo studios with a good feeling about what

might happen when we come back to record.

It had been a couple of months since the band was

together but it was time to get back to work. I had spent

the time working on different projects and took a week

off just to catch up on some personal things. After all

these years it seems that my work has become more than

just a way to earn a living. It's my hobby, my passion,

and my life. I never realized how intertwined my work had

become with what I was as a person.

Some people go to work, put in eight hours, go home, and

work doesn't exist beyond the walls of their office or

what ever job environment they are in.

I've been teaching a class in music arranging at a local

college for the past year. It's only a part time thing

but it keeps me sharp and I enjoy doing it. I figure it's

a chance to pay back something that I've learned over the

years. I got the job through a professor I know that

called me and asked if I was interested. We had worked on

a few projects and he thought I'd be a good instructor

and submitted my name to the hiring committee at the

school. I didn't need a real degree in the subject to

teach it. My degree in business, minor in music and life

experience in the industry was enough. It was kind of a

grueling interview process, at least I thought so. I've

only been at a couple of real job interview and those

were with a business owner looking for help and usually

took only a few minutes.

So there I was in front of a panel of four professors who

were on the hiring committee and doing the interview. I

arrived with a file folder of my credentials, samples of

my work, and a resume. They asked me a lot of ridiculous

questions that I think they found in some psychology

book. None of the questions had anything to do with my

abilities or music. It was a lot of inane garbage that I

guess they figured they could analyze and determine the

right person for the job based on that person's feelings

about personal conflicts with co-workers and their

ability to resolve issues dealing with getting the wrong

order in a restaurant. After a few minutes I was feeling

a little frustrated because they hadn't asked me one

question about my qualifications or why I would be

suitable for the position.

"What are your weaknesses?" Asked the one professor.

I thought about that for a moment, then said, "Well, I

can only bench-press about one hundred fifty pounds. I

think I should be able to do at least one seventy-five."

These four professors all looked at each other with

slightly rolled eyes and exchanged little smirks,

apparently to show their amusement over me not

understanding the question.

The lone woman professor on the panel gave me a rather

condescending look and said, "We meant your weaknesses as

related to your business and professional life."

By now, I sensed this interview wasn't going very well.

That seems to be the way it works with these academic

types. They puff themselves up and in their mind are

superior to everyone else. By this time I wasn't really

worried about the outcome of this interview.

"I know what you meant," I replied. "I just can't believe

you actually asked me that question. It's like right out

of the first page of a textbook about the ten questions

you must ask during a job interview. I was hoping a team

of professionals would have more personal, real world,

skills for this type of dialogue."

I didn't say it with acrimony, more like a matter of

fact. The smirks and smiles disappeared from their faces.

Finally this one man, Professor Fodwick, placed an

envelope on the table and said, "We would like you to do

a test."

"A test? What kind of a test?"

"It is a test of your abilities in music and as an

arranger." He said. "We'd like to do the test before you

leave and bring it back to us."

I picked up the envelope and briefly looked inside before

placing it back down on the table. It's one thing to find

out a person's ability to do a job, it was quite another

to have them go through an insulting process to get a

job.

"I don't do tests," I told them. "Tests are for children

and students who need to be graded. I'm neither. Besides,

I hate to point this out, but none of you are qualified

to judge a music arrangement."

I stood up and put on my jacket and gathered my folder

and some papers.

"I'm qualified for this position. I'm personable and

friendly, and could teach this class very well. My resume

speaks for itself and lists all my qualifications. You've

met me, and you have my information."

The professors looked a little bewildered. Maybe no one

had walked out of an interview before. I stopped at the

door, just briefly.

"Thank you for your time." I said. "I really appreciate

you giving me the opportunity to come in here. But

frankly, I have no idea what my impressions of being in a

'very white room' have to do with teaching a bunch of

first year music students."

Strangely enough, Professor Fodwick called me two days

later. He said the committee had made a selection and

offered me the position. I don't know how that happened.

Maybe they had no other candidates or maybe they just

looked at my work and realized I was a suitable

candidate. My professor friend who got me the interview

in the first place seemed to think that the fact that I

was a musician gave excuse for the way I acted in the

interview.

"I think they were impressed by your credentials and

decided your way of conducting the interview was just

typical of someone in a creative field," he said. "They

think all you creative types are a little kooky and off-

the-wall."

Either way, I accepted and have been teaching this class

ever since.

After two months on hiatus, the band was supposed to meet

on a Saturday afternoon to put together a new rehearsal

schedule and get everything arranged for recording. On

Wednesday night I went to the clubhouse with Tanner just

to sort a few things out. We decided to go out to get

something to eat when the telephone rang. It was Van

asking if we were going to be there for a while. I told

him we were going to the diner and he could meet us

there.

The diner was still in business and Gus, the fat old

gruff guy was still in his place by the cash register at

the end of the counter. He's not as gruff as he used to

be, at least not with us. After he was invited to our

show a few years ago he took a real interest in our band

and even has some photos of us on his 'wall of fame'

behind the counter. There's a picture of the band along

side some local celebrities that have apparently had

dinner at the diner. He has a special eight-by-ten of

Lacey in her old waitress uniform with her autograph

across the bottom of the print. Van met us there and we

all ordered the fish and chips because Gus had a sign in

the window promoting his new 'special' batter.

"I'm done," Van said. "I'm leaving the band."

"You're quitting? We just got the opportunity to record."

"I know, and I'm going to miss that I guess. I've just

been offered something I can't turn down."

It turns out the pressure of the family business finally

got to him. I couldn't blame him really. He was being

slotted into a position with a huge salary. Most likely

he wouldn't really have to do much other than make an

occasional decision, attend a couple of board meetings

and cash in on the family empire. It was all about

appearances. Van would play the businessman and some day

inherit a lot of money. I guess the family wasn't too

keen on leaving a fortune to a guy who, in their eyes,

didn't even bother to show up for work. He has two

brothers and two sisters, all of whom have a stake in the

fortune, so he decided it was time to put in the effort

so he wouldn't be left out.

"We had a good run," he said. "Maybe I can come back and

sit in with you guys sometime."

I asked him to come to the clubhouse for the meeting on

Saturday night so we could let everyone know what was

going on.

"I think," Tanner said after Van left, "This calls for

some kind of a party. I don't know what you give a

retiring musician."

I called everyone in the band that night and let them

know we were going to have a celebration on Saturday and

told them to bring a date, a friend, what ever. It would

add a party atmosphere. There wouldn't be a rehearsal in

the afternoon, just an evening get-together. By nine

o'clock on Saturday night we had a real party going on.

We had ordered a bunch of appetizers from a caterer down

the street and everyone was milling about getting caught

up on what they had been doing for the past two months.

Everyone brought someone with them. I invited two of the

stewardesses from next door who were new in town and just

started with the airline. They seemed to think it was a

real kick to go to a band party. Even Lenny Bruce brought

a new girlfriend he had met while he was doing some

session work somewhere. I had asked Chucky if he would do

the bar tending as he usually seemed to enjoy doing that

sort of thing.

"I.. I can't," he said, "I'd rather not."

He seemed a little tense, but then again Chucky could be

a moody guy sometimes.

"No problem," I said, "Jean will do it. He likes to mix

drinks."

It wasn't like bar tending at one of our events took a

real mixologist. No one was ordering outlandish cocktails

like a 'Duke of Marlborough' or 'Flames over New Jersey.'

Mostly it was a shot of something mixed with what ever we

had in stock.

I had already filled in Archie on what was going on but

no one else had been told that Van was quitting.

I tapped a fork against my glass to get everyone's

attention. It was the first time in my life I had

actually done that but it really does work. Someone

turned the music down.

"I'm glad you all showed up tonight. We decided that this

night should be a celebration for a couple of reasons

instead of another rehearsal. First of all, you all know

we've agreed to start recording. Secondly, tonight is the

night we celebrate the fact that one of our members will

be moving on to new opportunities."

I had thought about how I was going to make that

announcement. I didn't want it to seem like Van was

bailing on us.

"Van has decided to take a position in his family's

company and won't be with the band any more."

A murmur rippled through the room.

"I know we are all sorry to see him leave, but at the

same time I know all off us wish him well in his new

endeavors."

Tanner reached into a bag and took out what I called a

parting gift.

"We have something for you. It's kind of a memento of

your time with the band. We thought maybe you would like

it for your new office."

A couple of days earlier I went down to a shop that makes

custom trophies, and awards. I gave them a copy of the

band photo and they etched it onto a piece of glass that

was mounted on a pedestal with the band's name in script

underneath.

For a moment, Van, the guy with the flippant attitude,

the one who never took anything seriously, seemed really

touched by the gesture.

He looked around room.

"I don't think I will ever have a better time on any job

than I had playing with you guys," he said.

By eleven o'clock the party was in full swing. I noticed

Chucky sitting in the corner by the bar. He had been

quiet all night, not really talking to anyone and keeping

to himself.

I went over to the bar and mixed myself a rum and coke.

"Hey Chucky, you don't have a drink. Do you want

something?"

"Sure,"

I mixed another one for him. I handed the glass toward

him but instead of taking it he just sat there staring

straight ahead.

"Do you want this?" I asked.

He nodded and reached for the drink but it took him two

tries. The outside of his fingers brushed the glass

before his hand found it and took hold. A lot of things

started make sense when I saw this. I didn't say anything

at first, but it was obvious Chucky's eyesight was worse

than ever. We had the lights down low for the party and

that made it even tougher for him. In hindsight you could

see it getting worse over the years and I realized that

when he lost his license it wasn't because he couldn't

get insurance. It was because he couldn't see well enough

to drive and his license was revoked.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

I decided to leave things the way they were. If Chucky

was having problems he could tell me when he was ready.

By one o'clock in the morning the party began to fade.

People started leaving and it was winding down.

The next time we get together it will be all business.

Chapter Seventeen

So what do you REALLY do for a living?

"By the blue tiled walls near the market stalls

There's a hidden door she leads you to

These days, she says, "I feel my life

just like a river running through"

A.S.

It's amazing what you can do with an old barn.

In the few years since we had been to Tanner's parent's

farm, his father started a few new projects. First he

built a new barn. It was larger one with a full concrete

base and curved steel roof. He didn't really farm any

more, but he did have some nice antique cars and he used

the new barn as a storage place. It seems retirement

didn't really agree with him and he felt the need to keep

busy. One weekend when Tanner went to visit they went out

to the old barn to figure out if they should tear it down

or just let time do it for them. The old beams that

supported the structure were huge and they decide that to

knock the place down would require a lot of money and

effort. Tanner realized that this building was built to

last a long time. He put together a plan to restructure

the place into a practice studio. Working the odd weekend

he started cleaning the place out and when it no longer

had any trace of farm equipment, hay bales, or the smell

of one hundred fifty years of cattle, he started adding

interior framing.

Tanner's father, at first thought he was crazy for

putting in the effort, but after a while the older man

started offering advice. Then one weekend Tanner went to

visit and found him out in the barn with a real

construction project underway and a lot of work

completed. Seems good old dad had decided that a studio

is a worthwhile project. Besides, it kept him busy.

Tanner thought we should take a few days to practice out

there before we went to the recording studio. I agreed.

It's good to get out of your normal environment

sometimes.

They really did a good job on this place. The main floor

was a big open space with sound absorbing wood on the

walls and what looked like blown-in insulation on the

ceiling and they laid wood strip flooring over the old

cement floor. They even turned the upper loft into a

small apartment of sorts and built a proper staircase

leading to the second level. We planned to be there for

three days and just work on our final delivery before

going in to record. Archie had booked a few rooms at the

Red Pine Inn. It wasn't what you would call a five-star

resort, but it was the only hotel in town. It had a small

restaurant and even an indoor pool in the main building

that held the front desk and a small conference room.

In a lot of way I like these type of places. They are

inexpensive and you can eat at the restaurant where they

serve breakfast 'daily from seven to nine.' Bacon and

eggs, pancakes, waffles or French toast, is the house

specialty. The only time I really eat breakfast is when

I'm out of town. Usually I just grab a cup of coffee and

whatever I can find in the refrigerator. I love the smell

and the atmosphere of these kind of restaurants. Maple

flavored sausage on the grill and bacon sizzling just

smells like a welcoming place.

Tanner and Lacey were staying at the farm house so in the

morning I met Jimmy, Jean, and Lenny and we went to the

restaurant and found a booth by the front window. A

waitress brought over four cups and filled them with

coffee. We didn't ask for it, it's just the standard

start to breakfast in one of these places.

"Hey, hey, band guy!"

This man was yelling across the restaurant and waving at

us.

At first I didn't recognize him until he got up from his

table and walked across the floor.

It was Mr. Blackstock.

"Hey, how are ya!" he bellowed.

I'm not sure, but I think he was wearing the same suit as

when I met him a few years ago. He took a chair from a

nearby table and sat uninvited at the end of our booth.

"Hey, Mr. Blackstock," I said. "What are you doing way

out here. Isn't this a long way from your home base?"

"I move around a lot," he said. "Is this your band?"

"No, we're just up here on a hunting trip out at a

friend's farm."

I was surprised he even recognized me at all or even said

hello considering the last time I saw him he was wearing

a pair of police bracelets and left us on the hook for a

restaurant bill.

The guys seemed sort of perplexed and somewhat amused by

him, but at the same time they didn't question why I said

we were on a hunting trip.

"Are you still in the music business? I'm always looking

for talent ya know."

I didn't get the answer out before he looked at the guys

at the table.

"Yeah, you look like musicians. I can tell. I'm putting

together a concert series. You interested?"

He gestured at me with his thumb, "He'll tell ya, I'm

well known around here. Anybody got a cigarette?"

"I think we're just going to get this hunting trip over

first," Jimmy replied. "There's lots of grouse and

pheasants to shoot. I've got 500 rounds of ammunition to

shoot before the end of the weekend because of the expiry

date on the bullets."

"Okay boys, I gotta go. I've got a meeting with some

investors. I'm staying here at the Inn. Room 206. Come

and see me before you go. Maybe we can work something

out."

A couple of minutes later I notice a waitress standing at

the booth where Mr. Blackstock had been sitting. She had

a bill in her hand and was looking around the restaurant

to see where he was. I motioned her over to our table.

"Did Mr. Blackstock forget to pay his bill?" I asked her.

"Do you know him? He was sitting right over there. But I

don't see him now."

"How much is it?"

"He had the breakfast special, $5.99."

I asked her to give me the bill and we'd cover it.

Some guys are like that and I'll never understand them.

Mr. Blackstock will skip out on his bill knowing full

well that trouble will follow and yet he still does it.

Do guys like that think that this time they won't get

caught? It's a part of the mentality that most people

just don't understand.

By eleven o'clock we were in the barn studio and starting

to rehearse. We had decided on all the songs that were

going to record and even had the order in which they

would go on the album. Now all we had to do was complete

the arrangements. Usually we mixed it up a little when

performing but to record we had to have everything in

place. We all had charts that were worked out by Jimmy

and myself over the past couple of weeks. The only thing

missing was the keyboards. We had decided to hire a

session guy to fill that in for us in the studio.

We practiced for about four hours. It wasn't very long

really, but we had gone over these songs so many times

everyone knew their part. It was just a matter of

following the new charts and getting the final feel for

each song. Besides, four hours is enough. After that it

starts to get stale and just becomes work. You try to

improve but repetition just makes you lazy when it comes

to music.

"I hope you fellers are hungry!"

Tanner's father came into the studio through the side

door and stood silently at the side of the room until we

finished the last song.

"We've got some friends coming over tonight and we're

doing a prime rib on the open spit out back."

"You guys don't have to stay if you don't want to,"

Tanner said after his father left the barn. "Don't feel

obligated."

Tanner was a great musician, but at the same time he was

still a farm boy at heart.

"Are you kidding?" Jimmy said, "I wouldn't miss this for

anything. Prime rib done on an open spit? You can't buy

that kind meal in the city!"

A 'few friends' turned out to be about thirty people,

maybe more, all people from neighboring farms. It was a

tight community. Most of these people had grown up

together, went to school together, and ran the town

together. Now their kids were doing the same. A few times

every summer they would have these informal get-togethers

were everyone came out and everyone brought something to

add to the menu. Salads, vegetables, deserts, it was all

there. A big pot of water was boiling over an open fire

and it was filled with fresh corn-on-the-cob. The prime

rib looked more like half a cow as it turned slowly on a

spit driven by an electric motor that was hooked up to a

generator.

They were a friendly bunch, that's for sure. At the same

time I think they viewed us as kind of a curiosity when

they found out we were all musicians. They couldn't seem

to wrap their heads around the fact that we did this for

a living.

I was talking to one older man by the name of Jenkins.

I'm not sure if that was his first or last name but

that's how he introduced himself and that's what everyone

called him.

"So you fellows are practicing your music out in the

barn eh?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "We're here for a couple of days for a

rehearsal."

"So, what do you do for a living?" he asked.

Even though I explained that it was our job, he kept

asking me what our 'real' jobs were, as if he refused to

believe we made money working as a band.

It turned out a lot of them were musicians as well. Not

professionals but they liked to play. Of course their

style of choice was country, real country music. Fiddles,

banjos, guitars and the occasional mandolin, and after

everyone finished eating they had a mini jamboree. Tanner

sat in with them but the rest of us in the band just sat

back and listened. It was heartfelt music, played by

people for the sheer joy of it.

We made it back to the Inn around ten o'clock. It was a

warm night and very quiet. We parked the car and were

walking across the parking lot. The was a narrow alleyway

that ran behind the rooms and was used by the restaurant

as a place to keep a dumpster and some trash cans.

"Hey,"

We heard a voice calling out from the darkness in this

alley.

"Hey, band guys."

It was Mr. Blackstock. He was lying on his back between a

couple of garbage cans with his head propped up against a

wall. He was a mess. His face was bloodied and his hair

was matted against his forehead.

"What the hell happened?" I ask him.

"Just help me up, will ya."

I took his arm and wrapped it over my shoulder. Jimmy

took his other arm and did the same and we helped him to

his room. The poor guy could barely walk. The door to his

room was wide open and we took him inside and sat him

down on the bed. Blood was running down from a cut over

his eye and dripping on to his shirt and his nose was

bloodied as well. Lenny Bruce grabbed some towels from

the bathroom and put some pressure on the cut over his

eye. It was then I noticed the room was messed up as

well. A suitcase was laying open on the floor and

personal items were scattered around the room.

"Who did this?" I asked him.

It was obvious he didn't just fall down or had some kind

of an accident. Someone had given him a good beating.

"Ah, you know. A business deal didn't go too well."

"Do you want us to give you a ride to the hospital?"

Jimmy asked.

"No, no hospital. I'll be okay,"

It was one of those situations where there really wasn't

much you could do. I'm not sure what kind of business

deal went so bad that he would end up being beaten to a

pulp in an alley way. Something told me it was one of

those times where you just don't want to ask too many

questions.

I tossed Lenny Bruce the keys to the car.

"There's a first aid kit in the trunk," I told him.

The first aid kit had some moist wipes and I cleaned the

area over his eye. There was a gash about and inch long

and it was split wide open.

"Whoa," Jimmy took a close look. "You have to get that

stitched up! That's serious."

"Nah, I can't. I can't go to a hospital," Mr. Blackstock

protested. "Believe me, the last place I need to go is a

hospital."

Jimmy and I looked at each other. He shrugged, "What do

you think?"

"We can't leave him like this," I said.

I used to be involved in sports enough that I saw what

trainers would do for a cut during a hockey game or even

in a boxing ring in a pinch. I took a roll of medical

tape from the first aid kit and cut a bunch of thin

strips to act as stitches to close the wound. Jimmy put

on a pair of surgical type gloves that were in the kit.

He used his fingers to close the wound and held it in

place while I secured the little stitches over the cut to

keep it together. A final strip of tape lengthwise sealed

it all together. Mr. Blackstock stood up slowly and

walked over to the nightstand and took out a bottle of

some kind of liquor. He held up the bottle and waved it

towards us.

"You guys want a..."

We declined. We left him as he laid down on the bed, his

bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The room

was illuminated only by a small bedside lamp.

The next morning we were back at the barn studio at

eleven o'clock. We rehearsed for another four hours.

Jimmy had some revisions on a couple of the arrangements

and we went over those and spent a couple of hours

refining everything.

For some reason we just weren't that serious about our

work that day. I think that overall we had just hit the

wall. Everything was in place and our rehearsals had gone

about as far as they could go.

We took a break and I stepped outside.

Tanner was already out there. He was leaning against a

fence that runs the length of the lane way from the main

road. He was talking to a girl that had been at the party

the night before, but I didn't have a chance to speak to

her.

He introduced me. Her name was Katie and she lived down

the road several farms away. She was a real farm girl and

looked the part. She was pretty and wholesome looking.

She was what you would call the 'girl next door' type.

Tanner told me he had known her since they were kids but

he never took an interest in her because she was five or

six years younger than him.

It's amazing what a difference a few years can make and I

guess he now saw her as a young woman and not the kid who

was his friend's younger sister who had lived down the

road.

We wrapped up the rehearsal time and packed up the gear.

Tanner was sitting on the front porch of the house

looking out over the fields and I went out to join him

for a few minutes before we went back to the Inn. He

pointed out a few things around the farm, like the place

where he first drove the tractor and the opening between

some trees where a path leads down to a stream that

doubled as a water source for the animals and as a

swimming hole. There was mature summer wheat growing and

you could see the crop ripple as a warm wind wafted over

the field.

"I love this place," he said.

When we got back to the Inn we decided to meet in the

restaurant for dinner. Lenny Bruce and Jean went ahead.

Jimmy and I decided to pay a visit to room 206. Mr.

Blackstock's car was parked in front of the room. At

least I think it was his car. It was an old Ford with

faded paint. So much so you could see bare metal on the

hood where the paint had simply worn off.

I knocked on the door. There was no sound from the room

so I knocked again.

"Hey, Mr. Blackstock, you there? It's us, the band guys."

The door opened slowly about an inch and he took a peek

through the crack before he opened it all the way.

"Hey, band guys, how ya doing? Have a good day hunting?"

He looked terrible. He face was now all bruised from the

beating he took the night before and his eye was swollen

and black.

"Thought we'd check in on you," I said. "Are you doing

okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright," he laughed, "You should have

seen the other guy."

He moved across the room slowly. It was obvious he was in

a lot of pain. He eased himself into a chair.

Mr. Blackstock was a crook and a lowlife. He made his

living by taking advantage of people and cheating them

whenever he could. And yet I couldn't help but feel sorry

for this poor wretch who was still wearing the soiled

shirt he had been wearing the night before and whose

existence depended on eking out a living so he could put

a few dollars into his pocket and buy a room for the

night.

"What are you going to do now?" Jimmy asked him.

"I don't know. I think I'm going to have to move on. I

don't want to stay around here for very long, know what I

mean? I don't want to run into these guys again. But let

me tell ya, I want to thank you guys for helping me out.

I don't think I would have been okay out there. I

couldn't even walk. Sorry if I messed up your hunting

trip."

It's strange, but seeing this poor guy in his battered

condition made me feel bad for lying to him.

"Yeah, well, we're not really on a hunting trip. We're up

here practicing in a studio."

"Yeah, I know," he said. He let out a gasp and a grunt as

he shifted his weight in the chair to get more

comfortable. "You guys aren't the hunting types. I'm not

stupid. I can tell when someone's giving me a cold

shoulder, but that's okay, I understand that. That's just

the kind of guy I am."

We left him sitting in that chair, his feet propped up on

the bed.

The next morning I noticed his car was gone from the

parking lot. He must have left early and was on the road

to his next stop. Where ever that would be.

Tanner came by the hotel around eleven o'clock as we were

putting stuff in the car and getting ready to leave. He

was holding a full page ad from the local newspaper that

advertised a music festival.

"Levon Spritzer is playing at the music fest. It's about

an hour away from here. I used to go to this festival all

the time. Do you guys want to go and catch Levon's act?"

The ad listed a whole line-up of performers that were

appearing over a couple of days in this small town not

far from where we were staying. There was a photo of

Levon, sitting in his chair with his guitar along with a

bevy of other performers scattered around the page.

Tanner, Jimmy and I decided to go and see the afternoon

and evening performances. We arrived in this town around

two o'clock in the afternoon. There were roadside signs

everywhere pointing to the local fairgrounds where the

music fest was being held. We parked on a grass covered

parking lot that was normally the town soccer field and

were met by some friendly guy who must have been ninety

years old. He collected the five-dollar parking fee and

pointed the way to the main gate, which was really a

chain link fence that surrounded a baseball diamond. For

a small town this festival attracted a pretty big crowd.

There were some fairly popular performers on the bill and

people drove a good distance to see them. There were all

sorts of vendors in one area selling everything from T-

shirts to beach balls which people liked to buy then kick

out over the heads of the crowd who bounced them around

all over the place.

We watched several acts in the afternoon ranging from

real folk type music to stuff with a little harder edge.

The only band I didn't like was a local hometown favorite

who played 70's cover tunes. They were too much noise and

not enough talent - just a cheap, cheesy bar band who

have probably been playing the same fifteen songs for the

past twenty years. But the crowd loved them for some

reason. Levon was scheduled to go on stage at eight

o'clock. He arrived with little fanfare, and no

introduction. His bass player and another guitar player

quietly walked on stage and took their places. Levon

entered a moment later and took his seat, center stage,

with a two-mic set-up. One for voice, the other for his

acoustic guitar.

He didn't introduce the first song, he just nodded and

the trio began to play. Levon was in fine form. He

churned out this old tune with real precision while his

guitar player played the rhythm. While some people in the

crowd seemed to know who he was, others seemed to watch

the performance with a kind of quiet curiosity because of

his odd delivery. But when he strummed the final bar on

his guitar, the crowd roared an approval. They loved him.

They played two more songs before Levon addressed the

crowd.

"I'll bet your grandmother used to dance to that tune,"

he said.

That comment was met with a cheer, a few 'woo hoo's' and

a lot of laughter. I did notice that there were a few

die-hard fans gathered close to the stage wearing the

Levon T-shirts, all in red with the black monochrome

image of Levon.

"When I was a kid, I used to play in a band called the

Nitpickers. There was six of us back then - three orphans

from the local home for destitute children, two guys from

a juvenile chain-gang, and me. We were poor. I didn't

even have a real guitar. I had a wooden box with a broom

handle neck and fishing line for strings. This is one of

the first tunes we learned to play."

The guitar player started out with fast rhythm for a few

beats before Levon started playing a quick-picking lead.

I hadn't heard the tune before, at least not on one of

his albums. It sounded old. I wasn't sure if it was a

tune written fifty years earlier or something he composed

on his own.

Levon went on stage just as the sun started going down.

Midway through his set the single spotlight illuminated

him at center stage while the backdrop was the purplish

glow of a twilight sky and the shadows of trees off in

the distance. By the time they were ready for the final

tune it was dark out.

"You have been a very fine audience this beautiful summer

evening. We will finish with this final number. It's a

song I learned years ago when I was living in a Gypsy

camp in Romania during the caravan festival."

They started with a base riff with an up-tempo beat

before Levon joined in. They played for a couple of

minutes bouncing the rhythm off the two guitars back and

forth. Levon finally started on the lyrics. It was a song

about some Gypsy girl named Rosa who apparently spurns

her Gypsy boyfriend and dies tragically when she runs off

with her non-Gypsy lover and the boat they leave town on

sinks in a storm. At least that's what I got out of it.

They lyrics were short and to the point but it was the

finish that was awesome. They picked up the tempo as the

song wound up until they were changing leads at a furious

pace then finished with a coup de grace of four bars of a

blistering finish.

Levon stood up and acknowledged the crowd with a tip of

his hat. He turned and walked off stage without saying a

thing.

"Lets go backstage and say hello," Jimmy said.

Jimmy knew that Tanner and I were big Levon fans. Well,

not fans in that sense, more like appreciative comrades.

"Can we do that?"

"Why not? We're musicians. This is a professional

courtesy. Follow me."

Jimmy led the way to the side of the stage where there

was a gate leading to the back stage area. This wasn't

exactly the big time but they still had these rules about

who could go back stag and there were all these guys

wearing black t-shirts with 'security' stenciled across

the back.

"Hey, Jimmy! Haven't seen you a long time. How have you

been?"

The big security guy guarding the gate shook Jimmy's hand

like they were old friends.

"Still guarding the gate?"

"Yeah," the guard replied. "But I think I'm starting to

get too old for this stuff."

Jimmy motioned toward Tanner and me.

"These are friends of mine, my band mates. Okay if we go

back and say hello to Levon?"

"Sure, go ahead," the guard said. He opened the gate to

let us through.

"How do you know the security guard?" I asked him.

"Lots of years on the road," Jimmy replied.

In fact he seemed to know a lot of people backstage.

Several people called out his name and waved. A few came

up and shook his hand. Roadies, sound guys, some

musicians, they all seemed to know who he was. We saw

Levon's guitar player standing beside a motor home and

smoking a cigarette while talking to a couple of other

guys. Jimmy approached him and took out a business card.

"Great show," he said and handed the guitar player the

card. It was a card we had printed with the band's name

and logo.

"We'd like to meet Levon while we're here. Is he around?"

The guitarist took the card.

"Sorry, guys, Levon already left. He usually doesn't hang

around for very long. He's probably already back at where

ever he's staying while we're playing this gig."

"Okay, thanks. Do me a favor? Give him that card when you

see him. Maybe we'll run into him another time.

The guard placed the card in his shirt pocket and

assured us he would pass it along to Levon.

We watched one more band that night as they wrapped up

the day at around eleven o'clock with a final set.

By the time we got home it was 3:00 a.m.

Chapter Eighteen

Is this thing on?

"Do you follow the Ten Commandments?" he asked?

"Actually, yes, I do." I replied.

"Well, in Orthodox Judaism there's around 600

commandments. Technically, waking up and being alive in

the morning is a sin. That's why I joined the Reformed

movement. Actually I practice a reformed version of the

Reformed movement."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning my wife and I have a Christmas tree and exchange

presents and one of my favorite foods is barbecued pork

ribs. The last time I was in a synagogue it was for a

funeral and I got a lot of dirty looks when I forgot

where I was and called the Rabbi 'Your Holiness'."

"So, in other words, you're not a practicing Jew."

"Nope, not by a long shot."

Ben Winter was a session player I knew from doing

different gigs around town. He was going to sit in with

us on the keyboards and possibly play on the album when

we got around to recording it. Ben liked to hang around

our clubhouse from time to time and had been dropping in

a lot more since we started having him sit in on

different gigs.

I had no idea he was Jewish until one day he made a joke

about being blamed for the Crucifixion when he was a kid

while playing basketball at a local school run by a

Catholic priest.

I asked him why he gave up on his Jewish roots. He said

he had been born into a very Orthodox family who were

Orthodox by tradition, not by choice. In fact, he found

out years later that none of them wanted to be Orthodox,

they were just to worried about what everyone would think

if they switched teams to a more liberal group.

As a musician, he said, he was an outcast in the

community anyway, so he figured he might as well go all

out and live the life.

We were in the clubhouse that Saturday morning when

Chucky made his way in through the back door of the

studio accompanied by a friend of his. He was wearing

dark glasses and carrying a walking stick. He called out,

asking if anyone was there.

"Back here," I yelled.

They made their way back to the lounge.

"This is my.... friend, Martin," he said introducing the

guy he brought with him.

Chucky made his way to a chair and took a seat.

"Just wanted to let you know, I can't do this anymore,"

Chucky's eyesight had deteriorated to the point that as

he called it, he was 'legally blind.'

"I can see some things," he said. "I can see light and

shadow and forms. Like, I can see you, your shape, but no

real details. As for working on the equipment and stuff,

I'm done. I've been sort of faking it for a while now

anyway."

He never did have good eyesight and he explained that he

"always knew this day would come."

"I'm surprised it didn't happen earlier. When I was a

kid, the doctor said I'd probably be blind by the time I

was eighteen."

Hemorrhaging in the back of his eyes had eventually drawn

a curtain over whatever light that was reaching him.

He was moving into some kind of group home. It was a

place for visually impaired people who had nowhere else

to go. His friend Martin was actually a social case

worker who had given him a ride to the studio.

"You'll always be a member of the band," I told him.

Martin handed me a card with a phone number and an

address for the group home. It was a tough thing to see

them leave. Chucky held on to Martin's elbow as they

walked through the studio so he wouldn't walk into any of

the equipment scattered about.

It was the first week of September. We picked this week

to start recording for no other reason than September

seems to be the month people go back to work, school, or

whatever they do after taking it easy over the summer. So

it felt like the right time to get serious about what we

were going to do.

Day one at the studio was more of a business meeting than

recording session. The entire band was there including

Ben Winter who we decided would play keyboards on the

album. We spent a few hours going over which tracks we

were going to record with Emmett and we all threw in some

ideas. We also went over a pretty detailed schedule of

how things were going to be done and in what order.

I almost didn't recognize Emmett when we got there. His

furry hair was gone and so was the mustache. He cut his

hair very short and he was wearing a sports jacket and

black shirt. He looked totally different than the casual

hippie that had greeted us at the pool a couple of months

earlier. His demeanor had changed as well. He seemed more

serious, more businesslike than during our previous

meeting.

"We'll stick to the schedule as much as possible and get

this thing done," he explained at the sit-down. "I know

you want to be creative, but this isn't a movie and it's

not a recording session with the Beatles. So if anyone

has any creative differences or anything like that, get

it over with now because I won't take any shit once we

get started. Everyone okay with that?"

It was okay with us. Most of the tunes we were going to

record had already been arranged the way we wanted and

rehearsed plenty of times.

The first couple of days were spent working on drum and

bass tracks. It was fairly straightforward stuff. They

would record a track, then another. Sometimes they would

only record part of a chart or ad some kind of suggestion

here and there. Jean and Lenny Bruce followed along and

made the adjustments as asked.

Izzy and Emmett would sometimes put their heads together

and start talking about different things that were being

recorded. Archie would get in on it as well. But he was

only listening so he could be in on the loop of what was

going on. Sometimes they would ask me what I though about

the session, and usually I had nothing to complain about.

By the time we started working on the guitar tracks we

were several days into recording. Emmett asked Tanner and

me to record together. It would, he said, make the sound

more natural as we could both play off each other. This

was an easy task for both of us. We had been playing

together for so long we knew what the other guy was going

to do. We had our first full session that lasted several

hours. But we never went too long. Emmett said a

recording session was only as good as when the musicians

were feeling right about what they were doing.

"Once you get that feeling that you've been in the booth

for a long time, we quit and move on," He said.

I knew that Emmett had a copy of our demo tape and

probably had listened to it a bunch of times. What I

didn't realize was that he just didn't listen to it. He

studied it. Every chord, every bar, every arrangement.

In a way, I felt out of the loop when recording. I was

doing what they asked or suggested but not making any

real suggestions of my own. Usually I was the one to

conduct the band with Jimmy and Tanner's help. I was used

to making the subtle changes that would influence the

nuance of a tune.

I was talking to Izzy in the lounge when we took a break.

"So how do you think it's going so far?" I asked him.

"I think it's going well. Emmett... he's a genius. I can

see why he's done so well in this business. I don't feel

like a producer here. I feel like a student."

"So you're taking his suggestions?"

Izzy sat back in his chair and opened a can of cola that

he got from behind the bar.

"How long have I known you?" he asked.

"I don't know, sixteen, seventeen years?"

"Remember when you first came to my studio? You were a

kid, still in high school. Now we're equals in the

industry."

"I'll never be your equal Izzy."

He laughed off the compliment.

"In this business you're always learning something new.

Music may have been around a long time but it's always

changing. No matter how much I know, some guy like Emmett

comes along and makes me feel like I know nothing. When

he's finished with this, and make no mistake, he's

producing this thing, it'll be a work of art."

Tanner and I laid down several more track over the next

few days. Emmett had us back in the studio re-recording

for a couple of days after that. We were going over the

same songs but he was making subtle changes in what we

were doing and sometimes having us only play a few bars

or play an accompanying rhythm an octave higher or lower

or a part that played a harmony to the main chart. The

whole time Emmett would listen to the sound and make

notes before suggesting something new. It was like he was

seeing the music in his head and writing new mental notes

as he went along. I've never seen anyone who could do

that.

Lacey had been recording some lead vocals for an hour or

two each day. Emmett said that was enough. He did the

same thing with her. He would record several takes, then

re-record the same vocals only with a harmony to go along

with the first take.

One night we had a short meeting after a day of

recording.

"I'd like to bring in some professional back-up singers,"

Emmett suggested. "I know you guys are great musicians,

but for recording backup vocals I think we need some

help."

"Wouldn't hurt," Izzy said. "It might make add a polished

sound to the final product."

I couldn't disagree. Over the years we had all done our

bit on stage, but we weren't really vocalists. We just

managed to get by doing some back-up stuff while Lacey

usually took the lead. Emmett said he would take care of

it. It turns out he had several singers in mind. He

brought them in for a couple of hours on the weekend to

start working with them.

A few days later they came out to the studio to record.

There was two girls and one guy, all professionals who

had recorded on other albums for Emmett. He had already

given them cassette copies of the demo tape so they could

hear the songs before they even came out to the studio.

By the time they started to record they were already

familiar with our work and how each song sounded.

It was interesting to watch how they worked with Emmett.

They were so familiar with what he expected he gave them

very little direction at all. He said a few words but

communicated mostly with little hand gestures or a nod of

his head and they knew what he wanted them to do. I was

in the recording booth the whole time, just sitting back

in a chair in watching. When Emmett finished with the

main background vocals he would record them again, but

this time he would have the singers do harmony on their

own tracks. He would do this several times while giving

his little hand gestures for louder, softer, more

feeling, less felling, colder, you name it. They followed

his every cue. He would turn his back on them while they

sang so he could hear the music without seeing them.

One afternoon after a session I went into the studio

lounge and the three back-up singers where in there

taking a break. We had all been introduced of course, but

I didn't have a chance to really get to know any of them

on a personal level. I sat down and asked them how they

thought it was going with the recording. Of course they

all answered in the positive. I guess if they didn't

really like the songs it was too late to tell the truth

anyway. I was surprised to learn they were from all over

the country. When two of them were called back into the

studio I had the chance to talk to the one girl. He name

was Jane and she lived in a town somewhere out east. I

asked her how she got the job working on our album

considering she lived so far away.

"That's the way it works," she explained. "I get a call

asking if I want to work. If I say yes, and usually I do,

they send me a plane ticket. Pretty simple."

There was a whole network out there of people involved in

the industry. It was a who's who, of talent and trades,

agents, producers, record people, and business types all

working through this big network. Once you're in, the

work will start coming your way, if you are good.

"I've got three kids at home so I can't tour any more."

she told me. It was fun being on tour, but sooner or

later you've got to settle down. I like doing a few gigs

a year. It pays enough to keep me going."

After four weeks of work, the album was finished. It

wasn't four weeks of steady all day recording. We

followed the schedule so sometimes all of us were there,

and other times just a couple of us had to show up.

Sometimes we went a few days where we didn't have to be

there at all.

We were doing a few final things when Emmett suddenly

stood up in the booth and said, "That's a wrap!"

"A wrap?"

"Yeah, that's it. We're done," he said.

I was like he had just pulled the plug on the jukebox and

ended the party. "We've got everything we need, now we

starting mixing it all together. Take the rest of the

week off and relax. Wrap party Saturday night, in the

main house, seven o'clock."

We were packing things up and I asked Izzy about the

mixing process.

"It's half done," he said. "When you guys go home at

night, Emmett stays in here going though all the tapes.

That guy works harder than anybody I know. We've worked

until two or three in morning some nights."

"And?"

"And, it sounds great. You'll love it."

I did take the rest of the week off and so did everyone

else. It gave us a few days to get caught up on all those

things you forget about when you are constantly on the

go.

I waxed my car, cleaned out a spare room, and spent a few

nights out on the town just having some fun. On Saturday,

I drove out to Emmett's place. I brought along one of the

stewardesses from next door who was on layover or what

ever they call it. We used to go out when ever she was in

town and it was just lucky she was here for this weekend.

When we arrived the party was just getting started.

Everyone was gathered in the main room of the house. You

could probably fit 200 hundred people in this room and

still have enough space for a dance floor and a six lane

bowling alley. Emmett lived in style, that's for sure.

"Aloha!" Emmett strolled across the room and greeted us

when we arrived. He was back to his hippie persona

wearing a Hawaiian shirt and he had a new hairstyle that

combed all of his hair in this up-swept do that shot up

straight from the top of his head and made him appear six

inches taller. He was definitely a character when his

business personality took a break.

Sparky O'Flannigan was there along with Archie and Mrs.

Archie. Izzy arrived and so did the rest of the band and

everyone who had been involved in recording the album

showed up until the room was a hubbub of activity. There

were a few people I didn't know and Emmett introduced us

around to a bunch of his industry friends and pals that

he always invited to every party. Toss in girlfriends and

and other assorted people who just happened to be there

and it was a really happening affair.

"This is quite the place," Jimmy said as he looked around

the main floor. "I like a room that doubles as a place to

land your airplane." By eleven o'clock, this party was

really hopping. Two girls wearing little black uniforms

and pillbox hats were circulating with trays loaded with

cocktails served in long stemmed martini glasses, and

they kept coming.

Around eleven-thirty, Emmett went up to a mic at the DJ

booth and tried to get everyone's attention. His speech

was short, mostly because he was so drunk by that time he

didn't make a lot of sense. He finished off a thirty

second ramble by holding his arms out and giving a

theatrical bow like he just finished a successful

Broadway opening night. Everyone clapped, even though no

one was really sure what he said. It didn't really matter

because I don't think a lot of the guests were sober

enough to remember it anyway.

I hung in here until two in the morning. I don't know how

long that party lasted but I'm pretty sure the sun was

coming up by the time it started to wind down.

Chapter Nineteen

'She thinks life is water, love is a river'

With the recording all done, the band was kind of on a

break while we waited to figure out our next move.

"Get ready to go on some kind of tour," Jimmy warned.

"You can't just sit back and think the album will do all

the work for you. You've got to go out there and promote

it. I'll bet Archie is already working on it."

I can't say I didn't expect that, and in a lot of ways

looked forward to it. We've done a few tours over the

years but nothing to long or too far. We are what I call

a regional band.

I did some work at the college while we were off, working

with students and teaching some classes. I still know

some of the professors that were teaching when I was

there so it just goes to show you how things go around.

Back then I would hang around the practice halls and

listen to them, and now we meet in the faculty dining

area for lunch.

I started looking for real estate. I think it's time I

invested in a house of my own. I didn’t want anything too

big or too fancy. I just want to be able to pay into

something that will be mine some day. Apartment life has

its advantages but at the same time I want a garage to

park my car and back yard big enough to play fetch with

the dog. I don't have a dog and I would never get one

because I don't think it would be fair to a pooch

considering I'm not home very much. But I still want the

option and a place to set up a barbecue and have my own

summer soiree in the back yard. I've looked around and

priced a few places but I'm in no hurry. I figure when I

find the right place I'll know and the money situation

will fall in line. A month after we had the wrap party

for recording the album, Archie called me and wanted to

set up a meeting with the band.

"It's important. We've got to move to the next phase of

what we are going to do," he said.

I called everyone and we planned to meet on a Saturday

afternoon in the club house. I was there early to open

up. We hadn't rehearsed in a while and the place needed

to be aired out.

Lacey arrived early as well. She entered the lounge and

dropped her bag on the floor.

"I need to talk to you."

We sat down at the table in the middle of the room

together.

"Why so serious?" I asked her

"I'm getting married," she said simply.

"Married? to..." I couldn't even remember her boyfriends

name.

"Owen," she replied, "We've decided it's time."

"Wow, that's big news,"

I should have sounded happier, maybe even overjoyed that

someone I know is taking a big step in life. Somehow when

you are single and you hang around with mostly single

people it seems like they will stay that way forever.

When someone does something that is actually a mature

move it can be a little unreal.

"I can't do this forever," she said. "You know I'll be

thirty next month? My mother thinks I've waited too long

now. You know I've always wanted to live the real life. A

home, white picket fence, a couple of children. I can't

wait any longer. Owen asked me to marry him a couple of

months ago and I said yes."

"So what are you telling me? You want to leave the band?"

"No, not right now. But I thought I should tell you

what's going on. I'm going to move on at some point. I

just don't know when. You understand, right?"

She spoke like she thought she might letting me down. But

I did understand. Everyone has to make these decisions at

some point. I always knew Lacey didn't want to turn into

some sequined-gown wearing croon-ess singing to lounge

lizards in hotel nightclubs. It wasn't her style at all.

I figured she and Owen had already discussed what they

wanted for their future. Owen was a pretty stable guy

from what I remember. He had a real job working nine to

five and was trying to get ahead in the company he worked

for.

"We haven't set a date yet but we're not going to wait

long," She said.

I'm not a huggy kind of guy, not at all. But this is one

time it really seemed appropriate. We had now been

friends for quite a few years. I leaned over and wrapped

my arms around her.

"I'm happy for you. What ever decision you make, I'm

behind you all the way."

A few minutes later everyone in the band rolled into the

studio.

When Archie arrived we all went into the club house to

hear what he had to say.

"Album pre-release party, two weeks from tonight," he

said. "We've got a lot of promotional material put

together to hype this thing up. I've got media people

coming and I'm giving them some promo recordings to

listen to."

We were all surprised that things were moving along as

fast as they were. He had already made arrangements to

have it hosted at the Diamond Club. He invited some show

business and industry people and several media outlets.

Archie knew exactly who to invite and how to set it up

for the most coverage.

"Then, we go on tour. It's already in the works. There's

a big festival tour coming up in January and we'll be

part of it."

We expected to go on some kind of tour, but a festival

tour meant we would be performing with other bands. That

was fine with me but it was a little different than what

we were used to. I didn't even know that type of thing

was still going on. It reminded me of the 50's when rock

n' roll bands would tour to every burgh on the route and

perform live shows night after night.

"I've already arranged for a tour bus and they are

putting the band's name and picture on the side. It will

look good and let people know who we are."

At the end of the meeting, Tanner, Jimmy, and I hung

around for a while.

"Is it just me, or did we just get handed our future

here?" Tanner said. "I don't think anyone asked us what

we wanted to do."

Jimmy laughed, "That's the way it is. We sealed our fate

when we agreed to do the record. It's all part of the

deal. Go on tour, promote the recording, sell a million

of them, and cash a paycheck."

"You think we'll sell a million records?"

"No, that's just a figure of speech. I mean they want to

sell as many as possible, obviously. Money will come from

ticket sales too. These guys have it all worked out.

It'll be a little crazy, but you will have a good time,

that's for sure."

"Didn't you once tell me you were tired of touring?" I

asked Jimmy.

"Yeah, I think I did," he replied. "Things change. I

think going back out on the road may just be the right

thing to do. I'm still a nomad at heart."

Chapter Twenty

Bad news on the doorstep

Severs glide through the tables delivering cocktails and

fancy deserts designed by a pastry chef in the kitchen to

people with the good seats at tables in the front of the

stage while others lounge in the festival seating area or

mill about in the back of the venue while the bands take

a turn on stage.

We were playing what seemed like our thousandth

performance of the same set, the same songs, the same

lines, the same banter with a crowd of faces that all

started to look the same.

We had been on the road for three months playing a few

venues each week. There was some down time in the middle

of tour and we had the chance to go home for a couple of

weeks before heading back out. We had our own tour bus

that got us from place to place and we shared the stage

with two or three other bands to put on a show one set at

a time.

Each venue was different. Some were smaller concert

halls, others larger arena shows with a few thousand

people. It all depended on whatever town or city we were

in.

Half the time we weren't even sure where we were heading.

We just made sure we were on the bus when it was time to

go. Archie usually filled us in on the way to the next

stop and gave us a few details about where we were

heading so we could make comments to make the locals feel

good. He always did his research and had contacts in each

town through promoters and local representatives. He'd

find out the little details like what the place is known

for or past history. That way you could make some

comments to the crowd about something that only someone

who lives there would know about. They seemed to really

like that.

Three weeks into the tour our new album was finally

released. The timing was perfect. Archie brought us a few

copies to take a look at. The cover photo was an updated

re-shoot of the thing we did a couple of years ago with

Hal. It had the same poses but we needed a fresh photo

rather than something we shot back then.

This tour was certainly doing us some good. The best part

was the first time we heard our music on a radio station.

The station was promoting the concert and when we were

nearing the town, our driver turned up the radio and

yelled "Hey, listen to this."

Of course being on the radio isn't really a big deal.

Thousands and thousands of people have done it. But when

it's your work that you know it is going out over the

airwaves it is special. At least to you it is, and it

gives the band some clout. If people hear you on the

radio they automatically assume you must be good. It

boosted ticket sales and Archie worked with radio

stations and the promoters to get airtime before we ever

arrived in a town. It meant that people coming to the

concerts knew our music and the crazy requests to 'play

Wipeout!' from some drunk in the crowd eventually

stopped.

Radio is a powerful tool. How they worked it all out, I

don't know, but I'm pretty sure that deals are made

through a quick meeting and an agreement of minds in the

back room of the station or over a drink at some watering

hole.

One night I was discussing our radio time with Jimmy. He

always seems to know what's going on.

"It's all decided somewhere, who will move up and get big

and make money," he said. "Do you think popular music is

popular because it's good? It's popular music because

someone decides what is going to be popular."

He cited a few bands that had big albums that 'debuted'

at number one on the charts.

"How is it possible for a record to debut at number one?"

he said. "Those charts are based on record sales. If no

one has heard the album, how is is they could sell enough

records prior to the release for it to suddenly appear as

a number one record?"

For Jimmy, things like that didn't seem to really matter.

He did his part with the band and never got into any kind

of politics, but he did have a good handle on what the

business was all about.

"Emmett," he said. "is a mastermind. He's out there

somewhere. He's probably got deals worked out with all

the other performers in this show and with all the radio

stations. And who knows what else is involved. Radio

stations play the music, advertisers pay to be on the

stations. The more popular the music the bigger the ad

revenues. Everyone makes money on these tours."

I'm sure he is right. I'm really just happy to be a part

of it all. No matter what happens, I'll still come out

ahead.

The rest of the band seems to be moving on, oblivious to

the facts but happy to part of a successful band.

I will never forget the look on Lacey's face when the

sound of her own voice floated to the back of the bus

from the radio. For her, it was a long fulfilled

ambition. She didn't make it seem like a big deal. She

just smiled and sank back into her chair and watched the

scenery go by.

Midway through the tour Izzy showed up and joined us.

Archie was acting as tour manager and though we could use

some more help getting things set up before each show so

he called Izzy and made him an offer. He took over doing

the technical side of things, sort of as a director. He

was fast and efficient and the crew worked well under his

direction. We had a couple of guys that worked for our

band but there was a full crew that worked for the tour

setting up lights, the stage, and everything needed to

put on a show. It was the second month of the tour that

we started to see some payback. Archie arrived one day

and started handing out envelopes with checks inside. The

receipts from ticket sales were starting to pay off

although it had taken some bean counter a while to figure

it all out. Of course everyone takes their cut from the

venue to the promoters, managers and everyone in between.

It didn't matter, we were all getting paid, and getting

paid well.

Our records were starting to sell and sales increased

with every stop we made on the tour.

We took a week off near the end of the tour schedule.

Everyone did. None of the bands were booked and the show

just took some time off to give everyone a rest. We only

had a few shows left in the schedule and everyone needed

a few days to take it easy.

We were staying in a pretty nice hotel in a mid sized

city courtesy of a deal worked out between the tour

managers and the hotel that included a couple of the

bands making a guest appearance in the lobby during some

kind of promotion. These guys really know how to create

an event, and I mean create an event. From the

promotional material they had in the lobby you would have

thought this tour was the biggest event of the year.

I was talking to a couple of women that had come to the

hotel. We were in a corner of the room were it was a

little quieter. They were sipping champagne, at least

that's what they thought it was because it was in long

stemmed flute glasses and was sort of bubbly. It could

have been ginger ale with a dash of vodka for all they

knew. One of the bellmen from the hotel approached and

stood quietly to one side until there was a minor lull in

the conversation.

"Excuse me," he said. "There is a telephone call for

you."

The bellman led the way through the lobby and placed the

courtesy phone on the counter at the front desk.

"Line number one is for you."

I wondered who would actually be calling me at a hotel

like this. This only happens in movies to guys like

Humphrey Bogart who are private eyes and hanging around

in bars.

"Hello, is this Rick?"

"Yes, it is."

"Hi Rick, this is Martin.. Chucky Pinster's caseworker.

I'm sorry it took me so long to contact you but I've had

some difficulty tracking you down. You are on Chucky's

emergency contact list."

"Oh, hey Martin. How's Chucky doing?"

There was a slight pause before he answered.

"Well, I'm sorry it's bad news. Chucky passed away

suddenly about two weeks ago. I've been trying to get a

hold of you to let you know but I just couldn't make

contact with your tour until tonight. I tried, but I just

couldn't..." he didn't finish.

For just a moment, I couldn't come up with anything to

say. I had heard the words but the concept went right

over my head. I thought he must have been speaking about

someone older. Maybe one of Chucky's relatives or

something.

"Chucky? Chucky died?"

He was a young man. Too young to just die suddenly.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. He passed on the twenty-first. You

were on his emergency contact list. I know you were

friends for a long time."

"What happened?"

"He had been having a lot of.. difficulty.. adjusting to

his new life here. He just couldn't cope with it. We

tried to get him into counseling. He went for a few

sessions, but, it just didn't seem to help him. He just

decided to take his own way out of here. I'm sorry I have

to be the one to tell you."

"Will there be a funeral?"

"It's already done. He was buried last week. I'm sorry I

couldn't get a hold of you sooner."

I walked slowly back across the lobby of the hotel and

stopped midway across the room. It was at that moment,

surrounded by many other happy, living people, that the

finality of Chucky's death settled over me with that

indescribable feeling of disbelief and muted sorrow. I

guess I had that look of dread that changes a person's

demeanor when something bad has happened because Tanner

and Jimmy walked out slowly to meet me in the middle of

the room.

They could sense the phone call wasn't good news.

"Something wrong?" Tanner asked.

"It's Chucky... he's gone."

I told them about the phone call and the news Martin had

given me.

For a few moments all three of us stood in the middle of

this crowded room and none of could think of anything to

say.

Sometimes silence speaks all the words for you.

#

A couple of days later we were back on track. We were

booked for one final show at a medium sized hockey arena

in a medium sized city with maybe 2000 in the audience.

It was one of those venues where they sell beer in

plastic cups and the people at the floor level can wander

around as they please.

There was a bank of seats on one side of the arena with

the stage set up opposite and a restaurant the overlooked

the arena with big windows so I guess people could have

dinner and watch a game during hockey season. Our green

room was actually one of the arena dressing rooms down a

hallway were players would normally walk out to the ice

when a game was on.

About an hour before show time, Izzy came into the green

room.

"Hey, we've got a special opening act tonight. Levon

Spritzer is here. He's going to play a set to start the

show."

Turns out Levon had a new album coming out. It must have

been his eight or ninth one. Emmett someone how squeezed

him into the show to do a promo spot for a one-off

performance on this tour. Close to show time I wandered

out onto the arena floor and mixed in with the crowd who

now filled the venue and milled about in front of the

stage with their plastic cups waiting for the show to

start. I noticed several people wearing Levon T-shirts,

the one with his black and white portrait and 'Tour 93'

in small letters underneath the image. Maybe they were

selling them in the lobby or maybe it had leaked out that

he was going to make an appearance and they were Levon

fans.

The arena lights were turned off and the announcer said

simply "Ladies and gentlemen, Levon Spritzer."

The spotlight came on right on cue to illuminate Levon

sitting in a chair at center stage. He had one leg

crossed over the other with his guitar resting on his

knee. He was wearing a light colored suit with a string

bow tie and his trademark hat. He didn't set up the song

or even acknowledge the audience. He started to play a

tune I haven't heard before but it sounded like something

from a 1920's jazz piece with this fast paced multi-

strain march style. His fingers were gliding over the

frets quickly and effortlessly while punching out the

tune and filling in the spaces with his own rhythmic

background.

The audience was quiet as they watched him perform. I

don't think they were expecting someone of Levon's style

to be the first on stage and he was not listed on the

performance bill. But after the first minute or so I

could tell he had their attention. Heads started bobbing,

toes tapping a rhythm. They were absorbing his

performance.

He finished the tune and was greeted by some wild

applause. The stage lights came on and two more musicians

walked out and took their positions. One guy was carrying

a tuba and took a seat to the right of Levon and slightly

behind. The other had a clarinet and he sat on a stool

behind Levon's left shoulder.

Levon tapped on his guitar twice for the cue and this

small trio started to play. It was a simple piece with

the tuba carrying the bass and the beat and the clarinet

playing the tune while running all over the scale. They

made a bridge to the opening verse and Levon started

singing in his distinctive gravelly voiced style that was

immediately recognizable to anyone who's ever heard him.

"Thank you for coming out tonight."

Levon addressed the audience as if they were sitting in

his living room for a private show.

"It's been a long time since I was here. Maybe 1976 or

66, I can't remember, but I do remember having the best

fish and chips at Chubby's restaurant."

The audience applauded wildly at the mention of an

apparently notorious local eatery. Who knows if he was

ever there? He was a showman. He played to the crowd. I

counted back the years and if Levon was ever in this city

in 1966, he would have been a kid.

"This next tune," he said, "I discovered while I was on a

safari of sorts, in Mexico, around 1969. We were

searching for the elusive agavis worm, those little worms

you find in the bottom of a bottle of tequila. I met this

girl named Maria, or maybe it was Guadalupe or Conchita,

I can't remember, but she was beautiful. She was a

Mexican spitfire with dark eyes and black hair. I

couldn't understand a thing she said. One night a

gunfight broke out between la policia and a gang of

banditos and we dodged the bullets by running in the back

entrance of a cantina. When my eyes became accustomed to

the darkness of the room, I realized we were standing in

the middle of a room full of the ugliest, meanest looking

guys you've ever seen. I think they all just got out of

prison for manslaughter and they were all staring at us

like we just insulted their mothers. For just a moment, I

was worried. Then this feller, the entertainment as it

were, started playing his guitar on stage. These ugly

bastards all turned from us to watch and listen to this

master guitar player. That, was quite a night."

The tune he heard that night, Levon said, he memorized

and wrote it down when he got back to his hotel room. He

said he's never heard it performed anywhere else in the

world. He played this Latin tune, his fingers gliding

over the guitar frets and the audience grew quiet as they

drank in this haunting sounding melody.

Towards the end of his set I went back stage to get ready

for our time in the spotlight. Later, when the show was

winding down and the last act was out there, Jimmy and I

went to look for Levon. We found his bass player in the

hallway packing up his equipment.

"Levon left an hour ago," he said. "Probably went back to

his hotel room."

"Where's he staying?" I asked.

The guy laughed. "Who knows? The man's a ghost. He'll

turn up at the next venue."

"When you see him, can you tell him we dropped by?"

"Sure," he replied. "I'll let him know."

The following night I was watching television in the

hotel room while killing time before going out to a local

restaurant for dinner. There was a ball game on that I

was half interested in and flipped between channels

during commercials. When the final out happened in the

fifth inning with a fly ball to center, I was going to

change the channel when a commercial came on. It was

Levon in a new commercial for the beer company. There he

was flying into frame singing some jingle about the beer.

He had obviously signed some kind of deal with the

brewing company and wrote a new song for them. If anyone

didn't know who he was, they would now. Even if they

didn't know his music, his unforgettable look on the TV

screen wearing his trademark hat and glasses would make

people remember him, not to mention it was a pretty zany

commercial. It wasn't your typical suds ad with guys

hanging out and showing if you drink this beer your life

will be better and you'll have a lot more fun. It was a

wacky kind of commercial that somehow fit Levon's image

perfectly.

If anything, he just pushed his career to some higher

level, even if it was by selling someone else's product.

Chapter Twenty-one

Fourteen joys and a will to be merry

I like business meetings about as much as I like having

my teeth drilled by a dentist with a hang over. In fact,

I'd probably prefer the dental treatment.

For the most part I think they are a waste of time. What

usually takes two hours of people talking, discussing,

and stroking their own egos could usually be figured out

in a two-minute conversation in a stairwell on the way to

the company cafeteria.

A friend of mine who I went to business school with works

in middle management in a giant retail company. He was

telling me about his job one night and he brought up the

subject of meetings in the corporate world.

"For starters, they should hand out cyanide pills at the

start of every meeting in case the sheer boredom of

sitting through one finally gets to you," he said. "They

aren't meetings because no one actually comes up with

anything real to say because they all know that at the

end of the meeting, what ever the vice-president tells

you to do, you're going to do it, whether you agree or

disagree. As long as they get their paycheck every week

these people would sell razor blades to toddlers if

that's what the corporate bigwigs tell them to do."

I guess that's what I like about the music business. It's

still a business but the attitude is totally different

from the rest of the corporate world. It's more laid

back, although it still runs downhill if you're in the

corporate structure. And we aren't. We are the artists

who produce for the corporate structure. But this meeting

we had arranged with Archie was unlike any other meeting

we ever had.

We all met in Emmett's downtown office in a high-rise

building. It was his corporate headquarters where deals

happen and the suits show up when they need a place to do

business.

"The tour went well," Emmett said. "Your album is selling

and we've got airplay on two continents.

Congratulations."

We did feel good about the way things went when we were

on the road, but not even half as good as when Emmett

started handing out checks from the proceeds from the

tour and record sales. We had been floated money before

but this was the big payout. The money was all based on

merit for participating in the tour and according to

performance and writing credits on the album. It was all

worked out by Emmett and Archie sometime when they met on

their own and put it into actual writing.

One thing's for sure, they were right about Emmett. He's

a straight shooter who paid us a bundle for our work,

although truth be told, he probably pocketed as much as

the entire band made altogether from the tour and the

album, and that's fine with me. Without him we would

never be in the position we are in. Of course future

sales means residual checks will still be coming in if

the album continues to sell.

We all left the office a lot richer than we went it.

When we got out to the street Jimmy said, "Anyone want to

get something eat?"

We were standing on the street outside of this big high

rise office building in a district that probably had a

thousand restaurants and we had a lot of money in our

pockets, and for some reason we decided to go to Gus's

greasy spoon near the studio. We hadn't been there for

quite a while, maybe a year, maybe even longer. I think

it was partly nostalgia that took us there. A lot of our

work had been hashed out in our favorite booth while Gus

eyed us angrily from his stool at the cash register even

though he had gotten friendlier over the years. I've got

to admit, he does make the best hamburgers.

Jimmy, Tanner, Lenny Bruce, and I decided to drive over

there for lunch.

The same little bell that had been chiming out every time

the door to the restaurant opened for the past fifty

years was still there when we entered the place.

Gus was at his stool reading a newspaper. He looked up

and when he recognized us he threw his arms out wide to

greet us.

"Boys! Boys! Good to see ya! It's been so long! My

favorite customers. Come on in, your booth is still

here."

It was a strange thing to see Gus smile. In fact he

greeted like us old friends.

He led the way to the booth in the back corner of the

diner were we used to sit and discuss band business and

write notes. A poster from one of our shows was framed

and hung on the wall over the booth along with a little

plastic cut-out plaque with the band's name on it.

"I tell all my customers about you," he said. "We named

this booth after your band! What can I get for you?"

We all ordered the cheeseburgers, and for a few minutes,

it really was like old times. Not that I want to sound

too corny, but it was.

"Do you know how many notes we made in this place?"

Tanner said. "I think we wrote a few songs in this

booth."

When we finished our burgers Gus came to the table with

an apple pie and sliced it up in four pieces.

"Desert is on the house," he said. "And I have a favor to

ask you."

He took out a poster that was rolled up and secured with

a rubber band. It was the poster that we had done as a

promo for the tour. Who knows where he happened to find

it.

"Would you autograph this for me? I'd like to put it on

the wall here in your booth."

We all signed it with some little sentiment like 'best

wishes', although Jimmy signed it 'best cheeseburgers in

town.'

Gus pulled up a chair and took a seat in the aisle at the

end of the table.

"Remember when you guys invited us to your show? You

know, a few years ago? My wife Angela, she still talks

about that. She tells her friends how proud she is that

she knows you guys. And here you are, a famous band and

still coming to my diner. This means a lot to me. I hear

you on the radio all the time. I even named a hamburger

after you. See...?"

He opened then menu. Sure enough, there was a burger

called the 'Random Philosophers All Star Rocket-burger.'

It looked sort of like every other burger on the menu

except it had two slices of Gouda cheese and a special

'Rocket Sauce.'

In a way, our meeting with Gus had been a sort of full

circle return to our roots as a band.

We were a moderately successful enterprise that was the

result of years of hard work and honing our talent.

Thanks to the business savvy of people we knew, we were

able to continue working in the job we loved.

Like Gus said, we were on the radio, and yet no one

really knew our names. We are one of those bands who are

known by the trade name, not by our individual monikers,

at least to the public, and that's okay with me. And

somehow, just the fact that we made this poor greasy

spoon proprietor and his wife happy, that's part of the

pay off.

#

With a newfound source of cash, it was time to make some

decisions. I know this is a flaky business and just

because we earned a lot of money off of one album doesn't

mean we are on some kind of one-way ride to financial

independence. I've seen guys make big bucks, buy a big

expensive house, then see it all disappear when their

career tanks and they suddenly realize they can't afford

the taxes on a million dollar house that requires three

furnaces to keep it heated.

I knew it was time to buy property. I needed something

real and tangible but also something that wouldn't leave

me scrambling for cash in a few years if the money

situation suddenly declined. Speaking to someone at a

bank is a funny business these days. It used to be that

getting a loan required collateral, and lots of it. These

days the banks are willing to loan you a half million

dollars at the drop of a hat even if you have a low

paying job and your future is bleak. As long as you are

putting it into real estate and you have a reasonable

expectation of making a monthly payment they'll throw

cash at you.

I took some of my earnings and invested in mutual funds

and bonds. The bonds will provide a return no matter

what, and the mutual funds, widely divested, should

produce a decent rate of return over the long haul. At

least that's what the experts tell me. The rest I dropped

into a savings account for expenses then set aside a

bundle for a down payment on property with enough left

over for taxes and expenses.

I started looking at the real estate pages to get an idea

of the market and what was affordable on what I wanted to

spend. It turns out the market is at an all time high and

you don't get much bang for your buck in a big city. I

don't mind paying the going rate, but spending a lot of

money on a little cookie-cutter house just doesn't seem

like a good deal. After a lot of thought I decided that

maybe I should buy a place out of the city.

I've been seeing this girl named Louise for the past few

months. We met when the band was on the break and I went

to a party at the stewardess house. Her sister Aileene

works for the airline and Louise just happened to be

there for a visit.

She's a petite girl and wears her hair kind of short. She

looks a little like Audrey Hepburn if I had to compare

her to someone without becoming too descriptive.

Louise works at a downtown art gallery and antique place

and she's pretty knowledgeable about the field. She has a

degree in fine arts and pretty much lives that lifestyle

with most of her friends either working in the same type

of business or somehow related to that downtown 'arts

community,' as they like to refer to themselves. I told

her I was looking for a house and she started coming with

me on these short little trips to look for real estate.

Louise said she doesn't understand why I'm looking for a

place so far out of the city. To her, it might as well be

Mars. She was born and raised in the downtown core in a

neighborhood surrounded by tall buildings that is some

places never allow sunlight to hit the street. To her,

grass is something you smoke and seeing an open field is

like looking at a lunar landscape.

After a couple of months of touring the region and

dropping in at every little burgh for a hundred miles I

came to like this one small town that I'd been through a

few times. It was a nice place surrounded by farms and

hills. I liked driving down the country roads with no

traffic, no stoplights, and pastures instead of parking

lots. I thought, this just might be the place I could

spend a few years.

We stopped in at the local real estate office on the main

street and looked at the photos of listed properties

posted in the front window. When we went inside we were

greeted by this very friendly guy who was both an agent

and the owner of the brokerage, and one of the tallest

guy I've ever met. He was at least six feet five inches

and very thin.

"Well, hello!" He greeted us with this friendly small

town type demeanor like he had known us for years. He

thrust out his hand.

"I'm Ned. Ned Chesterfield. Are you new in town?"

We sat down with Ned and I told him I was thinking of

buying property in the area. He got out a book and

started asking questions about the size, number of rooms,

and any special request or wants that I needed in a home

while he jotted down notes. I hadn't really given it that

much thought for some reason. I had a vague idea of what

I wanted, but when it actually came to describing it,

it's tougher than it sounds.

Louise stood up and wandered around the office while we

talked.

Ned noticed that she wasn't taking quite the same

interest as I was in this future home.

He leaned across the desk.

"Are you buying this home, you know, together? I mean,

are you a couple, married? It could make a difference in

what I show you."

"Ned, I am the sole purchaser of any property. Louise is

a friend."

He nodded his head.

"Gotcha, Well that will make a difference."

He thought for a moment, then said, "I'm guessing you

want more of a fun home. Something with pizzazz. Am I

right? You don't seem like the kind of guy who wants a

back-split with a mother-in-law suite or anything like

that."

I never thought of it that way, but a house with

'pizzazz' is probably what I'm looking for.

We discussed prices and I gave him a figure of what I

wanted to spend. He assured me I could easily buy into

the local market and get a pretty nice place for what he

called 'that kind of money.'We agreed that he would

compile a list and in a couple of weeks I'd come back and

tour some of the homes that were listed for sale.

"So you're serious about this?" Louise asked on the ride

home.

"Of course I'm serious. Why?"

"How's this going to work? I mean with me living downtown

and you living a gazillion millions away out in the

country?"

"It's not that far. Besides, once I go back to work, I

won't be out there much anyway."

I found her attitude pretty disappointing. Instead of

being excited or at least a little happy that I was

buying a place she was giving me that same condescending

attitude that her artsy friends had for anyone who didn't

fit into their mold of living three to an apartment and

making minimum wage but thinking they had the coolest job

in the world and everyone else should be frowned upon.

About a week later I got a call from Ned Chesterfield. He

sounded very eager to show me a place and asked me to

come out and take a look at it.

I drove out there and met him at his office.

"It's only five minutes outside of town," he said. "I'll

drive you out there."

Of course it made perfect sense that a guy the size of

Ned drove one of the smallest automobiles on the market.

He had the driver's seat pushed back as far as it would

go and he still could barely fit in the car. He drove out

of town to a gravel road then slowed and turned into a

lane way. The whole front of the lot was covered with

trees and you couldn't see the house from the road. When

we pulled up in front of the house, I was impressed.

Really impressed.

This was no farm house. It is a modern design with a lot

of glass and open spaces and it sat on a couple of acres

of property. The main floor is huge and wide open with a

high ceiling. There are three bedrooms and a fully done

walk-out basement easily big enough for a pool table with

a lot of room left over. There is a pool in the back yard

that was covered with a roll over tarp. The best part is

a modern garage with a wide open studio loft built over

top.

"What do you think?" Ned asked at the end of the tour.

"Is this a party house, or what?"

"Got to admit, you've really found a good one. So, what

is the asking price?"

Ned gave me a figure, but it didn't seem right. I had

done a lot of research and somehow this property seemed

undervalued.

"The price is right," I said, "In fact, it seems a little

too good."

"Yup, yup," Ned nodded, "That's true. It is undervalued.

There's a couple of things I have to tell you about this

place. I'm obligated to give you some information you

might not want to hear."

Great, I thought. I drove all this way, found a good

place, and now I'm going to hear it has a cracked

foundation or they discovered it was built on a former

radioactive waste dumpsite.

"Well, did you notice the address?" he said. "It's number

thirteen-thirteen. That freaks a lot of people out. A lot

of people don't want a house with the number thirteen."

"That's it?" I said. "I don't care what the house number

is. Doesn't matter to me at all."

As far as I was concerned, having an address with two

unlucky numbers only meant that I had something in common

with the Munsters on Mockingbird Lane.

"Whew!" Ned did an exaggerated wipe of relief across his

forehead. "That's good to hear. But there is one other

thing I have to tell you about. It's a little... well,

are you superstitious at all? You know, when it comes to,

death, and things like that?"

"Death? Am I superstitious about death? Don't tell me

this is the site of some crazy mass murder or an ancient

burial ground and people are planted in the basement.

That might be a deal breaker."

"Well, no, no, nothing like that." Ned pointed to the

garage. "The former owner, the guy who built this place,

he was a little eccentric. In fact I think the whole

family was a little crazy, and I mean bat-shit crazy. I

think they were from Romania or something, you know,

Transylvania? Kind of superstitious people. He killed

himself in that garage about a year and a-half ago. He

shut the doors and gassed himself with the car when the

rest of the family went away for the weekend. They found

him behind the wheel of the car stiff as a board and

wearing his best suit. That kind of bothers some people."

The family had abandoned the home within days after he

killed himself, convinced that his spirit would haunt

them for driving him to suicide. They never returned and

hired a local guy to take care of the property while the

house sat empty. They put the place on the market for a

reduced price. They wanted to get rid of it at any cost

because they thought if they didn't own it the guy's

ghost couldn't find them. Like Ned said, they were bat-

shit crazy.

I decided to give it a couple of days thought. It wasn't

because of the suicide but because it's a major lifestyle

change and I had a few things to consider like am I ready

to take on a property of that size? It seems like a lot

of work.

By the time I got home I was feeling pretty good about

making a move. The next morning I decided it would be

crazy not to buy this property. I called Ned and made an

offer.

I moved in during the second week of May. I saw Louise a

few times in the month after I moved, usually when I was

at the studio or working nearby. I stayed over at her

place a few times but the lifestyle of sharing a place

with roommates seemed more like it was a college dorm.

She didn't come out to see the house saying it was 'too

far away.' She was wrapped up in her work and complained

that with me living out in the country it was difficult

to carry on with a relationship.

One night when I was leaving I mentioned about getting

together on the weekend.

"What's the point?" She said. "I hardly ever see you

since you moved out there."

It was obvious this relationship wasn't going any

farther. If the small things were such a distraction and

putting in a little effort was such a big deal, then any

real challenges that came up would be nothing but

trouble.

That summer was one of the best couple of months I've

ever had. Once I moved in and got settled, I threw a

house warming party and invited everyone I knew. This was

indeed, a party house. It was built for having a good

time. In fact I had several parties over the summer. I'm

not really much of a swimmer, but having a pool in the

backyard is a perfect excuse for having people over and

hanging out. It was an epic summer.

One weekend at the end of July I invited some of the

stewardesses I had been friendly with over the years to

come out and see where I was living. By this time some of

them had gotten married and couple even had kids and most

of their party days were over. I put out an invitation to

the ones I still knew to come out for a pool party and

bring who ever they wanted to. I figured that with the

way life works, this would most likely be the last time I

saw them before little league, soccer practice and Girl

Guides meetings took over their lives.

One of the girls I invited was Louise's sister Aileene.

"Bring who ever you want," I told her.

It was hot and sunny and a perfect day for a party around

the pool.

When Aileene pulled into the driveway I was surprised to

see that Louise had come with her.

She was sort of quiet when I greeted them. She said the

usual polite things when you arrive at someone's home but

not much else. It was a little awkward at first, having

not seen her for a couple of months, but it didn't take

long for the ice to break.

I was sitting in a lawn chair by the pool later in the

afternoon when Louise came over and sat down.

"This place is really something," she said. "It's not

what I expected at all."

"What were you expecting?"

"I thought you were buying an old farm house. Like one of

those old places on the road that are falling down.

That's why I never wanted to come out here. This place

must have cost a lot."

We chatted for a while. I asked her how her gallery was

doing and what she had been up to over the past few

months. She told me she was getting bored with the whole

scene down there. She wasn't bored with her job, but the

whole lifestyle of living like a bohemian and relying on

others to come up with their share of the rent every

month.

"You must be doing alright with your band to be able to

afford this place," she said.

By now she was toying with her words, asking me little

questions about the house, the band, and what plans we

had. She dropped a few subtle hints suggesting that maybe

we could give it another try.

I guess the bohemian lifestyle was a lot more exciting

when she thought I was poor.

You can never really fix something that has been broken.

You can try gluing it back together but you will always

be left with the little cracks as a reminder and that was

pretty much how I felt about Louise at this point.

The summer ended with a week straight of rain and cool

weather and I rolled the tarp over the pool and closed it

down on Labor Day.

Chapter Twenty-two

Deliverance

"Cause we live in a time

When meaning falls in splinters from our lives

And that's why I've traveled far

Cause I come so together where you are"

BW

Everything changes sooner or later. Nothing lasts

forever. Sometimes it's good, other times you just wish

things would stay the same.

Lacey got married in September. Her boyfriend Owen got a

new job and the position means he is moving about five

hundred miles from here. They decided to move up their

wedding plans by a few months.

All of us in the band attended the wedding. It was

actually a pretty old fashioned affair with Lacey done up

in a beautiful white gown just the way she always wanted.

And just like that she was gone.

We needed a replacement vocalist. We had already brought

in Ben Winter as a new keyboard player on a part-time

kind of basis. After being on the tour with us he just

sort of slotted in. He seems to have a pretty good

arrangement at home considering he's married. Neither him

or his wife feel the need to be together every day. She

has her job, he has his, and they both seem to like it

that way. He says being on tour or playing a lot of

nights just doesn't create a problem for him.

I mentioned to Archie that we will have to set up some

auditions to replace Lacey. We put out an ad in the trade

papers and both Archie and Izzy passed it around by word

of mouth to various agencies that we were looking for

someone. This time we didn't want a rookie or someone

just starting out. As an established band we needed

someone who had both talent and the experience to know

what it is like to not have a nine-to-five job.

We went through a bunch of resume’s and some demo tapes

and decided to bring five hopefuls in for auditions. We

brought two back for a second audition and it was a

pretty close call.

After a lot of discussion we decided to offer the job to

this girl Chantelle after Archie suggested she might be

the right one. Chantelle was her stage name. I think her

real name is June. It doesn't matter what she calls

herself on stage as long as she can do the job. She has a

beautiful voice with a great range.

Chantelle has been in a lot of bands over the years and

has a bit of a hard edge to her. She's good looking but

not the kind of woman you would want to take to a black

tie event. At least I wouldn't. She speaks too plainly

and says what ever is on her mind at any time. Some

people call that being honest, I call it being rude.

Either way, she's been hired and is now part of the band.

Moving into the autumn we were once again a busy

operation. Our credibility carried a lot more clout since

we released the album and we could ask for a lot more

money every time we played.

Tanner has been seeing Katie for the past year and I

think they are getting serious. She comes to our shows

quite often and usually hangs around back stage with us.

She's no trouble at all. She's a sweet girl who

understands what this is all about. She spends a lot of

time at Tanner's apartment, although they both claim they

aren't living together. I think where they're from, it

would be frowned upon, so they play this little charade

of her coming to visit him. From what I can tell, her

parents are happy that Tanner finally came around and saw

what a gem their daughter is. I guess everyone feels that

way about their kids, but in this case they are right.

One Friday night we had started rehearsing new material

and when we were finished everyone left except me, Jimmy,

Tanner, and Lenny Bruce. We all went into the clubhouse

and everyone cracked a beer and sat around talking.

"Where's your sweetheart tonight?" Jimmy asked Tanner.

"Haven't seen her in a couple of weeks."

"She's back home," he replied. "She's got that new job so

she has to be there through the week. She'll be down here

tomorrow."

"I think you should marry that girl," Jimmy said. "Marry

her, have a family, live happily ever after."

Tanner laughed, "Yeah, well, it's been on my mind."

"Don't wait," Jimmy said. "I'm serious. You're never

going to find anyone better, and believe me, she won't

wait for you forever. I've had a few friends that strung

a girl along then couldn't figure out why the girl ended

up leaving them. My buddy Steve Funterberg, he worked at

a he worked at a department store and was totally smitten

with this girl he worked with. He asked her out seventeen

times before she said 'yes.' Seventeen times! He thought

she was the perfect woman for him. But he messed it up.

Kept delaying things, putting it off. Even her family was

wondering what's going on. You can't have someone as just

a girlfriend forever. It doesn't work that way. Finally

she left him and he couldn't understand why. It's been

twenty years, and he's still banging his head against the

wall over that."

Jimmy stood up and got four more beers from the little

bar fridge we kept in the lounge and handed them out.

"Drink up everyone, it's a short life!"

Lenny Bruce had been quietly sitting in the chair in the

corner during the conversation. He had become somewhat of

a stand-out in the band. He had different look. He kept

his hair kind of short but always combed it down so he

had bangs. Someone once remarked that it looked like he

combed his hair with a pork chop. With his prosthetic leg

he had this style of sort of hopping around the stage

while he played. Most of the fans didn't know he had only

one leg, they thought he just had a wild style of playing

and they liked it.

"He's right," Lenny Bruce said quietly. "He's right. You

should marry her and have a family. But do it right. Not

everyone does. My family was a mess. They should never

have gotten married, never had kids. How do you think I

got this?"

He tapped a finger on his prosthetic leg.

"My old man was drunk. So drunk he couldn’t keep the car

in a straight line. What kind of a guy makes his kid get

in a car when he's so drunk he can't even walk."

"Accident?" Tanner asked him.

"Blew a stop sign on a dead end road and hit a tree,"

Lenny Bruce replied. "He was killed on the spot. My leg

was crushed inside the body of the car. The doctors took

one look at it and said there was no way they could put

it back together."

Lenny Bruce had never mentioned his missing leg before

and no one had ever asked him.

"Where was your mother?" Tanner asked him.

"Who knows? Probably drunk too. Haven't seen her in

years. She left and took off with a carnival worker. You

believe that? A carnival worker! I spent three years in

foster homes. That's what I mean when I say some people

should never have kids."

Sometimes you forget that not everyone has a happy

childhood filled with ball games, summer camp, and hot

sunny days at the cottage water skiing behind a

speedboat.

We did some tour dates through the fall, but not as many

as we used to. The difference now is we are playing

venues that are farther away and in front of bigger

crowds. Our days of playing five nights a week are over.

At least in our current situation. There's no guarantee

we'll never have to go back to that. The thing we have to

concentrate on now is putting out a follow-up album.

Both Archie and Emmett suggested we don't wait. "We've

had some success, now we have to keep that success

alive," Archie said. "If we don't put something else out

now, they'll forget all about us."

Tanner, Jimmy, and I got together one night just before

Christmas to hash out some ideas. We've always been the

guys that wrote the band's material. No one else even

seemed to have an interest in writing. They all wanted to

perform and that was it. We needed a new direction. As

Jimmy pointed out, we didn't want to turn out another

album that sounded just like the first with a minor

change in lyrics. That seems to happen a lot in the

industry.

"We need a collaborator," Jimmy suggested. "We need to

bring someone else to the table who can bring some kind

of fresh sound to what we come up with."

Tanner and I agreed. Sometimes you've got let someone

else's creativity flow into the pot to get something new

going on.

I called Archie and asked him to find someone to help us

out. By now, Archie had broken a hole through the wall

that surrounded Emmett's private kingdom in the industry.

In fact they became pretty good friends over the time we

recorded and went on tour. Archie didn't even need the

secret phone number any more. He just called Emmett at

home.

A couple of days later, Emmett called me.

"I've got someone I think you should work with," he said.

"This girl has real talent. She's worked with a lot of

top people."

Her name is Chelsey Binger. I've heard her name before

and saw her credits on a few different liner notes over

the years.

We arranged a meeting, nothing formal, just the

opportunity to meet her and talk about what we were going

to do. We met her in a downtown restaurant after

extending an invitation through Emmett.

Chelsey is the kind of girl that is hard to read when you

first meet her. She's kind of soft spoken but at the same

time doesn't shy away when throwing out an opinion. We

chatted about the music business and she told us some of

the bands she's written with before. Some of them, she

never even met, but they recorded her material. We told

her about our studio and that sometime we meet there in

the lounge to throw ideas around. She seemed pretty

comfortable with this.

"I come up with ideas all the time," she said. "It

doesn't matter where I am, I'm always thinking about it."

For the next couple of months we focused on writing new

material. We would meet with Chelsey once or twice each

week in the clubhouse. Usually she came prepared with

something new she had written or sometimes a partial

lyric and we would work on it together. We had a keyboard

brought into the lounge to help us work and Jimmy was

busy writing charts and new arrangements. At the end a

couple of months Chelsey had become part of our team and

eventually she was hanging around the clubhouse almost as

much as we were. We had put together thirty-one songs.

Some were brand new, others were finished from stuff we

had been working on before, sometime years before, and

just happened to bring out of the old notebook and take

another look at.

We started rehearsing all these songs and working out the

small details in the studio. After a few weeks we

discussed what we came up with and tossed a handful of

them to the side. After more rehearsals we buried a few

more in the back vaults. In the end we were left with

nineteen tunes that we considered usable on a new album.

Now we needed to get these songs perfected and record a

new demo to see how they sound and make a final decision

on which ones we should record. It was a tough couple of

weeks moving into the Spring. We set up a schedule for

rehearsals for the new material but more often than not,

Chantelle was late. She always had an excuse. She was

always getting 'held up' on something ridiculous or her

car would break down - again. One Friday we were supposed

to start a rehearsal at eleven in the morning. Chantelle

stumbled in around noon, and I mean stumbled in. She

gurgled out an apology and I could smell the liquor on

her breath from across the room.

"It's not even noon and you've been drinking?" I asked

her.

"No, no, I just had pick-me-up. You know, to get

started."

We had to stop and start several times because she would

miss her cue or forget the words. She always had an

excuse.

It happened a few more times over the next month. One

time she showed up so drunk she had to go lay down in the

lounge to get her act together before we could get to

work.

"What do you think?" Tanner asked me and nodded his head

toward the lounge where Chantelle was sleeping it off.

"I think we've got a singer with a serious drinking

problem." I replied.

About an hour later Chantelle came out of the lounge

apologizing. "Sorry about that," she choked out with a

raspy voice. "Went to a party last night. Won't happen

again."

We were lined up to do a concert the following week. It

was a benefit event to support a local charity group that

works helping sick children and their families. Archie

set it up saying he thought it would be good for the

band's image. We've done benefits before. We never

performed to help the band's image, we did these concerts

because sometimes you just have to do something to for

the right cause.

We thought it would be a good opportunity to try out some

of the new material and mix in some songs the audience

might already know from the album. We were only supposed

to play a thirty-minute set because there were several

acts on stage during the evening.

On the night of the concert we were back stage in the

dressing room they provided for us and just hanging

around waiting for the show to start.

Archie came in and asked if we were ready.

"Where's Chantelle?" he asked.

No one had seen her for a while. I assumed she was out

mingling with the crowd or something.

A moment later Lenny Bruce came into the room.

"She's in the bathroom. She's getting ready," he said

sarcastically.

I knew something was wrong. Lenny Bruce rolled his eyes

and shook his head then walked out to the back stage

area.

The announcer on stage started with a monologue that was

a cue for us to get ready to make our entrance.

"I'll get her," Archie said.

A few moments later the announcer started his

introduction. We walked with the stage lights out and

just a spot light on the announcer so when they turned on

the lights we would already be there with everything

plugged in and ready to go. Except Chantelle wasn't there

and she was supposed to do the vocals on our opening

number. Jimmy turned to the band, "Play Number Six."

Number Six was something we played all the time. It was

an instrumental tune, no lyrics, and we used it sometimes

when we needed to stretch a show out a little bit. It was

one of those tunes we could really play around with on

stage. When the announcer said our name, the lights came

on and we started to play. About a minute later I saw

Chantelle walking, more like lurching, on to the stage.

She walked up to her microphone and sort of grabbed it

like it was something to keep her from falling down.

I walked over to her and yelled above the music.

"Where have you been?"

She laughed, "Yeah, yeah, I'm here now."

I could see little telltale circles of white powder

around her nostrils and her lipstick was smeared. She

looked like a train wreck.

The next couple of songs were a disaster. Chantelle

forgot the words a couple of times and looked unsteady on

her feet. During the third number she staggered to the

side of the stage during a solo and I saw her grab a

bottle from some hiding spot and knock back a few gulps.

From there things went down hill. She was babbling on to

the audience and made some reference about the fact that

it was a fundraiser for sick children.

"Any of you people sick?" She asked.

Her words were slurred and garbled.

We cut the set short just to get her off stage. I don't

think anyone really noticed that we stopped short because

there were several acts going on during the event and

there were some jugglers or acrobats or something that

were supposed to follow us. We didn't make a good

impression. This wasn't some concert played in a barn

filled with drunken hipsters and stoned college students.

It was an audience full of people who paid big bucks to

support this charity and we had a lead singer who looked

like she needed help from a psychiatric unit.

It was now obvious why Chantelle had bounced around from

band to band. We should have done our homework and

checked around a little more.

Archie met us back stage in our dressing room.

"That's great. The guy who organized this thing just told

me he wouldn't have asked us to play if he knew we were

that kind of band. We don't need this type of negative

publicity. They think you're a bunch of druggies and here

we are playing at a charity benefit."

A couple of days later we had a meeting in the lounge. It

was decided unanimously that Chantelle had to go. We had

too much at stake to risk on vocalist with a drinking and

drug problem. There was the new album to think about and

the risk of trouble if she ever got caught with her bag

of white stuff while she was touring with the band.

Archie fired her over the phone the next day.

We didn't need to start auditioning again. We didn't have

to, and we didn't have to look very far. We found our

vocalist in the clubhouse a couple of weeks later when we

were doing some work.

Chelsey had some new notes and she sat down at the

keyboard and started playing a few bars.

"What is that," I asked her.

"Something new I'm working on."

She played a few bars then sang along.

"That's the start of it," she said. "I'm still working on

it."

"Do that again," I asked her.

Tanner and I exchanged looks across the room when she

repeated this mini performance.

"Chelsey, have you ever tried singing?" I asked.

"A little bit. Just my own stuff really. I did some with

a couple of bands. Why?"

I asked to sing something else. I suggested something

from our repertoire.

Her voice was clear and mellow. She had a good cadence

and slightly raw undertone, and her pitch was right on.

Tanner and I both picked up our guitars and asked her to

try singing along while we played.

"Wow," Tanner told her. "You've really got something

going on there."

We asked her to sit in on our next rehearsal and see how

she did when she sang with the band. We thought she would

make a good interim vocalist until we found someone but

after a few sessions she gained some confidence and

really blended with the band. She was like a Karen

Carpenter, a natural who never realized how good she was

until she really tried it.

Archie and Izzy came to a rehearsal and were both amazed

at how well she fit into the mix. After some discussion

we asked her if she wanted to join on as our new

vocalist. She was a little hesitant but with some

encouragement she said she would give it a try on one

condition. She still wanted to be able to write as a

freelancer for other artists. It was, she said, her real

calling. We had no problem with that and welcomed her to

the band.

By April we had our list of songs down to sixteen and

decide to record a tape with all of them in a live

performance just to see how it all worked out and see

what we wanted to put into a final recording. The new

tape was easy, recorded in Izzy's studio just as we would

perform live and done in one take for each song. We sent

a copy to Emmett to get his input and during our next

meeting in the lounge we played it back to critique our

own work. Within a couple of weeks with suggestions from

Emmett and a few of his industry friends, we all agreed

and narrowed it down to fourteen tunes we would put on

the new album.

The deal had already been worked out between Archie and

Emmett and we would start recording in May. It's been

over a year since the debut of the first album so we

thought the timing would be right.

#

Timing, it is said, is everything.

I've let too many opportunities pass me by because I

didn't act at the moment. I don't mean huge life altering

decisions, but smaller ones where I thought to myself

later that I should have done something but ended up

losing the chance to try something new.

I guess Tanner had been thinking the same thing over the

past couple of months because one day in May he showed up

at the lounge on a Saturday afternoon and seemed pretty

wired up.

"Big news! We're getting married!"

He seemed pretty excited about it. I guess Jimmy's chat a

while ago had got him to start thinking about his current

situation with Katie. He decided the time was right and

proposed to Katie on the farm over the weekend. That was

followed by a good old fashion country engagement party

with half the county turning out to congratulate the

couple.

"When's the big day?" I asked.

"I don't know. We haven't set date yet, but soon. Maybe

this summer."

Jimmy, Lenny Bruce, and I took Tanner out to this Irish

pub down the street to celebrate. We didn't go hog wild,

we just had a few drinks and played some darts and a few

games of pool.

Somehow I got the feeling that these type of nights were

coming to an end. I always call these phases of life

chapters. You make friends at summer camp, then move on

to a new chapter when you start school again. And it

seems to be that way all through life as people move on

and others enter your life or your situation changes.

Some chapters are short, others take twenty years, then

you turn the page.

My next chapter started that night when I finally made it

home and the telephone rang around ten o'clock.

I didn't recognize the voice. In fact, even when she told

me her name it took a moment to realize who I was talking

to. It was Suzanna Miller. It's been what, eight years

and a postcard? I was, to say the least, surprised to

hear from her. She said she was calling 'just to see how

I was.'

We talked for an hour. She said she had followed my

career in the band 'as much as she could' over the years

and she told me a little about what she had been up to.

She was back in the city and working at a university as a

research assistant taking care of all the critters they

keep in the lab.

"Maybe we can get together some time, for dinner or

something, to get caught up?" she said.

I told her I'm usually there in the city a few times each

week but my schedule is a little crazy. She gave me her

phone number and I promised to call her and make

arrangements to meet.

I wrote her phone number on a little piece of paper and

tucked it into my wallet.

Chapter Twenty-three

Year of the cat

"They were a struggling young band trying to find their

sound - kicking around the taverns and bars and playing

at any venue that would let them get on stage.

They would hang around the cafes discussing politics,

poetry, music, and the alternative scene with the wannabe

beatniks who trickled in from the suburbs and dressed in

black and wore shades indoors. Their reputation grew as a

club act and when they were going to perform they didn't

need to publicize an appearance, their fans mysteriously

turned out as if a secret network had leaked word of

their next move.

It was a performance at the Diamond Club in 1991 that

ended with a twenty minute blow-out version of one of

their songs and a firestorm that spread across the stage

when a overloaded flash pot exploded, that caught the eye

of producers at Zergo studios who were in the audience.

While the fans screamed their approval, thinking it was

part of the show, and roadies doused the flames with fire

extinguishers, no one in the band realized that they had

just created the pathway for the next step in their

career."

We were in the lounge one afternoon reading this story

that appeared in a music magazine about the start of the

Random Philosophers.

"I don't remember ever discussing poetry with anyone in

my lifetime," Tanner said when he finished reading the

article. "And I certainly never debated politics in

public. Who is this girl that wrote this?"

"That's Marnie McPimple," Jimmy replied. "She's been

around for years. She's a freelance journalist. She

writes all this music history but she usually doesn't do

a lot of fact checking. You could tell her we performed

on the moon and she would put it in her story. Take a

look at the end credit in the story. Down at the bottom."

At the end of the story there was small type that said '

- with notes from Charles Pinlop Pinster.'

It turns out Chucky really did take his assignment

seriously. He's been gone for almost a year and a-half so

he must have done an interview with this girl quite a

while ago. He never mentioned it. I imagine that Chucky

stewed over his assignment for several years before

contacting this girl to give her the inside scoop on the

band even if most of it was seriously embellished tales

of life in a band. The article mentioned a few other

crazy stories that never happened and some rather

questionable biographies of the band members. I'm pretty

sure I would remember a night when I went skinny dipping

with three groupies in a hotel fountain at three in the

morning.

"Should we do something about it?" Tanner asked? "Maybe

we should call this magazine and tell them it's all B.S."

"Call them?" Jimmy answered. "If we call them it should

be to thank them. You can't buy this kind of publicity.

We should get Archie to send this article to every other

newspaper and magazine in the country!"

I agreed. With a new album about to be made, any hype

that preceded its release would be good new for us, even

if it was based on a lot of nonsense. That's showbiz for

ya.

I called Suzanna one night about a week later and asked

her if she wanted to meet me for dinner. I chose this

restaurant not too far from where I thought she was

living and thought it would be a good half way point for

both of us. We agreed to meet at seven o'clock.

I arrived a little early. I thought it would be better

for me to be there waiting for her rather than have her

show up and have to wait for me. And to be honest, I was

a little nervous. I saw her enter the lobby a few minutes

later. She stood there for a moment and glanced around

the room. A hostess approached her and pointed to where I

was sitting alone at the bar.

Suzanna looked the same as the last time I saw her. She

still wore her dark hair long, down over her shoulders

she wore a single hair clip that tied it all neatly

together in the back.

She smiled as she approached. It was a little awkward at

first, but it didn't take long before we were both

relaxed and catching up on a lot of years. We spoke

briefly of the time years ago, then moved on to what's

been happening ever since.

She told me she had been married and it didn't work out.

"Do you have any idea what it is like to actually be

standing at the alter and realize you don't love this

person?" She said. "It was a disaster. I should never

have married him. I did it for all the wrong reasons."

They were divorced less than a year later.

She said she was surprised that I had not married.

"I figured you'd be married with six kids by now. I

always thought that was the kind of guy you are. That's

why I didn't call you earlier. I thought it might be a

little strange if I called and your wife answered the

phone."

After dinner we took a stroll. We walked slowly down the

street in the middle of this big city talking about

different things until we found this cafe across the

street from where neon billboards illuminate the

sidewalks with flashing lights that bounce off the

windows and reflect off wet streets. We went into this

small cafe and ordered coffee and desert.

By the time we decided to call it a night, the sky was

clouded over and a light mist hung in the air. Tiny

droplets of water formed miniscule beads on Suzanna's

hair and reflected off the glow of the neon lights.

She held out her arm and flagged down a taxi.

"I had a nice time," she said. "It was good to see you

again."

"Maybe we can do it again sometime."

"I'd like that."

She started to open the rear door of the taxi, then

hesitated and turned to face me.

"I'm sorry for the way things ended. You know, way back

when. It wasn't fair. I always felt bad about it. It's

been on my mind for a long time."

"Water under the bridge," I said. "That was a long time

ago."

She didn't explain why things happened the way they did

and she didn't offer an excuse.

I decided at that moment I didn't want to know. You can't

go back in time and you can't change what has already

happened.

You can only move forward and that was the plan.

We start recording our new album at the end of May. It

was the same deal as the first time around with a

schedule and a no nonsense approach to getting it done.

The difference this time was that the weather was warmer,

the pool was open, and when we weren't required in the

studio we were having a lot more fun hanging around the

little cabana house and socializing with Emmett's stable

of secretaries, administrative assistants, and hat-check

girls or what ever they were. Of course when you were on

the queue to record, it was all business.

Emmett had a new look. His hair had grown out, sort of

bushy and he was sporting a toothbrush mustache.

"Got to hand it to Emmett, he's never stagnant," Jimmy

said later, "There's nothing sharper than a man with a

Fro and a Hitler mustache."

Emmett brought in some new back up singers and he also

brought in a couple of session horn players who were

working under Jimmy's supervision. Jimmy was in his

element working with these guys. He arranged some private

rehearsal time with them and when they started to record

together it gave some of the tunes a whole new dimension.

A couple of weeks into it, Archie said that Marnie

McPimple, the music journalist, had called him and was

interested in doing a story on the making of the new

album. She was invited out on a Friday afternoon to do

interviews with whoever she wanted in the band and to sit

in on a recording if she wanted to. The day was going to

be the final recording session for the week so it would

give us time to talk to her.

She arrived around one o'clock with a photographer from

whatever magazine she was working for. Archie brought her

into the studio lounge and introduced her. Marnie is one

of those women who just can't get over the fact that she

passed forty a few years ago. She was dressed like a

teenager and was wearing this ridiculous hat that had

some kind of feather stuck out from the brim that

flittered back and forth in the air over her head. She

has a squeaky little voice, and seemed absolutely

thrilled to be at the studio. But then again, I think

she's the kind of person that is thrilled to be just

about anywhere.

Her photographer, who apparently didn't have a name and

wasn't introduced, started taking photos as he circled

the room while we talked to Marnie.

"I'd like to do candid, one-on-one interviews out by the

pool," She said.

There was a spot set up under the shade of the overhang

on the cabana house. She interviewed Tanner and Jimmy

first.

A couple of hours later I found myself sitting on a chair

on the pool deck, sipping a lemonade, and chatting with

Marnie. Her photographer was scampering about in the

shadows like a cat. He would scurry from one place to

another quietly, then crouch and take a picture. That was

a little annoying but I assumed they would do a proper

job of editing so if my photo appeared I wouldn't have my

eyes half closed or a dopey expression on my face because

he caught me in mid sentence.

Marnie turned on a small tape recorder.

"I would like to talk about your inspiration for your new

album," She began. "What motivates you? What drives you?

Your artistic interpretation? How do you prepare? Your

influences, your preparation? What needs to be done to

have your work finally realized? How, do you, as a writer

and performer, realize your final project and to what end

do you see this project finally bursting out in all it's

glory?"

Yeah, she was a quirky one. I wasn't sure how to answer a

question that was filled with so many other questions.

I asked her to start again and ask one question at a

time. We discussed the writing and recording process at

some length but Marnie wanted something bigger. She

started asking leading type questions about events or

people, some of whom I had never even met. She was

looking for some type of story that would provide a

glitzy look at the band's activities. I started throwing

her a few bones, but at the same time I didn't really

confirm anything. She asked questions about nights on the

road and a few times I didn't even answer. I laughed it

off without saying a thing. Marnie would nod and grin and

make little notes in this book she was carrying.

"So you knew Chucky?" I asked her when the interview was

winding down.

"Chucky? Who's that?"

"Chucky Pinster. You interviewed him for a story about

our band. Maybe a couple of years ago. Little guy, thick

glasses."

She thought for a moment, "Oh yeah, Charles, your public

relations guy. How is he?"

"Well, Chucky passed away a while ago."

"Well, I guess that's about right," she said. "With all

those crazy thrill sports he was doing. Skydiving, rock

climbing, surfing. He was a pretty wild guy."

Yup, Chucky sure told her some good tales.

When we finished I went into the lounge and found Jimmy

sitting on the sofa watching television.

"How did your interview with Marnie McPimple go?" I asked

him.

"Went well," he said. "I'm so full of shit, this is going

to be one hell of an article."

We set up a few studio shots for the photographer with

the band in front of mics and holding our instruments

like we were recording. Marnie thanked us for doing the

interview. For some reason she felt the need to go around

the room and give everyone a hug before she left.

"I'll see you at the wrap party," she gushed.

Archie had invited her to what ever party we were going

to have when finished recording the album.

"People like Marnie, they're good to have around," he

said. "More publicity can come out of a person's pen,

than almost anything else. And it doesn't cost us a

cent."

We were going into the home stretch of recording in mid

June. It was a hot month and the daily pool party started

to become somewhat of a ritual.

One day when I knew me and Tanner weren't going to be too

involved in the recording, I called Suzanna and asked her

if she wanted to come out to the studio for a day. Tanner

brought Katie as well. They both seemed to enjoy seeing

the studio and what went on. We let them sit in while we

did some work then after finishing what we needed to do

we all went out to the pool deck and just hung around for

the afternoon.

Suzanna and I have been out together a few times now.

Where things are heading, I don't know. But I am

definitely keeping it casual for the time being and I

guess she feels the same way.

The following week, on Thursday, Emmett came into the

studio.

"That's it. We're done," he said.

I guess we were finished recording. Everything was

wrapped up to Emmett's satisfaction.

I was packing up a few things and getting ready to leave

when a courier showed up with a box. One of Emmett's

assistants opened it and took out a stack of records. I

noticed Levon Spritzer photo right away.

"That's his new one," the assistant said. "He was here

recording a couple of weeks before you guys started."

He handed me one of the copies. There was a photo of

Levon on the Cover. I turned it over and read the song

list.

"How long was he here for?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe a couple of weeks off and on. You

know Levon. All business. No fooling around."

He handed me a couple of copies of the album.

"You can have those. These are just some copies for the

studio."

Later that night Tanner and me went back to our own

studio to drop something off. We put Levon's new album on

and sat back to have a listen. It was an incredible body

of work. He seemed to get back to his roots of playing

that fast tempo jazz style. Tanner and I listened to a

couple of the tunes twice then picked up our guitars and

tried to play along.

"He really is amazing isn't he?" Tanner said. "He's

playing his own lead and following up at the same time.

You still haven't met him?"

"No. He's kind of a ghost. I've tried a few times now but

he's always a step ahead of me for some reason, even at

the studio. He was there a couple of weeks before us and

then he was gone. I asked Emmett about the session and he

didn't say much. He just said Levon cut a few tracks and

disappeared." "Well, maybe we'll run in to him on the

road again," Tanner replied. "He's out there playing

somewhere."

On the road again. It was something I was expecting to

hear soon. Mostly likely Archie and Emmett were planning

another tour of some sort to promote this new album. I

guess it was something we had to do. According to Emmett

there was already a big list of pre-released sales based

on our last album. Hopefully this one will do as well or

even better.

The wrap party for the recording session was held a

couple of weeks later at Emmett's place. I think he must

have a dozen of these parties each year and every one is

a blow-out. You've got to hand it to Emmett, he works

hard and he plays hard.

This time the party was in the evening, outdoors by the

pool. These parties are really just an excuse to have

some fun. Since the album hasn't yet been released

there's nothing to show the guests. There was the usual

crowd of Emmett's industry friends and a new assortment

of people I didn't know.

I brought Suzanna and she seemed to enjoy herself. It

was, she said, a lot different than any parties they have

in the research department at the university. Around

eleven o'clock it was getting pretty wild. The highlight

of the night was seeing Marnie McPimple dive into the

pool fully clothed. She was even wearing her hat. I guess

Marnie, who liked to dress like a kid, also liked to

drink like one. A few others took the hint and dove in as

well. The Great Gatsby had nothing on this get together.

The next party I went to wasn't quite as wild, but had

more meaning than most events I've been to in my

lifetime. Tanner and Katie got married during the last

weekend of July. I had received my invitation in the mail

as a formality of course, but then Tanner asked if I

would be one of the groomsmen. Of course I said I would.

The rest of the band was all on the guest list as well.

The wedding took place on Katie's parents farm. It was a

warm day with a clear sky and a light breeze.

They had about an acre behind the house that had been

beautifully manicured with the grass cut like you were on

a golf course fairway with old growth trees on each side

that created a natural cathedral leading up to where the

vows would take place. I wasn't sure what to expect of

this wedding. I knew it was going to be on a farm and

thought maybe I'd see a cow walking by or several of the

guests wearing straw hats or smoking corncob pipes. The

truth is, city people are ignorant of rural life. I had

met quite a few of the guests before at Tanner's family

barbecue and I knew they were all friendly, but somehow I

still had the feeling that country folk would do things

a little more homey. I was half expecting the bridal

march to be played on a pump organ on the back of a

flatbed by an old church lady warbling out a wedding song

with a flower pot on her head for a hat. Instead they had

a string quartet in formal dress.

The men in the wedding party were attired in black

tuxedos and the bridesmaids looked like they had just

posed for a magazine.

When it was time for the reception and speeches and all

that stuff that goes along with a wedding, we were in a

huge tent that had been set up nearby. They even laid

parquet over the grass for a dance floor. As the sun

began to drop below the horizon the tent was illuminated

by thousands of tiny white lights strung up like

Christmas bulbs around the poles and contours of the

canvas. There were several humorous speeches and some

that left people teary eyed. Katie was indeed, a

beautiful bride, and most likely that day was probably

something she had imagined since she was a kid.

When they cut the cake, the couple now as husband and

wife, I realized that Tanner's days as a traveling

musician were probably going to come to an end. He never

said anything like that, but sometimes you can see a

person's life starting to take shape.

The rest of the night was a party, a typical wedding

celebration.

I had asked Suzanna to come with me to the wedding. We

danced under the glow of those tiny white lights as a

warm summer breeze blew across the fields and wafted

through the tent making the candles on the tables flicker

and sometimes a gust would blow her hair across her face

and she would push it back over her ear with a single

finger. We stayed until the end when the new couple had

already left and the final few guests were getting ready

to leave as the wait staff began clearing the tables.

The final song of the night was the sound of a million

crickets chirping out in the fields.

CHAPTER Twenty-four

Groundhog Day

"Over by the window

There's a pack of cigarettes

Not my brand, you understand

Sometimes the girl forgets"

R. H.

We spent most of September on the road with a new tour to

promote our album. It was basically the same as the last

time except now we were gone for a month then we took

October off before heading back out for another full

month in November.

It was Chelsey's first time on the road. She's been in

the music business a long time, but as a writer, and

writers don't tour. She took to traveling like a kid

going to Disney World for the first time. Every chance

she got to get out and see the town she would take off on

some tour or visit something that was kind of touristy.

She was, as she put it, "having a blast."

Ben Winter liked being away from home. He would call

almost every night to talk to his wife and keep her

updated on the tour and our location. He said that being

apart was great for his marriage.

"When I don't see her for a month, there is a thrill

every time we meet again," He said. "It's almost like

when you first meet someone and you get that feeling of

excitement when you're first going out."

Although he did admit that any longer than a month might

be over doing it.

"A month apart isn't bad," He said. "Three months apart

and I would be worried about the mailman stopping by."

For me, the days on the road started blending together.

It was almost like the same day was being repeated over

and over again. It was still fun performing and we had

some great shows but there wasn't a lot of variety.

During the November leg of the tour we had a two day

layover and we were staying at this hotel resort. We had

performed on Friday and Saturday night at the resort, and

then we had a few off days to relax before we were

scheduled for a final show on Wednesday night before we

were off to the next stop.

Jimmy and I met in the lobby in the morning and were

going to go out and find something to do for the day. We

were going over a few options we heard a familiar voice

call out across the lobby.

"Hey, band guys! Band guys!"

Unbelievable! It was Mr. Blackstock walking across the

lobby and yelling out to us. "Band guys, wow, long time

no see! How are ya!"

"Hey, Mr. Blackstock. Imagine meeting you out here. It's

been, what, a couple of years? Maybe more? You sure look

better than the last time we saw you."

"Yeah, yeah, that's all in the past now. My life has

changed, for the better. I thought you guys were here. I

saw a poster of your band in the lobby and thought that

was you. Are you here for a couple of days?"

I told him we had already played two shows and that we

had one more to go before we would be leaving town.

"So, are you free tonight?" He asked. "I'd like you to be

my guests for dinner. I never really had a chance to

thank you for helping me that time."

Jimmy and I exchanged glances in a 'what do we do?' type

of moment. Given Mr. Blackstock's history in restaurants,

being his guests might not turn out to be a regular

evening.

I guess he sensed we were a little hesitant.

"Really," He said. "No funny stuff. Please, it would be

my way of, sort of paying you back for being decent to me

when I really didn't deserve it. And, there was no one

else that would have bothered to help me."

"Yeah, yeah, that would be great," Jimmy said. "We'd like

to join you for dinner."

"And the one legged guy... is he still with you?"

"Lenny? Yeah, Lenny's still with the band."

"That's great. Please bring him along too. I'd like to

thank him as well."

How is it that people you have thought about and wish you

would run in to never seem to appear, but others, who you

have no real connection to always seem to show up when

least expected. We must be a thousand miles away from

home, and yet here was a man that we have run met in the

weirdest situations and far out places, and he was

staying in the same hotel. Jimmy and I spent the day

touring around the city in a rented car.

When we returned to the hotel we found Lenny and told him

we were going out for dinner with Mr. Blackstock. We made

our way up to the top floor of the hotel around seven

o'clock where there is a restaurant called The Chrystal

Room. It's a high-end place with a lot of atmosphere and

waiters in black tie.

The Maitre d' greeted us when we entered.

"Ah yes, Mr. Blackstock's table. This way please."

He led us to a table at the far end of the room where Mr.

Blackstock was waiting. He stood up when he saw us

approaching.

"Band guys, I'm glad you came."

He turned to the waiter and said, "We'll start with the

oysters, and drinks for my friends please."

It was strange. Mr. Blackstock seemed like a different

man. He was a little more refined and had lost a little

of the edginess that defined his character when we met

him before. He also had a new suit.

"I hope you don't mind me ordering the oysters as an

appetizer. I think you'll like them. They do them baked

with bread crumbs and a very nice sauce."

He said that when he had seen our poster in the lobby of

the hotel he was hoping to run into us. "I'm glad you are

doing well," He said. "It's good to see people doing well

in their chosen field. Success is is always earned, it's

never just given to you."

"So, what are you doing out here? Are you staying at the

hotel?" I asked him.

"Yes, I'm here for a speaking engagement for a few days.

I've changed my direction in life. I'm now a motivational

speaker and an author. I had a book signing yesterday at

a book store downtown."

"Really, well, that's a step away from your previous

business."

"Yes, well, a lot has happened over the past few years."

Mr. Blackstock picked up a briefcase he had placed under

the table and took out three books. He handed us each a

copy and signed each one personally. The book was titled

Gerrard J. Blackstock, A Journey of Two Lives.

I flipped through the book and briefly read the notes on

the back cover. It described Mr. Blackstock as having an

epiphany after awakening from a coma.

"You were in a coma?" I asked him.

The waiter placed two full trays of baked oysters on the

table. Mr. Blackstock took a drink from his martini glass

and placed several of the oysters on his plate. He leaned

forward on the table and clasped his hands together in a

serious posture.

"It was a couple of years ago. Not long after I met you

guys at the Red Pine Inn. I was on the road again for a

while. To fill in the gaps between my regular, uh,

business ventures, I took a temporary job as a barker

with a traveling carnival. Nice bunch of people, but it's

not something I would have considered as a career choice.

I was working this attraction on the sideshow trying to

get people to enter to see the Harem girl dancing show.

It was three girls dressed like Harem girls who did this

little dance to Arab music."

"That sounds like a pretty good show!" Lenny Bruce

remarked.

"Yeah, well, it was. Girls dancing in Harem costumes. For

a couple of bucks, you can't go wrong. It mostly

attracted teenage boys from town though. No guy walking

through the carnival with his wife and kids would go near

it."

"But how did you end up in a coma from that?" Jimmy

asked.

"Well, it was an accident. One night I was doing my

regular thing. I would stand out in front of the tent

with a microphone trying to get these guys to come in and

see the show. We were doing pretty good business that

night too, because the one girl, Inga, I think she was

German or Swiss or something, decided to wear her costume

and stand in the doorway and smile at all the fellows

walking past. It was a great marketing scheme. They would

see Inga and next thing you know we would have a line-up

for the next show. The thing is, it had rained in the

afternoon and the grass and tents were still wet. So

there I am, standing on my barker's box in wet grass,

holding a microphone, and doing my spiel. I guess the guy

who ran all the cables and wiring for the carnival must

have messed things up or something. When the line-up

started moving to get into the next show they bumped into

my podium and kind of knocked me to one side so I reached

out and grabbed one of the metal poles that hold up the

tent so I wouldn't fall off my box."

"Let me guess," Jimmy said. "Microphone, cables, tent

pole. You were electrocuted?"

"Not electrocuted, or I would be dead," Mr. Blackstock

continued. "But I took fifty thousand volts. Whammo! I

was stuck to that tent pole with one hand and my other

hand was frozen to the mic."

"And that put you into a coma?" I asked.

"Yes, a deep coma, for two weeks, they tell me. When I

finally came out of it I could only speak and understand

Mandarin Chinese for five days. It was very strange."

"So, your epiphany, it was the result of nearly being

killed?"

"Yes, and no. Obviously coming close to death makes you

think, but it was what happened when I was in the coma

that changed my life."

For some reason, Lenny Bruce was especially enthralled

with this story. In fact he was so focused on what Mr.

Blackstock was saying he was startled when the waiter

returned with our orders and he knocked over his water

glass when the waiter reached in front of him to place

his plate on the table.

"What happened?" Lenny asked. "What happened in the

coma?"

Mr. Blackstock continued.

"While I was, at least in this life, resting in a

comatose state, I was in fact conscious, but in another

place. Maybe it was another dimension, or alternate

universe. Of that, I'm not sure. But I was there, and

living another life. Your energy, your consciousness,

never dies, it only goes somewhere else. I was living a

life totally different from here. I was a different

person. I looked the same physically, but my whole way of

thinking was like I was born into a different mindset.

You see, in this life, I wasn't born into what most

people consider ideal circumstances. When the people that

you are surrounded by are, well, lets say, not from the

right side of the tracks, the odds of you growing up

differently are slim. You are indeed, a product of your

environment."

It was a strange story. I wasn't sure what to make of it

given Mr. Blackstock's past history but he seemed to be

sincere.

"In this other life," He continued. "I was a different

person with a different set of ideals and philosophy.

When I finally emerged from my coma, I had the memory of

almost an entire lifetime in this other place."

"What did the doctors say?" Jimmy asked. "Maybe a coma

can cause you to hallucinate or something."

"Yes, of course I thought the same thing at first," Mr.

Blackstock replied. "It was very confusing, especially

since I was speaking Chinese at the time. I started to

wonder if I had just dreamed the whole thing. But it was

so vivid I was somewhat traumatized by the memory. Then I

found something that convinced me that I was indeed

transported to another place."

He stood up and removed his jacket and sat down again.

"While I was there, I had a job for a time working in a

foundry. I was a laborer doing whatever jobs needed to be

done. I didn't really like the work. It was dirty and

hot, but for the time, it was work. I remember well, this

one afternoon when I was sweeping up the place, I leaned

my broom against the wall and it fell over behind some

skids that were lined up against the wall. When I reached

down to pick it up, I pressed my arm against the side of

a hot casting. It had cooled somewhat so it wasn't super

hot, but hot enough to give me a good burn. It healed

okay, but left a scar in the shape of the company crest

on my arm. Everything we made had the company's logo

molded right onto the piece and that's where I touched

it."

Mr. Blackstock rolled up his sleeve and held his arm out

to show us. On his forearm was a crescent shaped scar. It

wasn't a big scar, it looked almost like an old faded

tattoo.

"This wasn't there before," He said. "How could this

happen?"

He rolled down his sleeve and put on his jacket.

"Please, read my book when you get a chance."

It was a strange story, especially coming from a guy like

Mr. Blackstock. I'm not sure any of us really knew what

to make of it.

"Just one question," Jimmy asked. "If you were frozen to

the tent pole when you got hit with the electricity, how

do you get away from it?"

"I was lucky," Mr. Blackstock explained. "One of the

women that worked for the carnival knocked the mic out of

my hand with a bowling pin from the Bowl-and-Win booth.

She was fast too. A couple more seconds and I would have

been cooked like a shish kabob in a microwave. If it

wasn't for Luna-May, I'd be dead."

"Luna-May!?" Lenny Bruce piped up. "You know a woman

named Luna-May that works at a carnival?"

"Yeah, she's been there for years."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know, fifty, sixty, something like that."

"That's my mother!" Lenny exclaimed.

"How do you know?" I asked him.

"How many 60 year old women are named Luna-May AND work

in a traveling carnival?" He turned to Mr. Blackstock.

"Does she still work there?"

"I don't know," He replied. "It's been a few years. Those

carnivals, they travel. It could be anywhere. People come

and go. But she's been with them at least twenty years."

Lenny seemed a little overwhelmed. I guess finding out

your long lost mother is still working in a traveling

sideshow might leave you with a few questions.

As for Mr. Blackstock's story, other than Archimedes, Sir

Isaac Newton, and the guy who realized his candy bar was

being melted by microwaves in his shirt pocket and

changed the way the modern world heats their food, I

don't think a true epiphany happens all that often.

Whether Mr. Blackstock had traveled to another dimension

or he was just cashing in on a new scheme, only he knows.

He did, however, pay the bill at the end of our meal. And

that was something new. I gave him a pair of tickets for

our next show. He seemed pretty happy with that and said

he would be there. I saw him in the crowd that night,

right up front, and he seemed to be having a good time.

Two weeks later we wrapped up the tour and made our way

back home.

I started teaches new classes at the college for the

Spring semester. The band is doing only regional gigs for

a while so I've got the time to do the part-time classes

a couple of days a week to keep busy. It's a fun place to

hang out. There are quite a few instructors there who are

well known in their field and teach part time. It's the

Communications wing of the school so there are a lot of

classes in radio, film, television, music, and related

fields.

What I like about this department is the way they

collaborate on projects. The film students make a movie

and the music students write a score for the film and

record it. It works that way a lot around there. It's a

chance for them to fill out their resumé or create a demo

reel. I work quite a bit on these projects as an adviser

and just because I like being involved in the work.

The academic year wrapped up in April and most of the

students went home. There are some summer studies and

classes going on but for the most part it's time for them

to find summer jobs if they aren't graduating and try to

save up tuition money for the next year. Our fall tour

had once again been a success thanks to Emmett and

Archie's planning, scheduling, and what ever else they

are always doing behind the scenes. When May rolled

around, it was time to re-group and see where we are

heading. We moved our rehearsal space to a new location

after the fall tour and our lease ran out on the old

place. Archie found a new spot not far away that was

already equipped with a sound proof studio and an even

bigger lounge for us to hang out in.

It's going to be a summer of change.

Tanner told us he was quitting the band. I don't think it

was unexpected by any of us. His parents have decided to

move into town and live in an apartment. After a lifetime

of hard work and living in the country they decided that

life would be a lot easier without one hundred acres of

property to look after. Tanner and Katie are moving to

the farm.

"You're going to be a farmer?" I asked him.

He laughed, "No, I like being there, but being a farmer

isn't in the cards for me. But I could do it if I wanted

to. I grew up doing it and I know pretty much all there

is to doing the job. We've already rented out the fields

to other farmers in the area. Katie and me are just going

to live in the house."

It made a lot of sense for him.

"I can't see being married and trying to raise a family

and being on the road with the band at the same time," He

explained.

Tanner didn't want to be completely out of the band. He

said he still wanted to collaborate from time to time on

writing new material. We have been doing it as a team for

so long it only makes sense. He didn't plan to get out of

the music business either. He decided to invest some

money and expand his barn studio into a full size

professional space. Katie got a new job teaching at the

local elementary school so they were set. The picket

fence was already there and the future was wide open.

The rest of us got together for a meeting in the lounge

one afternoon.

"Kind of changes the whole dynamics of the band, doesn't

it?" Jimmy said of Tanner's absence. "What should we do

now?"

We threw out some ideas. We could hire someone else or

find a suitable session player to fill in the void when

needed. There was no real hurry about it. We decided to

continue what we were doing for a few weeks and let

things sort themselves out. Archie had started booking us

for gigs through the summer but not a heavy schedule.

At this time in his life, Archie's stable of performers

had dwindled to a handful. He used to juggle acts all

over town, but he put so much effort into our band over

the years that as his other talent moved on he didn't

feel the need to replace them on his list of clients. He

still had a couple of actors or radio people he worked

with but for the most part he was our full time manager.

Archie managed to find us a couple of guitar players to

fill in Tanner's place over the summer. They worked out

okay, but they were session guys with little interest in

joining a band full time.

I spent most of the summer hanging around my country

place. I had a few parties around the pool and people

seemed to enjoy getting out of the city to relax. Even

Ned Chesterfield, the real estate agent came out a couple

of times. He's been pretty helpful helping me get stuff

done and meeting people around town. He's one of those

guys who grew up there and knows everybody or knows

someone who knows someone else. That's the way it is

here.

Suzanna has been spending almost every weekend at my

place for the summer. We seem to have fallen back into

something we had many years ago, but even now I'm

hesitant to make plans too far ahead. I'm leaving it up

to her, which may or may not backfire on me. Sometimes

you have to jump right into a situation and other times

it's better to let things play out and see where it goes.

For now, I'm on cruise control.

Chapter Twenty-five

The dead of winter

In the fall our touring scheduled started getting busy. I

guess it was Archie's way of telling us to shake off the

rust that gathered over the summer because he started

booking us all over the place. It was also a good way to

get some regular cash flowing in. After our second album

we had become a pretty big draw in some areas. Archie had

this way of promoting us that said since we had an album,

we must be popular. He would put up posters weeks ahead

of time with the latest album cover splashed across it.

He took out newspaper and radio ads as well and would

book us to do interviews on local radio prior to any

show. It worked well. For the most part, our shows where

usually sold out.

We were booked to do a fall fair over the Labor Day

weekend. It was actually a pretty big deal for the fair

circuit. The fairgrounds in this town were huge and they

had an open air arena that for the most part played host

to cattle shows, monster truck shows, and whatever other

crazy dirt based events they could get going on through

the year. But come fall fair time, they attracted some

pretty big name talent over the years and the arena

became the place to be for the entire county for this

particular weekend. We played the Friday night in front

of a large mixed crowd. Half of the people seemed to be

decked out in cowboy hats and denim while the other half

had a mixed preppy and suburban look. We were the

headliners for this show and it turned out to be a good

night with all of the local yokels having a good time.

On the Saturday night there was local band that went on

before us and we were scheduled to go on stage around ten

o'clock.

I think the weekend festivities were coming to a peak

because the crowd was pretty animated. The beer tent was

a popular place and I think a lot of the crowd had fueled

up there before filing into the arena and a lot of them

seemed to be imbibing there as well.

The first band finished their show and we were getting

ready to go on stage.

Over the years we had developed an efficient and proven

method of getting ready before it was our turn to go on

stage. Our crew knows the routine and is very good about

getting there early and making sure everything was ready.

One thing that has always bugged me is when you go to

some kind of performance, usually with some small outfit

and more than one band, and they are getting set up and

some guy gets on stage in front of the audience and

starts saying, "Check, one two, check one two," into the

mic and follows up with "Can we get a little more bass

here?"

For some reason this usually goes on for ten minutes or

more while the audience waits patiently and wonders how

long it will take and why are they watching performers

trying to figure out how to plug in their instruments

while someone else is still putting a drum kit together.

In my mind, that's like going to a theatrical play and

seeing the actors on stage holding their scripts while

wearing street clothes and running through the dialogue

one last time before they drop the curtain to start the

play. It just takes the edge off the performance.

We were introduced by the Grand Master of the County Fair

right at ten o'clock. That's another one of the

agreements we always have in our contract. If the show is

supposed to start at a certain time, that's when we go on

stage. No delays.

The lights came on and we started to play. We've

developed a routine of playing two songs before anyone

does any banter with the audience. We had been playing

for only a minute, maybe a little longer when I heard

this distinctive 'beep beep beep' coming from behind us.

There was a crashing sound and a geyser of water suddenly

roared up from behind the stage and shot in a high arc

over the arena. A second later another high-powered

stream erupted into the air with a trajectory that hit

the bulls eye right in the middle of the grandstand.

While the crowd tried to disperse, which wasn't easy

considering everyone was getting soaked and a lot of them

were in no condition to make logical choices, we put down

our instruments and retreated back stage while it rained

all round us. There was a commotion on the floor behind

the stage while a couple of arena workers tried to figure

out what to do. The arena supervisor came rushing along

the aisle, "Ah, Clem! What happened here?" He said to an

older fellow sitting on a forklift. It turned out that

'Clem' had backed up his forklift and hit the building's

fire coupling pipes breaking them off at the wall and

sending a torrential stream into the air.

Clem got off of the forklift to inspect the damage. He

was unsteady on his feet and looked a little confused.

There was a flask tucked into the front pocket of his

overalls.

"This may be a problem," The arena supervisor shouted

over the sound of all the commotion. "The pipes are

plugged right into the town reservoir and pressurized. We

have to call the works department to shut it off at the

other end."

In other words, the show was over and it was going to be

raining for a while.

We retreated to our green room and started packing things

up.

A few minutes later the arena supervisor came into the

green room with one of the workers who was on duty. The

supervisor looked a little worried. I guess he thought we

might make an issue about what had happened, because when

you think about it, things could have turned very serious

in a hurry. If Clem had turned other way, instead of

hitting the wall he would have hit the stage. Having a

four thousand pound machine crash into the stage could

have killed someone and having water pouring down on the

lights and sound system could have really heated things

up. Why he was even on that machine during show time was

also a good question.

The arena supervisor was very apologetic about the

incident.

"We have a good safety record," He explained. "Nothing

like this has ever happened before. And Clem, well, he's

a good guy. He's lived here all his life. He's usually,

well, he's a good guy to have around."

A few minutes later a couple of police officers showed

up. I guess they were doing security control and once the

crowd had all made it outside they came back to do an

investigation.

"Everybody here okay?" The one cop asked. "No one hurt?"

We assured him we were only a little wet.

"What happened back there?" The cop asked.

The was an awkward moment when no one offered an

explanation. I wasn't going to be the guy to point out

that Clem was driving his fork truck after celebrating

the fair by partaking with the revelers and providing his

own portable liquor dispenser.

Then this other arena guy steps forward.

"I was backing up on the forklift, didn't see the pipes.

Those damn things should be protected! Not just sticking

out of the wall like that!"

"That was you Barry? You were driving?" The cop said.

Barry the arena guy looked nervously at the band for just

a moment and when none of us spoke up, he continued.

"Yeah, that was me. I guess I'll have to write up a

report or something."

By this time the works department had shut off the water

supply and the fire department had shown up with a crew

of about 30 guys. Some of them arrived on the fire trucks

and some who came in their own vehicles.

There was no real damage to the stadium other than the

broken pipes. A sudden rainstorm would have done the same

thing.

The crowd had fanned back out onto the midway to continue

the night of revelry, and I guess Clem, the town drunk,

got to keep his job for a few more days. I'm not a fan of

drinking and driving anything, but I figured he wasn't on

a city street and no one got hurt. Sometimes you just

have to let things go. Most of our shows over the next

few months went well with no more mini-disasters. Jimmy

and I started getting back into a routine of writing new

material.

Tanner dropped by to the lounge a couple of times but it

was more of a social visit than to work. He had finished

building his new country studio and was working hard to

attract clients. Archie was helping him out with some of

the promotion. For now he was focusing on up and coming

artists who were trying to record on a budget. He had

very little overhead so his rates were pretty reasonable.

I've recommended him to a few people I know and he's

already produced some nice work out there.

New Years eve turned out to be one of the best concerts

we ever did. Archie started working on it early in the

year and he thought it would give us some great exposure.

It was a televised event in Niagara Falls, the honeymoon

capital of the world, as they like to sell the city to

the tourist boards.

We weren't the headliner for this show. They usually get

some big name really well known outfit to do the

extravaganza new year blow out with the confetti and

party horns at midnight. We went on a 9:00 p.m. when the

place was packed with revelers ready for a show.

It was a beautiful setup in front of the falls that were

themselves bathed in colored lights that shone from these

huge spotlights. But it was cold. And I mean really cold.

I don't think we've ever played on an outdoor stage in

the middle of winter before. While the crowd seemed to be

comfortable in parkas, gloves and scarves, we were

freezing on stage. We were sort of dressed for the

weather but you can only put on so many layers before it

just becomes impractical to play an instrument. To top it

off, there was this fine mist in the air that rose up

from the base of the falls where millions of gallons of

water cascaded every second. The mist settled down over

the park in tiny ice beads and I guess it added a

mystical quality to the night but by the end of our one-

hour set my hands were numb. I'm not sure what frostbite

feels like, but if it's something like loosing all

feeling in your fingers so if you slammed your hand in a

car door and you wouldn't feel any pain, I think I came

close.

I brought Suzanna with me for this trip. Archie had swung

a pretty sweet deal when arranging this gig and got us a

few nice suites in this hotel that overlooks the falls.

We watched the midnight concert from the tenth floor of

our hotel. We invited the rest of our crew to our suite

for our own private party and from there we were looking

down on thousands of party goers and the stage all set in

front of one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

At midnight, fire works lit up the sky over the cataract.

Suzanna and I walked out onto the balcony to watch the

show. The exploding shells bathed our room with bright

flashes that reflected off the walls and bounced off the

windows and mirrors like thousands of little darts of

colored light.

"Another year," Suzanna said quietly as the two of us

stood together in the cold night air and the boom of the

fireworks cracked through the night sky. "They go by

faster than you realize don't they? We shouldn't waste

any more of them."

I guess it was at that moment that everything fell into

favor at the right time and the right place in the

universe. Well, our universe anyway. For just a moment we

stood silently together on that cold balcony.

"I think you're right," I finally responded.

We watched the rest of the fireworks show in silence.

Sometimes you can share a thought without exchanging a

single word.

#

Life at my party house in the country tended to slow down

during the winter months. Not because people didn't like

coming out here but this area seems to be in a bit of a

snow belt and several times each winter the area gets hit

with the white stuff that brings everything to a crawl.

Most of my city friends find it a daunting task to

navigate their cars down a country road that may or may

not be fully plowed. I hooked up with a local snowplow

guy that shows up at my place the morning after every

snowfall and plows out the driveway for me. I paid him in

advance for the service so by the time I get up in the

morning the job is already done. He's got a whole string

of customers who probably do the same thing and he does a

lot of his work well before the sun even comes up.

On a Saturday morning in February, after a particularly

nasty Friday night, I had made plans to meet Jimmy, Lenny

Bruce, Ben Winter, and Archie at the lounge to go over

some things for the next few shows we had booked. It was

a snowy ride into the city but it got better once I was

on the highway. I was listening to the weather report on

a local talk radio station. They were saying the previous

night's storm had caused a lot of accidents, mostly minor

ones but there had been a serious multiple fatality crash

on a road north of where I lived. Four people were

killed.

Our meeting was scheduled for eleven o'clock, or close to

that. I arrived at the studio around ten-thirty and

turned on the television and kicked back while waiting

for everyone else to show up. I flipped through the

channels and stopped at the local news. They were at this

accident scene and interviewing some guy who had been on

the road and witness what had happened. There were still

emergency vehicles on site in the background.

The TV reporter said there had been white-out conditions

on the road.

"It was bad, real bad," Said the man being interviewed.

He looked pretty shaken up by the whole thing. "I was

following that car and had to slow down, almost to a stop

because it got so bad. They were ahead of me and I saw

their taillights disappear when the snow blew across the

road."

The door to the lounge opened and Jimmy entered the room.

I knew right away something wasn't right. He had this

sick kind of look on his face. He stood there for a

moment without saying anything, then motioned to the

television that still had images of the accident scene.

"You heard?" He said.

I didn't want to ask the obvious. There are times when

you know you are going to hear bad news and for a few

seconds you hope that if you don't ask, the answer will

have a different outcome. I shook my head.

"It was Janet. Archie's wife. She was in that accident.

Izzy just called me. He tried to call you too but I guess

you had already left home."

How do you describe that chill that ripples through your

body when you hear of a sudden and unexpected tragedy and

it's someone you know? I guess it's the shock factor that

leaves you temporarily breathless and with a feeling of

suspended reality. I didn't know Janet well. I only

really met her a few times, but the connection through

Archie meant that my good friend had just received the

most devastating news of his life and by extension I felt

the loss as well.

Ben and Lenny Bruce arrived a few minutes later and we

filled them in on what was happening. For a few minutes

the four of us sat quietly in the lounge. In a way, I

think we were all hoping that Archie was going to walk

through the door at any minute with a smile on his face

and we would find out that Janet was okay and it was

someone else who had died. Archie never arrived.

"What do we do?" Jimmy finally asked quietly. "My dad

died when I was a kid. I remember people, friends,

relatives, all coming to our house that night. Should we

go over there? To Archie's house?"

It was still early in the day. Archie may have been up

all night. We decided it would be best to wait until the

evening then pay a call to his home. Even then, I'm not

sure what we could do other than let him know we were

there for him.

I called Tanner and he asked us to wait for him and he

would come with us. Ben decided not to go. He hadn't

known Archie nearly as long as the rest of us and said he

didn't feel right about it.

"I'm too much of a stranger to be going to someone's

house for this," He said. "It wouldn't feel right."

We finally drove over to Archie's house around seven

o'clock in the evening. The house was already full of

people. Friends, relatives, even some neighbors had come

over to help him in any way they could. It was quiet with

people speaking in whispers and hushed tones. We didn't

stay long. Just long enough to say some encouraging words

as best we could.

Archie seemed to appreciate the fact that we made the

effort. But he said very little. He was a lost soul in a

room full of people.

I spoke to a woman who was there making coffee. I think

she was a cousin of Janet's or some kind of family. She

told me that Janet had gone on a bus trip to a casino

with a friend of hers. They met up with two other women

they new from their country club, just by chance.

"She didn't really like the bus," The woman told me. "She

just went because her friend wanted to go."

The woman teared up as we spoke.

"Those other women offered Janet and her friend a seat in

the car for the ride back home."

The snow storm started just about the time there were

leaving the casino and it was a windy night. They drove

right into a blinding white-out that blew across the road

and reduced the visibility to practically nothing. A

truck coming the other way collided with them head on.

They didn't have a chance.

CHAPTER Twenty-six

The end of 1001 nights

Là, fra la neve bianca, n'andrò,

N'andrò sola e lontana

E fra le nubi d'ôr!

Summer 1995

It was during a performance of Ebben? Ne andrò lontana

from the opera La Wally, that I was inspired to ask

Suzanna to marry me. We had talked about it of course,

but I think until that moment I still had doubts.

She liked to attend cultural events sometimes and I

always agreed to go. It's not that I didn't enjoy being a

part of it but it really was more of her thing. She

bought these tickets for a weekend performance by a

theater group in the opera district and a friend of hers

was performing as part of the chorus. I don't know what

it was about this particular aria, but right in the

middle of it, in our place in the third row surrounded by

well dressed people in the box seats above and listening

to a woman singing in Italian, Suzanna reached over and

took my hand without ever taking her eyes off the stage.

It was a trigger, an unspoken thought, an unseen spark,

and right there and then I made the decision to bring it

up when we went out for dinner after the opera.

I asked. She accepted.

We were married one month later in a small ceremony in

the backyard of my country house with only a few friends,

the band of course, and family attending. Even Lacey and

Owen made the effort to attend.

There were 50 people at most, and that was all we wanted.

For me, it was the ending of that story that lasted 1001

nights. Although it's really more like 5000 nights in our

world, but who's counting?

#

It was a busy summer and the band was booked constantly

over the two months leading up to the end of August. We

spent a few weeks on the road doing shows all over the

place then returned home for a couple of days before

either heading back out or doing a local concert. When

September rolled around we took a few weeks off from

performing and concentrated on putting together some new

material. We hadn't written much since our last album and

we really needed to put some new work together.

Jimmy had quite a bit work done and I was impressed with

what he was coming up. Tanner and I got together a few

times and put some finishing touches on things we had

been working on.

The last weekend in September we were booked to do an

event in the same town we had been at a few years ago

near Tanner's hometown although the last time we were

there we were just people in the audience watching a mix

of talent on stage.

We were signed up for one appearance only on the Saturday

afternoon. We had shared top billing on the event poster

with another fairly well known band. This fair had grown

a lot of the past few years. It was still a small town

venue but they had hired new marketing people who really

did a good job of promoting this as one of the premier

music events of the year. Thousands of people would flock

to this place every fall for a couple of days of music

and general revelry.

We had a few rooms booked at the Red Pine Inn, the same

place where we stayed a few years ago and Mr. Blackstock

had his face rearranged by some goons. It was close to

Tanner's place and we wanted go and visit his studio

while we were in town and there was no real

accommodations where the fair was unless you wanted to

sleep in a tent. We played the Saturday afternoon in

front of a crowd of a couple of thousand people. Tanner

sat in with us for this show. For him it was a short

drive from where lived and it was like old times. He

brought Katie with him and she joined Suzanna in the

audience.

The town had obviously done a lot of work on the

fairgrounds over the past few years. One end of the venue

had been raised and planted over with grass to make

hillside seating for a few hundred people and permanent

bleachers had been installed along the sidelines of the

field. One of the organizers told me they had built it

from the proceeds of the fair and donations from a local

service group. The event was a main revenue generating

source for the town and they wanted it to become an

celebration that would fill the town's coffers every

season.

We all went out for dinner after our show and took up two

tables at the only Italian restaurant in town. After

dinner, Suzanna, Katie, Tanner, Jimmy and I decided to go

back to the fair ground to see who was performing in the

evening.

I had no idea who was on the line-up for the weekend. I

just knew we were booked and hadn't heard who else would

be sharing the stage. We caught the last couple of songs

by a country folk group before they finished and there

was a few minutes lull before the next act.

It was around seven thirty with the sun having just

dropped behind the horizon when the stage lights came on

for the next act.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Levon Spritzer."

I didn't even know he was on the bill.

The crowd gave a good response when he was announced.

He still wasn't a really a household name but he was well

known and over the years Levon had gained a real cult

following and he had fans that would show up at different

events just to see him play. He was one of those

performers who many people knew by his image from

television or other media but not necessarily his music.

By this time he had ten or twelve albums recorded. None

were a huge commercial success but they always sold and

he had his place in music history.

"Did you know he was playing here?" Tanner asked me.

"Had no idea," I replied. "Haven't seen him for a few

years.

Levon was sitting on his stool, center stage, his guitar

on his lap. There was an upright bass player and another

guy with a guitar sitting off to the left. A guy with a

clarinet was on the right side of the stage almost hidden

in the shadows in the wings. He didn't introduce the

first song and that was typical for his performances. He

and the other guitar player opened with a tune I

recognized from one of his albums. It was an old Gypsy

jazz style tune from around the twenties or thirties. The

crowd appreciated his talent and went wild when they

ended with a finish that saw both of them using the full

length of the guitar neck in a back and forth trip over

every fret. His second tune featured the clarinet and

Levon sang in his distinctive style. When he finished the

song he leaned forward in his chair and looked directly

at a girl in the audience who was standing right in front

of the stage.

"Weren't you here the last time we played this show a few

years ago?" He asked her.

The girl looked stunned and thrilled at the same time.

She nodded enthusiastically and waved at Levon.

That was his style. That was the way he could draw people

into his world. He could remember a single person in the

audience from a show he did years before and that

connection was why people liked him.

"I've played shows at many many towns and cities over the

years, and quite often I'm inspired by the people I meet.

This next song I wrote some time ago, but it was after

playing in this town one night, I think around 1970 or

71, I can't remember, but I was fortunate enough to meet

a girl named Maggie Mudflap. She was a sweet thing that

lived on one of those farms out there somewhere near

Horner's Corners."

A murmur rippled through the crowd when Levon mentioned

what was apparently a well-known local crossroads.

"Maggie was the kind of girl who could stop a room just

by walking through the door, and she stopped my heart by

doing exactly that. The men all adored her but most were

afraid to talk to her. The girls all hated her for that

but pretended to be her friend. I don't know what ever

happened to Maggie, but there are days I wish I knew."

Levon played a tune about this girl named Maggie and how

they spent a weekend together before he had to go off on

his next adventure. It ended with him promising to come

back and see her again. It was something he never did.

I don't know if there ever really was a girl named Maggie

Mudflap, but for sure the buzz around Horner's Corners

for the next couple of weeks was if anyone remembered a

girl named Maggie or any of the Mudflaps who lived in the

area back in 1970.

Levon was on for around an hour, maybe a little long

before wrapping it up and leaving the stage with a tip of

his hat to the audience. Around ten o'clock, Jimmy showed

up. He had wandered off into the crowd during Levon's set

and while the rest of us found a table to sit at and

watch the show he did his usual hobnobbing through the

fair.

"Do you guys want to go to a party?" He asked?

Jimmy has always been the sort of guy who could either

get invited to a party or find one at the drop of a hat.

"Depends," I said. "Who's having a party?"

"Someone you want to meet," He replied. "Levon Spritzer

is hosting a soiree at the hotel in town."

He pronounced 'soiree' with an exaggerated foreign

accent.

"He put the word out to some of the performers. He

included you guys by name. I thought you'd like to know

that."

"Seriously?" I said. "He wants us to go? I've been trying

to meet him for years. Nobody can ever find the guy."

The hotel in town was one of those places built near the

end of the last century and stood at the corner of the

main intersection. It was all brick and stone with big

entrance and arched windows.

In its heyday the hotel was probably a grand place and a

focal point for the region. You could really picture this

place with horses and buggies tied up to a rail on the

main street. After a hundred years it was now one of

those places that was still operating but the upper

floors catered mostly to tenants who rented by the week.

"Hey Jimmy, glad you could make it."

We were greeted in the lobby by a guy wearing a dark suit

with a bow tie. He seemed to know Jimmy well. He turned

to the rest of us and greeted us by name although we had

never met the man before. It turns out he was Levon's

agent or representative or what ever he was called. He

was good at his job.

"The party's right in here," He said and gestured to a

side entrance way leading off from the lobby.

It was a large room usually used for parties or

gatherings and still had the styled wood trim that was

put into place over a century ago. There were around

thirty people in the room. Some I knew from the music

industry and others I had never met.

After following his career for so many years, it was

strange to see Levon in person in the same room. I've

only seen him when he was on stage performing or on

television. He was standing in one corner of the room

talking to a couple of people and was still wearing his

stage outfit complete with hat and his Southern style

string tie. A waiter approached us right away with a tray

filled with glasses of some kind of fizzy cocktail.

Suzanna and Katie both knew Tanner and I followed Levon's

career but they really had no idea of who he really was

or why I had such an interest in his music.

"There he is," Suzanna said, nodding toward him. "Let's

go over and say hello."

She didn't wait for me to agree. Suzanna walked across

the room and introduced herself to Levon. For a few

moments they chatted and Levon seemed pleased to meet

her. She gestured over at us and I guess that was our

cue.

"Ah, the Random Philosophers. I'm glad you could make

it," He said in his distinctive style of speech as

Tanner, Katie, Jimmy and I approached.

I shook his hand, and introduced myself.

He told us he liked our work and mentioned several tracks

from our last album. It was a classy thing for him to

say.

I told him that we had tried to meet him before on

several occasions when we played at the same venue but

had never been able to connect with him after the show.

"I don't usually stay around after a show," He said.

"I've always been that way. My connection to the

audience, well, that's just the way it is. It's in the

moment. Levon steps on stage and for a glorious hour and

a-half he's alive. The only thing that lingers after is

the memory. Hopefully everyone leaves with a good

experience."

While we were talking the agent came into the room and

placed three guitars on stands in the corner of the room.

"I understand you fellows have studied Levon's work."

Levon said. "In fact, I've been told you play it very

well."

I was a little surprised by that comment and asked him

how he knew that.

"A little bird told me," He replied.

I looked over at Jimmy who smiled slightly and raised one

eyebrow. He was a guy full of surprises. Jimmy was always

on the inside of things and there are times I think I

really don't know all that much about him and who he

really is in this business.

"Would you honor me and play a couple of tunes with me?"

Levon asked.

He picked up a guitar and placed it over his knee in his

usual style while Tanner and I took the other two

instruments. Levon's clarinet player was standing by to

add some accompaniment.

"You lead me in," Levon said.

I ran over his repertoire in my mind and started to play

a riff that I knew he and Tanner would recognize right

away.

For the next half hour we gave an impromptu concert in

this old hotel while Levon's guests mingled about. It was

probably the most satisfying night of playing music I

have ever had. It was pure joy with acoustic instruments

played for the love of the music and shared with a guitar

master who until now had been only a phantom that allowed

himself to be seen sparingly and at his own choosing.

We played a final number together and Levon handed his

guitar to his agent.

"I think that's enough," He said.

The people in that room must have sensed that they had

been part of something special. For a moment there was a

quiet lull in the room then someone in the back put their

hands together and starting to clap. Others joined in

until the the room was filled with applause and shouts of

approval.

Levon stood up and tipped his hat to the group.

"Thank you all for coming this evening," He said. "Please

enjoy the rest of the night."

That was his cue that he was leaving but the party would

continue.

Before he left he shook Tanner and my hands.

"It was a pleasure to perform with you both tonight," The

great Levon Spritzer said. "I'm flattered that you know

Levon's work so well. I hope we will run into each other

again."

The agent produced a camera and took a photo of Tanner,

Levon and me together. He promised to send me a copy.

Sometimes the events that occur in your life that will

remain with you forever are those that happen when

unexpected. Tonight was one of those nights - in more

ways than one.

About ten minutes after Levon had left the room I

wandered out by myself to a back alcove in the hotel that

probably used to serve as a cloakroom or small vestibule.

There was a window looking out over the back area of the

hotel property.

I saw Jimmy walk across the parking lot with a man

wearing jeans and a t-shirt. They stopped at a waiting

automobile to talk.

At first I didn't even recognize him. Without his hat and

glasses and stage outfit, Levon looked like a totally

different person. I would have passed him on the street

without ever realizing who he was.

They spoke for a few moments before shaking hands and

Jimmy reached over and patted him on the shoulder like

people do when they are old friends.

A lot of things made sense at that moment.

Jimmy rarely spoke about his past experience as a

musician but he seemed to know everyone in the business

from management types to sound engineers. I never really

thought about it because who really does dwell on what

you have done? Most people tend to focus on the present

and what they want to accomplish in the future. If

someone always talks about what they done in the past it

usually means they haven't done much since. I knew most

of his resume and a lot of the work he had done but it's

not something people really talk about.

Seeing him out in that parking lot took me back to a

brief conversation in the lounge years ago and a few

months after Jimmy joined the band.

He was telling me of when he first started playing

professionally and how it was a tough business to get

into.

"I had two jobs. I was working as a pizza delivery guy

and at an appliance store just to pay the bills," He

said. "I don't know how I ever managed to survive making

that kind of money but when you're young you have a

tendency to get by. But I was poor a lot of the time."

Back then he played several different instruments, all

woodwinds or brass. He told me of a chance meeting in a

club one night. He said he used to hang around there

because at the time it was a hot spot for locals who

wanted to get some stage time and it was a good place to

meet up with others in the business.

"One night this guy was on the bill as a solo act. He

came over and sat down next to me at the bar during the

break and we started talking and he asked me what

instrument I played. One thing led to another and I ended

up at his rehearsal studio later in the week. We tried a

few things and he asked me to join him on stage as a

back-up to his guitar. I played the clarinet and a few

other things as well. Man, that cat was good. I stuck

with him for a couple of years and really learned a lot

about the business. He recommended me to a few other

bands and I got a lot of gigs from that."

We never finished that conversation. I can't remember

why. Maybe the telephone rang or someone walked into the

studio but we never got around to talking about it again.

It wasn't until that moment when I saw Jimmy and Levon in

the parking lot that I put it all together. He was

speaking about the Diamond Club in the early days when

Levon was a mystery man accompanied by a horn player.

Over the years Jimmy never really said anything about it

even though he knew I had followed Levon's career. Maybe

that was part of the deal when you signed on with him. I

have never met anyone who actually seemed to know Levon

even though I have spoken to many people who played the

same gig or recorded with him.

Levon's car slowly passed through the parking lot and

turned onto the highway heading east for some destination

that know one else knows. I thought about what he had

said when we finished playing that night and how he

seemed to refer to himself in the third person.

The answer to the question 'Where is Levon playing

tonight?' became obvious.

Levon the musician, the master guitar player, storyteller

and orator was only a persona that existed for a brief

period when the stage lights came on and an audience was

present. He faded away when the lights went out the

microphone was turned off and the audience went home. He

existed only during that time and as a memory when

someone put on a recording made by a ghost who for some

reason preferred to live his life anonymously.

Levon was born from a script written years earlier and

played out on thousands of stages and he never missed a

line and never disappointed an audience because the

performance was genuine. When he took off his hat the

book was closed and put away until next time he came

alive on stage.

Why he decided to hold that party in the hotel on that

night I don't know. I've heard it was he only time he

hosted anything. For the thirty minutes we played with

him we became the actors in his play and we didn't even

realize it at the time.

I don't know who the man really is when he leaves and

goes back out to the world in his every day life.

Maybe a handful of people, Jimmy, Emmett, and a few

others know but they're not talking.

Chapter Twenty-seven

We are no longer accepting offers to appear in your

movie!

"It's time to start recording again. We've got the

material, we should just get on with it."

He was right. Jimmy and I were talking about where the

band should be heading over the next twelve months. It's

been a couple of years since our last release. Since

Tanner left, Jimmy and I really made all the decisions

for the band with input from Archie of course. Everyone

else just coasted along with our ideas and they seemed

happy with that. We weren't really a fully complete band

these days. With Tanner gone we were using a session

guitarist and Ben Winter was kind of a part time member.

Since the success of our last two recordings we had

enough clout that we could determine when to record

rather than trying to shop around and sell something to a

new label.

I called Archie one morning to ask him to start working

on setting us up for recording a new album.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that," He said.

"Maybe we can get together this weekend. I need to talk

to you guys about a few things."

I didn't think much of it at the time. Once in a while

Archie would call a meeting just to make sure everyone's

on the right track and we all know where the band is

heading. But this time it sounded a little more serious.

Archie's been a different man over the past year. He's

been doing his job as well as always but somehow his

enthusiasm for the projects we work on is less than it

used to be.

Jimmy and I met at the studio one afternoon a couple of

weeks before Christmas. Archie arrived a few moments

later and took a seat in the lounge.

“We want to get back in the studio and do a new

recording,” I said. “We've got all the material ready and

we're good to go. What do you think?”

At first Archie said nothing. He nodded his head slightly

and leaned back in his chair.

"Okay, I'll start getting things set up. But, I think you

should know, after that I'm going to move on."

"Move on? To what?"

"I... I think I'm done. I just can't continue with this

any more. I have to make a change."

"A change? In what? I thought we were doing pretty well."

"It has nothing to do with you guys or the band. This has

not... been an easy year for me. With Janet gone, life

just doesn't have the same meaning. I think I'll just

retire from this and try something new."

The three of us sat in the lounge for a while and just

talked. It became apparent that Archie was affected much

more deeply by Janet's death than we had realized. We

knew that losing a spouse is a huge deal and one of the

worst things that can happen to you, but we figured he

would move on and continue with his life. But here was a

man so consumed by grief he told us just going through

his daily routine was a task.

"We had plans," He said. "We were supposed to grow old

together. Together, not apart. If she had, you know, died

from something natural, maybe this would be different.

But the way it happened, I just think every day that if

only they had left ten seconds later, just ten seconds,

this wouldn't have happened."

Janet, it seems, was a lot more involved in Archie's work

than any of us knew. She stayed behind the scenes and

although we rarely saw her, she was his chief adviser and

consultant and played a large role in his decisions both

personally and in business. She played the part of a

socialite and country club butterfly but she also held

two college degrees and was smart and savvy.

"It's for the best," Archie explained. "I've given this a

lot of thought. One day I just woke up and realized I've

got to move on to something different. You know how you

can wrestle with a decision and then one day it just

settles on you and you know the right thing to do? Well,

that's the way it happened."

Archie's absence will leave a big hole in our band. I

remember talking business with a guy a few years at some

industry function who ran his own marketing company that

he built from the ground up. He was the president and CEO

and a bit of a blowhard. He was one of those guys who

talked incessantly about himself and what great things he

had accomplished.

He said, "In business, no one is so valuable they can't

be replaced. For every guy out there who thinks he's a

hot-shot and deserves more money, I can find someone to

slot in his place and do just as good of a job or

better."

So, just because he was a bit of a jerk, I said, "So

you're saying someone could come along and replace you

and do a better job of running your company?"

He looked at me like I had just run over his dog with my

car.

"Of course not!"

So it seems, people are only replaceable when you're

speaking of someone else.

After so many years with the band, finding someone else

to run our business affairs with the same consistency and

discipline that Archie did was going to be tough.

It was Archie himself who suggested a new manager.

"How about Izzy? He knows the band and what you do. He

did a great job on that one tour."

He was right of course. Izzy did do a good job and he

knows the band as well as anyone. His own career has

slowed up a bit. He got tired of performing and started

taking only limited bookings over the last few years.

I called him a couple of days later and asked him to come

to the lounge for a meeting.

We explained the situation and asked him if he was

interested in taking over management duties with the

band.

"I don't know," Izzy replied. "I've never really thought

about doing management type stuff. I'm a musician, not a

businessman."

"You managed your own band for all those years," I told

him. "You're a natural. And you helped out with our tour

and our last couple of albums."

If there was any self-doubt attached to Izzy's concern

over his ability to do he job, I was trying let him know

we had a lot of faith in what he could do.

"Let me think about it for a few days. I'll get back to

you and maybe we can talk about it. I'll see you guys

later."

Izzy walked out into the studio. A few seconds later he

was back and standing in the doorway.

"Who am I kidding?" He said. "Of course I'll do it. I

would be crazy to pass this up."

#

Emmett stood up from behind his desk in his studio

office. He had grown his hair long, sort of like Oscar

Wilde in his heyday and he was wearing this loose fitting

hippy smock with a paisley design that made him look like

he just stumbled out of the crowd at the original

Woodstock concert.

"So, you guys are ready to record," He said. "Good. I

figured it was time you get back into the studio. When do

you want to start?"

Archie had called him earlier in the week and set up a

meeting with Izzy, Jimmy and myself at Emmett's country

studio.

"We are ready to go," I told him. "We've got pretty much

everything worked out on our side."

"Good! I knew you would," Emmett replied. "Three weeks.

How about that? We go in three weeks. I've got a one-week

cruise booked then I'm in Mexico for, I don't know,

something I'm doing there for a week. Then I'm back here

and we can get started. Sound good?"

It sounded fair to us. Three weeks will give us a little

more time to put some finishing touches on what we wanted

to do. We worked out a few final things on each of the

songs we wanted to record and finally got it down so that

we knew when we got to the studio we wouldn't be wasting

any time.

The week before we started to record Izzy met with Emmett

at the studio and they went over the tapes we had made of

the songs we wanted to record to give Emmett the feel of

how things would shape up. When we returned later that

month we recorded the entire album over a couple of weeks

with no drama and very few disruptions. It was all

business.

By this time Emmett had cut his hair and was back to

dressing like a producer rather than a teenager who has

been living on a small island with no access to current

fashion trends.

The recording session ended in typical Zergo Studios

style on the Friday afternoon when Emmett walked into the

studio, lit up a stogie and said, "That's a wrap! Lets

all adjourn to the lounge and crack open a bottle of

Bourbon to celebrate!"

Emmett poured and we all toasted the completed session.

It turned into a bit of a party. The recording was all

finished and the pressure was off. It was time to let off

a little steam. All the band members were there along

with a few of the people that work at Emmett's studio and

some of this other household assistants or what ever they

were called showed up as well. Sometimes a party just

happens.

"So, that's it? We're all done?" Lenny Bruce asked. He

sat down on a sofa and propped his artificial leg up on

the coffee table.

"That's it." I replied. "You can kick back for a while."

"So, we've got no bookings right?"

"No, not really. Haven't started booking anything for the

next while. Why?"

"I'm going on a road trip," He announced. "Don't know

when I'll be back."

"A road trip to where?" I asked.

"Florida. I'm going to Florida."

"I've been there. I had a blast," Chelsey said. "What

city are you going to?"

"I don't know. I'm going to start at the top and work my

way down."

"You know, it's not like a little island," Chelsey

responded. "It's a pretty big place."

"I know. But I'm not sure where I have to go."

Somehow the thought of Lenny Bruce cruising around from

town to town like a hobo did make sense, given his

somewhat quirky nature, but even this sounded a little

odd.

"What are you planning on doing there?" I asked him.

"I'm going to look for Luna-May."

Lenny Bruce was going on a quest to find his long lost

mother. I guess he had some questions for her. Or maybe

it was just curiosity, who knows.

He had tracked down Mr. Blackstock through his publishing

company and gave him a call to ask about the carnival.

"I don't remember the name of the outfit," Mr. Blackstock

told him. "All those carnivals operate under some kind of

business name. They paid us in cash so we never got a

paycheck, but it was owned by a guy who goes by the name

'Big Sneeze.' Just find a guy named Big Sneeze who looks

like W.C. Fields and that's the carnival I worked for."

The only other advice he could give him was that most

carnivals pack it up for the winter and head to Florida.

"Why don't you just try calling them?" Jimmy pointed out.

"Might save you a lot of time."

"It's a carnival. They live in trailers and move around

like freakin' gypsies," Lenny replied. "They don't have

telephones. Besides, how can I call directory assistance

and ask them to give me the number of a traveling

sideshow?"

Three days later Lenny Bruce packed up some belongings

and headed south. He said he would keep in touch and to

let him know if anything came up with the band that he

should know about.

#

In the big picture, most days in your life really don't

amount to much. They begin and end with the same

familiarity of your normal routine and two weeks later

you probably won't remember anything extraordinary about

that day if you remember it at all. Minor snippets of

meetings or events might remain with you but for the most

part that time is really lost. Most single days really

have no impact on what you are going to do over the next

year or decade for that matter. That's just the way it

is. Sometimes though you will remember a day for

something that just stands out from the ordinary.

I received a telephone call one morning that really did

make a day worth remembering.

"It's Don Fewster. We met a while ago. I'm Levon

Spritzer's manag.... uh assistant. We met at the hotel

when you jammed with Levon."

It was the guy with the bow tie who greeted us by name in

the lobby that night. He said he had something he wanted

me to hear and asked if he could drive out to my house

some time to see what I thought about it. It was a

Saturday so I said I was free all day and if he wanted to

come out I would be here.

"That's fine with me," He replied. "But I was hoping

Tanner Phink could be there as well. Do you think that's

possible?"

He was kind of vague about what he wanted us to hear but

I told him I was pretty sure I could convince Tanner to

make the drive.

Around four o'clock in the afternoon we all got together

in my garage top studio. I have converted the whole floor

into a get-away room. It's sort of like an office and

recreation room combined.

Fewster was carrying a big black leather case when he

arrived. It held a reel-to-reel tape recorder that he

unpacked and placed on a table.

"Hello! Helloooo!! Anyone around!?"

Someone was calling out from the driveway. I took a look

and saw Ned Chesterfield standing beside his tiny car and

looking around the property.

"Up here," I yelled back.

For some reason Ned would come around from time to time

just to check on things. It was sort of a local custom to

drop in on your neighbors like that and in this town once

you met someone formally you were pretty much a friend

for life.

Ned joined us in the studio and said he hoped he wasn't

intruding on business.

"Nope," I replied. "You're just in time."

I introduced him.

"This is Ned Chesterfield. My... real estate guy."

Fewster placed a reel on the machine and threaded it

through the tape head. At first there was what sounded

like ambient sound and the murmur of conversation. Then

music began to play. It was a guitar riff that was joined

by a rhythm back-up. We listened for a moment and

recognized one of Levon's signature tunes. It wasn't

until about thirty seconds into the recording that Tanner

looked over at me and said, "That's us!"

When the track finished Fewster turned off the tape

recorder.

"What do you think?" He asked.

"You recorded us that night?" I asked him.

"Yes, I had mics set up and was rolling tape right from

the start."

Fewster had recorded the entire thirty-minute session at

the hotel with Levon. He said he thought it would be a

good idea to get some tape of a live Levon performance.

He had talked to Jimmy prior to setting up and it was

Jimmy's opinion that it would be a good idea to

clandestinely record Tanner and I playing with Levon.

"That's some serious pickin'," Ned exclaimed. "That's you

guys playing that?"

"What do you think?" I asked him.

"Wow, that's really something! I didn't know you could

play the guitar!"

For some reason Ned had never clued in to what I did for

a living. He once made the comment that I have

interesting work hours but never actually asked what I

did.

Fewster turned the tape back on and we listed to the

entire session complete with audience comments in the

background.

"I want to include two of the tracks on Levon's next

album." Fewster explained. "I came out to get your

approval and we can go from there."

"Do you think the quality is good enough to release?"

Tanner asked.

"Yes, it is." Fewster said. "I've been recording him all

year. The next album is going to be all live stuff.

Sometimes a live performance has something genuine, you

know? Not like a typical studio deal where everything is

perfect. The background noise adds something to the

atmosphere of the recording. Of course we'll include you

in the liner notes and work out a royalties deal. What do

you say?"

I looked over at Tanner and shrugged.

"As far as I concerned, yeah, I'd love to be included in

that."

Tanner agreed.

All these years of following Levon's career and we were

going to part of it all in a performance we didn't even

know was being recorded. I'm sure Jimmy's influence

figured in on this but I'm not going to say anything to

him about it.

He can keep his secret.

Chapter Twenty-eight

1996

It's been eight months since we recorded our last album.

The results were not what we had hoped for. Sales were

down from the previous couple of efforts and there was

little hype about the release. It wasn't what we were

hoping for but in this business that's sometimes the way

it goes.

We had to find a new bass player. During Lenny Bruce's

trip to Florida he started visiting all these carnivals

that were holed up for the winter and somehow became

involved with one of the travelling shows. He finally

found the guy named Big Sneeze. Apparently Big Sneeze is

a self-promoter, carnival owner, shyster, and all around

con man rolled into one. I don't know how he convinced

Lenny Bruce to join his circus of misfits, but at his

suggestion Lenny started his own band made up of some

group of locals. He went on the road with the sideshow

and plays cover tunes of popular songs inside a tent. The

band is called Lenny B and the BlasterCats. Apparently

they're pretty popular on the sideshow tent tour.

Lenny never mentioned if he found Luna-May. Not all

family reunions turn out to be happy ones. Sometimes

people who run away just don't want to be found.

One afternoon Ned Chesterfield drove out to my place in

his tiny little car and asked if he could speak to me

about a local event that was going to be happening.

"It's a benefit show for the local hospital," He

explained.

As a natural born local citizen, businessman, and well-

known real estate guy with his face plastered on

billboards on rural roads, Ned was on the Board of the

Hospital Foundation. It's a small place as far as medical

facilities go but it's got an emergency room and serves

the area for all minor type of injuries and illness.

The hospital got its start around seventy years ago when

a well known and rather well off industrialist built a

house near the town to serve as a vacation getaway. It

wasn't a rustic cabin. It was more of a rich mans country

place with a lot of rooms and even a ballroom. He would

invite his wealthy and celebrity friends there to go

riding and hunting as the place was surrounded by fields

and forest at a time when guests arrived in their brand

new Ford Model A touring cars

It occurred to the guy that with all this hunting going

on an accident would require a long ride in less than

ideal conditions to the nearest hospital which at that

time was over one hundred miles away. So he dropped a

pile of money to start financing a local hospital so if

any of his rich friends needed help it would be close by.

Ironically, he became the new hospital's first patients

when on the day it opened one of his household assistants

charged with carrying some of the equipment on a hunting

excursion tripped over a tree root, discharged a shotgun,

and peppered the rich guy's backside with bird shot. The

house is still there and is now a bed and breakfast with

all the original trappings and boasts of the many

celebrity guests that once stayed in its rooms.

The Hospital Foundation was on a quest to raise two

million dollars for new equipment and they hold a benefit

concert every summer featuring local talent.

"I was wondering if you and your band might consider

performing," Ned asked. "We've got a couple of other

local bands that have agreed but our feature band dropped

out. Do you know Ted and Earl?"

"No, don't think I know them."

"Well they're pretty popular around here. They've been

playing for years with their band the Jigger Boys but

Earl isn't well. His arthritis has been acting up and

Ted's wife Elsie broke her hip again."

"Do you think you can really raise two million dollars

with a local concert?" I asked him.

Ned explained that the goal was to be met after three

years of constant fund raising by the Foundation. They

were pretty good at it. A lot of businesses in the

region were big supporters of the hospital.

"It's a lot of work," He said. "Takes a few years to get

that kind of money but it's worth it. We're proud of our

hospital. A lot of us were born there and a lot our

people have died there."

He said the concert was a big local event.

"We get a good crowd. Usually a couple hundred turn out."

They held the annual concert in a local park that had a

small band shell next to the baseball diamond. Ned showed

me some old newspaper clippings of previous year's

concerts. It was like seeing a Norman Rockwell painting

that included music.

Somehow living in this town for the past few years has

countrified me in a lot of ways. I like the town and I

like the people here. I like the way people speak to each

other and treat strangers like friends. I like the fact

that when I go into a local restaurant the owner calls me

by name. I figured if I can give back some of the good

I've received here then this might be the way to do it.

"Maybe we can get a few more people this year," I said.

"What if we set the bar a little higher?"

"How so?"

"Is there somewhere else you could hold the concert? Some

place with a little more space?" "I don't think we need

more space," Ned replied. "The park can easily fit in two

hundred people with room to spare."

"How about 3000 people? What if we aimed for that, or

more?"

Ned seemed a little gobsmacked at the thought of that

many people turning out for his local benefit concert.

"What kind of band are you in?" He asked.

"Lets take a drive," I suggested.

We climbed into Ned's tiny little car and I asked him to

drive to the local conservation area on the south side of

town.

The Southside Conservation Area is just what it sounds

like. It's around one hundred and fifty acres of somewhat

pristine land. It was created on a hillside with a flat

level area on the top of the hill that had been turned

into a campground with a lot of parking and was usually

full all summer long and desolate in the winter. There is

a small creek that runs though the park at its lowest

point. Some time in history they damned the creek to

start a sawmill and when the area flooded it created a

small lake maybe six or seven acres in size. It even had

a small sand covered beach. The hill leading down to the

beach was grass and maintained by the park with an

ancient single stairway that ran down the middle of the

hill. The area curved in a wide arc around the lake.

Ned and I stood at the top of the hill looking down

toward the water.

"Down there, right on the beach. There's the place for

the stage. This whole area is a natural amphitheater," I

explained to Ned. "You could have hundreds of people on

that spot right in front of the stage and a lot more on

this hill. This is the best natural location for a

concert I've ever seen."

"Do you really think you could pull this off?" He asked.

"I don't know anything about the music business. This

would be a pretty big undertaking for this town."

"Picture it from up here," I replied. "The opening band

goes on around sunset, the lake in the background. By the

time our band comes on you're going to have the stage lit

up, lights reflecting off the water. This is perfect."

"Yeah, yeah! This really is a great spot!" Ned's

enthusiasm level started to rise. "But how are we going

to get that many people to come?"

"If you and your committee can handle the local side of

things like getting volunteers and that kind of stuff,

I'll take care of the promotion side of things. I've got

a lot of people who can do this."

It would give us just two months to put this all together

in time for the last weekend in August.

Ned asked me to come to his Foundation meeting the next

night. There were a dozen or so people, all locals from

various walks of life. He pitched the idea to them as

part of the fund raising effort. At first they seemed

kind of skeptical.

One older guy asked me about the band and if I thought we

were able to bring in a lot of people for a show.

I brought a small promo package with me and handed to the

group.

"Wait a minute, you're with the Random Philosophers?"

One woman on the committee had at least heard of us.

"You know us?" I asked her.

"Of course!" She turned to the group. "They're big time.

I had no idea we had one of the Random Philosophers

living in our town."

The truth is we really aren't big time but we have made

waves in the music business over the years.

We spoke for about half an hour. Nothing was confirmed as

I told them I would still have to get the rest of the

band and everyone else involved. But it started things in

motion. I told them to give me a few days to start making

calls and I would get back to them.

I started calling people the next day.

Chapter Twenty-nine

Never let them see you sweat

Change is inevitable. Sometimes things happen over night.

You might wake up one morning and see the lottery numbers

you've been playing for that past ten years finally came

up. Other times the change is a slow natural progression

that you don't really notice until one day you look back

and remember a time that was among the best years of your

life. Maybe it was the group of friends you hung out

with, a place that you worked, or maybe just the way your

family had a big sit down meal on Sunday afternoons.

Chelsey announced that she was making a career change.

She got an offer to work with a major record label as a

writer. It was, she said, an opportunity she just

couldn't pass up.

"I like performing but writing is all I ever really

wanted to do," She said. "For me this is a dream job."

Looking back at our first album and the cover photo of

the original band I realized that those fleeting few

years were among the best times we ever had. That

original line-up was the real inside workings of the

band. But of course you can't go home again.

We had some bookings in July and Chelsey sang her last

with us at the end of the month with the promise to come

back for one more appearance with the band.

"We seem to be falling apart," Was Jimmy's assessment of

the band's situation. "I think we have to do one of two

things. Either put together a new outfit or move on. If

we hire new people there's no guarantee they will stick

around."

As a band we had no problem attracting people who wanted

to join us but we didn't want to be one of those bands

where the difference between our first and fifth album

was a photo that was totally unrecognizable from just a

few years earlier. I've seen it happen where so many

people pass through the line-up that the band and its

brand is watered down to just a group of strangers on an

album cover.

The other option was Jimmy and I form a brand new band

with a new sound, new name and new members. Jean was the

only other original member and he was also exploring

other options.

It was this change however that started the path to

reunite our original group for one final big show.

Izzy was already working on promoting the end of summer

benefit concert for the hospital. He convinced Emmett to

get on board as well. At first Emmett wasn't interested

in doing some kind of small town thing but Izzy convinced

him it was a great promotional tool that he could use to

his advantage.

From there, things kind of took off. Tanner readily

agreed to join us for this show.

We hired a session base player and Ben Winter was eager

to sit in on keyboards.

I finally tracked down Lacey who has been living a pretty

quiet life over the past few years.

She sounded really surprised to hear from me. Sometimes

when people move away you lose touch. It's one of those

deals where you call every couple of weeks, then months,

then one day you realize it's been years.

I told her about the benefit concert and asked her to

come join us on stage. At first she sounded reluctant.

"I don't think so. It's not like it used to be. I've got

two little ones now," She said referring to a son and a

daughter who appeared over the past few years. "It would

be too hard to get away."

We chatted for another twenty minutes just catching up on

things and what has been happening. I told her the offer

would remain open.

Two days later she called me back.

"I'm going to do it!" She said excitedly.

I guess she mentioned it to her husband Owen and it was

his suggestion that she come and perform.

"He's as excited as I am," She said. "Sometimes he really

surprises me. He said I would be crazy not to have one

last go on stage."

I started noticing signs going up in the region

promoting the concert. They were large and splashy with a

photo of the band from our second album.

It turns out Emmett was taking this seriously and

promoting it in a big way and had some of his people out

there taking care of that side of things. Somehow he had

managed to snag a few corporate sponsors and has a ticket

agency involved on a larger scale. I know he's the kind

of guy who wouldn't normally do something without a

payback of some sort so I think he's got some behind the

scenes deals going on.

We rehearsed a few times in the middle of August to get

the final show put together. Lacey and Chelsey would do a

few songs on their own and work together on a others.

During one rehearsal Marnie McPimple showed up. Izzy had

invited her to come out and talk to the band.

"I'd like to do an in depth interview with you," She

asked. "I'd like to carry on from when we last spoke."

Any publicity is good publicity so I asked her to stay

for the rehearsal and I would talk to her about what has

been happening. Marnie took a seat in the corner of the

studio and seemed to get a real kick out of watching us

rehearse.

When we were finished, I invited Marnie to join me in the

lounge so we could talk.

"I'd like to do some serious journalism," She explained.

"I think sometimes I get too caught up in the flashy side

of this business. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I do," I agreed. "This business sort of lends

itself to being kind of flashy I guess. You know what

they say, bullshit makes the world go round. In this

business the more you pile it on, the farther it goes."

Marnie seemed to tone down her questions for this

interview. She asked only one question at a time and she

asked for some interesting facts, not her usual whimsical

enquiries about the backstage shenanigans that happen

when a band lives in hotels for months at a time.

I met with her two more times. Once in the lounge after a

rehearsal and another time in a local bistro that had a

quiet area in the back with a sofa and tables where

people would come to drink their coffee and read a book.

Marnie seemed all business during these meetings. She was

still a little on the wacky side, but seemed to take her

job as a writer more seriously.

#

The final week of August was a last blast of summer type

of finish to the season. It was hot and dry and one of

those seasons where the grass refused to grow and started

turning brown from lack of rain and too much sun.

I arrived at the benefit concert early in the afternoon

as the local crew was putting the finishing touches on

the stage.

"This is going to be spectacular," Izzy explained when I

arrived. "We've got a few surprises."

We walked partway up the hill to look down on the stage

area.

"We've got it worked out so that when you guys come on

stage some of the lights will shine out behind you on the

lake. It will be a natural backdrop using the water. And

here's the best part. We angled the stage a little to the

right. We checked on the moon schedule and.."

"The moon schedule?" I interrupted.

"Yeah, no kidding. Tonight is one phase away from a full

moon. If it's a clear night, and it's supposed to be, the

moon will rise during your performance right in the

middle of the stage.

It was obvious they had put a lot of thought into this

entire production.

"The only thing missing is a cannon firing during the

final encore like in the '1812 Overture,' I remarked.

"Don't worry, we got that covered too," Izzy replied.

Late in the afternoon people started arriving at the

park. At first there was a trickle of concert goers

settling down in front of the stage area and walking

along the water's edge where vendors had set up little

booths and tents selling everything from Native crafts to

trinkets and ice cream cones.

Cars started filling in the parking lot on the hill and a

steady stream of people began filing onto the grassy

area.

"How many tickets did you sell?" I asked Izzy as I

watched the park fill up.

"Not sure of the final count. More than four thousand.

This place is going to be full," He replied.

By six o'clock the stage was completed and ready to go.

They had set up a tent off to one side that served as a

green room for the band. Another tent had tables and

chairs and a local caterer had been hired to provide

dinner for the band and everyone involved in the show.

There was a local band called The Hightail Cowboys that

were going to start off the night with a half-hour long

set.

We were finishing dinner when one of the Cowboys came

over and introduced himself. His name was Harley and he

was the front man for the band. He asked if he could talk

to me for moment. I offered him the chair beside me. He

seemed rather serious and asked me a few questions about

the show.

"You seem a little worried," I said. "You're ready aren't

you?"

"The thing is, we're a local band. That's all we ever

play. Just local, little places. I'm a machinist at the

factory not a professional musician. We didn't know what

we were getting in to. We did this show for the last few

years and there was maybe a hundred and fifty people that

showed up. When Ned asked us to play again this year we

said we would because it helps the hospital, but cripes,

there's around two thousand people out there!"

"More like four thousand," I replied.

He sort of sunk into his chair like the weight of a major

challenge dropped on his shoulders.

"What are you worried about?"

"I'm a basket case. And I'm the one who's got it the most

together right now. The other guys are over there are

sweating bullets. What do you do to stay cool out there?

You're used to this right?"

"Well," I said. "I start drinking heavily before the show

so by the time I'm on stage I'm so drunk I can't see past

the first row. Works every time."

"Seriously?"

"No, I'm kidding. Look, here's the thing. People don't

know you're nervous. Think about it. Have you ever seen

someone on stage and everyone is really focused on what

they're doing wrong? No, because people automatically

assume that because you're the one up there, you know

what you're doing. Even if you are a little nervous it

doesn't show. The audience thinks you're in control."

"Yeah, yeah, that makes sense," Harley replied.

"Just go out there and play what you know. Just like you

did last year. Just because there's more people out there

doesn't mean a thing. Play the same way you did last year

and you'll be fine."

I think it sounded like good advice. I sort of made it up

on the spot. The truth is, no matter how many times you

go on stage, if you're human, getting out in front of

that many people can be nerve wracking.

Things got underway just as the sun began dropping below

the horizon. A spotlight came on and Ned Chesterfield

walked out and picked up a microphone. He thanked

everyone for coming on behalf of the hospital and

reminded everyone how the night was a benefit deal to buy

new equipment. I'm not sure how many people out there

were local or even cared that it was a benefit show. Most

of them probably drove there from somewhere else and just

wanted a fun night out. It didn't matter. They bought a

ticket and would get what they came for.

The Hightail Cowboys did their set without a hitch.

When they finished Harley came off stage and approached

me.

"What did you think? We sounded okay, right?"

I assured him no country band had ever sounded better.

By the time the Random Philosophers were introduced the

sun was gone and the stage was lit for what turned out to

be our last performance. Somehow we all knew the band

would not continue like it had after this night. We

grouped backstage briefly as Ned went out and introduced

us.

Jimmy suddenly blurted out, "Lets give the best

performance this audience has ever seen!"

And we did. We gave a two-hour show that featured songs

from our albums. I don't think we have ever blended in

together as a unit as well as we did that night.

And Izzy was right. In the middle of the concert I turned

around and a big bright moon was behind the stage

reflecting across the lake.

When we finished the last song, we thanked the audience

for coming and reminded them that the hospital would be

the beneficiary of the night. The crowd roared an

approval and started yelling for an encore. I saw Harley

standing in the wings.

"Come out and join us for the final," I yelled out to

him.

Harley and three of his band mates came out and joined us

on stage.

We played one final song and we killed it. When we

finished the last bar, fireworks were launched from

behind the stage and they exploded over the lake and

turned the entire park into a festival of light for a few

brief seconds. Izzy was right - it was spectacular.

It was, I think, one last hurrah for the Random

Philosophers. It was one last glorious time on stage

together and one final farewell. Although the audience

really had no idea that they were seeing the last time

this band would perform.

Lacey came up to me after the show and smiled.

"Tonight, we opened the box," She said.

It was a reference to a conversation we had years

earlier. She had seen a television show when she was a

kid that always stuck with her. There was this guy that

just couldn't get a break in life. He never finished

school and every job he tried didn't work out. It wasn't

because he didn't try but because he just hadn't found

where his place in life should be. He was the kind of guy

that always finished last and if a waiter tripped in a

restaurant, the bowl of flying soup would land in his

lap.

He left town and several months later he sent a parcel

back to his friends declaring that he had finally found

his place in life in a new town with a new career and he

was doing well. Inside the parcel was a small wooden

music box. When the friends opened the lid, instead of

hearing a tune there was the sound of a crowd cheering

and a small note that said "This is all we really need,

at least once in life."

For some reason that really resonated with Lacey.

"Opening the box" to her, meant a special event where for

that one moment you are appreciated for what you do, and

someone lets you know it. Maybe this was one time we, as

a group, really did deserve a round of applause, if not

for the performance then maybe for the effort.

Chapter Thirty

Transitions

Inside the Random Philosopher's with Ricky Van Deusen

By Marnie McPimple

If a scale of a person's dedication to their work could

be measured in volume, Ricky Van Deusen's contribution to

his band The Random Philosphers would cause an ocean to

overflow.

As a leading creative influence in the band's output over

more than a decade, guitarist Van Deusen has helped craft

the final product of years of fine tuning, re-working,

and polishing that defines the Philosopher's sound.

As a professional, he has never been content to ride the

waves of popular culture or bend to the whims of an

industry that changes heroes like it's flipping the

flavor of the day sign at an ice cream shop. He has

always been a musician in the broader sense - one who

studies the craft, not the genre, and draws his strength

as a writer and arranger from every source in the musical

spectrum.

Despite having his name attached to most of the band's

material both recorded and penned in its travelling

repertoire, he claims no solo effort in the prosperity of

the Philosophers commercial or popular success. Instead

he refers to a collaborative endeavor that was honed

through years of cooperation, experimentation, and

talent.

His deference to his bandmates as partners in a twelve

year journey however, belies the fact that he deftly

guides the band through rehearsals with subtle

suggestions and a nuance of subdued direction and

guidance.

Quick to reference his writing partners Tanner Phink and

Jimmy 'Longhorn' McPhail, Van Deusen says "The

Philosophers have always been of one mind when creating

our music. We draws strength from each others strengths

to create the final sound."

It was former band manager Archie Treanor, Van Deusen

says, who was the behind the scenes pilot who steered the

band along a path of greater exposure and commercial

viability.

A musician since childhood, Van Deusen paid his dues

performing at every imaginable venue, either solo or with

accompaniment, zigzagging among the coffee shops,

lounges, and private gigs where he could pick up any

work, while at the same time earning a degree in business

and holding down part time jobs to pay the rent.

It was, he says, "A few years of struggling just to get

somewhat established in a business that in many ways

exists as a shadow industry that never provides a steady

paycheck or promises a realistic expectation of a

career."

Establishing the Random Philosophers was the next step in

a natural progression of building a career.

As the band evolved, he turned to his skills as a writer

and arranger to chisel out the band's sound note by note,

working late at night in between rehearsals with an

electronic keyboard and mounds of charts piled on his

desk.

Describing himself as self-doubting by nature, his

confidence in his work was bolstered by a late night,

somewhat impromptu, concert held in an old warehouse

several years ago that was planned as a small intimate

event for a few friends to get a response on some new

work. By night's end, hundreds had turned out to hear the

Philosophers play. Either through word of mouth or drawn

by the band's sound that wafted through the alleyway and

into the street near the entertainment district, people

kept showing up and turned the small private affair into

a full-blown late night celebration of the band's music.

It was that single night that gave the band an

extraordinary spiritual confidence and validation of

their music that moved them forward.

While living the dream of being a professional musician

and recording artist, he maintains a low-key lifestyle

splitting his time between a small condo in the downtown

core near the band's rehearsal studio and a rural home

that he shares with his wife Suzanna that serves as a

getaway and center for his writing work.

If life on the road wears you down, it doesn't show on

him. The backstage stories of wild parties and crazy

shenanigans are 'greatly exaggerated' he says, preferring

to talk about his work rather than a lifestyle that takes

over some people in the performing industry.

"It's my job, it's what I do," He says. "We all earn a

living in some way. I just happen to have a job that I

like. Messing up your career and life by making stupid

decisions like some high school kid, that's just

embarrassing."

He says very little of the band's direction in the coming

years, and hints that a changing line-up might mean the

Philosophers will evolve into a new stage in their

journey. They won't be the first band to re-invent

themselves and their image when a revolving door of

talent dilutes the original message.

As with every enterprise and every career there are the

highlights and low points and those times you drift along

looking for something new to get you back on track. The

band's last album didn't reach the success they had hoped

for, but that's no reflection of the quality of work or

lack of creativity involved in the production of the

work. Sometimes you just can't sell an album and no one

knows why.

The album, titled 'The Random Philosophers on Film!', is

as inside joke in the band referring to a small part they

had in a motion picture appearing as themselves in a

background role as a band playing in nightclub scene

where a good old fashioned brawl destroys the place

complete with bottles breaking over heads and chairs

breaking over backs, all while the band plays on.

The album is an intricately produced masterpiece of

multi-layered sounds with tight vocal harmonies. It

garnered good reviews but commercially was a

disappointment.

Philosophically, no pun intended, Van Deusen maintains a

positive skew on what may happen in the future.

"In this industry you can see your career plummet almost

over night or you can suddenly find yourself at the top

of the heap and if you're lucky, have a few glorious

years where you're winning the game and everything goes

your way. I try to keep an optimistic view of what is

happening and look for the new opportunities that are

presented by every challenge."

If opportunities present themselves, it's just a matter

of time before good things happen he says.

"Sometimes it's like when you're in the dead of winter,

when the most frigid day in February drags you down. It

always seems to be the coldest month but you know that in

only a few weeks every thing will turn around again."

He finishes his coffee in the cafe where we had met to

talk and heads out onto the street and back to his studio

where I'm sure he will be working on yet a new project.

When the Random Philosophers decide to put out a new

album, I'll already have my name on the list to receive

the first off the press copy.

Marnie McPimple dropped off several copies of In the

Charts magazine at the studio one afternoon after calling

ahead to see if I was there. She mentioned earlier that

she thought her article would be in this edition.

"I hope you like it," She said. "It just came out. I

think I understood a lot about you and the band from our

discussions and sitting in on your rehearsals. I wrote it

as a bio on you. I hope you don't mind that. I think it

just seemed to work."

I sat down in the lounge after Marnie left and flipped

through the magazine. There was a photo of me on stage

with the article and an insert photo of our last album.

Reading about yourself is a funny thing. You're taking in

someone else's interpretation of who you are and once

it's in print, it can't be taken away. But I was happy

with what she wrote. She penned her words with sincerity.

It wasn't too detailed and gave the band credit as a unit

for what we did.

It's another entry for the scrapbook.

Chapter Thirty-one

Five Miles Later

I think it was inevitable that I would eventually end up

working on the production side of things. I never did

want to be one of those guys who just doesn't know when

to quit. Some people can make a lifetime of work out of

performing, others can't.

In the end, the Random Philosophers were of that time. We

were a group of talented individual who came together and

achieved moderate success in an industry where the

difference between notoriety and obscurity can sometimes

be counted in days. And I think we did pretty well over

our full run.

After our last final outing as a band, we drifted to

different corners of the world realizing that the days of

the Philosophers was over and it was time to move on to

something else.

On the eve of the new millennium everyone has found a new

purpose in the universe.

Archie eventually moved to the Bahamas and is working as

a hotel manager at a pretty nice resort. I think it's

probably the perfect place for him.

When Jimmy's postcard arrived a couple of years after he

left town I wasn't surprised to learn he somehow ended up

exactly where I thought he should be. He plays with a

jazz ensemble that has a regular gig in a nightclub on

the top floor of a hotel in Tokyo.

As he put it, "I'm living the dream above a giant neon

sign on the twenty-third floor."

We never heard from Lenny Bruce again but I occasionally

hear rumors of the BlasterCats bringing down the house in

his traveling tent show.

And what about the Young Troubadours? The world has not

really changed that much. Despite the dancing and singing

and the rhetoric of changing the world and making it a

better place, that generation went on to become the new

generation of politicians and arms dealers who ensure

their financial success by supplying war materials to the

rest of the world. Go figure?

A year after the Philosophers folded I was going over my

options and trying to decide where my next move should

be. I was thinking about putting together a new band but

it just seemed to be a big hassle at this point in my

life to go through this all over again. That's just about

the time Tanner called me and made a business offer. His

studio operation was growing and he needed help.

We are now partners in the business and it's working out

well.

Working with different bands and solo artists we are

producing all sort of different things from individual

recording to full albums. We have put a lot of work into

it and have developed a growing reputation in the

business and are also thinking of getting into managing

as well.

Sometime we bring Izzy on board for different projects.

He still plays the odd gig with his band but has sort of

drifted away from the entire performing scene.

Suzanna and I still have our country home surrounded by

the eccentric folks who make up this small town. I spend

a lot of my time at the studio and also go to the city

quite a lot on business and often stop in Gus's greasy

spoon for lunch. He's always behind the counter and I

think always will be. Our poster is still on the wall and

the Rocket-burger is still on the menu.

There is a long way to go before the curtain is drawn on

this career I hope. Maybe the next big band will come

through the studio and ask us to produce a new album.

As for Levon, he still performs on a regular basis and

has created quite the legendary status as a mystery man

with a cult following. I haven't seen him since that

night in the hotel when we played together. He released

his live album with Tanner and mine's contribution a few

years ago. He sent us an autographed copy and it's now

hanging in the lobby in the studio.

When someone sees it and asks, "Where is Levon playing

now?"

I usually answer, "He's out there somewhere tonight, and

you can bet he's giving the best performance of his

life."

The End!

Table of Contents

Chapter one

Chapter three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

CHAPTER Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one