Blue State Cowboys

Raise Your Hand

2012-02-12T16:22:00.000-08:00

It's not often I get to combine two of my passions -- music and the fight for quality public schools -- but on Tuesday, February 21, the planets are going to line up to allow me that opportunity.

The good folks at Raise Your Hand, a grass-roots group of parents, educators and concerned citizens dedicated to ensuring their voices are heard on issues relating to public education, are hosting a fundraiser at Revolution Brewing, 2323 N. Milwaukee Avenue. (Disclosure: I recently -- and happily -- agreed to join RYH's Board of Directors, largely because I've been so impressed by the group's work in Chicago and Springfield.)

My guitar-slinging pal Steve Doyle and I are going to play music at the RYH event, and we hope to be joined that night by a couple of special guests -- Chicago harp guru James Conway and bassist Mark Blade, who many of us still remember from his work with the Crown Royals.

Guitar ace Steve Doyle always classes up my act.

Tickets for the event are $40 in advance and $50 at the door. You'll get drinks, appetizers and great conversation from 7-9 p.m., but our makeshift combo will continue to play music until 10 p.m. Reserve your tickets here.

I'll be shocked if I ever learn that RYH's founders dug through their record collections before deciding to name their group Raise Your Hand, but rest assured that it's almost impossible to keep me from doing what I can to help any group that's named after a classic tune by Stax soul man Eddie Floyd.

Hope to see you at Revolution Brewing on February 21

Meet The Electric Rebel Monkeys

2012-01-03T08:45:00.000-08:00

Like most financially strapped Chicago public schools, my youngest daughter's grade school is always trying to raise money. A few months ago, as part of a silent auction, I offered to conduct a songwriting/recording workshop for two small groups of kids.

The first group, now known as The Electric Rebel Monkeys, just completed their original song, "Stop Driving Us Crazy." The Monkeys are three CPS students (2nd grade, 3rd grade, and 6th grade) whom I had never met until they showed up at my house one day last spring.

Before they ever got around to christening themselves The Electric Rebel Monkeys, the kids spent a couple of Saturday mornings talking with me about songs, poems, and rock-n-roll. We listened to old records and talked about song structure. Most of all, we had fun.

Eventually, the kids put pen to paper and knocked out their song, telling their parents (in jest, of course) to get off their backs. As you can see from the video, these kids rock, and they had a ball rocking out.

Every time the Monkeys came to my house, I was reminded why we need to make sure we have music and art in our public schools. All kids should have the chance to sit around a table and brainstorm about song ideas. Not because they need to become musicians or songwriters, but just because it's a great way for kids to learn about teamwork, effective communication, storytelling, and constructive criticism.

Along the way, the Monkeys also needed to reach deep inside themselves to tap into vocal abilities they weren't sure they had at the start of this project. There's certainly something to be said for getting the opportunity to take those kinds of risks in a safe environment.

Finally, the kids learned that it's simply a lot of fun to create something from nothing. That's why "Stop Driving Us Crazy" by The Electric Rebel Monkeys is this week's "pick to click."

STOP DRIVING US CRAZY

CHORUS
Stop driving us crazy
We're doing our best
Quit saying were lazy
Just give it a rest

You give me spinach every night
To make me big and strong
I don't want another bite
The taste is so wrong

REPEAT CHORUS

You make me study every day
Until my brain is gonna burst
But all I wanna do is play
'Cause homework is the worst

REPEAT CHORUS

You throw me in the bath
To get me squeaky clean
I start to feel your wrath
Do you have to be so mean?

REPEAT CHORUS

Forgive Them, Levi, For They Know Not What They Do

2012-01-01T11:32:00.000-08:00

I spend very little time listening to music on commercial radio, and that's been the case for years. Yesterday afternoon I was again reminded why I avoid this (generally) pre-programmed dreck at all costs.

Around 2:00 p.m., I found myself stuck in someone else's car for a mercifully short ride, listening to Chicago's WLS-FM, which is now an oldies station. After a few commercials and a station identification break, the instantly recognizable intro to "Bernadette" by The Four Tops blasted through the Mazda's speakers.

I was pumped.

Few singers can match the power and emotion of the late Levi Stubbs, and I consider his performance of "Bernadette" to be one of the most powerful three-minute songs ever committed to vinyl.

Levi's passion and desperation build throughout the recording, until the song hits its climax at about the 2:38 mark.

That's when time stops.

There's silence.

Levi then lets loose a final anguished cry for his woman, after which the band (led by James Jamerson's driving bass) and the background singers bring it all home during the record's last twenty seconds.

I've listened to this record hundreds of times over the years, and every time I hear it, I anxiously await that pause, that final roar, and that outro.

Lord only knows who was turning the knobs yesterday at WLS-FM, but just as Levi dug deep for his last plea to Bernadette, the radio guy abruptly faded out the song at about the 2:40 mark.

But this guy wasn't content just to paint his own musical mustache on a Motown "Mona Lisa"; he added insult to injury by hurriedly halting Levi's masterwork simply to get to the next record.

Cher's "Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves."

Memphis In The Meantime

2011-11-25T21:59:00.000-08:00

About five years ago, I was killing part of an evening in the Columbus, Ohio airport. Typical business trip. Suit and tie, brief case, bad airport food -- the whole deal. I'd just finished taking the deposition of a hydrogeologist, who had spent the better part of eight hours trying to duck and dodge my questions. My brain was fried, and I was looking forward to napping on the plane ride home.

Just before boarding, I got a phone call from Mark Morse. Mark is one of my youngest brother's buddies, and (like me) he's a music geek and a hack guitar player. He was calling to tell me that he was heading down to Memphis the following week to produce a record by Rockin' Billy & The Wild Coyotes, a top-shelf Chicago rockabilly band.

Mark had already blocked out studio time at the historic Sam Phillips Recording Service in Memphis, and he now wanted to know whether I'd be interested in coming down there with a couple of my friends to check out the session. He knew that geeks like us consider Sam Phillips Recording Service to be sacred ground. He also asked whether I could coax my old Missouri-based horn section, The St. Louis Horns, into making the trip south down I-55, so that Rockin' Billy could put some horns on a couple of his tunes.

The Yardbirds, John Prine, Charlie Rich, and Sam the Sham all cut here.

Mark didn't need to ask twice. The next week we were all there.

We hung out at the studio by day and had a ball. Since a few of the guys had never before been to Memphis, we also made it a point to hit some of the city's hotspots: Sun Studio, the Stax Museum, Charlie Vergos' Rendezvous, etc.

I learned a lot about recording by watching Rockin' Billy and his boys cut a whole slew of great sides. And at some point, when their band was taking a break, my friends and I got behind the microphones and did our own quick take on an Eddie Cochran classic, which, thanks to the YouTube link below, is finally seeing the light of day. Rockin' Billy was even a good enough sport to play electric guitar on the track for us.

Did I mention that the man behind the glass working the faders while we recorded was none other than Roland Janes?

I sit in awe of the great Roland Janes.

Mr. Janes is a rock-n-roll legend, having played guitar on most of the 100+ sides that Jerry Lee Lewis cut for Sun Records. It was a real treat to meet him and to talk with him about music.

But he wasn't the only heavy-hitter at the studio that week. We also got to spend some quality time with the late Dale Hawkins (whose "Susie-Q" has been a radio staple for fifty years).

Mark Morse, Dale Hawkins, and I mug for TMZ.

In addition, we got to listen to and learn from Hayden Thompson, another of the original Sun rockabilly cats.

Hangin' with Hayden Thompson.

It was one of those strange, unplanned adventures that keeps life interesting.

In Way Over My Head (Once Again)

2011-11-12T09:32:00.000-08:00

A few weeks ago, I walked out of my downtown law office at noon and saw that the company that manages my building was throwing a lunchtime party for its many tenants.

The complimentary warm lemonade and cold nachos on the building's south plaza weren't, by themselves, going to be enough to keep me around. But the party planners did see fit to hire one hell of a guitarist to play for the event, and that sealed the deal for me.

So I skipped lunch, grabbed some free nachos, planted my rear end in a plastic chair and listened to the music.

Even though it was a frigid fall day, the building's hired gun was burning it up on his Gibson ES-335. But while he was busy conjuring up Freddie King, Wes Montgomery, the boys from Steely Dan, and a host of other greats, a largely oblivious work force was going about its mid-day routine. For the life of me, I'll never understand how folks can walk past a guy playing so beautifully and not stop to listen.

In any event, during a break I asked the guitarist his name. It rang a bell, though I couldn't quite figure out why. Turns out he's a longtime member of the faculty at the Old Town School of Folk Music, where I occasionally hang out.

After his set, he and I talked for a few minutes. Seemed like a real nice guy. One thing led to another, and I swooped in for the kill.

"I work in this building as a lawyer, but from time to time I play music in local bars. If you'd ever consider playing a gig with me . . . ."

Now the key to this deal is to let a musician know up front that you're gonna get him paid a decent wage. I've got a lot of friends who are professional musicians, and I know it's a brutal way to make a living. I assured him that if ever I called him for a gig, he'd get paid in U.S. dollars that same evening.

He graciously told me to call him anytime.

Two weeks later, while I was down in Atlanta taking a deposition, I did just that.

And that's why, come Wednesday, November 23, I'll once again be plugging in with a musician with whom I have absolutely no business sharing a stage. A Berklee-educated guitarist who toured the United States with soul great Otis Clay. A guy who's played with Percy Sledge, The Coasters, and The Platters. A guy who's jammed with Otis Rush and performed with the Wrecking Crew's Hal Blaine (the world's most recorded musician).

A guy who has assured me that he knows each of the three chords that I know.

This year, I'm excited to have Chris Winters joining me for my annual after-work, pre-Thanksgiving show at McKellin's Pub (2800 W. Touhy Avenue) in Chicago's West Rogers Park neighborhood.

Chris and I will play from 6-9 p.m., and there's no cover charge. Stop by and request a song or two. Just make sure those songs contain the three chords that I know.

Why the Record Business Is a Mess: Reason #467

2011-08-21T17:38:00.000-07:00

The year is 1974. You're a hotshot executive with Chrysalis Records, and somebody's just handed you the finished mixes for "High Life," the upcoming second release by the soulful Scottish singer Frankie Miller. The singer's first album didn't make much of a splash, but this time around your label agreed to let New Orleans music legend Allen Toussaint serve as Miller's producer. The new record features several of Toussaint's tunes, and the master's signature piano playing also graces the grooves.

You close your door, kick back in your office, and give the tapes a listen. You quickly decide the music lacks a certain sheen. You then make an executive decision to ship the tapes to a couple of guys in another part of the country and ask them to remix Toussaint's production.

And since you're a self-important record exec (who may or may not be able to carry a tune, write a lyric, or build a diminished chord), you don't bother to tell Toussaint or Miller that you're having their record remixed. In fact, the two of them don't find out about your decision until the album is in the stores.

Is it any wonder the record business self-destructed?

Sure, Miller was still a young gun in 1974 without a hit record to his name, but Toussaint was already a legend. He’d been writing, producing, and playing on hit songs for fifteen years. His credits included tunes like "A Certain Girl," "Mother-in-Law," "Working In The Coalmine," "Fortune Teller," "Lipstick Traces (On a Cigarette)," and "Ruler of My Heart."

Even though he’d penned most of those tunes ten years earlier, Toussaint was hardly an oldies act in 1974. Just a few years earlier, The Band had asked him to arrange the horns for their live album, "Rock of Ages." And only a year before going into the studio with Miller, Toussaint had produced Dr. John’s album "In the Right Place," which featured the smash hit "Right Place, Wrong Time."

But that record exec knew better than the hit-making musical genius, so he ordered up a slicker remix of Miller’s "High Life," hoping to put a radio-friendly gloss on what was a gritty, soulful record.

The remixed "High Life" didn’t sell many copies, and Miller disowned the record after its release. Toussaint was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1998, and the whereabouts of the record executive are unknown.

In any event, thirty-seven years after the fact, you can finally hear the original mix of "High Life." It’s been released as part of "Frankie Miller . . . That's Who!" It's a bargain-priced, four-disc Frankie Miller anthology, and it’s well worth checking out.

Here's one of the original mixes from the "High Life" record, and it's a stone-cold version of a Toussaint classic.

Post-script: Ten years after Toussaint was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, I made what will always be considered my greatest contribution to popular music. I was seated about fifteen feet from Toussaint and his piano at the second of his February 2008 concerts at Chicago's Old Town School of Folk Music. Toward the end of the show, with the band still playing, Toussaint got up from the piano and walked across the stage, handing Mardi Gras trinkets to the fans in front. As he headed back to the piano, Toussaint lost his footing and fell off the stage. I jumped from my seat and caught him over my right shoulder in a make-shift fireman’s carry.

The band kept playing. I asked Toussaint if he was okay. He thanked me and said he was fine. The master then walked up the side stairs and headed back to his piano to finish the concert. After the show, he stopped by my table to thank me again. He gave me a kitschy Mardi Gras trinket, which I've kept to this day.

The following week, he headlined during half-time of the NBA All-Star Game in New Orleans.

Long live Allen Toussaint.

Summer Camp, Dead Parents, and Elmo

2011-07-28T18:46:00.000-07:00

Never underestimate the healing power of Elmo.

This afternoon I spent my lunch hour in a Roosevelt University classroom talking with 45 kids who, on the surface, seemed to have little in common with me. Few of them looked anything like me. Most came from neighborhoods far more rugged than the North Side bungalow belt in which I live. And the vast majority of them would have been hard-pressed to name even two of the four Beatles.

But as I told the kids, who ranged in age from 10 to 14, we did share one important bond. We belonged to a “club” that, for better or worse, will continue to play a big role in shaping each of our lives. It’s a “club” that no kid wants to join, but its members don’t have a choice.

We were initiated into that “club” when, as kids, we each experienced the death of at least one of our parents. For my money, I told the kids, that meant we had something in common that was far more important than, say, a shared love of the Chicago Bulls.

The kids and I met because they are taking part in a two-week day camp called “Hands Together, Hearts on Art.” The camp, now in its seventh year, uses the arts to help kids deal (at many different levels) with the loss of a parent. I had not heard of the camp until a few weeks ago, when one of my cousins, who happens to work at Roosevelt, suggested that I share my own story with the kids.

I’m a pushover, so I signed on.

I had thirty minutes to fill. I explained to the kids not only how I gained admission to the “club” – my 39-year-old dad dropped dead from a heart attack at work in 1978 – but also how I spent the next ten years living an aimless, day-to-day existence, all because I saw no point in planning for a future that could be so easily snatched away. When I asked the kids whether any of them had had similar feelings, a lot of hands shot up.

We then talked about how to recognize and hopefully move beyond such a highly negative world view. I didn’t profess to have a lot of answers, but I did tell the kids this much. At some point in my early twenties, I acknowledged that the life expectancy tables might be right, and there was a good chance that I might actually live to be an old man.

Having made that leap, I then decided to start living life with an eye to the future -- trying to set longer-term goals while still taking some pleasure in the moment. The kids then asked me a lot of great questions, and I answered them honestly. I know some of what they’re going through right now, and I’m rooting for all of them to enjoy what’s left of their childhoods.

Which brings me back to Elmo.

Since the camp is an arts-themed camp, I brought my acoustic guitar with me. I told the kids that my dad had sparked my love of music by spinning his old records for me when I was little, and then telling me tales about folks like Chuck Berry, Johnny Cash, and Little Richard when I was a bit older. To this day, a large number of the songs I perform in taverns are tunes I learned from my dad.

And I was all set to play one of those songs for the campers until I noticed two kids -- one boy and one girl -- on opposite sides of the room wearing Sesame Street t-shirts. The boy was sporting a blue Cookie Monster shirt; the girl had opted for a resplendent red offering from the Elmo collection.

So I called an audible: “Elmo . . . Cookie Monster. Come up here with me.” The kids grudgingly wandered up to the front of the room. I then channeled my inner Elmo and kicked into a rousing version of “Elmo’s Song.”

Ten seconds into the tune, every teen and pre-teen voice in that room was singing every word of “Elmo’s Song” along with me. Not something I’d normally expect from kids that age, but these kids appeared to have gotten comfortable enough with each other over two weeks that they weren’t afraid to get a little silly.

I then blasted through a quick version of “C Is For Cookie” for my buddy in the blue t-shirt, but he was less than impressed.

With the Sesame Street songbook out of the way, I moved back to my dad’s record collection. Before launching into the next tune (a #2 smash for both Bobby Day in 1958 and Michael Jackson in 1972), I told the kids that I’d be happy to have them as background singers and dancers if the spirit moved them.

And wouldn’t you know it -- halfway through the first verse of “Rockin’ Robin,” three of my background singers jumped to their feet, got behind me, and worked out their choreography on the spot. By the time I hit the first chorus, two-thirds of the kids in the room were “on stage” with me, entertaining their friends who were still sitting on the floor.

It was a heck of a way to spend my lunch hour.

Songwriting for Kids

2011-04-17T07:24:00.000-07:00

The first wave of students will arrive at my house this afternoon. Today it will be the younger group -- three kids who range in age from about six to nine. A couple Sundays from now, five eighth graders will knock on my door.

Each group is coming over to talk about music. The focus of our meetings will be songwriting. The kids and I plan to meet regularly during the spring and summer, and by the end of the program, each group of kids will have written and recorded an original song.

As part of that process, the kids will have the opportunity to consult -- via Skype -- with my compadre Alan Elliott, a Hollywood composer and arranger (who also makes it a point to work with young musicians in L.A. schools).

Lord knows I don't have Alan's musical talent or training. He scores movies and TV shows; I write and record occasional "odes" to elected officials in the Land of Lincoln. But I'm confident I can still teach these kids something useful.

This whole adventure came about on a lark. Last month, I decided to offer up my services in a silent auction to raise some money for my youngest daughter's public school. To my surprise, a couple of folks were willing to write checks to help out the school (while encouraging the budding Leibers and Stollers in their own homes).

I'm looking forward to working with the kids. I'll do my best to ensure they have a blast. It may be the first time some of them get to hear (and discuss) music by folks like Roger Miller, Smokey Robinson, Cole Porter, Jimmy Webb, and Woody Guthrie.

Who knows? Down the road, they may even allow me to post their finished works on this site. Stay tuned.

Too Big To Fail

2011-02-04T17:16:00.000-08:00

Chicago was hit by a blizzard this week, and most of us here in the city were snowed in on Wednesday. I spent part of the day shoveling and part of the day cranking out a song.

I know there's minimal demand for middle-aged white rappers with law degrees, but because I'm not hustling clubs for a cover charge, I don't sweat the realities of the marketplace. On the plus side, I've never had to spend quality time on a hotel balcony with Suge Knight.

I'll blame the following two minutes and fifty-two seconds on my having spent too much time (a) studying Chicago politics and (b) spinning Eric B. & Rakim records in the 1980s. (Apologies in advance to the great Rakim.)

Too Big To Fail
(M. Farmer)

I got a call last spring from Good King Rich
He said the time had come for him to make a switch
He said, “Rahm, you’ve always been my boy”
I said, “Rich, you’ve always been my goy”
Then he started talkin’ about his plan
To slip on out and make me the man
He said, “Here’s the teflon; you’re gonna be a great Don --
Do the dance like my very own Black Swan”
Then I said, “I will prevail --
I got Hollywood cash; I’m too big to fail”

Then I let it be known that I was back in Chi-Town
Measuring drapes and getting ready to throw down
And just like that the field cleared
The wannabes all disappeared
I got rock star money; I can buy my own island
My family wants Thai food, I take ‘em to Thailand
Stay off of my court; I’m playing a blood sport
Whaddup, Winnetka? Bye-bye Bridgeport
No need to vote; I will prevail
I got Hollywood cash; I’m too big to fail

Then I hit the streets with my top adviser
The guy in charge of my hand sanitizer
I smile and wish all the people well
Shake some hands and then get my Purell
They say I’m out of touch with the working man
With my thousand dollar suits and my year-round tan
I say spare me the rap about that neighborhood crap
Garfield Park is just a place on a map
You wanna play ball, put a check in the mail
I got Hollywood cash; I’m too big to fail

Public schools, hah, I don’t need ‘em
Parking meters, lord, I don’t feed ‘em
My big-money crew is gonna rock the downtown
And throw a few bones to the black and the brown
Kiss up to all the right preachers
Send dead fish to the union teachers
Bringin’ it non-stop; rockin’ the hip-hop
Did I mention that my uncle was a city cop?
Mess with me and you touch the third rail
With my Hollywood cash; I’m too big to fail

Happy National Record Store Day

2010-04-17T05:50:00.000-07:00

Today is National Record Store Day, and I'm typing this post from my basement bunker, where I'm dwarfed by bookcases loaded down with records and CDs. Thousands of records and CDs.

My shelves make for a great melting pot. Pee Wee Crayton lives right down the block from Ray Baretto, and Dyke & The Blazers are just a stone's throw from the Osborne Brothers. Were my shelves an actual neighborhood, I know they'd host one hell of a block party.

I'll admit it: I own way too much music (and too many books about music, and too many music DVDs, etc.). But it's my thing, and all things considered, it's a habit that hurts no one. My music purchases have slowed down a bit over the last four or five years, but that's primarily because record stores keep closing their doors. I tried to explain two years ago why this trend saddened me, and my opinion hasn't changed.

I doubt that Mayor Daley has declared National Record Store Day a parking meter holiday here in Chicago, but I'll still make it a point to drive over to a couple of indie record stores this afternoon, comb through their bins, and drop a few bucks on good music and quality local businesses. I encourage you to do the same.

Brenda Lee's "Coming on Strong"

2009-12-27T14:19:00.000-08:00

"Daddy, can we take Brenda Lee with us in the car?"

It's a question my seven-year-old frequently asks me as we head out the door. Brenda Lee's music has definitely had an effect on my youngest daughter, and I think YouTube should get some of the credit for that. To be sure, my daughter certainly enjoyed a lot of the old Brenda Lee records I play around the house before she ever saw a picture of the singer, and she also knew that Ms. Lee cut a lot of those great sides as a kid. But it wasn't until my daughter saw some old black-and-white videos of the young Brenda Lee knocking out audiences with that big, big voice that she bought in for the long haul.

So if you find that your daughter (or son) is spending too much time with the latest "American Idol" flavor-of-the-month or Disney Channel pop star, take a few minutes, sit your kid in front of your computer, and introduce that child to "Little Miss Dynamite."

Bear Down

2009-09-04T18:35:00.000-07:00

To kick off what I hope will be a Super Bowl season for the Chicago Bears, I'm posting a video for "Another Super Bowl Shuffle (Chapter Two)." I co-wrote and recorded this song a few years ago with my buddies The Hoyle Brothers, but I never bothered to make a video for it.

We had a lot of fun with this song during the Bears' 2006-07 season, performing the tune live on WGN-TV, as well as on The Eric & Kathy Show, which is a morning radio powerhouse here in Chicago. We even managed to get some airplay on 50,000 watt giants like WGN-AM 720 and WLS-AM 890. All cool stuff for a lawyer like me.

In any event, here's the video:

Bear Down.

Live Music -- Saturday, August 15

2009-08-14T20:21:00.000-07:00

Join Chicago guitar ace Stevie Doyle and me this Saturday night for three sets of hard-charging jukebox favorites at Finley Dunne's Tavern, 3458 N. Lincoln Avenue.

Showtime is 9:00 p.m., and there's no cover. We've invited Blago (who lives within jogging distance of the tavern) to join us onstage for a twisted version of Elvis's "Treat Me Nice," and we'll be happy to let him do "Jailhouse Rock" as an encore.

It Was Thirty Years Ago Today . . .

2009-07-12T11:28:00.000-07:00

It was thirty years ago today that I hopped the wall along the left-field line and ran around on the field at Comiskey Park during "Disco Demolition Night." I was fourteen years old.

After jumping the wall, it took me about ninety seconds to realize that I was in way over my head. I quickly headed back to my seat and watched the madness unfold. Eventually, scores of Chicago police officers in full riot gear cleared the badly damaged field, and the White Sox forfeited the second game of a double-header against the Detroit Tigers.

But I've gotten ahead of myself.

My brother Mark turned twelve on July 12, 1979. To celebrate his birthday, my mom decided to take her five boys -- then ranging in age from seven to fourteen -- to watch the White Sox play. (Mark has always been a huge Sox fan.) My mom had been widowed about nine months earlier, so even under the best of circumstances, an outing like this, with five kids in the station wagon, meant that she had her hands full.

Unlike me, my mother did not listen to Steve Dahl's morning radio show, so she had no idea that a radio promotion called "Disco Demolition Night" was on the bill between games. I didn't tell her about it because I thought she might cancel the trip from suburban Villa Park to 35th and Shields if she knew something potentially subversive was afoot.

Once we arrived at the ballpark, it had to be obvious to my mom that this was not a typical baseball crowd. It looked (and smelled) a lot more like a cross-section of the lawn at the Alpine Valley Music Theater during a Blue Oyster Cult/Nazareth twin-bill.

Toward the end of the first (and only) game that night, I left my family and wandered out to the left-field bleachers to take a look around. Folks throughout the park appeared to be pretty plastered.

Then, after the first game ended, Steve Dahl blew up a bunch of disco records, thousands of people stormed the field, and all hell broke loose.

As I said earlier, my adventure on the field lasted no more than ninety seconds. By the time I headed out there, people were flinging pieces of broken disco records like Frisbees. These scraps of broken vinyl, however, were more like ninja death stars, and I knew enough to get the hell back to my seat. I saw little honor in becoming a casualty in the "War On Disco."

Before leaving the park that night, I shelled out six bucks and bought myself a black "Disco Sucks" t-shirt to commemorate the event. My mom saw the shirt as soon as we got home, and she immediately cut it to pieces, telling me, "No son of mine is going to wear anything with the word 'sucks' on it. No son of mine is even going to use the word 'sucks.'"

Thirty years later, that t-shirt would probably fetch a few bucks on eBay. It's too bad -- in fact, it downright sucks (sorry, Mom) -- that I didn't get to keep that souvenir from "Disco Demolition Night."

Happy birthday, Mark.

Good King Rich (the music video)

2009-07-03T16:04:00.001-07:00

Here's the music video for "Good King Rich," a song I penned right after Mayor Daley's recent trip to Switzerland.

Great thanks to the folks who helped me bring this tune to life.

GOOD KING RICH (words and music by Matt Farmer)

(Spoken Intro)
This is an open letter to the International Olympic Committee:

As you travel the world these next few months
Being wined and dined in five-star restaurants
In Madrid, Tokyo, and Rio De Janeiro, remember this:

You're upholding the proud tradition of your predecessors,
Many of whom allegedly accepted bribes
In exchange for awarding the 2002 Winter Games
To that paragon of urban virtue - Salt Lake City, Utah

(Chorus)

Well, you can scrap that bid from old Madrid
Say adios to Spain
And just say no to Tokyo
With its fancy bullet train

And if you're ill at ease speakin' Portugese
Then Rio ain't your town
Oh, but Good King Rich, he'll scratch your itch
When he throws that cash around

(Verse)

Well, some folks say that it don't make sense
To hold the Games in the 312
They say our city's broke; schools are a joke
Well, friends, that just might be true

Oh, but Good King Rich, he'd rather fight than switch
You know how the story's gonna end
With all the King's family and all the King's friends
Lining their pockets again and again

(Repeat Chorus)

(Verse w/ tag)

From the two-flats and the bungalows
We applaud his every scheme
From a tax increase to a parking meter lease
He's helping us live the dream

Now with a wave of his hand and a line in the sand
He's gonna bring the Olympics home
So damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead
He's gonna get us a velodrome

We can't pay for salt when there's ice on the streets
But at least we'll have a velodrome

(Repeat Chorus (w/ tag))

Yeah, Good King Rich, he's gonna scratch your itch
When you bring those games to town

Hitting The Studio

2009-06-27T05:47:00.000-07:00

This Monday night, the gang and I will hit the recording studio to offer our twisted musical take on Mayor Daley's crusade to bring the 2016 Olympic Games to Chicago.

(Spoiler alert: We believe it's a horrible idea that will serve largely as a conduit for continued corruption.)

We look forward to sharing our work with folks around town as soon as the song is in the can.

Mid-Month Music

2009-05-11T05:01:00.000-07:00

This Friday night, Brian Wilkie (pictured) and I return to Finley Dunne's Tavern for three sets of hard-charging jukebox favorites. Brian will be armed with his Telecaster and his pedal steel guitar. He's one hell of a picker.

Finley Dunne's is located at 3458 N. Lincoln Avenue, in Chicago's Roscoe Village neighborhood. Showtime is 9:00 p.m., and there is no cover. Hope to see you.

Must-See TV?

2009-05-09T06:42:00.000-07:00

For the past six months, I've made it a point to watch (or record) "The Marty Stuart Show," which airs every Saturday night at 7:00 p.m. (CST) on RFD-TV -- "Rural America's Most Important Network."

Marty's thirty-minute show is taped before a live audience on a spartan set in Nashville, and it's loaded with live music -- no skits, no interviews, and only a minimal amount of schtick.

Each week Marty and his phenomenal band, The Fabulous Superlatives, play a couple of tunes. Marty's wife, Connie Smith, generally joins the fray for one song. The kicker, however, is the weekly guest. It's generally someone who doesn't surface on TV -- perhaps because there aren't many opportunities (outside of American Idol and the late-night talk show circuit) for folks to sing and play on TV anymore.

In past weeks, Marty has featured legends like Wanda Jackson, The Del McCoury Band, Charley Pride, and Dallas Frazier. Equally important, he's also given airtime to great new acts like The Steeldrivers and The Quebe Sisters Band.

Marty's show reminds me a lot of The Buck Owens Ranch Show -- and that's a good thing. Buck's show aired regionally some forty years ago, and it's now available on DVD at Buck's website.

While I have Marty on the brain, I'll throw out a plug for "Souls' Chapel," his 2005 gospel record, which remains in heavy rotation at my house after four years.

This Saturday -- April 11 -- Live Music at Finley Dunne's

2009-01-27T18:45:00.000-08:00

This Saturday night, April 11, I'll be joined once again by my buddy Brian Wilkie (pictured here) for three sets of hard-swingin' jukebox favorites at Finley Dunne's Tavern. Brian is one of the finest guitarists/steel guitarists in Chicago, and it's always a treat for me to play with him.

Finley Dunne's is located at 3458 N. Lincoln Avenue, in Chicago's Roscoe Village neighborhood. Showtime is an extra-early 8:30 p.m. Finley Dunne's has great food, parking is plentiful, and there's no cover charge.

The temperature is supposed to climb to 50 degrees on this April Saturday night. Hope to see you at the tavern.

We're A Winner

2009-01-17T14:48:00.000-08:00

As we approach Inauguration Day, I keep thinking about one Chicagoan who passed away nine years ago. His timeless music certainly should -- but probably won't -- be filling the air at all the balls and parties on January 20.

Curtis Mayfield.

Pay To Play (But Keep Love In Your Heart)

2008-12-24T07:00:00.000-08:00

Welcome to Chicago, Illinois -- a place long celebrated for its great pizza, beautiful lakefront, and wonderful music scene. It's surely just a matter of time before folks around the country figure out that our city and state are also noteworthy for the dead-fish stench of political corruption that has, for decades, filled the air here in the Land of Lincoln.

The Blue State Cowboys hit the studio last night to record their musical take on this political cesspool:

PAY TO PLAY (But Keep Love In Your Heart)

Matt Farmer

All my life I’ve been a workin’ man
On Chicago’s northwest side
Livin’ check to check, never gettin’ ahead
No matter how hard I tried

I had an old friend from the neighborhood
He grew up to do just fine
He couldn’t read or write to save his life
But I guess his boss didn’t mind

Now, I never quite knew what my old friend did
To get that money rollin’ in
But life, I guess, can be pretty good
For a state committeeman

So, one night over beer at the local bar
I said, “How’d you make your dough?”
My friend just grinned a wicked grin
And said “Here’s all you need to know”

CHORUS
You’ve got to pay-to-play in this town
If you wanna make that deal go down
It’s who you know inside the Big Machine
Just find the man that’s behind the man
And put some money in his hand
That’s how we try to keep our city green

VERSE
Well, the liquor flowed and the stories flew
And my old friend bared his soul
About rigging bids and getting neighbor kids
Good jobs on a ghost payroll

He said he’d be happy to help me out
If there was anything he could do
Like try to arrange a zoning change
Or put me on a movie crew

Well, we talked and talked until last call
And then I told him I was beat
Then he climbed aboard his hired truck
To see a man about a Senate seat

And late that night as I lay in bed
You know I finally figured it out
My friend didn’t need to read or write
Cause he had himself some clout

CHORUS
You’ve got to pay-to-play in this town
If you wanna make that deal go down
It’s who you know inside the Big Machine
Just find the man that’s behind the man
And put some money in his hand
That’s how we try to keep our city green

CHORUS
You’ve got to pay-to-play in this town
If you wanna make that deal go down
It’s who you know inside the Big Machine
If you wanna standout
You gotta know who gets the handout
That’s how we try to keep our city green
It’s a daily job to keep our city green

Thanks to Mouse and Fig over at Reelsounds Chicago for making time to get us into their wonderful recording studio on short notice. Extra special thanks to my music-making buddies for braving last night's Chicago snowstorm to join me on this project. You guys are the best.

Brian Wilkie works his steel guitar magic.

Peter Strand (bass) and Peter Manis (drums) hold down the bottom.

Stevie Doyle spanks the plank.

Annalee Koehn's harmonies can make even political corruption sound angelic.

Thom "Fig" Fiegle works the big board.

Since this is the holiday season, the BSC gang asks all of you to heed the words of our governor (recently channeling Elvis) and try to "keep love in your heart."

Pre-T'giving Fun (Version 2.1)

2008-11-23T15:05:00.000-08:00

It ain't the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade, but as far as holiday traditions go, I've had a good thing going for eight of the last ten years. I’ve managed -- with my wife's blessing, of course -- to kick off the long Thanksgiving weekend by playing an after-work gig in a Chicago tavern, and I've been lucky enough to have a lot of my musically-inclined friends sign on for the event.

One of the highlights, of course, has been the willingness of the St. Louis Horns, my music-making compadres from Missouri, to make the 300-mile trip to town for the near-annual November bash. This year, however, scheduling issues and a global economic meltdown have conspired against such a large-scale musical onslaught. So I've implemented Plan B -- which means adapting and getting back to the basics.

This year, be sure to jump-start your holiday weekend on Wednesday, November 26, by joining me and my guitar-pickin’ buddy Stevie Doyle (pictured above) as we knock out hours of jukebox favorites at McKellin’s Pub, 2800 W. Touhy (at the corner of California and Touhy), in Chicago’s West Rogers Park neighborhood. We’ll cover a lot of musical ground (e.g., Hank, Haggard, Prine, Kristofferson, Cash, Elvis, Jerry Lee, Buddy, and Carl) and we may even have some special guests.

Mr. Doyle -- an honorary Blue State Cowboy, whenever I can get him on a gig -- has been working his Telecaster magic for over twenty years with numerous Chicago bands, and some of you have probably learned a few things from him through his classes and private lessons at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Over the years he’s shared stages with folks like Pinetop Perkins, David Bromberg, Dale Watson, John Primer, and Smokey Smothers.

McKellin’s is a great neighborhood tavern, and there’s plenty of parking. It’s an early start time. We’ll play from 6:30 p.m. until about 9:30 p.m., and there is no cover charge. Hope to see you down the line.

Some Love From Joe Nick Patoski

2008-11-23T06:45:00.000-08:00

A couple of days ago, while having my morning coffee, I e-mailed "Crawl Back To Crawford" -- my band's musical farewell to George W. Bush -- to Joe Nick Patoski, a guy I consider the dean of Texas music writers.

Now, I'd never met Joe Nick, but I've been reading his work for decades. (In fact, I highly recommend his recent biography of Willie Nelson -- a perfect gift for any Willie fan in your family.) Truth is, I sent Joe Nick the song on a lark, thinking it might be nice if someone in Texas dug it.

Turns out he dug it and quickly asked me if he could post the song on his blog. That was a no-brainer for me.

I don't know who visits Joe Nick's blog, but it did make my week to know that a writer whose work I've enjoyed for a long time wanted to post my tune (along with a very cool song -- "Do The Soul President" -- from some serious studio cats in Dallas) on his cyber-forum.

Life's simple pleasures . . . .

A Stax Saturday Night

2008-11-08T04:49:00.000-08:00

I was in musical heaven last Saturday night. Booker T. & the MGs hit Chicago, along with Mavis Staples and her fine band.

And my wife and I had third row seats.

Now, over the years, I've been lucky enough to see a lot of my musical heroes play live -- e.g., Miles Davis, Sonny Rollins, Art Blakey, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Bo Diddley, Albert King, B.B. King, Andres Segovia, Dan Penn, Kris Kristofferson, James Brown, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Eddie Palmieri, Gil Evans, The Temptations (w/ Eddie Kendricks and David Ruffin), Jay McShann -- but I've never been able to catch a performance by Booker T. & the MGs. I don't think they've played a lot of Chicago dates during the last couple of decades.

The guys are obviously a little older and grayer than they were when they served as one of the greatest house bands ever (see clip below), but old age hasn't slowed them down on the bandstand. They still bring it.

As for Mavis Staples -- a fellow Chicagoan -- I have been fortunate enough to see her perform over the years, and she still sounds great. Her new record, which was recorded live at The Hideout in Chicago and released this week, captures the feel of the show I saw on Saturday. Her current band features a fine guitarist, Rick Holmstrom, who obviously absorbed a lot of Pops Staples's playing.

If I die tomorrow, I'll die having seen Booker T. & the MGs perform live. (And, yes, I'll look up Al Jackson, Jr. when I get there.) Pretty cool.

Crawl Back To Crawford

2008-10-30T06:39:00.000-07:00

The Blue State Cowboys offer their musical farewell to George W. Bush.

CRAWL BACK TO CRAWFORD
(Matt Farmer)

VERSE
Well, for eight long years we’ve been payin’ your rent
But now your lease done run
And all our money’s been spent
So pack up your bags
And take a last look around
At how you drove a great nation straight into the ground

CHORUS
And don’t let the door
Hit you in the ass on the way out
Don’t bother with the goodbyes
Just make sure that you stay out
There ain’t no need to call
No need to write
We don’t even need you to turn out the light
Just crawl back to Crawford, brother
Promise that you’ll leave us alone

VERSE
Every step of the way, your story’s been the same
Just cruisin’ through the world
On your daddy’s name
You had the oilmen friends
You had the Skull and Bones
But it never would have happened if your name was Jones

REPEAT CHORUS

BRIDGE
Slam dunk, privatize, deregulate
Tax cuts, trickle down
The politics of hate
Flag pin, waterboard
Intelligent design
You were handed your throne by just five of the nine

REPEAT CHORUS
____________________________________________
Thanks to my friend Don Grayless (pictured below) for recording this song on short notice.

Thanks, too, to my music-making friends Brian Wilkie (guitar), Stevie Doyle (guitar), Peter Strand (bass), Peter Manis (Drums), Diana Laffey (background vocals), and Gerald McClendon (background vocals) for their work on this tune.

Unfortunately, we couldn't get The St. Louis Horns to town in time to record with us -- not that they would have even wanted to get involved with these partisan antics . . . .

Eight Long Years

2008-10-26T06:36:00.000-07:00

When I started this blog, I decided that music would be its focus. That's why, for the past six months, I've avoided posting entries about sports, religion, sub-prime mortgages, or the joys of alpaca farming.

We are, howevever, counting down the hours until Election Day, and I remain a political junkie -- albeit one who has tried hard for twenty-five years to kick that particular habit. And, to date, I've successfully resisted the urge to write about presidential politics.

This blog entry is no exception. It's about music. Really. It's about a song I penned earlier this month. Granted, the song is my musical farewell to George W. Bush, and its current working title is "Crawl Back to Crawford," but this blog entry is about music - not politics.

So, musically speaking, I'm thrilled to announce that many of my all-star, music-making friends (Brian Wilkie and Stevie Doyle - guitars; Peter Strand - bass; Peter Manis - Drums; Diana Laffey and Gerald McClendon - background vocals) are going to join me in the recording studio on Monday night (October 27) to bring this little ditty to life. We hope to have it ready for your Election Day parties.

A Pleasant Surprise

2008-10-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, after the family had turned in for the evening, I wandered down the street to hear Jimmie Dale Gilmore perform a late night set. I've seen Jimmie Dale perform a number of times -- both on his own and with the Flatlanders -- so I knew what I was getting. Nice show, no surprises, the usual stream-of-consciousness rambling between songs.

The wild card for the evening was Jimmie Dale's opening act, Eilen Jewell. Being a music geek, I generally try to learn something about an act -- even an opening act -- before I walk into a club or theater. That night, however, I walked in a blank slate, not having done my usual due diligence. My tuned-in musician buddy Stevie Doyle, with whom I attended the show, hadn't heard of her either. Nevertheless, we were both impressed with what we heard.

The Boston-based singer-songwriter hit town with her crack band and played a tight set of intelligent, swinging music. Her relaxed, behind-the-beat phrasing evoked Willie Nelson, Gillian Welch, and even Billie Holiday. (After citing Lady Day as a big influence, Jewell and the band did their own take on "Fine and Mellow" -- and it worked well.)

I thought enough of Jewell and her band that I bought a copy of their most recent CD -- 2007's "Letters From Sinners and Strangers" (Signature Sounds) -- in the lobby after the show. The disc is excellent. I'm not sure how I missed out on hearing about this band last year.

Here's a clip of the band performing the opening cut from that CD:

Check out Eilen Jewell when she hits your town.

Blue State Bliss (Part Two)

2008-09-20T15:38:00.000-07:00

The Blue State boys had a lot of fun playing in the battleground state of Ohio last Saturday night. Several members of my geographically-challenged band (based out of St. Louis and Chicago) flew into Cleveland one day early. As a result they were able to hit some local attractions -- e.g., an Indians game, The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, the Flats, etc.

To ensure that we had guitars, amps and drums at the event, a couple of us loaded up the family truckster and drove from Chicago to Cleveland on Saturday morning. It made for a long day, but we managed -- despite some rainstorms right out of the Old Testament -- to make it to the gig in time for a mid-afternoon soundcheck.

It was undoubtedly the first time that any of us had played a show in an old red barn, but the guys and I gave it our barn-dance best. We even came away with a bit of rough video footage.

Thanks again to the bride and groom for having us out. We were honored to be a part of your special day.

Blue State Bliss

2008-09-12T11:52:00.000-07:00

Yes, I’ve studied logic. Yes, I understand the fallacy of “post hoc ergo propter hoc” (“after this, therefore because of this”). Nevertheless, I still feel that a bride and groom can lay a strong foundation for their marriage by having my band play at their wedding.

Why? Well, to date, the St. Louis Horns and I have performed together at three weddings. All three of those couples are still happily married; in fact, two of them are closing in on their ten-year anniversaries.

To be completely accurate, the Horns and I have actually played only two wedding receptions together. The third event on our list was an amazing wedding rehearsal bash, held one night before the wedding. But since that bash was a swanky, private party held at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, and since the bride and groom flew our band in from Chicago and St. Louis, and since we played a full show for hundreds of guests, it stays on the list.

All of which brings me to tomorrow night. On Saturday, September 13, the St. Louis Horns and I look to extend our streak by setting the table for yet another happy marriage.

This time our traveling salvation show hits Akron, where the Blue State Cowboys will plug in for an evening of music at the Conrad Botzum Farmstead. The farm is located in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, and from the pictures on the farm's website, the place looks gorgeous.

We hope the weather cooperates, but rain or shine the Blue State boys will do our best to make the event a bucolic barn-burner -- figuratively speaking, of course.

We are honored that the bride and groom, whom we had never met until they wandered into one of our tavern gigs a few months back, thought enough of our band to invite us to travel from Illinois and Missouri to be a part of their special day in Ohio.

Expect a full rundown of all the fun in upcoming posts.

"Down Goes Frazier!"

2008-08-21T05:27:00.000-07:00

"Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!" Howard Cosell's staccato delivery of those words during the 1973 Frazier-Foreman fight was one of my favorite TV moments as a kid. (I used to do a pretty fair Cosell impression back when Nixon was in the White House.)

That said, and with apologies to Howard's estate, down goes Dallas Frazier as one of my favorite country/soul songwriters. Never heard of him? Then check out "The R&B Sessions," the recent release (on Australia's great Raven reissue label) of some of Mr. Frazier's work from the mid-1960s. It'll be time well spent.

Dallas was the guy who penned "Mohair Sam" (Charlie Rich), "Elvira" (Rodney Crowell, The Oak Ridge Boys), "Alley Oop" (The Hollywood Argyles), "There Goes My Everything" (Jack Greene), "True Love Travels Down a Gravel Road" (co-writer) (Elvis Presley, Percy Sledge), and many other classics. (The last two tunes listed are not on this reissue.)

Although Mr. Frazier's career as a recording artist never really took off, this pair of albums from the mid-1960s is a great listen. It's a wonderful blend of country, soul, and gospel delivered in two- to three-minute doses. If you're a fan of Charlie Rich or Buddy Miller, give it a listen.

Let's Hope This Deal Gets Done

2008-08-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

Legendary music executive Jerry Wexler died last Friday at his home in Florida. If you don't know who Jerry Wexler is, read "Sweet Soul Music" by Peter Guralnick; better yet, listen to just about anything issued on Atlantic Records from 1953 through the late 1960s.

At the time of Mr. Wexler's death, he was working with my good friend Alan Elliott to bring to life a documentary about the making of "Amazing Grace," Aretha Franklin's great gospel record from 1972.

The film, which was orignally shot by the late Sidney Pollack, ended up in the Warner Brothers vault because the production company was never able to reach an agreement with Aretha.

Alan told me several months ago that he was working with Jerry Wexler to get this movie financed and released. I'm confident Alan will figure out a way to secure the financing to get this done.

After Mr. Wexler's death, Alan discussed the project with writer Ethan Smith for an article that appeared in Saturday's Wall Street Journal:

"Jerry always would say, 'My contribution to that session was that I brought a profane rhythm section into a sacred space,'" recalls Alan Elliott, a former Atlantic staff record producer.

* * * * *

"All the energy he poured into these phone calls at 91, you can only imagine what he must have been like 50 years ago," Mr. Elliott says.

* * * * *

Mr. Wexler and drummer Bernard Purdie felt that the rehearsals for "Amazing Grace," which Mr. Pollack also shot, were even more powerful than the actual sessions. Mr. Wexler was overseeing sound mixing on the rehearsals near the time of his death. The film is now being edited.

Over at Al's blog, he describes, as only he can, the events that sparked his involvement with this project.

I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this documentary hits the big screen one of these days.

"Elvis Has Left The Building"

2008-08-16T08:13:00.000-07:00

Because today is the thirty-first anniversary of Elvis Presley's death, you can bet that there are folks around the globe donning white jumpsuits and jet-black wigs to attend screenings of "Clambake" and "Flaming Star." I won't be among them. That's not the Elvis that hooked me as a kid.

I've been a fan of EP's music since I was a toddler. I sat glued to the tube as a four year-old, when the 1968 comeback special aired. (I still get goosebumps watching his performance of "If I Can Dream.") And as I got older, I came to appreciate the writing of folks like Peter Guralnick, Robert Gordon, and Greil Marcus, whose books shed light on the larger cultural and musical contexts in which Elvis crafted his body of work -- the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Yes, I'm a fan of Elvis, but being a music geek, I guess I'm also a student of Elvis -- in the same way I'm a student of Duke Ellington, James Brown, and Hank Williams.

Back in mid-2002, it was the "music student" in me that initially got a charge out of meeting Al Dvorin. My family and I had just moved into our Rogers Park home, and Al and his wife, Bernice, lived across the street.

As I later found out, Al loved to chat, and on one of the first Saturday afternoons we were in our new house, Al stopped my wife on the sidewalk and engaged her in a long conversation. During the course of that conversation, Al mentioned Elvis. My wife took that as a cue to tell Al, "You really need to meet my husband."

A couple minutes later, I wandered out of the house to meet Al. He was almost eighty years old, but that day we began a friendship that lasted until his death in August 2004.

You see, I knew about Al from Peter Guralnick's two-volume biography of Elvis -- and Al got a big kick out of that fact. And when I told Al that I was a part-time rocker and was probably the only guy in the neighborhood who had performed "Suspicious Minds" in Japan and "Burning Love" at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, he knew he'd met a kindred spirit.

You never would have guessed it by looking at the octogenarian who walked cautiously from his Rogers Park bungalow to his old blue station wagon, but Al was the man whose voice was heard at the end of the King's concerts: "Elvis has left the building. Thank you and good night."

During the short time I knew Al, he spent most of his time caring for his sick wife. After she passed away, he used to talk to me about his desire to go back “on the road” to attend the many Elvis festivals and conventions to which he was always invited. He said, “My family will think I’m nuts, but this is what I need to do right now.” And it was what he needed to do.

Al eventually went back "on the road." Sadly, in August 2004, he was killed in a car accident near Palm Springs on the way home from an Elvis tribute show.

Shortly before Al died, he was excited when a local pinball machine company – Stern, I believe -- wanted to license his voice for use in an Elvis game it was designing. Al asked me to review the proposed contract for him. I don’t know whether the game ever hit the market.

I’m glad I got to know Al Dvorin. I miss him, and I think of him often -- and always on August 16 -- the day on which Elvis left "The Building" for good.

Papa Jack -- Thanks for the Threads

2008-08-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

Jack Weil, America's oldest living CEO, passed away on Wednesday . . . at the ripe old age of 107. He founded Rockmount Ranch Wear in 1946.

When it comes to cars, cameras, toothpaste, and most other consumer goods, I've never had much brand loyalty. Jack Weil's Rockmount shirts are the exception. When I put one on, I'm ready -- at least in my own mind -- to rock.

Most of the calendar year, I'm a lawyer. As a result, I have way too many lawyer clothes in my closet. They weren't fun to buy and they are not fun to wear. Every now and then, I get to shed the lawyer skin (no snake jokes, please) and lead my bar band. For those occasions, I keep a small section of music clothes in my closet. Those were fun to buy and they're also fun to wear. Most of those duds came from Jack Weil's company.

Elvis had Bernard Lansky; Gram Parsons had Nudie Cohen. Legends all.

But even without the talent or the checking accounts of Elvis and Gram (both of whom I've managed to outlive), I look forward to playing tavern gigs in Jack Weil's Rockmount shirts for a long time. Good Lord willing and the creek don't rise, I hope to be doing it when I turn 107.

Rest in peace, Papa Jack.

If You Only Knew Him From "South Park" . . .

2008-08-10T15:02:00.000-07:00

If you only knew Isaac Hayes -- who died earlier today -- as the voice of "Chef" from the TV show "South Park," you've missed out on a lot of music -- and a lot of music history. (Same is true if you only knew Buck Owens as a cornball character from TV's "Hee-Haw.")

Grab Rob Bowman's book "Soulsville USA: The Story of Stax Records" if you want the best account of Mr. Hayes and his contribution to soul music. Had Isaac Hayes never made a record as a solo artist, the songs that he wrote with his partner David Porter (e.g., "Soul Man," "Hold On, I'm Coming," "B-A-B-Y," "When Something Is Wrong With My Baby") would have ensured his place in any number of musical halls of fame. His performance credits, however, were equally noteworthy. Isaac Hayes was a massive talent.

To my ears, one of the more interesting -- though least popular -- records in his discography is his first Stax offering, "Presenting Isaac Hayes." It's a late-night piano trio record from 1968, and it features Ike's piano and vocals along with "Duck" Dunn's bass and the magnificent drumming of Al Jackson, Jr. The session, it is said, followed a Stax company party, and Isaac Hayes sounds, shall we say, quite relaxed. Check it out. The trio covers several standards and digs into some gospel and blues, as well.

The live clip below is not from that 1968 date, and it features a mega-star Ike with a larger group; nevertheless, his treatment of T-Bone Walker's "Stormy Monday Blues" carries a vibe similar to the one you'll feel on that first Stax record.

Isaac Hayes was 65 years old.

Ask and you shall receive . . .

2008-08-06T16:40:00.000-07:00

In my July 19 post on this blog, I wrote about a recent Christie's auction of many of the late James Brown's possessions. The auction (and the ugliness that gave rise to it) disturbed me. After reading about an auction house selling off James Brown's hair rollers and gel, I asked:

Couldn't the Godfather's estate have figured out a more tasteful way to raise some cash? For example, there has got to be a wealth of old James Brown performance videos out there. I've been trying for years to track down a decent copy of James on the T.A.M.I. Show, but I've had no luck. I realize the JB estate may not own any rights to that particular video, but surely it owns rights to a lot of other great footage. James was too shrewd a businessman to have given all that away.

So imagine my surprise this afternoon when I stumbled upon a 3-DVD set -- just released yesterday and officially licensed by the Godfather's estate -- entitled "I Got The Feelin': James Brown in the '60s" The set features not only the documentary "The Night James Brown Saved Boston" -- a night more Americans should know about (see trailer below) -- but also footage from the T.A.M.I. show.

Spectacular. Buy it. Savor it. Share it with your kids.

"Can we hit it and quit it?"

JG & KG

2008-07-26T11:30:00.000-07:00

Within a four-hour span yesterday, I picked up two seemingly unrelated pieces of information about a couple of saxophone players. First, I learned that the great tenor-man Johnny Griffin passed away yesterday at his home in France. He was 80 years old. Mr. Griffin was born and raised right here in Chicago, but left the United States for Europe in the early 1960s, finding it easier to make a living as a jazz musician over there.

Second, while having a friendly chat with a seven year-old neighbor -- one of my daughter's playmates -- I learned that he listens to the soulless soprano sax stylings of Kenny G when he has a hard time falling asleep at night.

The strange confluence of my learning, within that four-hour window, about both JG's death and KG's role in my neighbor's life got me thinking. I'd wager that everyone in my office has heard of Kenny G and that most of my co-workers are generally familiar with his music. I'd also wager that no more than two of the roughly twenty people in that same office could tell you a single thing about Johnny Griffin. Sad but true.

If you never had the pleasure of seeing him play at the Jazz Showcase during his annual April visits to Chicago, you missed out. The little man had big chops. Check out this clip from a date at The Village Vanguard.

I don't know whether my little neighbor will ever learn about Griff (or Lockjaw, or Jug, or Long Tall Dexter, etc.), but his night-time reliance on the soporific sounds of Kenny G brought to mind Pat Metheny's screed -- from eight or nine years ago -- about the G-Man's decision to dub his own playing over a Louis Armstrong recording ("What A Wonderful World") and release the CD to his adoring public. (If you're a jazz fan who somehow missed this cyber-squabble years ago, click the link above.) Here's a taste of Mr. Metheny's invective:

Kenny G is not a musician I really had much of an opinion about at all until recently. There was not much about the way he played that interested me one way or the other either live or on records.

* * * *

But he did show a knack for connecting to the basest impulses of the large crowd by deploying his two or three most effective licks (holding long notes and playing fast runs - never mind that there were lots of harmonic clams in them) at the key moments to elicit a powerful crowd reaction (over and over again). The other main thing I noticed was that he also, as he does to this day, played horribly out of tune - consistently sharp.

* * * *

Of course, I am aware of what he has played since, the success it has had, and the controversy that has surrounded him among musicians and serious listeners. This controversy seems to be largely fueled by the fact that he sells an enormous amount of records while not being anywhere near a really great player in relation to the standards that have been set on his instrument over the past sixty or seventy years. And honestly, there is no small amount of envy involved from musicians who see one of their fellow players doing so well financially, especially when so many of them who are far superior as improvisors and musicians in general have trouble just making a living. There must be hundreds, if not thousands of sax players around the world who are simply better improvising musicians than Kenny G on his chosen instruments. It would really surprise me if even he disagreed with that statement.

* * * *

But, like I said at the top, this relatively benign view was all "until recently".

Not long ago, Kenny G put out a recording where he overdubbed himself on top of a 30+ year old Louis Armstrong record, the track "What a Wonderful World". With this single move, Kenny G became one of the few people on earth I can say that I really can't use at all - as a man, for his incredible arrogance to even consider such a thing, and as a musician, for presuming to share the stage with the single most important figure in our music.

This type of musical necrophilia - the technique of overdubbing on the preexisting tracks of already dead performers - was weird when Natalie Cole did it with her dad on "Unforgettable" a few years ago, but it was her dad. When Tony Bennett did it with Billie Holiday it was bizarre, but we are talking about two of the greatest singers of the 20th century who were on roughly the same level of artistic accomplishment. When Larry Coryell presumed to overdub himself on top of a Wes Montgomery track, I lost a lot of the respect that I ever had for him - and I have to seriously question the fact that I did have respect for someone who could turn out to have such unbelievably bad taste and be that disrespectful to one of my personal heroes.

But when Kenny G decided that it was appropriate for him to defile the music of the man who is probably the greatest jazz musician that has ever lived by spewing his lame-ass, jive, pseudo bluesy, out-of-tune, noodling, wimped out, fucked up playing all over one of the great Louis's tracks (even one of his lesser ones), he did something that I would not have imagined possible. He, in one move, through his unbelievably pretentious and calloused musical decision to embark on this most cynical of musical paths, shit all over the graves of all the musicians past and present who have risked their lives by going out there on the road for years and years developing their own music inspired by the standards of grace that Louis Armstrong brought to every single note he played over an amazing lifetime as a musician. By disrespecting Louis, his legacy and by default, everyone who has ever tried to do something positive with improvised music and what it can be, Kenny G has created a new low point in modern culture - something that we all should be totally embarrassed about - and afraid of. We ignore this, "let it slide", at our own peril.

* * * *

There ARE some things that are sacred - and amongst any musician that has ever attempted to address jazz at even the most basic of levels, Louis Armstrong and his music is hallowed ground. To ignore this trespass is to agree that NOTHING any musician has attempted to do with their life in music has any intrinsic value - and I refuse to do that. (I am also amazed that there HASN'T already been an outcry against this among music critics - where ARE they on this?????!?!?!?!, magazines, etc.). Everything I said here is exactly the same as what I would say to Gorelick if I ever saw him in person. and if I ever DO see him anywhere, at any function - he WILL get a piece of my mind and (maybe a guitar wrapped around his head.)

Maybe my little buddy is making the best possible use of Kenny G's music by using it to put himself to sleep.

Rest in peace, Johnny Griffin.

Papa's Got A Brand New . . . Set Of Hair Rollers?

2008-07-19T09:20:00.000-07:00

As if the news of the day -- mortgage meltdowns, bank runs, endless war, and yesterday's big-screen release of "Mamma Mia!" -- wasn't depressing enough, it pained me to read Guy Trebay's piece in today's New York Times about Christie's recent auction of 328 items that once belonged to the Godfather of Soul.

Christie's held the July 17 auction in an effort to raise money to pay down the outstanding bills and taxes owed by James Brown's estate -- an estate over which many heirs and would-be heirs are now battling.

Mr. Trebay's account hammered home the weirdness of the event:

"The most curious lot of the day was not the bracelet, however, or the singer’s platform shoe collection ($15,000) or the paranoid note he once scrawled on loose leaf paper alleging that his record label was out to kill him ($7,000.) It was not the suite of red leather furniture that conjured up images of the recreation room on a mother ship ($40,000.)

It was the single-lot offering of 80 hair rollers, accompanied by spray styling products like Smooth Sheen, Finisheen and Volumax, a Polaroid of Brown with his hair up in curlers, and a variety of picks and combs.

* * * *

After spirited bidding, Lot 242, simply labeled “Hair Supplies,” was hammered down to a private collector for $4,800, plus the auction house’s 25 percent buyer’s premium."

Couldn't the Godfather's estate have figured out a more tasteful way to raise some cash? For example, there has got to be a wealth of old James Brown performance videos out there. I've been trying for years to track down a decent copy of James on the T.A.M.I. Show, but I've had no luck. I realize the JB estate may not own any rights to that particular video, but surely it owns rights to a lot of other great footage. James was too shrewd a businessman to have given all that away.

Until some of those wonderful old JB concerts are released on video, we fans will have to content ourselves with clips like this one:

The Man and his band were just too cool . . . .

The Secret Life of Collier, Mitty

2008-07-04T18:43:00.000-07:00

It's telling that I have to rely upon folks from outside the country -- in this case, the good people at Kent Records in the UK -- to fill me in on a lot of great music that came out of Chicago back in the 1960s.

A couple of days ago, Kent released "Shades of Mitty Collier: The Chess Singles, 1961-1968," which compiles all fifteen of Mitty's Chess 45s, plus several of her B-sides. I took a shot on this disc even though I was familiar with only a couple of Mitty's records. I'm delighted I did because this one's a keeper. Why she wasn't a major star, I'll never know.

If you're not familiar with Mitty, check out this clip from Hoss Allen's mid-1960s TV show, "The Beat," which was filmed in Nashville -- and is now available on DVD courtesy of, go figure, Germany's Bear Family label. Here, Mitty is lip-synching her biggest hit, "I Had A Talk With My Man," while Clarence "Gatemouth" Brown is pretending to lead the band.

(Although "The Beat" did feature some lip-synching, the six DVDs, which feature twenty-six episodes, showcase a lot of blistering live performances.)

Mitty turned 67 a few days ago and, rumor has it, still runs a church here in Chicago. I should probably make a pilgrimage soon.

Father's Day

2008-06-15T09:17:00.000-07:00

The folks at Hallmark tell me this is my big day. But it's not. I love being a father 365 days a year, and I'm grateful for each day I have with my kids -- even the days when they do or say things that make me want to bang my head against the wall.

My dad dropped dead at age 39, when I was just 14 years old, so I value greatly each moment I have with my kids.

One of the many things my dad sparked in me was a love of music. He didn't play an instrument, and he certainly never had money to take me to concerts, but through the magic of long-playing records and AM radio, he introduced me to much of the music I still listen to today. I've tried to spark that same love of music in my kids, and I have tried -- probably as a tribute to my dad -- to pass along to them a lot of the same songs, stories, and musical insights he shared with me.

So thanks, Dad, for turning me on to Little Richard, Johnny Cash, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Charlie Rich, Bo Diddley, Ike & Tina, CCR, Johnny Horton, Arthur Prysock, Wilson Pickett, Roger Miller, Ray Price, Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, Jim Croce, and Fats Domino.

Thanks for introducing me to "Black Slacks" (Joe Bennett & The Sparkletones), "Chantilly Lace" (J.P. Richardson a/k/a The Big Bopper), "The Johnny Cash Show," "Jubilee Showcase," and "Hee-Haw."

And thanks for sitting me down, way back in 1971, with the lyrics (printed on the Monument record sleeve) to Kris Kristofferson's "The Silver Tongued Devil And I" album. That little exercise taught a curious seven year-old that poetry and popular music weren't mutually exclusive.

Kindergarten Meets the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame

2008-06-13T06:48:00.000-07:00

My youngest child finished a wonderful year of kindergarten today. A couple of days ago, the kindergarten class, along with many parents, grandparents, and teachers, filled the school gym for the annual Kindergarten Talent Show.

When the show was announced, my daughter had to decide which of her "talents" she wanted to display. In an effort to keep things simple (and keep her stress level low), I suggested to her that she memorize and recite a couple of poems by Shel Silverstein or Ogden Nash. She politely rebuffed my suggestion, telling me she wanted to play the piano and sing. The catch, of course, is that my kid doesn't play the piano.

Having hung around enough of my band rehearsals, however, she knew that plenty of folks had made hay (and even gold records) out of some basic chord progressions. She favored the I-vi-IV-V progression in the key of C, and ended up parlaying that bit of knowledge into a heart-felt talent-show performance of Dion's "Teenager in Love" that made my wife and me smile.

On June 2, while my daughter was honing her performance of a classic by one member of The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, another member -- the sorely under-appreciated Bo Diddley -- passed away.

Bo's passing reminded me of another special moment I shared with my youngest daughter at the start of her kindergarten year. Last September, during a break in one of my Sunday morning basketball games at the local YMCA, she brought her little basketball onto the floor and began to dribble it for me. She told me to listen to her dribbling pattern -- Boom, Boom, Boom . . . . BOOM, BOOM. I laughed because I knew what we she was thinking. She said, "Daddy, I'm dribbling with a Bo Diddley beat."

It was a priceless moment I will never forget. God bless Bo Diddley.

St. Louis Sit-In

2008-05-14T19:36:00.000-07:00

I had to travel to St. Louis on business a few days ago, but during my free time I was able to catch up with my bandmates -- and good buddies -- Rob Endicott and Neal Connors (a/k/a The St. Louis Horns). In fact, I even had a chance to sit in with Rob and the rest of the guys in the Voodoo Blues Band during their weekly jam at Hammerstone's in Soulard. Thanks again to singer/guitarist/bandleader Raul Consuegra for allowing me take part in the fun.

As enjoyable as it was to jump on stage with a fine band in St. Louis, I got an even bigger kick out of something I saw at the bar later that evening. After the Voodoo Blues Band finished its show, a two-piece act -- at least, I thought it was a two-piece act -- took the stage to play until closing time.

The front-man played a beautiful Gretsch electric guitar and sang a lot of old country songs. He appeared to know hundreds of tunes, and he did a nice job of keeping the crowd engaged. His companion onstage was a guy with an upright bass.

He was the guy who really held my attention.

For starters, no one in the bar could hear a note this "bassist" played, so I'm not sure why he was even on the stage. I only stuck around for five or six songs, but it was obvious to me that this low-rent Mingus was playing some variation of "air bass." The catch was that this guy played "air bass" on an actual instrument, and he did it during an actual show.

In any event, my man worked the neck of that bass with fingerings and facial expressions worthy of Ray Brown or Ron Carter. As for his right-hand technique, this guy switched from pizzicato to bow no less than two or three times during each two- or three-minute song. There was no musical reason for these random switches, but since he wasn't really playing music, it didn't matter.

He definitely looked the part with his tousled hair and his old suede jacket. He even occupied prime on-stage real estate just a few feet to the right of the singer, yet somehow the singer managed to ignore him completely.

Of course, I didn't have the singer's discipline -- so I was riveted.

I asked around, but none of the regulars at the bar could explain the man's musical role to me. They told me only that he lived in the neighborhood and "sat in" with the singer nearly every week.

But since that guitar-pickin' front-man didn't seem to mind, who was I to complain?

How Did I Miss This One?

2008-05-08T04:59:00.000-07:00

Time keeps ticking, and the number of great books I've yet to read keeps growing. So, too, does the number of wonderful movies I've yet to watch. (And, as Kris Kristofferson noted forty years back, "There's still a lot of drinks that I ain't drunk, and lots of pretty thoughts that I ain't thunk.")

But I finally set aside two and one-half hours for a film that I'd been meaning to watch for years, and I'm glad I made the time for it. It's one that I'd wanted to check out as much for its score as for its acting, its script, and its direction.

Talk about a movie-making Dream Team: Jimmy Stewart, Otto Preminger, and Duke Ellington . . .

Not only was watching "Anatomy of a Murder" (1959) a great way to spend an evening, it reminded me again just how worthless most of today's movie "soundtracks" are. I'm also fairly sure that scores like Duke's help keep my West Coast compadre Alan Elliott inspired to continue writing music for movies and TV shows.

Scoring films has become a wholly under-valued art form in our throw-away, least common denominator society. But that's a topic for another day.

Duke set the bar high with just about everything he did; the music he wrote for "Anatomy of a Murder" is no exception.

Thank You (Falettinme Be Home With My Family Tomorrow Night)

2008-05-02T04:41:00.000-07:00

If you're one who likes to fly frequently, you know it's always a fair bet that your airline will cancel your flight due to "weather" -- even if it's seventy degrees and sunny in both the city from which you're leaving and the city to which you're traveling.

If you're one who likes to Sly frequently -- Sly Stone, that is -- you know it was always a fair bet that Sly, back in his touring days, would cancel a show in your city (for just about any reason) rather than perform.

Nevertheless, when tickets went on sale a few weeks ago for Sly & The Family Stone's May 3 concert at Chicago's Vic Theatre, I thought long and hard about lining up on a Saturday morning to buy some. After all, it's Sly Stone. On top of that, Sly hasn't been to our fair city -- at least, as far as we know -- in many years. (Chicago photographer Jim Newberry, whose fine camera work graces this post, shot a Sly show in suburban Chicago back in 1982. Be sure to check out Mr. Newberry's impressive photo-blog.)

My friends and I joked about whether Sly would even show up for the May date at the Vic. In the end, I decided not to buy tickets in advance, figuring I could always get some on the night of the show.

Turns out, my instincts were right. Sly bailed out a few days ago, and no makeup date has been announced. Looks like I'll be hanging out at home tomorrow night. It's a family affair.

Country Music Treasure Trove

2008-05-01T18:42:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, Time-Life released an amazing set called "Opry Video Classics." This eight-DVD package contains more than one hundred live (no lip-synching in this set) performances from country superstars like Webb Pierce, Patsy Cline, The Louvin Brothers, and Ray Price. Many of these clips were filmed at the Ryman Auditorium between the 1950s and 1970s.

There's no fluff or filler in this compilation. It's just wall-to-wall great music. I'm talking about duets by Conway and Loretta, George and Melba, George and Tammy, Porter and Dolly, and John and June. Where else are you going to find live performances by Jean Shepard, Del Reeves, Dave Dudley, and Don Gibson?

Check out this clip from Connie Smith (featuring steel great Weldon Myrick), which was shot back in October 1966, when Connie's now-husband Marty Stuart was just eight years old:

If, like me, you're a fan of hardcore country music, you'll want to grab this set while it's still on the market.

A Most Productive Week For Shotgun Willie

2008-04-30T18:41:00.000-07:00

Willie Nelson turns 75 today, and he shows few signs of slowing down. Willie's been an American institution for several decades, but had he retired from music back in 1963, when he was a clean-shaven songwriter, he'd still merit his own flavor of Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream.

Why? Well, during one seven-day stretch in Houston -- probably in 1959 or 1960 -- he wrote "Crazy," "Funny How Time Slips Away," and "Night Life." By 1963, each of those tunes had become big hits (for other singers).

Forty-five years later, we now know just how big those songs have become. Simply put, during that one week in Houston, Willie penned three standards. Quite a feat.

I'm not sure what Willie's doing for his 75th birthday, but when he turned 70, he celebrated with an all-star concert that featured a lot of his friends and admirers. There's one clip from that concert that always brings tears to my eyes.

Maybe you can make it through this rendition of Leon Russell's "A Song For You" with dry eyes, but I can't and neither could Willie. About a month after this performance, Willie's good buddy Ray Charles was diagnosed with liver cancer. Ray died about a year later. Watch the video. These guys loved each other.

Happy Birthday, Willie.

Hannah Montana Goes PG-13

2008-04-28T18:50:00.000-07:00

Sure, my six year-old daughter loves Buddy Holly and The Beatles, but she's also a big Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus fan. And who am I to discourage that? Lord knows when I was her age I logged my share of hours watching The Partridge Family (even as I was trying to memorize all of the songs on Kris Kristofferson's "The Silver Tongued Devil and I" album).

Now, however, Miley's all over the scandal sheets. Seems her parents thought it wise to make her Annie Leibovitz's latest pop tart-of-the-month, and their decision has sent tabloid reporters and cable commentators into a tizzy.

So, what's the father of a six year-old fan to do? Shred my daughter's Hannah Montana t-shirt? Tear up her Hannah Montana school folder?

Hardly. I plan to ignore the fuss because my daughter doesn't read Vanity Fair, and I don't let her surf the internet or watch The O'Reilly Factor.

I also predict that my daughter's Miley Cyrus phase will last about nine more months. Of course, if, during that nine-month period, Miley shows up in a bootleg R. Kelly video, I'll reconsider my position, and my daughter and I will probably have to have a little talk.

Muddy And Me: Two Degrees Of Separation?

2008-04-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

I know I'm lucky to have my friend Stevie Doyle (lower left corner of the photo) playing guitar with us on our gig tomorrow night. I was reminded yesterday just how lucky I am when I saw an ad for a gig Stevie is doing next weekend.

He'll be plugging in next Sunday night (May 4) with a couple of Muddy Waters' old bandmates -- drummer Willie "Big Eyes" Smith and guitarist John Primer -- as well as with Chicago blues greats Carl Weathersby and Jimmy Burns (all pictured with Stevie in the photo above).

It's nice to have talented friends like Mr. Doyle, who will occasionally slum with us music-making lawyers. Of course, Stevie is probably just hedging his bets, figuring that if he's ever named a defendant in a securities-fraud suit or a point-shaving prosecution, he'll need someone to answer his phone calls.

Thanks For The Music, Mr. Gaffney

2008-04-23T21:00:00.000-07:00

The music world took another hit last week when Chris Gaffney, lead singer of the Hacienda Brothers, passed away from liver cancer. He was 57 years old.

He never enjoyed super-stardom and he never got rich; but he was able to spend most of his life doing something he loved, and he did it well -- whether working as one of Dave Alvin's Guilty Men or leading the Hacienda Brothers.

Hell, he even got to hang with one of my musical heroes, soul legend Dan Penn, who wrote, co-wrote, and produced a number of sides for the Hacienda Brothers. Penn makes a cameo appearance in the video below, supplying some background vocals on "What's Wrong With Right," the title track of the band's 2006 release (Proper American).

Chris Gaffney certainly had soul. And based both upon what I've read about him and what I picked up during the concerts I attended, he seemed to have a pretty good sense of humor, too.

I know he'll be missed.

Jazz Comes To Rogers Park

2008-04-20T06:34:00.000-07:00

I was thrilled to learn just a few weeks ago that some arts-minded Chicago entrepreneurs are about to breathe new life into an abandoned movie theater (and one-time vaudeville house) here in Rogers Park by reopening it this September as a state-of-the-art jazz venue.

From the looks of of its website, The Morse Theatre will be quite a place. I look forward to seeing a lot of great shows there.

Of course, operating a profitable jazz venue, even in a city like Chicago, is a mighty tough undertaking. I'd run out of fingers and toes in a hurry if I tried to count the number of jazz clubs that have opened and closed since I started going out to hear the music. (If you're scoring at home that would be since July 1980, when I spent my sixteenth birthday -- with my long-time friend and bandmate Neal Connors -- listening to Dexter Gordon at the now-shuttered Jazz Showcase.)

I wish all the best to Andy McGhee, Devin McGhee, and William Kerpan, the local entrepreneurs who have spent more than three years trying to bring their vision to life.

A Household Name, But Only In The Gnahore´ Household

2008-04-18T05:14:00.000-07:00

I was excited to hear that Dobet Gnahore´-- an amazing singer/dancer/percussionist from the Ivory Coast -- will hit Chicago on Sunday, July 13, as part of the Chicago Folk & Roots Festival, which takes place every summer in lovely Welles Park.

My friend (and fellow music geek) Tom Morrissey hipped me to Ms. Gnahore´ and her music last year, and I was smart enough to heed Tom's recommendation and spring for some concert tickets.

I even insisted that my teenage daughter attend the September 2007 show with me, because I was anticipating it would be something special.

It was.

My daughter, at this stage in her life, has little interest in acknowledging that she enjoys any music that I like, but even she was blown away by this show. Her quote, upon leaving the theater: "You see a show like that, and you wonder how Britney Spears can be famous."

Later that week, my friend Steve Hochman, a California-based music writer, was trusting enough to heed my recommendation to check out Dobet's show. He, too, was impressed. Check out Steve's review of the Santa Monica show -- he describes the music a lot better than I ever could.

Block out July 13 right now, and you'll be in for a treat.

Downloads And Ringtones

2008-04-15T19:09:00.000-07:00

There's a solid chance that my kids -- ages six and sixteen -- will go through life having very few encounters with rotary-dial phones, typewriters, or black-and-white television sets. Technology has largely rendered these devices museum pieces, garage-sale kitsch, or landfill detritus. At the end of the day, however, my kids' lives will be no less rich for having missed out on these products.

But what about record stores?

They're disappearing faster than the women in Drew Peterson's life.

And it saddens me to think that my kids and their friends are probably not going to be able spend quality hours during their teenage years thumbing through racks of LPs and compact discs at the soon-to-be non-existent neighborhood record shop.

I learned an awful lot about music hanging out in good record stores. I loitered, I read liner notes, I chatted with knowledgeable customers and employees, and I watched some great in-store performances. My kids' lives will be a little less rich for not having those same opportunities.

There aren't many great music shops left in this country. If you happen to live in Chicago, make it a point to take your kids to the Jazz Record Mart, 27 E. Illinois, and wander the aisles with them. Explore the racks of records and discs with your kids. Buy something for them. Ask my friend Ron Bierma (the Mart's manager) anything you want to know about jazz, blues, gospel, or R&B. The JRM is a Chicago institution. Enjoy it while it's still around.

The St. Louis Horns: A Decade Of Service

2008-04-13T05:26:00.000-07:00

Since 1998, two of my good buddies, Neal Connors (saxophone) and Rob Endicott (trumpet), both lawyers based in the St. Louis area, have continued to humor me by making semi-regular trips to Chicago to blow their horns in my semi-regular bar band. And make no mistake, it's The St. Louis Horns that keep people coming to our shows.

While I'm not yet ready to bestow upon them the bar-band equivalent of the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award, I do owe them a great deal of thanks.

Why do these guys do it?

Why would Rob, who earned a Master's degree from The Juilliard School before going to law school, continue to make the ten-hour round trip to and from these Chicago gigs? It isn't for the money. And it surely can't be for the "challenge" of playing trumpet lines on tunes like "Domino," "Ring of Fire," and "Take a Letter, Maria"? Let's get serious -- this guy used to play Hummel and Haydn with the Rotterdam Philharmonic.

Why would Neal, who spent seven years kicking around the University of Illinois jazz program, while earning his undergrad and law degrees in Champaign, fill busy weekends blowing over three-chord rock-and-roll tunes, which are all too often in sharp keys?

Why go through all that trouble? You'd have to ask them. But for my money, singer/songwriter John Sebastian nailed it when he wrote, "You do it for the stories you can tell."

Over ten years, we've amassed a lot of them. Neal, Rob, and guitarist Joe Roach (currently on unpaid paternity leave) have hung with me through it all. We've gigged in Japan (courtesy of our federal government), played a private party at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and had a chance to record at the legendary Sam Phillips Recording Service in Memphis. We've also met a lot of great people along the way.

Of course, one of the guys who inspires all of us is Neal's dad, Maurice Connors. He's now 93 years old, but he still plays gigs with a couple of different bands in Chicago's western suburbs.

Will we be so lucky? I certainly hope so.

But whenever our time comes, I can assure you, paraphrasing the late Charlton Heston, that they'll have to pry our instruments "from [our] cold, dead hands."

Two Score And Fourteen Years Ago . . .

2008-04-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

Big Joe Turner released "Shake, Rattle And Roll" on Atlantic Records fifty-four years ago today. I'm not sure that popular music has gotten any hipper since then.

Of Batman, Cocaine, and the Chicago Cubs . . .

2008-04-12T04:41:00.000-07:00

One of the tunes we've been rehearsing for our April 26 show is a song I've been singing since 1968, when I was four years old. The album off of which I learned that tune was a chart-topping smash. It was also in heavy rotation on my dad's record player in our little apartment in Hillside, Illinois.

The singer was a superstar with his own weekly TV show. Back in 1968, I ranked him right up there with Ernie Banks and Batman. (N.B., I still hold all three in high regard.)

As for the song, I certainly had no idea, back in 1968, what the words meant. And I'm sure my parents never worried that the violent, misogynistic, drug-heavy lyrics could warp my young brain like so much model airplane glue.

In any event, I escaped childhood unharmed -- I think.

Forty years later, however, the landscape has changed. Just as I wouldn't consider putting my kids in a car without seatbelts -- something I never used as a kid -- I also wouldn't think of playing this record while my youngest child (age six) is within earshot. Same holds true, though for slightly different reasons, for a lot of my favorite cuts by Prince, Marvin Gaye, and the Isleys.

The kicker, as far as this particular tune is concerned, is that it wasn't even spawned by the drugs and violence that were everywhere in 1968. No, this song had first been a hit -- for singer Roy Hogsed (pictured above) -- twenty years earlier, back when Harry Truman was in the White House.

Still, it's strange for me to think about the days when I used to walk around our apartment, decked out in my Batman pajamas with the feet in them, singing:

"Early one mornin' while makin' the rounds
I took a shot of cocaine and I shot my woman down
Went right home and I went to bed
I stuck that lovin' .44 beneath my head"

God bless Johnny Cash.

Life In A "Cover Band"

2008-04-11T08:05:00.000-07:00

Hands down, the best account I've read of life in a cover band -- more accurately, in a series of cover bands -- is Mike Lankford's "Life In Double Time: Confessions Of An American Drummer."

http://books.google.com/books?id=hAQWlGg8QYUC&dq=lankford+life+in+double+time&pg=PP1&ots=kO42hWqgki&sig=YIJrT8Ih2Nx6vuJRYA0min1tyw4&hl=en&prev=http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&q=lankford+life+in+double+time&sa=X&oi=print&ct=title&cad=one-book-with-thumbnail#PPA115,M1

Lankford wrote this book about ten years ago, and I have loaned it out (and had to re-purchase it) so many times that I've probably padded his Amazon sales numbers.

Lankford's book chronicles his upbringing and his introduction to music in rural Oklahoma (where he actually met Elvis before Elvis went white-hot), his decision to learn how to play the drums, and his decade-long journey in and out of numerous cover bands. From his initial experiences in sloppy high-school bands to his cross-country exploits with the professional (but troubled) trio Salt & Pepper, it's a highly entertaining read. Check it out.

The Return of the St. Louis Horns

2008-04-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, April 26, the St. Louis Horns return to the Windy City to join the Blue State crew for three sets of horn-driven, jukebox favorites. All the fun takes place at Candlelite Chicago, 7452 N. Western Avenue, in Chicago's West Rogers Park neighborhood. Showtime is 9:00 p.m., and there is no cover charge.

Joining us on the guitar all night long will be our friend Stevie Doyle, one of Chicago's finest pickers. And if the planets align properly that evening, we might even be able to talk our buddy Gerald McClendon -- one of Chicago's premier soul singers -- into joining us onstage for a couple of tunes.

The schizophrenic setlist will, of course, cover all the bases -- from Elvis and Dion to Cash and Haggard; from The Band and Van Morrison to Huey "Piano" Smith and R.B. Greaves.

Candlelite is a wonderful neighborhood pub and restaurant that serves some of the finest thin-crust pizza in the entire city.

We hope to see you at Candlelite on April 26.