Tradition? I Don´t Need No Stinking New Years Gig

It´s true. Who needs it? Sick of the game, anyways.

The oh-so-fabulous NYE (that means new year´s eve to all you rookies) gig has become a thing of the past, I fear. Used to be that, traditionally, NYE was the golden goose for musicians (amateur hour for everyone else.) As a general rule, one would expect to make about triple of what a normal Saturday night gig would be. Pay the rent in one night, and all.

As a general rule.

That´s changed now. A lot of places are just eliminating live music altogether (thank you, karaoke, Rock Band, and recession.) Other joints are just trying to manipulate, wanting to pay you just a bit more (maybe) in exchange for doing an extra set.

Or two.

Mainly, though, places that will still hire players are offering the standard wage (50 bucks and a chicken sandwich?) Ok, not that bad, but for some, it most certainly is. It may be again for me someday, too. Who knows.

This is my second year in a row for having the night off. Almost unheard of in this biz. Nevertheless, this is the state of affairs in my world.

And I´m not the least bit fazed.

See, I´m Europe. Spain, to be precise. I´ll be staying in Madrid, for the most part, near Anton Martin (a barrio.)

Mui fantastico!

(Just to get it out of the way, the weather is great. I hear that there´s about a foot of snow in Chicago, so I´m very well off. Today in Seville, where I am spending just a few days for New Year´s, it´s about 60.)

I decided, very early in the year, that I´d be in Spain for much of the winter. It was gonna be Jamaica (mon) as usual, but a little bird convinced me that Spain would be the tops, since we were there earlier in the year. So with some planning, saving, and having resigned myself some time ago that New Year´s was not going to pay many bills, like usual, I decided that I´d bag the idea of gigging, come here, hang with some very good friends, and do it as differently as I ever had done.

So that means there´s no having to haul my gear through the snow (did you say 12"?), not having to deal with the horrible driving conditions, and not having to play music that you can chew your steak to (wonder if I´d even get one of those steaks. My gut says nay nay nay.) I´m not gonna have to worry about drunk drivers everywhere, police check points everywhere, and I won´t have to bitch about being underpaid.

What a relief.

Instead, I´ll be having cerveza and tapitas and pescado (?) and jamon.

And then 12 grapes at midnight.

There is a tradition here ¨en España¨ that when the clock strikes 12, you must eat 12 grapes before the end of the chimes (can you imagine an entire country glued to the tv or radio or church bells? Me neither, but I´ll let you know.) This, naturally, will bring you good luck for the rest of the year. If you fail to eat them, then watch out. There may be a surprise visit from ¨el diablo¨(ok, I made that part up. But you never know...)

Now that could be a pretty nice new tradition to start.

Feliz Año Nuevo.

So it goes...

Music on the Move- Madrid?

In my musician's life as the (always trying to be) consummate professional, the gigs I have allow me to travel all over the world.

All of you regular readers surely know this (and are no doubt sick of hearing about it, too.)

Sometimes, the trips (within the States, usually) are boring and less-than-glorious, usually because our accommodations are in the middle of Nowhere, ID, with nary a sign of, well, anything (except for maybe the Sam's Club parking lot right outside my window at the Super 8.) Promoters will generally put the band up in the cheapest (and least expensive) place that's possible. It's almost always many miles outside of the town we're actually working in. And since we are relying on the gig for all of our ground transportation (forget your public options- there are none), we essentially end up stuck at the hotel doing nada.

Not exactly the best way to get geared up for a show (if you've ever wondered just how so many musicians can end up as alcoholics and drug addicts, well...)

Sometimes, though, it's completely amazing and mind blowing. Usually it's an overseas trip. That's where I have the most fun, European countries in particular. We almost always stay in the center of whatever town we're in, there's plenty to do, and there's plenty of public transportation (very inexpensive, too.)

So whenever I cross the sea, I'm usually thinking about what it would be like to live there. It's very different over there than it is here, and there are so many things that are appealing to my sensibilities.

Mainly, it's the fact that Europeans are so much more relaxed than Americans, working to live, rather than living to work (note to the powers-that-be: universal health care, and not insurance, is a key reason for that enviable attitude towards life.)

Here, in Chicago, I've got it pretty good, I must admit. I get to play with Lonnie Brooks, one of the last of the great Chicago blues men. He's the one that always takes me on the road. It's going on 8 years now, and I've played around 500 shows with him. I also get to play with BMR4, one of the best, most working jazz groups that you'll find almost anywhere. Not only are the guys in this group top-notch, but they're also my friends, which is who we all really want to play with anyways.

Chicago has a lot to offer a musician. There's a lot of work here for us.

This city also does everything that it can to make life very inconvenient for it's citizens, whether it's taxes (highest in the nation), scandalous corruption, parking meter fees that have quadrupled, or simply winter.

Just as an aside, the guy on the radio right now is ripping the city apart, talking about selling naming rights for everything under the sun, as Chicago desperately needs cash as a result of dismal city management:

"Rename the expressways. The Planetarium. The Aquarium."

"The Oxy-Clean Aquarium in honor of the late Billy Mays. It's easy to get to, plenty of parking (since nobody wants to pay the damn meters), and just off of that famous road, IKEA's Lake Shore Drive.)

So what would it be like, then, living overseas? For a guy like me, I mean. Could I actually do it over there? A certain girl in my life sure seems to think it's easy.

I tend to think it's easier said than done.

But then again...

I've been to Spain twice, now, within the last 3 months. It's an impressive country, to say the least. Inland or on the Mediterranean coast, the country is beautiful. You can go everywhere by train or bus without it costing a fortune. They're quick, they're very clean, and they're always on time. There's no screwing around, there.

Madrid is undoubtedly my favorite city. It's not as international, as European, as Barcelona is. It's not as expensive either (Barcelona is on par with London in terms of cost of Living, meaning sky high.) No, Madrid is very much a Spanish city. I was really impressed with the people, the food (oh, the food, yum,) the architecture, everything.

Businesses (almost all of them) close between 2pm and 5pm for siesta. People are very relaxed and seemingly happy with life.

Personal freedoms seem to not be constantly and incessantly legislated (the United States of No).

Cops seem to not come off as jack-booted thugs.

You can still smoke in bars.

Loved it.

Maybe this is the place.

I had been told ( I was asking around before I had left Chicago) that Madrid is not really a music town. It was a late-night town, to be sure, but not so much for live music. DJ's and dance clubs were the thing, with live shows going (gone) by the wayside.

That turned out to be not the case. In fact, I went out every single night I was there and saw a show. It seems that you'll find the live shows between 11pm and 1am, and then the clubs become DJ spinning night clubs.

Seemingly the best of both worlds.

One night it was a big band at a place called Bar Co., where hash smoking is overlooked, but being barefoot is not. Another night it was blues at a club called Junco. The group (Juan Bourbon, Juan Scotch, and Juan Beer- seriously) was a very traditional 4-piece, fronted by a harp (harmonica) player, nailing all the tunes from the likes of Junior Wells and Sunnyland Slim note for note (Europeans actually tend to learn songs from the records, I've come to learn, very much like the Japanese blues players.)

I saw flamenco music at a small taverna in the wee hours of the morning, the audience consisting of me and my ex-pat (white) friends and a group of around 25 hairy Spanish Gypsies (I looked the part, though, ahem.) There were 2 men singing and one other playing guitar. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that this music was nothing more than Spanish blues. There was a repeating form in the music and the words were obviously improvised. The players were fierce and passionate. Truly, this was one of the most unique concerts I'd ever seen. And it wasn't even a concert. It was very informal (of course it was, it was 3am!)

All of the performances I saw were very well attended, and I was out and about during the week, not the weekend. People were obviously very much into seeing live music.

I also found a "roots and grooves" jam session at a cool place called La Boca del Lobo (the mouth of the wolf- sweet.) I gotta say, it was on par with the jam sessions that I go to at Buddy Guy's Legends, albeit with the European perspective of the blues. There were a lot of players that had shown up, and for the most part, they were all pretty good. Certainly better than serviceable. Plus, there was not a whole lot of attitude oozing from musicians that you are apt to find at Buddy's.

I got to play a lot that night. After all, I was the only American there, and from Chicago, no less. The Spaniards were as excited to have me there as I was just being. Needless to say, I am fortunate to be able to carry a certain mystique with me, being in that "drummer from Chicago" category.

Big fish in a small pond, you know?

It was actually a very diverse group of folks and not just Spaniards. I met a bass player from Argentina and a singer/guitar player that came from Paris (she was real good.) We all had James Brown and Albert Collins in common, so we were able to have a real good time together.

We talked about the scene in Madrid over cocktails bought for me by the host of the jam ("That was in-cred-eeeeeee-bul.")

They, of course, were wondering about what work was like in the U.S.

So it goes...

Work Hard, Play Hard

Well, life with (Lonnie) Brooks has brought me over the pond and back.

That's the Atlantic Ocean, for those of you that have yet to have that first cup of coffee.

The tour was a blast. Spain is a glorious country, and Madrid is high on the list of places to live in the (near) future. It's very relaxed and low-key, there are a lot of musicians, and seemingly many places to play.

Plus beer is cheaper than Coca-Cola.

The trip was also a lot of work, as overseas tours usually are. There are flights to catch, customs officials to deal with (the U.S., by the way takes the cake in terms of jack-booted thugs. No shoe removal necessary in Barajas International), mediocre sound guys and gear to "work" with, and promoters to please (one more song? sure. why not? we've only been on stage for 2 hours and it's 90 degrees outside. dinner's still not for another hour you say?)

Sleep is usually at a premium (5 am pick-ups in the hotel lobby are the norm.)

That being said, coming back is always a culture shock. Not only does it suck to have to come back from fantasy land, but it's gross and disgusting having to change your clothes in a bathroom stall in some crappy bar.

Like I said, it's work.

I recently got an email from a fellow pro and scribe, Steve Hashimoto, one of the best bass players in town. Perhaps you know him. He writes the weekly "News from the Trenches", his own little platform for rants and raves and songs and praises (and looking for gigs like the rest of us.) I wanted to share this with all of you who might be working while I'm playing:

"...perhaps a reason why people see what we musicians do as play rather than work is that we make music for pleasure, or for no payment, as often, if not more, than we do for compensation. To paraphrase, “You don’t see plumbers having jam sessions”, a concept that I found highly amusing. Which, of course, begs the question, why don’t musicians (or all artists, for that matter) get paid BETTER than any other trade, or skill? We artists, whether in the fields of music, visual arts, literary arts, dance or acting, generally work constantly to improve our skills, practicing, rehearsing, experimenting, working on new techniques, honing old ones, and yet people get all bent out of shape when we try to charge what a plumber or doctor or electrician charges for a comparable amount of billable time. As usual, my belief is that it all comes down to culture and education – if all of America’s schools, whatever level, were a bit more forceful about teaching the sheer work ethic involved in the arts, maybe we’d have less artists (scared away), but better respect for those who stick it out. Because I do think that America, for all of its cultural shortcomings, does respect hard work. And maybe this is as good a reason as any to call what we do work– it is, after all, work, and hard work, and maybe we do ourselves a disservice by trying to pass it off as being easy, as it being something that just “comes” to us, mystically."

Well said, Steve.

We keep on keeping on.

So it goes...

On the Road w/ Lonnie Brooks

The seemingly never ending Lonnie Brooks tour has taken us back to the glorious European "destinacion" of Spain. The first show was a festival in the northern town of Getxo.

One of my faves.

Sadly, Koko Taylor was supposed to be on the bill (also one of my all time faves.) We really missed her.

Luckily, the powers that be were able to put together an exceptional fill-in bill. I say fill-in because you can't replace the Queen.

In her royal absence, it took three people to fill her spot: E.C. Scott, a powerful West-Coast singer, along with the incomprable Henry Butler on piano, and Kenny Neal playing guitar, harp, and singing. Both of those guys are from down in Louisiana, New Orleans and Baton Rouge respectively.

Of course the Blues Machine was still the backing band, with Shun Kikuta and Mike Wheeler on guitars, "Pooky Styx" on drums, and the rock-solid Melvin Smith holding down the bass chair. I gotta say, these fellas really rose to the occasion for the show. They were clearly down and perhaps a bit lost because their blues mama was not there.

Shun and Melvin, especially. They were with her for what seems like ages.

We had to miss her funeral because of the tour, something that we weren't exactly happy about. But, somehow, we all knew (and know) that she would have it no other way.

That being said, the festival was extraordinary. It was 2 nights, with Brooks and Co. headlining the first, and the Blues Machine on the second. Both nights were packed and rowdy (5000 strong per night, and Getxo is a small town, really) and ready for some great music that is so very well appreciated in the Old World (the U.S. could really stand to take a page out of that handbook- Europeans really love live, American music).

Particularly the blues.

Lonnie killed 'em the first night. The show was a marathon, nearly 3 hours ("I've got blisters on my fingers"- J.Lennon.) He put that voodoo spell on the people like always, his Gibson screaming and his voice in fine form. We even pulled out a few tunes that hadn't been played in quite a while, Voodoo Daddy in particular. Kenny joined us onstage for the last few tunes, "All My Money Back", "Inflation", and the crowd pleasing "Something You Got."

The last few tunes lasted about an hour past our scheduled time. So it goes when you're playing an audience for the Queen.

("What are you guys, the Grateful Dead or something?")

The second night was more of the same. Koko's band came out and played 3 cuts before E.C took the stage to sing a few. Henry was next to front the band, followed by Kenny.

Rockin' good time. People were freaking out, erupting in a wash of sound that could only be described as thunderous.

Then came the goods. The band started "Wang Dang Doodle", Koko's signature cut (read: bread and butter.) E.C and Henry came back out to join in on the action. So did Lonnie. So did the rest of the Brooks crew, yours truly included. We were all onstage singing and playing together. The crowd was in the palm of our hands and was not going anywhere. We got the whole place singing the chorus, almost like a mantra:

"All night long, all night long. We gonna pinch a Wang Dang Doodle all night long."

Every great gig comes to an end eventually. Sometimes mercifully. Sometimes happily.

Sometimes you don't want it to stop.

"All night long."

Luckily, we've got another stop. Benidorm, in the southern part of the country, is the next show. We'll do it all again, one more time, knowing that it could be the last time we all do something like this together as one voice.

All for the queen.

So it goes...

On Tour With Lonnie Brooks- Spain, pt. 2

The best show of the 2009 (spring) Spanish tour was the Terrassa Jazz Festival. Hands down.

The Voodoo Daddy delivered like I've never seen him do before. I'm not kidding. I've been doing this gig for 8 years now (holy crap) and this was the best.

The.

Best.

First off, this particular festival is one of the biggest and most important European music festivals. The town of Terrassa is essentially a suburb of Barcelona, about half an hour by train (the trains in Spain are incredibly efficient). Terrassa Jazz is in it's 28th year. It started off as a very small event: one venue, one or two bands, and that's that. At this point, the festival lasts an entire month. There are performances Thursday through Sunday, with several venues hosting various events, some free, some not.

And the people come out in droves.

Our performance was in Cava Jazz (the Jazz Cave), a fantastic nightclub in the heart of Terrassa and the cornerstone venue of the festival. The club has everything that you would expect from an old jazz club. There are pictures and posters and record jackets of all the old time greats. People like Charlie Parker, Miles Davis, Billie Holliday, and Herbie Hancock (another Chicagoan). It's very dark and and smoky (smoky bars have such a good vibe), the sound system is top notch, and capacity is about 400.

It was a full house.

Packed and enthusiastic for some Chicago blues.

We were slotted to do two (2) 45 min. sets with a 15 minute break in between. Honestly, that's a bit unusual. Normally, it's a 90 min. "hit it and quit it": you get up there on stage, you do the show, you're done. Maybe you do an encore.

The first set was on fire. The band only did one song before bringing up Brooks. Normally it's 2 or even 3 sometimes. So we open with Albert King's Born Under A Bad Sign, and do our thing. Of course, it's hot and tight and right, and the vibe onstage is that we're gonna have a good show. Then we bring up Lonnie with the classic Don't Answer the Door. He had an intensity like never before. That first note rang out of his guitar like an explosion and off we went. His singing was strong (he's very underrated as a singer) and his playing was flawless.

Fingers and the brain in sync.

The set seemed to end in a flash. We took a break and then came back up. One song up front, like last set (an Elmore James shuffle), and then Lonnie came up with Don't Take Advantage of Me, a staple song. Again, the first note took control of the band, and we were back at it. The set was rock solid and the people were going nuts. We did a slow one, Cold Lonely Nights, about midway through, to the approval of everyone in the room. Brooks brought it way down at one point. It was so low that you could hear the ice clinking in glasses. Most Europeans don't even have ice in their drinks.

Awesome.

The show ended with Shake it Little Mama, a Chuck Berry-type rocker. He hasn't pulled that out since I don't know when. Usually, at the end of the night, Brooks will want to sit down and play some of the old "in the alley", gut bucket blues. Things like Hoochie Coochie Man, Stormy Monday, etc. The real deal. But when Bret Dale (stage tech) brought out a new guitar and asked the boss if he wanted a chair, he just smiled at him and said, "I want to rock these mutha****." And then he just started the song.

Bang!

We played that sucker for a good 15 minutes. Nothing but pure energy. The set ran long, the people were freaking out, and we were off the stage. A few minutes later we had to go back up. Nobody was leaving, nobody was quiet. So Brooks kicks off Sweet Home Chicago. We give it to 'em for about 10, solid, minutes, shuffling better than a Thorazine junkie.

Hit it and quit it.

These are the kind of shows that we, as players, all live for. That rare and special moment when everything is EXACTLY the way it should be, on the same page, among all the musicians on stage.

I'm a lucky mutha****.

So it goes...

On Tour With Lonnie Brooks- Spain, pt. 1

So I was on tour for the past week with the legendary Lonnie Brooks, the Voodoo Daddy, my boss and friend.

This time around, "the life" took us to beautiful Spain. We had four dates in four towns on four consecutive days: Alcoi, Terrassa, Oliva, and Alicante, respectively. These towns are all situated on the east coast of the country, on the Mediterranean sea (for the most part, anyways), and predominantly in the southern part of the country; the Valencia region. Terrassa was the exception. It is a northern town, essentially a suburb of Barcelona.

Alcoi was the first stop. The people are currently celebrating the town's 750th birthday. 750! Talk about an old city; I could feel the history as I walked the streets. I would touch some of the buildings and feel the hair on my arm just stand up. (Not unlike how I felt when I took a tour of Hitsville U.S.A., the old Motown studios. But that's another story for another day.)

Alcoi is situated in a ravine, with mountains on either side of it. As you get deeper into the ravine, you can actually see parts of the ancient city, getting a fairly good idea of how things might have looked back then.

You'll certainly not find anything like that on this side of the Atlantic, that's for sure. They've got a good 350 years on the U.S.

The venue for the concert was a place called the Teatro Calderon, located in the Alcoi Centro (city centre) , the ancient part. This was a fantastic venue. It was split into two levels, the main floor and the balcony, and had a capacity of about 500. The stage was a very good size, and the back line equipment (drums, organ, piano, and amps) were particularly good. Usually when we do these European tours, you never know what kind of gear will be there. More times than not it's less than stellar. Sometimes it's so bad that you just shake your head and wonder, "What the hell are these people thinking, spending all this dough to get Brooks and his band over here, only to go on the cheap with the gear." That was not the case for this tour.

Thankfully.

Mercifully.

They did (whoever they are), however, spell Lonnie's name wrong on the promotional posters which were plastered all over the city. Chuckleheads.

Lonnie was in good form for day 1, despite the jet lag (fortunately, we had a day to recover from the flight before the first show). His voice was strong, the fingers and the brain were in sync, and he even pulled out a few tunes that we hadn't done in a while, particularly Watchdog and Cold Lonely Nights.

The show was not a sell out, unfortunately. One could say that the crowd was small but mighty. However, the one thing that European audiences have, pretty much across the board, is an unbelievable enthusiasm for music. Particularly for Chicago blues. And Lonnie, with that big hat and even bigger grin, people just eat him alive. They can't help but embrace him.

Seems that this recession is being felt far and wide, which is a bummer, for sure. It cost about 35 bucks per ticket (20 euros). Not expensive, but not cheap. Strike one.

And it was a Thursday. Strike two.

But, we were still in Spain.

As opposed to, say, Schaumberg.

Base hit.

So it goes...