Hype, Glitz, Glamour, And Other Such Sorry Bullshit

Earl, probably in the early 1950s

So, a female singer who abused drugs most of her adult life, drank like a fish, romances a bunch of different guys, has more conniptions than we can count. This girl poisons herself to death with drugs, and the media has nothing more to talk about every night for almost two months. Few months later, a real musician who hugely contributed to a whole new style of playing, mastered his music & his instrument of choice, stays married to the same woman for over 60 years, was always a gentleman, inspired countless banjo players, always carried himself with class, never used an ilicit drug in his life, never abused alcohol. He dies, and barely gets mentioned on the nightly newscast even once - on the day of his passing. Unbelievable.

This kind of thing bothers me to no end. You can go into any ghetto and find hundreds of little girls who can sing every bit as good as Whitney Houston, but I don't know a handful who can do what Earl did on any given day. It's all about hype, glitz & glamour, being hip, and generally being a bunch of goddam phonies. Our beloved media dictates this, and most just blindly follow - sickens me.



Greatest Banjo Player Who Ever Lived



Pecos River Cafe

It's 1982, I'm in San Diego with my wife of a year, and newborn son.  I have no work, ended up in San Diego because my old transmission shop boss said he could use me.  Well, that lasted about three months - at which time they couldn't stand me, and I couldn't stand them.

I played in a band at some little amusement park called "Big Oak Ranch", owned by this crazy guy who I knew as Rock Kreitzer.  He somehow had a lot of money, and would bring big name acts there - to play for anywhere from 20 to a hundred people.  In the few months I played there, we opened for Ricky Skaggs, Ronnie Milsap, and Freddie Hart.  This didn't happen because of anything I did, I just happened to be playing in that band at that time.  Not only that, but we weren't even any good.  I did manage to also work with a semi nationally known fiddle player named Billy Armstrong.

My new wife, one day, asks me if I would teach her how to play bass, and maybe we could start our own band.  I told her I would, so she said, "Ok, we'll get up every day at 8 am, and we'll go till noon".  I agreed, and we did that for a little over a month.  Amazingly she did well, she had the basics down, and knew most of my songs by memory, and could even sing and play a few female country songs.  Well, since we kinda knew the Hawaii scene, we decided to move back there and start our own band, so, off we went.

We started out at Pecos River Cafe in Aiea, the country music scene was still going strong as a result of the Urban Cowboy craze.  Pecos was a tiny place, seated maybe 30 people, and maybe another 20 upstairs, plus standing room, so, maybe 75 people could fit in there on a crowded night.  The place did get crowded on the weekends, we were the house band there - we called ourselves "Dakota" - that was Lynda's (wife) idea.  The band consisted of me, Lynda, a self serving ass named Gene Davis on rhythm guitar and some singing, and Pumkin Don on drums.  "Pumpkin Don" got his name from another drummer friend who noticed that Don's drums sounded like pumpkins.  I thought it was because Don looked like a pumpkin - my mistake.  Gene ended up assaulting Lynda by punching her in the face across the table one night, and, after getting punched back, and then of course being fired from the band, I find out that he had stolen our band name - he had gone down to Commerce & Consumer Affairs and registered it in his name.  We changed our name to "Rio", hired this dimwit named Allen Stolz, and replaced Pumkin Don with Jerry LeCato.  Jerry was a huge improvement, while Allen was just more of the same - self serving, full of himself, and the most goddam obnoxious little bastard I'd ever run across up until then.  Allen lasted about three months, while Jerry stayed with us until he left the island about a year later.  Well, there was a booking agent in that town - Jim Mitchell - the typical cigar smoking, fat ass, bearded shiester type, who had us all believing that if you didn't work through him, you weren't going to work.  He approached me, said he could get my band working all over the island, make lots of money - you know, the whole shit filled spiel.  Long story short, he screwed us out of thousands of dollars, made enemies for me, tried desperately to promote his wife's band (Tina Marie and the White Buffalo Band), mostly at my expense.  He tried every trick in the book - lying to club managers, telling them that Rio was busy, but Tina Marie happened to be open on whatever nights they were asking for us, filled her schedule (30 nights a month), while the rest of the 5 or 6 bands would end up with 10, 11 nights a month.  He would book Tina, and advertise us, so she would have people to play to - until it backfired one night at Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Base - where, when the guys saw that it was Tina's band, and not Rio, started booing, yelling, then wadding up wet napkins and throwing them at the stage.  My good friend, Joe Fabrocini - Tina's drummer - was the one who told me about that night - laughing about it the whole time.  That lowdown varmint, Mitchell even tried booking us there on a Rock & Roll Sunday afternoon - to follow a full on rock band - figuring we would fall on our faces.  That backfired too, we had those guys screaming, yelling, and dancing the whole night.  Mitchell says, the following week, when I went to pick up my paycheck, in a sour tone, "So, you whipped the fiddle out on 'em, huh".  After a year of this, 3 different managers from 3 different military clubs called me in the same week, asking how the hell they can get us in their club, that their customers are beyond sick and tired of Tina Marie, and that Jim Mitchell had been telling them that we (Rio) were booked up so we were not available to work at those clubs.  So, I stormed down to Jim's office, told him what I thought of him, made it clear that he was no longer our "booking agent", and left.  I had 3 or 4 days to book some nights for my band for the following month.  Amazingly, I booked 17 nights for that following month, and after that, we worked at least 5 nights a week, making good money, and working in places that we could never get in through Jim Mitchell.  Another of Mitchell's doings was this.  New Year's Eve, we're playing at Wheeler Air Force Base in the NCO Club.  Some smart ass Army Sergeant (Sergeant Harris) decides he's gonna screw with me, so he dances by and tries to elbow my mic stand off the stage.  I'd seen him coming, so I grabbed my stand and it didn't move.  He tried this 4 or 5 times before I told him he better knock it off.  Of course, being the pathetic little punk that he was, he puffed up his chest and invited me outside.  Luckily, I had only one more song to do before it was break time, so I did it, then went outside.  We walked past 5 big bouncers, and the manager woman who booked me there, all of whom did absolutely nothing to stop it, I follow this army sergeant out into the street, where he tries to grab me, I flatten him - face a bloody mess.  MPs came, took statements, they said, "Don't worry about it, nothing will happen, this happens sometimes, it's fine".  Well, 2 weeks later, I get a certified letter from the Air Force Commander in charge of the whole Air Force in Hawaii, saying that I'm banned from any and all Air Force installations in the state of Hawaii for a period of one year.  Three guesses who was a retired Air Force guy, and three more who got that commander to pull this on me.  It didn't hurt us any, we still worked just about every night, while his wife's band couldn't get work to save her life, AND, after all the other country bands on the island saw how much better off I was by booking myself, they all left Jim Mitchell and started booking themselves, leaving MItchell with only his unhireable, crappy band fluttering in the wind - the wind that she and her lowlife husband created.  It wasn't long after that when Jim and Tina Mitchell left Hawaii, moved to Missouri, where Jim got a job changing tires and his wife's dad's tire shop.  By the way, Jim Mitchell was something like 62 years old at the time, Tina was 24.

It sure was nice to have that power back in those days, power that I certainly don't have now.

Well, that was only the first couple of years of being in Hawaii with our band, Rio.  The next 6 years were the best years of my life (musically and professionally), I'll tell about that here soon.

You can find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ImTheFid

When A Person Decides To Do Music For A Living...

...he does without lots of other things in order to do it (if he's serious, or course). While the other guys are out drinking beer, chasing women, and putting money into poker machines, the guy who goes onto a stage to give something to his audiences, as opposed to taking, is at home learning a guitar part, fiddle part, banjo part, or learning the words to a song - the WHOLE song, and he sets out to do it right. We don't get to have the family life, the home, the nice cars, bunches of friends, nice stuff; we don't make the money, and we are busy taking risks such as moving halfway across the world because we think that's where we need to be. Our paychecks are not substantial, but the prices of our instruments and equipment are. Our girlfriends or wives often feel slighted because of the time we spend doing what we do. A select few of us will never sell out, we do what we do, we do it our way, and more often than not, we go to our graves unknown, broke, and alone. We spend a lot of time in our own company, and in our own head, some of us don't fit in, or function in society, we are often depressed, bewildered, disgusted by the majority of the human race, and we are appalled at all the injustices in the world. The lazy and inept despise us for our hard work and abilities, and the appreciation that we earn, and will do anything to take us down. Music biz people go to great lengths to make our wares benefit them at our expense. The uppity and the money mongers have many names for us. The funny thing is, me, with all the grief and loss that we must live with, it's my life, I wear it all proudly, and I'm in great company - being that many artists much more talented than me (that's "I" for the grammarians) have gone to their grave living and dying with all of what's written here.

You can find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ImTheFid

Life With The Banjo, Part II

About a year and a half ago, I'd been spending 3 or 4 hours a day, 3, 4 days a week, trying to get my banjo playing back - after not playing for about 20 years.  This went on for months.  It was painful and wonderful at the same time.  I got to the point where I was kinda ok, and I did the video below.  Then, my playing systematically disintegrated.  Up until a couple of weeks ago, my playing was so bad that I couldn't even recognize what I was doing as playing.  My right arm was so rigid that it was beyond belief, my fingers would not do anything resembling what I told them to.  I don't know what happened a couple of weeks ago, but I could almost play, and now, I seem to be on the road to recovery - at least on my banjo playing :D .

I hope you'll take the time to watch the three minute video, it's a fun watch.

You can find me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/ImTheFid

Hello Street...

...my old friend, can I sleep here?



I Guess...

...time for still another change.  From frying pan into fire, what's next?  Cruise ships, maybe.  Sure would like to settle in one place for once in my life.  Did I already say how much I hate Portland?  Ok, I'll say it, I hate this angry town.  I loved Austin, always loved San Diego, liked Tucson, liked Florida, but Portland and most of its people - waste of space, air, and food.

On a slightly different subject...   fooled again.  Maybe someday I'll have my own life back, this depending on other people is horrid.  Is there such a thing as a person who will not B.S. me?  Something tells me not.

Tomorrow, park, banjo, hopefully a peaceful day, can't remember the last time I had a peaceful day, so many angry people.  I wish they would keep their anger in their own creepy little world, instead of invading mine.

The Music Business As We Knew It... And Life

Well, it's over, no more making a living by playing music in restaurants and bars.  After 30+ years of doing just that, I've learned over the past two years that it's just not the way in today's world.  So, what does a guy who only knows the music world do?  He cannot just go and work in a coffee shop or a department store.  Some folks can function in society, others cannot, I'm one of those who cannot - never have.  Everything is based on the almighty dollar.  Because the Powers That Be have destroyed not only the music business, but the world in general, I've spent the past three years living in unbelievably horrid situations - mostly with people who pretended to want to help, but in reality, only wanted something for themselves.  From the self righteous, sexually frustrated hippie woman (hell hath no fury...), and her bullying, "Everything I ever did in my life has been fantastic" land renter (who lives in his delapidated RV in her back yard), to the psychotic barfly who, after two weeks, when she realized I wasn't interested in being her boytoy (another "Hell hath no fury situation), tossed me out in the middle of the night (with the help of local police who she blatantly lied to), to living on the banks of the Santa Cruz River in Tucson, to my friend's crazy, self serving, bullying wife, to the "fellow musician" "friend" who wanted to keep me under his control by having me in his basement.

To add insult to injury, I had the almighty dollar for a while, but gave it all up for what I thought was going to be a good life, true love, and all the other happy horse shit.  I miss that Florida house - which was just about to be paid for, my nice Blazer, my studio room and all my beautiful instruments, financial freedom, and all that goes along with having that ever elusive dollar in my back pocket.  Some people are fortunate, others aren't; and yes, there IS such a thing as luck - I have a lifetime of proof that the universe protects thieves, lowlifes, parasites, and other bottom feeders of the world - at the expense of good people.  I'd have a comfortable life right now, and I'd be of real help to my sister, and any other friends or family members who have been less than fortunate.

If this sounds like bitterness, then yes, you recognize the obvious.  And yes, I've been cheated out of everything I ever worked for in my entire life, and yes again, I'm goddam tired.  I'll just leave it there for now.