My instincts about New Years Eve was right on the
money. They have a tradition called first
footin’ where at the stroke of midnight everyone goes outside and knocks on
all the neighbors doors with a bottle of whiskey, lager or whatever and the
true craziness really begins. I was a bit more than six years sober, so I
didn’t partake in that part of the festivities, but I got to see the locals
make fun-loving fools of themselves. Because they were all drunk, everyone
assumed I was as drunk as they were. It was hilarious to be the only sober
person among fifty or more staggering Scots. It was a great trip but Donna and
I knew with three children now, it was going to be awhile since we could afford
to head back over there. I haven’t been back since and, I must say, I really
miss it—especially the golf and the wild assortment of characters— but the
local food . . . well (except for the Indian restaurants which are some of the
best in the world) I can leave that alone.
We were back in America in the beginning of January
and with six months left go until Jonathan’s Bar Mitzvah at the end of June we
were all beginning to sweat from nerves, apprehension and plain old exhaustion.
The only one that was keeping it together was Jonathan. He’d only been studying
Hebrew for a little over a year and was doing amazingly. I don’t know how he
could learn such a difficult language so easily, but I guess that’s where his
aptitude lies. When I first asked Jonathan why he wanted to be Bar Mitzvah, a
year back he said, “Dad, I want to do something meaningful with my life and
learn about my Jewish heritage.” How could I argue with that? I remember my
main motivation when I was thirteen was the money, and the party. What a great
kid!
On the morning of June 25, 2005 all the relatives
were wandering in to the temple. Donna’s Mom and Dad, and her baby sister,
Heather, had come from Scotland. My Uncle Ellis and Aunt Enid, my sister,
Susan, brother, Robbie and his two almost grown kids, Max and Emily, my Cousin
Richard and his wife, Sue and their daughter, Amanda who is three whole days
younger than Jonathan all made it in from California. The Amazon woman, Vange,
her husband Howard and I think eight of their soon to be ten children had arrived,
the only one who was late was the photographer, Holly, but she made it ten
minutes before the shebang clicked into gear. I got to say Jonathan was a star
that day and I was so proud of him I could have plotzed right then and there.
On the musical front, I was sending out my record,
Field Recordings to radio stations all over the world getting contacts from the
Indie Bible, resource and reference book that lived up to its name. Radio
stations were actually playing my songs in places like Germany, Britain,
Australia, France, Holland, Denmark, Japan and the good old USA. I had the
playlists to prove it. I felt like I was back on the map again, and hadn’t felt
that way since Silverspoon was recording at The Record Plant with Mal Evans and
Bob Merritt, not to mention the Keith Moon record soon after that. The reviews
I got were very promising. Lord Litter, one of Germany’s top deejays wrote to
me saying, “Very cool “reduced” music—I will definitely play.” Gerd Strassen,
also from Germany’s “Ems-Vechte Welle radio FM 95.6 said, “Thank you so much
for sending me “Field Recordings” I really enjoyed it. My faves are Making Ground, Eternity’s Waltz, This Song, followed
by Experimenting Peace and Monday Morning Memory.” Not bad, I
thought, that’s more than half the record.
I thought the overall best review was from Eddie
Russell, a deejay in Texas. He said, “Greetings James . . . my goodness . . . .
I sure enjoyed my initial review of your pure rootsy CD Field Recordings
yesterday . . . where all holds together on the whole with staggering
magnitude. Thanks again for the great inspiration due to your job well done . .
. . Eddie.”
Eddie was instrumental in referring me to a plethora
of the afore mentioned radio stations and I only hope that he is still around
somewhere spinning those CD’s or MP3s.
With momentum moving in a positive direction, I knew
I needed a band. I began auditioning bass players, drummers and second
guitarist from ads I found on Craigslist. My ad was fairly specific and the
responses well received. My routine was this: I would meet the prospective band
members at the closest Starbucks and give them a CD and I would accept any
CD’s, tapes or links to music they played on. We would feel each other out and
if we were still interested in taking it the next step, we would get together
and play. The whole process took a little more than a month and by the end of
the summer I had a four piece band. It was Josh Fuson on drums, Greg (It’s a
Wonderful Life) Bailey on bass, and Grant (Big Smoky) Johnson on second guitar
and pedal steel.
There was a new venue called Americana Tonight hosted by Mark Wehrner to be held at Douglas
Corner in Nashville on November 11th (see picture. Notice how my middle name is spelled W$esley). It was a major
showcase in Nashville for up-and-coming acts in the genre. We rehearsed in my
living room for a couple of weeks and ended up doing five songs. It was pretty
darn tight and we got a great reaction. Soon after that I booked a gig at a
local club in Franklin called Kimbro’s where we played once a month on Friday
nights for about six months. In the meantime, I was inspired to write and I had
nearly twenty-five new songs to record. With the radio stations playing my
songs and a new band I had ideas of booking gigs oversees and I was making
inquiries to get going in that arena. I thought it was time to make a new
record now with three CDs under my belt, there would be an arsenal that nobody
in his or her right mind could turn down; at least that’s what I thought. Time
would tell.
The biggest stumbling block was money. Nashville,
(like Los Angeles and New York) is an impossible place to make a living playing
music unless you’re playing the big venues. Everyone wants you to play for free
and if you complain about it, the club owners tell you to get lost since plenty
of kids are lining up around the block to have their music heard. I still had
to pay my band members and the only way to do that was to sell CDs or with
tips. But how many CDs can you sell if only ten or twenty patrons show up at
the gig? Frustrating business! I needed something magical to happen, but it
seemed like I had used all the alchemy I was able to conjure when I was in
Silverspoon. I mean things were going okay, but I felt like I was all alone in
a strange town that really didn’t get me, not like they did when I was In LA,
or maybe it was because I was younger then and everything seemed fresh and
there always somebody around willing to promote, wine and dine and dole out the
powdered refreshments. I just wasn’t there anymore and I was relatively sober
(except for a few joints once in a while). It was all about the money now and if
you had a young band and could write songs about sexy, redneck girls drinking
beer on the tailgate of their pick-up trucks you stood a chance. What’s an old
man o’ Americana gonna do?
No comments:
Post a Comment