A new horizon

I have mentioned teaming up on guitar with Fran, a blind woman friend that I've known and loved for 4 years now.  LeeAnne and I both took to her.  She's a rehab counselor for the state; she teaches computer basics to blind students. 

In the 70s and 80s, she was still partially sighted, and she went to LA to conquer the rock world.  She taught guitar, helped run a recording studio, and formed original bands that played the showcases around town.  

Fran had once said she played guitar, and I said, basically, "That's nice."  She might even be very good on guitar, but I occupy a niche of the rock world that is specialized.  I don't expect to find many people in everyday life that do what I do.

I heard a studio recording she did, and I was interested in it.  Then she happened to be in the room when another friend and I were writing a song; she played lead on it, and it was apparent that, as LeeAnne said, "She spoke my language, with no accent." 

So I had Fran audition for my current band, the Ethel Merman Experience.  It was a lot of fun, and they really liked playing with her, but their bottom line was: We've got you, and we don't need two of you.  I cover the waterfront, as the old song said.  If there's a song that needs a second guitar, Ethel fills in.  

Ethel's the show in our band, and guitar playing is the secondary show; there really isn't a need for two in that situation. We could have gone in some different directions if it would have clicked.  I was willing to play keyboards, for thing.  You'd never mistake me for Elton John, but I can do synthesizers.  

So Fran and I headed to Belmont, where some friends of mine still run a rock jam session.  Anyone can walk in and play with the band.  Fran took one evening of just listening, to scope out the scene.  She was amazed by the caliber of playing there, and she felt inspired by it, too.

The next week we brought our guitars, and went to work.  It went well, and people complimented us.  I was trying to find a vocalist to sit in with us, but no one quite fit the bill, so I ended up singing.  It went better than I expected, and I felt good that I'd at least gotten us started.  I don't claim to be a lead vocalist any more.

So last Thursday we went back to do it again. I picked a very basic but powerful song called "Simple Man." to open with. It was made popular by Lynyrd Skynryd years ago, and people don't play it that much.  We did it, and I was surprised at how effortless it was to sing; I could just concentrate on putting feeling into it. I'd forgotten how easy it can be to sing when I don't have to deal with all the guitar work at the same time.  Fran had that covered.  I barely played any rhythm, although I did the lead.

We then did Van Halen’s version of “You Really Got Me,” and Fran did the fast and furious lead on that one—a brief song. Then it was time for one more.  We'd picked Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze," which is somewhat overworked. We don’t like doing overworked songs, but we didn’t have anything else prepared. I announced it to the drummer.

The drummer on this night was not the house drummer; he was a long-time player that I hadn't worked with for years.  Big guy—like 300 pounds—and a biker, leather vest and all.  He said, "Let's do 'Red House.'"

Now, "Red House” is vintage Hendrix, but it’s showcase Hendrix—it’s a slow blues song, and Hendrix made it into a fireworks show.  With almost anyone else, it’s more like a dirge.  An old joke has it that one room in hell has a band with three guitarists, and they launch into “Red House.”

Me and Fran and bass player Lee are somewhat taken aback.  My brain is doing a Microsoft Windows search for lyrics on a song I haven’t sung for, oh, 15 years, while my mouth is saying, “C’mon, ‘E Rock,’ Ronda  is gonna have a fit if we do that.”   (Long boring songs being the bane of an organizer.)

E Rock says, I don’t care if she does.  He uses more colorful language to say this, but that’s his point.  He’s basically saying, This gal is up to it; let’s wind her up and let her go.

I dislike watching long discussions on stage, and I’m not going to start one tonight.  I say, “In A,” and I play what I remember of the intro.  We’re off, and I start singing it.  It’s like a stroll in the park; I can really belt it out, ‘cause it’s not high at all.

We go into the solo.  I’m expecting a competent offering from Fran, and I’m going to do my chunk-a-chunk rhythm on my side of the stage.  Then I sense that something else is going on over there.  I can’t hear exactly what Fran is playing, but I get the gist of it.  I’m feeling it; it’s like being at a arena concert.  The hair is standing up on my arms. 

At one point she’s fast and furious again, but there’s a story being told, it’s not just speed for the sake of being fast.  I’m so used to hearing routine solos in situations like this that I don’t quite know what to make of ‘something more,’ but I don’t stop my playing.

Then she breaks it down and we get very quiet suddenly, with just little bursts from the guitar.  It’s still like I’m hearing a recording of a live concert

being played back.   The quiet part is getting to me, too; it’s wonderful to hear.

We roll along like that, and the audience is not moving around; I can sense that.  Then we bring it back up, soloing until I can jump into singing the last verse and steer us back home again.

I shouted out, “Fran Marie!” with a gesture toward her, “and E Rock on drums!”  We immediately begin to break down our equipment, and people complimented us left and right.  What was very moving to me is that I’ve known these people for years; they’re not easily impressed.  But they were letting us know that this wasn’t business as usual.

So Fran and I were sitting in the car after all the packing was done, and we both had to shake our heads.  Whatever is happening may have much more to offer than we anticipated.  For one thing, it may be that we don’t need to look for a lead vocalist, which just astounds me.  I’ll wait to hear digital recordings next week, but I had stopped thinking of myself as a singer. 

And the other thing is that we expect adequate to good guitar playing of ourselves, but we’re sensing something more there.  Again, I want to hear it for myself on media.  I knew Fran was good, but I had not expected her to take it up to another level entirely. 

I told Fran that I definitely wanted to take a very “middle way” approach to it.  I haven’t sunk into despair during long months of no jobs, and I’m not going to get elated over this.  I just want to keep moving steadily.  We need to find a bass player and a drummer, and then we’ll rehearse three or four times and go do the free webcast at the local recording college. 

That will be our promo for the clubowners around here.  We’ll play other people’s music for a time, but we both have original music to play.

To find that a friend who I know and trust is also the ‘other guitarist’ that I’ve looked for for 20 years is quite something.  In 1990, at age 39, I began going to jam sessions 2or 3 nights a week, performing all over the Bay area.  I was looking for bandmates.  I found good people, and professionals, too, and they were willing to play paid gigs with me.  But no one wanted to form an original band with me out of that.  I was OK to date, but no one wanted to marry me. 

When I did help form an original band in 1999, it took off like a rocket.  We were headlining mid-level clubs in SF on weekends, three months after we started.  Like any other marriage, it unraveled over the next year.

Ethel came along in late 2003, and there was no other guitarist involved; I was it. 

So this is a good feeling; not too hyper or too-good-to-be-true.  It feels like it’s on very solid ground.  LeeAnne knows Fran as well as I do, so that distrust that comes between romantic partner and music partner isn’t there.

I’ll send those recordings out when we get them.