Down to the Nightclub -- NOT

First off, a shout-out for my friend Kennan Shaw, one of the great bass players of America (the other one, of course, is Very Naughty Scotty Riggs, of the Very Bad Boys, but that's another column). Kennan teaches my son Max how to play bass, and Kennan and I have made some serious noise in various situations, including Blue Monday Jam at Armando's. Kennan is a master of the groove. He is no-nonsense when it comes to grooving. He is serious. He is scary. He is groovalicious.

That being said, check him and his band Wingnut Adams tonight at Armando's. They play blues and such, and are just a great heap of fun. And they have Kennan Shaw on bass. That's all you need to know. Now get down there. 707 Marina Vista in Martinez. 8 p.m. $5 at the door.

Speaking of clubs, I went to one a couple of weeks ago. It's called the Boom Boom Room, and it's in San Francisco. The club used to be partly owned by my old boss, John Lee Hooker, who's biggest hit was "Boom Boom." He invested in a little ratty club on Geary and Fillmore, and it was reinvented as a blues room. It's ok, as small bar/nightclubs go. We were there to see one of the best bands around these days -- Jon Cleary and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen.

Chances are you've never heard of these guys, but you've probably heard Jon Cleary and just didn't know it. He's Bonnie Raitt's piano player, and has been for the past six or seven years. He's from England, but moved 25 years ago to New Orleans and never moved back. He has absorbed the heart and soul of the funkiest city in the world, and plays the music like he was born there. In the process of his success with Bonnie, he recruited the funkiest musicians he could find in the Big Easy, and the Absolute Monster Gentlemen were born. Google Jon Cleary and get thee to his Web site, where you can purchase his amazing albums.

Jon and the AMG come around here once a year, and I have attended every show but the ones last year. Usually I went to the Sweetwater in Mill Valley, a couple of blocks from Bonnie's house, becasue Bonnie would be there, and it was just sweet to sit a few feet from one of the badest slide players in the world and watch her be astounded by someone else for a change. I also had a major crush on Ms. Raitt before I got married. Now, of course, I have a major crush on my wife. But I still admire the heck out of Bonnie.

Anyway, the Sweetwater closed, so this year Jon was at the Boom Boom Room. I took my wife, Scott and his wife, and we felt so young and hip, traipsing all the way to the city to see a show, just like the old days. Scott and I, however, had just spent four hours playing in Healdsburg, which means four hours of driving in addition to that, so by the time we hit the club, we were exhausted. And the club was surprisingly full. That means nowhere to sit down. That means trouble for two old guys and their hecka young and vivacious wives. So we stood, resigned to the fact that the show would take a half hour to start.

And then the kids in front of us began to be annoying. They were smoking massive amounts of dope, which is fine and familiar to old hands in the music business, but they were also emanating some kind of hyper-vibe. When the music finally started, we thought they would settle down, but theyd didn't. One guy was describing something to his friend, waving his hands around, and smacked my wife very smartly in the nose. He was appropriately apologetic, so we let it go, but the urgency of their joy was suspicious. I couldn't see the band, because the moron in front of me kept leaning over to talk to his friend, and then returned to standing position, then leaned to talk again, then returned, over and over for nearly 30 minutes. Women kept squeezing through us, even though there was no room. It really seemed as though no one was there to hear the music but us, the old people and their wives.

But then I recalled being in a similar space when I was much younger. I've never liked to stand in crowds. It's just creepy for me. And those who are comfortable with it are far too comfortable with it, and move around as though there was no crowd at all.

If I have to be around a large crowd, please put me on a stage with a guitar. Then I'll be fine.

But the whole experience just made me appreciate Armando's all the more. Plenty of chairs, couches, and places to just listen.

Thanks again, Roy, for giving us that special gift.

My Proposed Bailout Plan - Economy of Scales

Hello, my friends. Today, America is in a financial crisis. It comes as a total surprise to each and every one of those people to whom we, as Americans, have placed our trust and confidence to keep such things from happening. They were just shocked, shocked, to discover that today, we're in a financial crisis. They had absolutely no idea. Really. But they do have the solution to solve the problem. Trust them. That's why we have our faith and confidence in these people. Because, unlike our motley little selves, these people know how to handle this kind of emergency. Really. They didn't see it coming, but now that it's here, they have a plan. And all it will cost us, the taxpayers, is a mere $700 billion.

I'll bet you $1 million you can't summon in your head what 700 billion one dollar bills looks like. Just try.

See? You can't. So you owe me $1 million. Just send me the check. (Wow, if all seven readers of this column sends me $1 million, that would be. . . let's see. . . um, well, it would be a lot).

But none of this is what I'm here to say today, my friends. Today, I'm here to propose an addendum to the bailout plan (since at least one of the presidential candidates has a new plan every day, I can propose at least an addendum and still be in bounds, right?). And here is my proposal, my friends.

Since we have $700 billion to play with, and since the people doing the playing are the very same people who didn't see this financial collapse coming, why not just set aside $1 billion of that money, a trifling little tiny percentage of the overall amount, barely a ripple, and give it to the musicians of America? And let the musicians have control over how it gets spent, too, please. No bald financial geniuses from Goldman Sachs who have presided over capitalism's demise because they either knew and didn't say or they just didn't know that their colleagues were also either crooked or stupid or both. No, let this special $1 billion go into a private, musicians-only account. Let the people who actually still have hair figure out how to spend this portion of the dough.

And here's how I would propose we spend it, my friends.

First, let's set aside $250 million for a special fund for jazz musicians. This would permit each and every jazz musician in America to supplement their present income of $548.35 annually. They could each get, say, $2,000 in tax free cash. Jazz musicians could live for many years on $2,000. They could finally get that oil change they've been needing for the last couple of years. And they could buy new reeds. Windfall city. Yeah, baby.

Let's give the blues players $500 million. This is because there are probably 10 blues players (or at least those who claim to be blues players) for every jazz cat. Like jazzers, blues players don't need a lot as individuals, since we're used to living on crumbs. But it would be nice to have a little bit of a supplement coming in for jam nights and stuff like that. For every shuffle in A that we have to play, we could get a $100 check from the fund.

Heavy metal players, who tend to a willingness to pay club owners to play, could also be required to pay into this special fund, to keep it going. We all thank you, metal players.

Punks can't get paid. They would be sellouts if they did. SHUT UP, PUNKS!!!

Singer songwriters could use the fund for therapy. Trust me, this would be a huge burden on the fund.

Opera singers should probably get paid, but if they did, it could cause serious shock and even heart attack. Let's discuss this later.

Classical players already get paid, but if you knew how much you would either laugh hysterically or cry pathetically. These folks work their whole lives, and practice eight hours every single day, to perform miracles of music. And they have a union. And despite all that, the money they get for all this dedication is. . . well, let's just say they should get a hefty hunk of this capital.

New hats and jeans and haircuts for the country artists. They're doing pretty well right now, so perhaps for these folks, we should let the market work its magic.

Hip hoppers and R&Bers, you folks have been riding the top of the chart wave for 20 years, and it doesn't look like you're coming down any time soon, so if you don't mind, we'll just leave you folks out of the free money fund for the time being. In fact, you and the country folks should hook up and have a giant party. Please invite me. I would love to be a fly on the wall at THAT party. Imagine a conversation between Kenny Chesney and Fifty Cent.

Anyway, I've probably left out lots of musicians, and if so I apologize. I'm writing this in a hurry. I'm waiting for a call from the Treasury Department. I've left several messages already, and frankly I'm shocked, shocked that they haven't yet returned my call. When I get the check for the musician's bailout plan, I'll let you know.

Meanwhile, keep playing, keep listening, and keep paying. Attention, that is.

The Economy of Scale(s)

Perhaps you've heard that we as a society are in a little bit of a quandry, cash-wise. Apparently, someone loaned someone like me enough money to buy a house, and I did buy the house, and even though I make my way-overinflated payment each month, it is not enough to keep the economic system from total collapse. So just let me say how sorry I am that I have ruined the economy, and I'll try to do better with my second home.

But really, isn't it kind of fun to watch capitalism as we know it come to a crashing and fiery end? And listen to the presidential contenders hue and cry about what to do? And listen to the endless list of pundits, who can't contain their own drool over a story this big? And watch as people in the money pits look more and more desperate when the DOW reaches a new low? 

Me, I have no idea what all this means, or how it relates to me, or otherwise I would also be afraid. Meanwhile, I'm going to trust that, like most everything else in life, this is a story that will one day be superseded by another story that seems newer and more important and we'll all forget this story until ten years from now, when it will be recalled in some "Ten Years Ago" news special. 

But then I wonder -- if this is truly an economic crisis, what does that mean for those of us on the fringes of the economy? And by that, I mean musicians? And those who cater to same? Is there any profession more poised for economic collapse than a working musician? If you make all your dollars playing music, then chances are this is a particularly scary time. Musicians live off the largesse of the elite. Such has it always been. While record companies may have replaced royalty as musical patrons, nevertheless musicians are as reliant as ever on the whims and desires of those who pick up the tab. The wealthy and the rich throw lavish parties. These parties are the source of significant crumbs thrown to fortunate musicians who are hired to play these parties. There are corporate gigs, weddings, bar and bat mitzvahs, birthday and anniversary bashes. . . the list goes on. These are the things that make up the primary income of most working musicians. And when the economy is not happy, these parties tend to shrink, if not evaporate all together. And when they shrink, the party planners of the world generally opt for the DJ over the live band (which, by the way, is always always always a horrible idea, and never ever make this mistake yourself, should you be a party planner). 

Fewer dollars in an already lonely pocket mean fewer dollars to spend on guitar straps, guitar strings, guitar polish, or guitars. And of course amps. Cords. Picks. 

And it's not like the musical instrument business is roaring already. 

So when times get tough, they get tougher on those for whom it is generally tough. 

But here's the deal. You can't be involved in the music industry without a total sense of belief that it's going to somehow be all right. Because if you were a realist of any kind, you'd find yourself in another business, pronto. The music business doesn't make any sense, if you're providing the music, or even if you're selling the instruments to those that do. We take home pretty much the same rate of pay we did 30 years ago. It's a wretched business model. But we love to play so much that we have to have faith that it will somehow, some way, work out. And you know what? It does.

So while the ups and downs of Wall Street have been entertaining to some, and ulcer-inducing to others, those of us who play have been, um, playing. Because they may turn off the lights, but we can sing in the light or the dark.

Movie Review: The Other, Funkier Motown

Picture this: it’s 1962, and you’re a white guitar player for a spunky, up-and-coming instrumental band. You’re also connected to an upstart record label in downtown Memphis. Yours is literally the only business in Memphis in which you can legally and safely intermingle with people whose people were from Africa. A car pulls up containing a band that is supposed to be the Next Big Thing. The band gets out, swaggers into the studio looking all confident and important, and then the guy who is bringing in the band’s bags and equipment comes up to you and asks if you would hear him sing. He continues to do this throughout the recording session, and afterwards. Finally, you and your band relent. You sit him down in the studio, and he tells you to “play some of those church chords.” He begins to sing: “these arms of mine. . .” and his voice makes the hair on your arms stand up, and you know you’ve been introduced to destiny.

Your name would be Steve Cropper. You would be the guitarist for a little outfit called Booker T and the MGs. You would write many, many hit songs, tunes that have become a permanent part of the American music songbook, loved by young and old alike. Your band would be legendary, and would back up some of the greatest singers of all time. The best singer of all would be that guy who begged you to hear him sing that night. His name was Otis Redding. One of the songs you would help him write is “Sittin’ On the Dock of the Bay.”

This is one of dozens of great stories on “Respect Yourself: The Story of Stax Records.” It’s a journey that began accidentally, when a white fiddle player and his retired school teacher sister invested money into a broken-down movie house in the black section of Memphis to open a country music recording studio. This was in 1961, when virtually everything in the city was segregated. It’s not clear why and how they opened this place where they did, but they did. His name was Jim Stewart, and hers Estelle Axton. Put the first two letters of their last names together, and you get Stax. Voila, a label is born.

One of the first acts signed by this new label was Rufus and Carla Thomas. You may remember Rufus for his huge hit, Walkin’ the Dog. Bar bands play this tune to death. You may recall Carla Thomas from her work with “Tramp,” playing the foil to Otis Redding. “I don’t care what you say, Otis, you’re STILL a tramp.” In both cases, you need to be a little long of tooth to recall these tunes in their original format.

The label also signed one of the country’s first integrated bands, the Mar-Keys. This band featured the aforementioned Steve Cropper, drummer Al Jackson (RIP), and a horn section that would define horn sections for all time. This band released a huge hit, “Last Night,” which you will recognize when you hear it in the movie. The bass player, guitar player, and drummer later joined forces with Booker T to create Booker T and the Memphis Group (MGs). Legends were popping up all over the place.

Otis was signed, and began to make musical history, but he wasn’t the only one. Atlantic Records heard all this amazing music and signed a national distribution deal with Stax, so we could all hear and marvel at this scorching new sound.

You know the song Mustang Sally? Wilson Pickett. The bane of bar bands everywhere. The song you pretty much have to play each and every time you play somewhere. Well, the original is still a masterpiece, which is why everyone loves it so much. It’s a Stax record, with Booker T and the MGs, and that horn section, as the band. Oh my. Sam and Dave, who made “Soul Man” so good; they were Stax artists. Who wrote “Soul Man?” Oh, this team of writers, David Porter and some fellow named, um, Issac Hayes. The first African American to receive an Oscar for (“I’m just talkin’ ‘bout) Shaft.”

Anyway, all these stories, and many more, are told by those who lived it. Why did Stax records sound so different from Motown records? Why was this label so important to the civil rights movement? What hotel did Stax artists stay at when they needed a break, and a swimming pool (the answer will chill your bones)?

Get this movie, and enjoy some essential American history.

Here's An idea for Americans Tired of All That Gotcha Journalism

Hey Americans! Gosh darn it, are you tired of all that vitriol and, you know, (wink) meanness being spat out by that mainstream gotcha media all day and night? Especially when it comes to (wink) Sarah Palin, that mavericky wonder woman from Alaska? 

Here's one idea:

Quit following her around.

Her crowds are angry these days, because they sense defeat in the air. And they are going to lose to a black man. These aren't the kinds of people used to such things, and according to one press account, a speech she gave in Clearwater yesterday was followed by shouts of obscenities and threats to the media covering the event. 

So, on the one hand, how delightful it would be for her to lose those dreaded cameras and reporters who hound her so. Just quit covering her. Watch the magic just. . . die.

On the other hand, it would be nice to know what she's saying. And have someone on hand to try and translate for the rest of us.

Hey, Let's Bash the Media! It's Fun, and Distracting!

The focus of my career for the past twenty years has been either as a media person (newspaper reporter), or someone who interfaces with the media daily. As such, I have the opportunity to read many papers every day, large and small. Yes, because it's 2008, I read most of them online, but they are papers I wouldn't otherwise be able to subscribe to. I love reading newspapers. I admire the people who write and edit them. They are, to me, a sacrosanct bunch.

And oh, so disrespected. Like lawyers, people hate reporters, until they need one to tell their story. Then they reach out to them, and suddenly love that good ol' First Amendment that lets regular people with a gripe convey that gripe to the general population, without fear of retribution, criminal or otherwise. Reporters strive to make sense of the world around us, and while they're not always successful, they do a pretty good job. Remember, these are folks who start from scratch each day. 

But this election, like the previous two presidential elections, have had an unusual focus -- candidates from both sides, and their cohorts, are really tearing into the media, making the people who cover them the problem. The leaders in this endeavor happen to be on the right, because the myth of the liberal media elite plays well in places where folks can't get ahold of the Washington Post or the New York Times. But added to that roster is now all three major news networks (with the exception of Fox, of course, for obvious reasons), and just the media in general, as an entity. 

This is certainly nothing new -- people complain about their small-town papers all the time when they see something in it they don't agree with. It's part and parcel of the system of news. And that's ok.

But it's far more serious when our leaders use media-bashing as the basis of their appeal to voters. Think about this: they're using the media to bash the media. The irony is fun, sure. But since it happens over and over and over, people begin to absorb this bashing as truth. Lots of Americans now think there is such a thing as a liberal media elite. And that's absolute nonsense. If there were such a thing, this liberal elite media would not have capitulated to a White House intent on going to war in Iraq. They would not have permitted "embedded" reporters to cover a war. They would not have agreed to not showing the grim and gruesome side to the conflict. They would not have given the Bush Administration such a free ride, which ended after Hurricane Katrina exposed so obviously the results of incompetence, cronyism, and racism. 

No, the media is buffeted by winds of change, just like everyone else. And now there is a lot at stake, we have a very significant election at hand, and some interesting candidates to cover. The people of the press, and television, have decided to stake out some independence again, and they are asking questions. Now, it's not the media's fault if one of the candidates cannot answer softball questions. Believe me, if Sarah Palin was asked some "gotcha" questions, she would be engulfed in flames. Asking her for an example of Supreme Court decisions she disagrees with is the softest of softball questions. It's not intended to do anything but enlighten the populace as to her views about conservative issues, because she could very well be called upon to appoint a justice or two in her lifetime. The fact that she can't come up with any is not the media's fault. There is no conspiracy to bring her down. Any more than there is a conspiracy to bring down Obama, or McCain. These folks live or die by the answers they give and the statements they make. It's the job they took on themselves. Don't blame the media for providing the stage from which they make their observations and give their speeches.

You want the media around, even though you may get angry with it. You need the media, if you want your democracy to be functioning. Otherwise, you'd best be prepared to show up at each and every public hearing at the local, county, state and federal level, so you know what's going on. 

At least then you could put the blame where it belongs -- on the shoulders of those who make decisions that affect you.

Take Note, Martinez for October 2, 2008

October Armando's Roundup

October, it turns out, is more than a great month to watch vice presidential and presidential debates, and prepare for a historic election that each and every person 18 and over must absolutely have to participate in (young people, in particular, because if nothing else you can tell people later in your life that you voted in this election, and they will think you are even cooler than you obviously already are). 

October is also a great month to check out Armando's musical lineup. Sadly, my own Very Bad Boys are not back there until December (or is it January? I can't keep track), but oh my goodness there are some spectacular shows lined up this month, and you and yours should be down there, toes ready for tappin'. 

Tonight, for country fans, there is a country-tinged open mike, with Martha deWolfe in charge of the evening's events. Now, usually open mikes are great places to bring any and all kinds of music, but this one has a country flavor, so if you go to perform, bear that in mind. Try not to bring your rock ballad or a song you're just making up on the spot, unless it has a country flavor to it. Open mike begins at 8 p.m. You won't see me there, though. My Bad Boys will be rehearsing for our performance tomorrow night at Ferry Street Station, beginning at 9 a.m.

So, moving on. . . Friday night at Armando's is Gary King's Quartet, and this is definitely for those of you with eclectic tastes. Gary is a great singer/songwriter/guitarist, and has a unique twist on what those terms mean. If you're ready for some musical adventure, venture down for this show, which begins at 8 p.m.

Saturday is a must-see show, with Tre' Taylor and the Dangerous Martini Quartet. This is a great mix of cabaret, jazz, and R&B, all dressed up and ready to go out. And tonight the band features Doug Wendt on guitar. Doug is a great guitarist, and performs regularly at Haute Stuff on Thursday nights playing solo classical. If you've ever tried playing classical guitar, you know how much respect these players deserve. If you haven't, try this -- tie both your shoes at the same time while simultaneously making a chocolate souffle. That's a taste of what playing classical guitar is like. 

Friday the 10th is Wendy DeWitt. She is one of the Bay Area's best blues piano players, and a joy to watch perform. Wendy regularly plays in San Francisco blues clubs, and it's a rare treat to have her venture out to these parts for a show. This is the value of Armando's, folks. Players like Wendy won't come out for gig at a bar in these parts, but Roy Jeans has created a performance space that is being sought out by major performers from around the Bay Area, so we get to see people like Wendy DeWitt without paying a bridge toll and trying to find a parking place in North Beach on a Friday night. Thanks, Roy. Job well done. 

Saturday the 11th is Jimbo Trout, who's show is labeled intriguingly "hillbilly bebop boogie." Now, with that kind of description, I'm tempted to go, and you should be, too. There are a heck of a lot of movies out there that sound a lot less interesting, and cost more. 

Oh, Monday the 13th is Blues Jam. I'll be there with Danny White, one of the Very Bad Boys, and we'll host a host of bluesers from around the area. We'd love to play and sing the blues for you, and it's Monday night. What else you got going on Monday night? I thought so. Come on down.

Wednesday the 15th is Super Chicken, a funky collection of Tower of Power and Cold Blood alumni, fronted by a young singer who one day will get the words to the classics he sings correct. Until that time, it's still worthwhile to go check these guys out. The musicians are masters at their field, and it's a funky good time fo sho. 

Thursday the 16th it's Mal Sharpe's Big Money in Jazz Band. Mal is the guy who coined the phrase "if you don't like the news, go out and make some of your own." He fronts a fantastic Dixlieland Jazz band, and this is a phenomenal way to spend a Thursday night with your cuddle partner, nursing a brew or a glass of Zin, and taking in the flavor of New Orleans. 

On Saturay the 18th, it's George Cole and Vive Le Jazz. This is a group who bases its sound on Django Reinhardt and Gypsy Jazz, but they also sing and perform classic jazz from the Great American Songbook. This will be a night to remember.

There is a lot more music going on, more than I have time or space for here. But do get on the Armando's mailing list, and get yourself down there. It's a great space, full of great music, great people, and a spirit that this city lacked for a long time, until Roy made a space to bring it back. 

Until next week, then, dear readers, enjoy yourselves, keep a good beat, and hold out for the very best in all things.