Playing Star Again, Turn The Page

Many of the articles I write have to do with bettering your economic status as musicians. You can actually make money playing music, and of course, once you are discovered, once you have “made it,” once you’re a star, well, then you will never have to worry about money again. Right?

Don’t hold your breath. Odds are that you won’t get discovered; I’m pretty sure you’re not going to make it; and, if the truth be known, you have a lot better chance of winning the lottery than you have of being a star.

I estimate that, in the United States, there are maybe 1,500 musical stars, there are also about 150,000,000 people who play music and many more that sing in showers. OK, I was wrong, your odds are one in a hundred thousand of becoming a star. The odds on the lottery are an average of eighteen million to one. So don’t buy lottery tickets, invest in your music.

Nah, that’s not my point. If you are in the music business, questing for stardom, (best Bronx accent), Forgetaboutit! You will only be setting yourself up for a life filled with rejection and disappointments. Don’t get me wrong, I hope you are the one that makes it. In fact, I would like you to be first, right after me. Honestly, if you get a lucky break just remember that the definition of luck is when Opportunity meets Preparation. Have your best music rehearsed to perfection, and when you get a chance to show it, shine.

Again, none of the breath holding; you’ll get blue in the face. I wonder if that’s where the Blue Man Group got the idea… probably not. For many of us, music is our life’s blood, it lifts the soul. Why we play music was never driven home in a stronger way to me, personally, than when I played at Dan Grigor’s Memorial Day Jam.

A little over four decades ago I decided that I wanted to be a rock and roll bass player. Most of my friends were musicians. I’d played tuba all through high school. Buddies showed me licks and I was on my way. I played seriously for nine years; I was in nine or ten bands. I got to play in front of crowds as big as 5,000 people. I played a couple of dozen session dates on records. I own a BC Rich “Seagull” bass, serial number 001. I was dedicated to my music. My chief disappointment was: I was never very good at it. Oh, I was solid, I’m a quick study, I’d learn my parts by rote and I was always right there, but no one ever said, “brilliant.” I’d listen to other guys play and think, “Wow, how did he do that? That’s hot.” I could learn it but I couldn’t conceive it.

Time went on and I started working in television. A lot of it was night work, so I couldn’t make bar gigs and getting to band practices was difficult. After a while I realized that the instrument that used to be in my hands six hours a day had not been picked up in a month. A while longer and it had been ten years. The bass is not something that you just grab and play a couple of songs for friends. I discovered that I was very, very good at television editing. Clients used to call me “The Maestro” because of the rhythmic way that I played the keys on my editing computer. I never saw guys that blew me away; I knew their tricks and mine were as good or better. Over the next thirty years I won six Emmys, made a whole lot of money and hardly ever picked up my bass guitar.

After those three decades I had the great fortune to meet Dan Grigor. We were working on some experimental video staging stuff together that involved massive, organic, video feedback and a bunch of other propriety stuff that I still can’t talk about. Well, Dan is all about music. His house is a veritable video/music laboratory/playground. There was a bass lying around and when Dan was playing he’d egg me into joining him. It was nice to feel the strings under my fingers again and I loved playing with him but it was also intimidating and scary. Intimidating because if we were ballplayers, Dan would be in the World Series and I’d be playing T-Ball somewhere. All I could remember were a few 12-bar progressions. I couldn’t read the guitarist’s chords anymore, unless they were E, G or a barre and Dan doesn’t use a lot of those. All I could do was try and hang on for the ride and that was more embarrassing than satisfying. We have repeated this exercise/torture once every couple of months for the last two years. Then Dan invited me to come jam on Memorial Day.

I was excited. I figured I’d get to play a few blues and have a good time. I practiced an hour a day for two weeks and I actually had some blisters again. I got to the jam and suddenly I’m put on stage playing country gospel with four people that I’ve never met before. I was scared near to death. No one wants to be a clown unless they have grease paint and a big rubber nose. A bit later I got to play some blues and after that rock and roll. All told, I played with fifteen different people for about three hours, and, guess what? I didn’t suck! I wasn’t great but I was certainly respectable. I just relaxed into it and let it happen.

How did it feel? Well, I’ve felt as good before, but it normally only lasts a few seconds and then I want to go to sleep. This good feeling lasted three hours, with a long glow afterwards and I wasn’t tired a bit. That’s the point of this story: playing music is its own reward. Don’t let the business of making music make you lose sight of the best that music offers you. It really is worth it, and maybe you will become a star as well. Thank you, Dan, for bringing that truth back to me by the lake called Elsinore.

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