Issue 169

The Musical Instrument Museum (MIM), located in Phoenix, Arizona, is the foremost musical instrument museum in the world with 350 exhibits, 200 of which are country-specific. I described it in a previous Copper article (Issue 168), and in this and following installments I’ll note some of its particulars in greater depth.

Five of the MIM’s ten main galleries are geography-oriented for the following regions:

• US/Canada
• Europe
• Africa/Middle East
• Asia/Oceania
• Latin America

For the last five years, I have been a volunteer giving tours to adults and school groups at the museum. In addition to participating in MIM’s museum guide training and certification process, docents get to attend regular enrichment sessions hosted by the museum’s curators. There are also opportunities to gain important musical insights via one-on-one discussions with those curators. Additionally, I have done extensive research into various aspects of music, much of which has been fueled by my involvement at the museum.

I would like to now take you into MIM’s geographic galleries and discuss some of my favorite exhibits. Let’s take a trip around the world!

The US and Canada: Early Jazz

Few people dispute that jazz was invented in New Orleans around the turn of the 20th century. Why New Orleans and not New York, Chicago, or some other city? There was a dynamic confluence of cultures in New Orleans at that time. These early jazz artists were primarily descendants of Africans, or Creoles. Creoles in New Orleans are a predominantly mixed-race culture rooted in French, Spanish, African or Native American ancestry among others. I would like to profile an African slave descendant and a Creole and discuss their contributions to the origination of the jazz genre of music.

Buddy Bolden, born in 1877, was the son of former African slaves and many experts view him as the father of jazz. Buddy played the cornet and by the mid-1890s had his own band. Whenever there was a parade in New Orleans (and there were many), Buddy’s band would steal the show. They were highly creative, played loudly, and were known for their innovative improvisational techniques. Buddy had a magnetic personality and a profound impact on other musicians. He developed a cult-like following and always had an entourage around him. On Saturday nights, you could hear his band from great distances but actually getting to see them was a very tall order due to their popularity. Buddy was given the nickname “King Bolden” in New Orleans.

Buddy Bolden and his band. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/public domain.

So why have most people never heard of him? For starters, he was never recorded, didn’t document the songs he created, and there is only one known photograph of him. But the main reason is undoubtedly that at the age of 29 he suffered a psychiatric breakdown (diagnosed as schizophrenia) and spent the last 24 years of his life in a psychiatric facility. King Bolden is buried in a pauper’s cemetery in New Orleans. A large monument commemorating him has been erected there but they have no idea which headstone is his. The father of jazz!

Jelly Roll Morton, a Creole, was born Ferdinand Joseph LaMothe and was 12 years younger than Bolden. His mother’s maiden name was Monette and after she and her husband separated, she married a man whose last name was Mouton. These are all French names. Ferdinand adopted the Mouton name. As a teenager, Ferdinand was supposed to be working part time as a factory watchman, but what he was really doing was playing piano at some of the brothels in New Orleans. A nice middle-class boy didn’t do such things and he tried (unsuccessfully) to hide this from his family. With that in mind, he changed the “u” in Mouton to an “r” and became Jelly Roll Morton. (I’ll decline to explain the origin of his “Jelly Roll” nickname; you can look it up.)

Morton had a reputation for being egotistical and called himself the father of jazz. He was a prolific songwriter and documented the hundred or so songs that he wrote. Of particular note is his song “Buddy Bolden’s Blues.” Morton moved from New Orleans to Chicago and jazz moved with him. He had a long career which lasted until his death in 1941. From my perspective, Buddy Bolden is the father of jazz and Jelly Roll Morton is the one who put jazz on the map.

The US and Canada: Country Music

Jimmie Rodgers (not to be confused with the person of the same name who sang “Honeycomb” in the 1950s) is widely regarded as the “Father of Country Music.” He was born in 1897 and died of tuberculosis at the age of 35.

Rodgers recorded over 100 songs during his tragically short career. He created a yodeling craze in popular music and some of his songs were called “blue yodels.” “T For Texas” (also called “Blue Yodel No. 1”) was a major hit in 1927 and it was this recording that created the yodeling craze. The first three inductees into the Country Music Hall of Fame in 1961 were Rodgers, Hank Williams, and Fred Rose. (Rose was Hank Williams’ producer and a prolific songwriter.) Rodgers is also a member of the Rock and Roll, Blues, and Songwriters Halls of Fame.

Countless artists have cited Rodgers as a major influence, Gene Autry, Bill Monroe, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, and Dolly Parton among them. Bob Dylan put together a tribute compilation of major artists honoring Rodgers and covering his songs. In addition to Dylan, other contributors to that album include Willie Nelson, Jerry Garcia, Bono, Aaron Neville, and Van Morrison.

Europe: Flamenco Music

I always begin my discussion of flamenco music with, “This is probably the least-reliable information I am giving you on this tour.” More about that later. In the year 711, the Moors (Muslim Berbers from North Africa) invaded Iberia and conquered about two thirds of the Iberian Peninsula. Over time, the Spanish and Portuguese militaries retook much of this land. The last 250 years of their occupation, the Moors controlled the southern region of Spain known as Andalusia. It is here where we believe flamenco music began. The Moorish military left Iberia in 1492, almost 800 years after the initial invasion. However, after all that time, many Moors had deep roots in Andalusia via extended families, established businesses, and land ownership, and chose to remain in Iberia.

Flamenco music is primarily Gypsy music, with documented Jewish and Muslim influences. The Gypsies originally came from northern India, having started their migration sometime between the sixth and 10th centuries. The origin of the word “Gypsy” is interesting. Similar to how Europeans mistakenly called the indigenous people of the New World “Indians,” Europeans thought that the Gypsies were native to Egypt! The Gypsies are trying to shed that misnomer and in recent years have promoted the term “Roma,” which means man or person in their native language. (This has helped to fuel the misconception that the Gypsies are of Romanian or other Eastern European ancestry.)

Many Roma ultimately settled in Andalusia, most coming through Europe and others via Africa. So how did the Jewish and Muslim influences find their way into flamenco music? Roma, Jews and Muslims were the primary targets of the Inquisition; Jews and Muslims for religious reasons but the Roma for their lifestyle. The Roma typically adopted the religion prevalent in their environment, so most of those in Andalusia were Christian. However, the Spanish disliked their lifestyle and would rather have had them be serfs on farms. It is thought that rather than succumb to the dictates of the Inquisition, people from these three groups fled to rural areas where the police would not follow them. In so doing, they became neighbors and friends and it is believed this is how Jewish and Muslim influences found their way into flamenco music.

“Café cantante,” by photographer Emilio Beauchy circa 1888. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/CARLOS TEIXIDOR CADENAS.

Original flamenco music was comprised of simply singing and banging sticks on the floor. Subsequently, the performers put nails in their shoes to simulate taps, and clapping and other instruments were added. The last instrument to come into flamenco music was the Spanish guitar.

So, why is this information arguably less reliable than other information in this article? The Roma do not transcribe their history. It is passed on by word of mouth. This is compounded by the fact that the Spanish viewed flamenco music to be obscene, the result being that there wasn’t a word written about it until the late 1700s. Anything we know about flamenco is from writings hundreds of years after the fact, and important information must surely have been lost along the way.

Africa/Middle East: Marching Bands

Many people believe that John Philip Sousa invented marching band music. That honor rightfully belongs to the Turkish mehter military ensembles who predated John Philip Sousa by almost 600 years! In fact, the date of the first mehter performance is known. In 1299, Osman I was coronated as the first Ottoman emperor. There was a very powerful sultan who was a major supporter of Osman I and his gift at that ceremony was the mehter.

The mehter became an institution with Osman I and, more generally, in the Ottoman Empire. As that empire spread into Europe and elsewhere, military marching bands became more prevalent. Ultimately, marching bands found their way into non-Ottoman countries and, today, virtually every military in the world embraces them. The concept of marching bands ultimately spread to the civilian population. In the late 1800s, it was a staple of American entertainment, with marching bands becoming fixtures in parades but also in non-marching environments such as park bandshells and auditoriums. John Philip Sousa’s own civilian band rarely marched.

Did you ever wonder why college marching bands usually wear strange outfits with odd, often plumed hats? Those costumes are derived from those worn by the mehter.

Mehter band. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/National Library, Ankara/public domain.

Asia: Knobbed Gongs

At MIM, we have standardized our definition of instrument types in accordance with what vibrates in the instrument to make music. The gong is an example of an idiophone, where the entire object vibrates. Idiophones can be constructed from any hard object: metal, wood, shells et al. We even have an idiophone at the museum that consists of the jaw of a horse and a metal spike.

The history of the gong is somewhat mysterious but it is thought to have emerged about 4,000 years ago. Some gongs have a knob or nipple in the middle and most experts believe that these gongs originated in Indonesia. The country has a rich musical tradition and their gamelan is an orchestra that makes extensive use of gongs. Indonesians revere the gong and believe that every instance of a gamelan orchestra has its own unique soul which resides in the largest gong.

Indonesian Kempul gongs. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Tropenmuseum, part of the National Museum of World Cultures.

Gongs are usually made of bronze or brass, but the better ones are bronze. Bronze is an alloy of copper and tin with a “special sauce” of other materials often added. The Bronze Age came directly after the Stone Age and began around 3,300 B.C.E. What drove the Bronze Age was that bronze is a very hard material and was much better than its predecessor, sticks and stones, for making weapons and tools. Once people started working with it, they found other uses, such as utensils, jewelry, and statues.

Bronze has three advantages over brass with respect to idiophones. First, it is harder than brass and won’t dent as easily. Second, bronze does much better with the elements. Indonesia consists of 18,000 islands and beaches and salt water pervades that country. (I did a tour for a group of retired Navy guys and they pointed out that the propellers on their battleship were made from bronze.) Third and maybe most importantly, if you form bronze correctly and hit it with a stick or a hammer, it will have a better tone than brass. It will vibrate with more pleasing overtones. For those reasons, if an idiophone is made out of metal, bronze is the material of choice. This is also true for cymbals. The good ones are made from bronze, the cheaper ones from brass. Just about every church bell in the world is made from bronze.

Latin America: Panpipes

Another instrument type is the aerophone, where air vibrates to make music. A very early aerophone is the panpipe, which originated during the Stone Age around 4,000 B.C.E. The siku is a type of panpipe that arose in Peru and Bolivia in the vicinity of Lake Titicaca.

Lake Titicaca is in the Andes Mountains and covers an area of 3,000 square miles at an elevation of more than 12,000 feet. In Peru, there are 26 mountains over 20,000 feet high. As a comparison, the tallest mountain in the US outside of Alaska is Mount Whitney, about 15,000 feet high. Alaska has one mountain over 20,000 feet. Andean communities are fairly isolated due to the ruggedness of these mountains, and the snow and snow melt. Accordingly, each community developed its own unique siku music, with subtle differences in how the siku is constructed.

Playing a siku. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Gianni Careddu.

A siku can be made from many materials but is typically constructed from bamboo, cane, or reed. Many people think that these are types of wood but they are not; they are hard grasses. The advantage to using hard grass versus wood for an aerophone is that hard grass is hollow by nature and, accordingly, is very popular for aerophones in many regions of the world. To construct a siku, one cuts different lengths of hard grass and binds them together. Blowing into the longest pipe gives the lowest note and the shortest pipe gives the highest note. The musician moves his or her mouth from one pipe to another.

The siku is a one-handed instrument. Siku players sometimes use the free hand to simultaneously play a drum or perform some other action. Arguably the most important advance in aerophones over time is the enablement of the musician to blow into only one place without moving their head. To accomplish this, the other hand must be used to simulate different-size pipes. Depending on the design of the instrument, the musician may use that second hand to cover and uncover holes, open and close valves, or maybe operate a tube extender (as with a trombone) to create a full range of higher and lower notes.

The Musical Instrument Museum is a national treasure. Each of the 350 exhibits at the museum contains instruments and artifacts but also includes a number of videos, each telling a somewhat different story about the history and cultural significance of music. Here I have discussed some of my favorites, but there are many, many more stories to tell.

Header image: mehter band, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Michal Maňas.

Those among our readers with an interest in photography will certainly be familiar with Rollei, a company that started in 1920 in Braunschweig, Germany, manufacturing optics and photographic equipment. Even earlier, in 1869, Ernst Leitz founded Ernst Leitz Wetzlar, in Wetzlar, Germany, manufacturing optical instruments, microscopes and Leica rangefinder cameras. Even prior to that, Fritz Wiktor Hasselblad started Hasselblad in 1841, in Gothenburg, Sweden. Just a few years later, Carl Zeiss launched his own company in 1846 in Jena, Germany. George Eastman founded the Eastman Kodak Company in 1888, in Rochester, New York. Sherman Fairchild started the Fairchild Aerial Camera Corporation in 1920 (the same year that Rollei was founded in Germany) and the Fairchild Camera and Instrument Corporation in 1927, in Delaware.

Leica M2 rangefinder camera for 35 mm film, manufactured by Ernst Leitz GmbH in 1963 in Wetzlar, Germany. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Interestingly, it was the Fairchild Aerial Camera Corporation of New York that started manufacturing disk recording lathes in the early 1930s, an example of which was covered in Issue 164, a direction which was to be continued by the Fairchild Recording Equipment Corporation, founded in 1931 in Whitestone, New York. The result was a range of disk recording lathes, cutter heads (including one of the first stereophonic cutter heads, incorporating a miniature radar within the head to detect stylus motion, all powered by vacuum tube electronics) and recording electronics, such as the legendary Fairchild 670 compressor, designed by Rein Narma, along with the 660 (the mono version of the 670), in the 1950s.

Returning to photography, the lenses produced by the aforementioned companies were of outstanding quality, never failing to impress, even nowadays. By the end of World War II, these companies had considerable expertise in manufacturing very solid, high-quality products, that were already established in their markets. However, the end of WWII saw competition trying to establish a foothold right on the home turf of these giants. Not only was this a rather ambitious move, but it has also proven a highly successful one! Nikon, Canon, Pentax, Minolta, Mamiya, Bronica, and other manufacturers of photographic equipment quickly established themselves in the Western world. What they had in common was that they were all from Japan. Some of these companies produced lenses that could directly compete with the very best of the Western manufacturers, such as the Nikkor camera and enlarger lenses, or the Mamiya-Sekor series of lenses. They won over a substantial portion of the consumer market and many professional photographers were using them during the film era, but also after the market went digital, where Japan entirely dominated the market worldwide.

Above images: Mamiya C3 Professional twin-lens reflex (TLR) camera with waist-level viewfinder, for medium-format film (120) in 6×6 frame size. It was manufactured in Japan in the 1960s. It’s fitted with a Mamiya-Sekor 80 mm lens assembly with a leaf shutter built into the lens. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Nikon in particular had a long history. It was established in 1917 as Nippon Kogaku, in what was then the Empire of Japan. However, it was not until after the end of WWII that they became consumer- and export-oriented. Prior to that, their focus was on optics for industrial and military use, for the domestic market in Japan. When Japan started exporting photographic equipment, Nippon Kogaku often manufactured and supplied the lenses for the other Japanese manufacturers, such as Canon. Canon itself started as the Precision Optical Instruments Laboratory in 1933. Pentax originated in 1919 as the Asahi Kogaku Goshi Kaisha. Evidently, it is not that the Japanese manufacturers did not have a long history of invention and innovation. It was simply that they were not export-oriented for several decades.

A 50 mm Nikkor enlarger lens used for darkroom printing, manufactured in Japan by Nippon Kogaku. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Many of our readers will remember when Sony, Akai, Pioneer, Kenwood, Luxman, Sansui, Onkyo, Denon, Tascam, Fostex, Nakamichi, and others arrived on the scene, competing with well-established Western manufacturers such as Altec-Lansing, Dynaco, EICO, Fisher, H.H. Scott, Leak, Quad, Telefunken/AEG, Thorens, EMT, Western Electric and others. Japan was a strong player and their products easily won ground in Western markets. Apart from consumer-oriented audio equipment, Japan also pretty much established the “prosumer” market, of products normally encountered in professional audio environments but made smaller, simpler and usually much more attractively priced. Stereophonic and multitrack tape machines from companies such as Tascam and Fostex had quickly found their way into recording studios, broadcasting facilities, and the bedrooms of ambitious musicians and enthusiasts with the means or determination to be able to afford one. Otari took the concept a bit further, introducing a range of widely-respected professional tape machines that were often seen in studios and advertised in the trade publications of the time.

Akai GX-630D tape machine, manufactured in Japan in the 1970s. This is the rare high-speed (15/7.5 ips) version, in half-track stereo configuration, Instead of the quarter-track stereo that was the norm for Akai’s consumer tape decks. It’s fitted with original Akai NAB hub adapters, playing ATR Magnetics tape, with an original painting of Sabine Agnew’s “Sabotage Kitten” acrylic on canvas series on the wall next to it. Courtesy of Magnetic Fidelity.

An H.H. Scott Type 299 vacuum-tube amplifier, manufactured in 1958 in Maynard, Massachusetts. It was designed by Daniel von Recklinghausen, an MIT graduate who had been employed by H.H. Scott since 1951. The Type 299 was covered in detail in Issues 127and 128. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Tascam and Fostex went on to introduce multitrack recorders using cassette tape as the recording medium, a very attractive solution for anyone on a tight budget, which opened up the way to multitrack recording and endless experimentation in home studios and bedrooms. These units often came with a built-in very basic mixing board with microphone and line inputs, as a sort of studio in a box. The quality could not compete with professional recording equipment and wider tape formats, but neither could the price!

Originally a Tascam 414 MK II cassette tape 4-track recorder with a built-in mixing board that served as the author’s first multi-track recording device, it was soon discovered that the weakest point was the built-in mixing board electronics. J.I. Agnew gutted it out and replaced it with inputs and outputs for connecting an external mixing console of much higher performance and capabilities. Countless recordings on cassette tape and a variety of odd jobs later, the author was finally able to afford professional recording equipment and the rest, as they say, is history. Courtesy of the author’s archive of audio adventures.

A two-page Otari ad, appearing in the May 1983 issue of Broadcast Engineering, extolling the virtues of the MTR-10 tape machines in 1/4-inch and 1/2-inch configurations for broadcasting applications. Courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

Technics introduced a range of sturdy direct-drive turntables oriented towards the broadcasting sector, where they were widely appreciated. The Technics SP-10 and the similar models of that range were often seen in broadcasting studios, having effectively replaced the idler-driven Western counterparts. The SL-1200 established itself in the DJ market and could be found in nightclubs all around the world, earning a reputation for its ability to withstand all kinds of abuse.

Above images: The Technics SP-02 was introduced as an aftermarket motor for the Neumann VMS-70 disk mastering lathe, intended to replace the Lyrec SM-8 synchronous AC motor that was originally used to drive the platter of the VMS-70. Unlike the SP-10, it was not a turntable. It was only the motor, designed to bolt directly onto the Neumann lathe bed, in place of the oil coupler (see Issues 157 and 159 for details), which had to be removed. It did not come with a platter. Instead, it was designed to support the massive Neumann vacuum platter. The drive electronics and control system were housed in an industrial-grade 19-inch rack mount enclosure. It was never offered as a standalone turntable or in versions that would be compatible with other disk mastering lathes. Only around 10-11 SP-02 units were ever made.

Technics, Denon and JVC entered the disk mastering market. Technics and Denon both introduced aftermarket direct-drive motors for use with the popular disk mastering lathes of the time. JVC focused on the quadraphonic record market, developing playback technology and cutting electronics based on modified Threshold Stasis 2 amplifiers, while re-branding Ortofon cutter heads as JVC to offer a complete system. Ortofon had developed a cutter head that was specifically intended to cut masters for the CD4 and other quadraphonic record systems, where the two rear channels were recorded in the same groove as the stereo channels, modulating an HF carrier, above the audible range.

The quadraphonic record formats saw relatively limited success, and so did the efforts of Technics and Denon with their disk-mastering lathe motors. The disk recording and mastering market was quite diverse prior to WWII, but quickly shrank to just four manufacturers as soon as tape recording became established in the 1950s. It became a small niche market which was extremely difficult to penetrate. Neumann was based in Germany and offered turnkey solutions. Scully was based in Connecticut in the US, and only manufactured lathes without any audio electronics. Westrex, the Western Electric Export Company, also in the US, manufactured cutter heads and cutting amplifiers, and Ortofon in Denmark also manufactured cutter heads and cutting amplifiers. While there were countless manufacturers of monophonic cutter heads prior to World War ll, only a select few attempted to develop a stereophonic cutter head. By the 1970s, only Ortofon, Fairchild, Westrex, Cook, HAECO, and Neumann had endeavored to make a stereophonic cutter head. Of these, only Ortofon, Westrex and Neumann moved on to production in significant numbers (it must be noted that in this sector, anything over 10 units constitutes significant a significant volume of production).

So, is the story of Japan’s involvement in disk recording that brief? Not at all! As we shall see in the next episode, Japan quite successfully established the idea of a consumer or prosumer disk recording lathe, at a time when the rest of the world had long abandoned the notion!

Header image: Mamiya C3 camera, courtesy of Agnew Analog Reference Instruments.

One of the first audio shows I attended after what is hopefully the end of the pandemic was T.H.E. Show 2022, held at the Hilton Long Beach Hotel in California in June. This year the show returned with even more energy than in 2021. Last year’s show was partly a trial run after the 2020 lockdown, and with the 2021 show’s success, this year’s was more assured.

I for one was delighted to see the show happen and to see it succeed. In a time period when such respected shows as Rocky Mountain Audio Fest have gone under, seeing T.H.E. Show grow and prosper was reassuring. And like any show with the right management, it was a good time, although the venue in which the show took place underscored how frustrating the Long Beach Hilton can be for exhibitors and management alike. The hotel is in a lovely location near the water, is easy to get to, and is small enough that you don’t feel lost in it. But for whatever reasons they seemed to have staffing problems, which led to delays for the show management in having issues addressed promptly, and I couldn’t help but notice things like overflowing trash bins in the bathrooms.

This show report will be heavy on photos, I am a photographer, after all, but first, some highlights:

Peter Norbaek of PBN Audio held court as one of the first rooms you encountered, with his massive horn-loaded PBN Montana MR!X loudspeakers playing, along with an all-PBN audio chain, as PBN is one of the few companies that makes it all, from restored and enhanced turntables and D/A converters to the loudspeakers – with the exception of cables. The system was wired with Kimber Kable Carbon Series, and Lonny Gould of Kimber was there to happily answer questions and load up the tunes, which ranged from classical to rock and roll and really showed off the advantages of the system. The system utilized the EB-SA monoblock amplifiers, named for legendary designer Erno Borbely, and inspired by a design that Borbely published in a Danish audio magazine in 1981 that Norbaek read as a student.

Lonny Gould of Kimber Kable demonstrates the PBN Audio system, which rocked the first floor. Those horns have presence! PBN Montana MR!X loudspeakers, Olympia EB-1 Super Amplifier, Groovemaster Vintage Direct PBN-DN 308 turntable (salvaged from a Japanese broadcast station), Olympia PXIS preamplifier, Olympia LX/is line amp, and Kimber Kable Carbon XL cables.

On the same floor, the JMF Audio room sounded wonderful; musical and articulate, yet effortless when I first walked in. However, the sound became even better after Norman Varney of A/V Room Service, Ltd. placed his EVP (Equipment Vibration Protectors) acoustic isolators under the Zingali Acoustics Client 1.5 EVO speakers. After all these years of being taught to anchor speakers and other electronics to the floor with spikes, Varney’s products demonstrate an effective alternative. The goal of the EVP is to decouple, not encourage coupling.

T.H.E. Show was right-sized to me. Despite being there on all three days that the show was open, I ran out of time to properly sample some of the systems. Some of the rooms, like SVS, drew substantial crowds, which is usual for them. Hearing their subwoofers (which were properly set up of course – subs are an SVS specialty) was a lesson on how low-frequency reproduction should sound. It reminded me of Keith Richard’s quote that if you can’t feel it in your crotch, it’s not rock and roll. Their room rocked.

Larry McGough and Gary Yacoubian of SVS had one of the most popular rooms.

While most attendees visit shows to listen to music and geek out over gear, many of my favorite moments at happen during the seminars, and T.H.E. Show organized a serious set of lectures from a variety of folks. At the top of my list was the panel on mastering, featuring Kevin Gray (Cohearent Audio) and Mitch Anderson (eCoustics) discussing the challenges of mastering, with moderator Scott Lylander (T.H.E. Show) keeping things are track. The room was packed and the presentation was engaging. Included is a group photo if you need proof.

A large crowd attended the lecture by Kevin Gray (Cohearent) and Mitch Anderson (eCoustics), who discussed the challenges of mastering with moderator Scott Lylander (T.H.E. Show).

Jamie Howarth, of audio restoration specialists Plangent Processes, and one of the best-known engineers in the field, was in the audience and joined in the discussion. For me, these are incredibly important events, as they strip away the “noise” from the legions of folks who claim they have expert knowledge when they really don’t. Here, we had the folks who work with master tapes, explaining the actual facts of the projects they’ve worked on. I’m a huge believer in provenance, owing in part to my past professorial role as a photo historian, so hearing the people who have actually worked with original master tapes is a gift to history.

T.H.E. Marketplace had a variety of vendors. Charles Kirmuss was there describing the ins and outs of cleaning LPs (and gave a presentation on the subject during the show). I enjoyed meeting a young man, the friendly Andy George, whose company, Toxic Toast Records of Long Beach, CA had a superb display of rare LPs, and talked about them with passion. There was a positive energy in the room, with headphones, audio components, records, accessories, and more for visitors to peruse.

J.R. Boisclair of WAM Engineering, maker of WallyTools, shared a booth with Norman Varney, who had set up demonstrations of the effectiveness of his acoustical isolation products. I’ve reported on this in previous articles on last year’s T.H.E. Show and Capital Audiofest, and talked about the logic in how they work by preventing any resonances from your room from affecting the sound. It simply never made sense to me to bolt or attach resonance-producers like speakers to an even larger resonator, like your floors, especially if you have wood floors like mine. Why not isolate the speakers from the floor? Which is precisely Varney’s point.

For those who may be unfamiliar with WallyTools, the company offers a wide range of cartridge setup tools and services, and J.R. went into detail about how they work during his seminar at T.H.E. Show. This isn’t a service aimed at Crosley owners; Boisclair works on top-grade cartridges.

The WallyTools WallyScope. from WAM Engineering, used to analyze phono cartridges.

Getting back to Peter Norbaek: the fact that a long-ago magazine article would prove an inspiration to Norbaek’s current design compelled me to think about the influence that the do it yourself (DIY) sensibility has had on audio. In the golden age of high-fidelity, you could build audio components from companies like Dynaco, Heathkit and Eico, and plans for speakers were published in audio and DIY-oriented magazines. Will that sensibility continue into the future?

It’s true, one can purchase a slew of modules, boards, and parts, but will we continue to see future generations of audio tinkerers arise? One clue might be the popularity of Parts Express, or other vendors of raw speaker drivers. One difference between yesterday and today is perhaps the rise of digital, which isn’t easily tinkered with, but analog is still a wide-open area for exploration. I just really dig the idea that Norbaek, as a kid, read a magazine article and all these years later, he’s making a no-compromise version of a similar amp. Our editor Frank Doris reminded me that the Parts Express booth at AXPONA was crowded, so perhaps we have nothing to worry about.

Although, as most do it yourself types who decided to start an audio company know, the easiest way to make a million dollars in audio is to start with five million dollars.

Mike Jaramillo of A/V Luxury Group International. The room featured Esoteric Audio electronics, RSX Technologies cables, Raidho Acoustics speakers, and a Margules i240 pure Class A integrated amp, prototype music server, FZ47DB phono stage, BTV-4 Bluetooth receiver, and QR-2 power conditioner.

The Reference Components Ltd. room, US distributor for Zingali Acoustics. The Zingali Client 1.5 EVO speakers, JMF Audio, and Pear Audio system proved a popular room, with an open, airy, and precise audio footprint. These speakers labels are blank, to be engraved with the owner’s name upon purchase.

The Infigo Audio room was full of family warmth. Here’s Mathilda Looman (Infigo Audio), Maryann and Michael Levy (Alta Audio), and Hans and Louise Looman (Infigo Audio).

Aaudio Imports boasted an impressive array of gear: the Aurender N30SA music server/streamer and MC20 master clock; HB Design PowerSlave Marble MKII power distributor; Stacore CLD isolation feet; Stage III cables; Wilson Benesch Discovery II loudspeakers and R1 Carbon rack, 

and a Ypsilon Phaethon integrated amplifier.

The LampizatOr room featured the buzzworthy Pacific DAC, paired with Audio Research electronics.

Neal Cha and Richard Zhang of Awedyo Audio, makers of headphones, headphone DACS and amplifiers, and accessories.

Sean Hsieh of Sonic Scientific, in T.H.E. Marketplace, holding his newly-released headphone amplifier.

Norman Varney of A/V Room Service and J.R. Boisclair of WallyTools.

The Tonian Labs room, with Oriaco G6 EM speakers, and Denon and Marantz electronics.

Andy George of Long Beach, CA vinyl vendor Toxic Toast Records had some great LPs for attendees to check out.

The Common Wave HiFi room. The Los Angeles audio dealer was showing a Technics SL-1210 MK II turntable, Varia Instruments RDM40 fully analog mixer, and a Merason DAC, among other products.

This photo is the result of an Instagram meetup. Most of the folks never met before this weekend, and all were Instagram friends after!

The power trio of Wesley Katzirn (Common Wave Hi-Fi), Tracy Barillas (AudioQuest), and Isaac Markowitz (AudioQuest).

Fellow members of the hard-working press were in attendance, including Charles Kinder, Lance Profyt, and Brian Masamoto of The Absolute Sound.

Oz Turan of High-End by Oz, holding court during one of his great after-hours reel-to-reel listening parties. This night was his birthday, so many attendees felt it would be rude not to sing to him, as well as make toasts.

The eCoustics gang was in the town, including Brian Mitchell, Jeremy Sikora, T.H.E. ambassador Scott Lylander, Eric Pye, and Ian White.

The folks who made the show happen: Scott Lylander, Abby Shelton (T.H.E. Show social media director), Emiko Carlin (T.H.E. Show senior vice president), and Brian Mitchell.

The British Audio Guys/On a Higher Note room was full of surprises, with components including the Bergmann Audio Modi turntable/Thor Arm/Hana ML cartridge, Moonriver Audio 404 Reference integrated amplifier, Shunyata Research Alpha V2 cables and Hydra Alpha power conditioner, Graham Audio LS5/5f speakers, custom SonoruS Revox PR99 tape machine, and an Artesania Audio rack.

Philip O’Hanlon and Pandora Pang from On a Higher Note.

Nick Tamofsky of Black Ocean Audio. Nick’s room was one of the most talked about rooms. He had two versions of his Le Chiffre Studio speakers on hand.

The PranaFidelity room was a favorite, featuring their Dhara speakers, and electronics.

VOSS Luxury Audio’s John Voss demonstrates a PBN Garrard 401 turntable in a PBN GrooveMaster plinth, with a Grado cartridge. The room also featured a Voss SK MAGNUM OPUS amplifier, VITRA linestage preamp and Reference phono stage, and PBN M3!5 speakers.

Pure dedication to turntables and vacuum tubes was represented in the TriangleART room, showcasing their Ultimate LE turntable, Metis horn loudspeaker, M-100 tube monoblock amplifier, L-200 preamp, and P-200 phono stage.

Judy Xiong of Enmusic Inc. providing the T.H.E. Music Marketplace with a ballet move few could pull off with such elegance, along with some excellent music.

This show report will be continued in the next issue.

Header image: Johnathan Ellis, president of Murrieta, California dealer Audio Chamber. All photos courtesy of Harris Fogel.

We’ve all experienced burnout in one form or another, exacerbated by living in the COVID-19 era. Merriam-Webster defines burnout as “exhaustion of physical and emotional strength or motivation usually as a result of prolonged stress or frustration.”

Audio is supposed to be fun. For some if not most of us, constantly tinkering, upgrading and tweaking our audio systems is rewarding. What sonic improvements will the latest upgrade bring? I’m going to hear my music sound better than before! What a rush! The thrill of taking a new (or vintage, if that’s your thing) component out of the box brings us back to those happy childhood feelings of unwrapping a holiday or birthday gift.

On the other hand, constantly futzing with our systems can get to the point where it becomes tedious and ultimately, stressful. Have you ever gotten to the point where you’re not sure if a change is an improvement…or if you’re even sure you can even hear a change or are just getting more and more confused? (A sure recipe for buyer’s remorse.) Or wonder if you’ll ever be satisfied with the sound of your system (usually after playing your same system-evaluation tracks for the hundredth time), and throw up your hands in frustration?

Yep, sounds like audio system burnout. This can be especially problematic for reviewers and industry professionals who have to constantly change their setups and make sonic evaluations.

How do you know when you’re burning out on audio? The first symptom is obvious: you don’t enjoy listening to your system.

You feel like listening has become a chore rather than a pleasure.

You make excuses to not listen. Your inner voice (don’t you wish you could shut it off sometimes?) says things like, “By the time it’s warmed up, I won’t have much time.” “I’m getting that new preamp next week, so why bother listening now?” “I’ve just worked a 14-hour day and I’m too tired.” (Well, actually, that’s a legitimate excuse.) “I don’t feel good.” “It’s too much trouble.” “I’m not in the mood.”

You don’t play your system for days, weeks, or even months at a time.

You don’t even want to look at your system or be in the same room with it. Literally…walking past your rig induces thoughts like, “I wonder if my azimuth is really correct.” “I really should get around to cleaning the contacts.” “I wish I could get rid of that hum from my turntable.” “Why did I spend all that money?” “Ah, screw it.”

You forget you even own an audio system.

I experienced my most severe case of audio burnout in the mid-1990s in the last few months of working for The Absolute Sound and right after I left. Admittedly, my situation was not typical. I had been setting up Harry Pearson’s systems for around seven years, and we were constantly changing and evaluating components and speakers. At first it was exciting. It became tedious. Then, ultimately, maddening. It got to the point (I’ve noted this previously in Copper) where, one day, I simply could not get the power tubes in an amplifier to bias properly and I went into Harry’s bathroom, locked the door, and almost cried.

In my days at TAS I would usually work in the office in the morning, desperately trying to get a day’s worth of work done in a few hours, until HP would call and summon me to the listening rooms. It was an impossible juggling act…and this was in the days before e-mail. The phone messages would pile up, often more than 20 per day. I felt constantly rushed. The hours were long.

Harry’s work habits were not exactly precision-calibrated. He would wait until the last minute to write his reviews, which meant that the magazine could not be finished until he was done. Sometimes this would be the day the proofs had to be approved. Stress-a-rama with everyone on tenterhooks, especially me, when I worked as managing editor. I will say, though, that Harry was the fastest typist I’ve ever seen. He claimed he was clocked at something like 150 to 170 words per minute. Having seen him in action, I believe it. And he’d have the review pretty much composed in his head, type it out, look it over, make some revisions, and bam! Good to go. Except for that last-minute run to FedEx to deliver the book to the printer, sometimes with only minutes to spare (and I’m not exaggerating for dramatic effect).

At the height of HP’s glory days (and yes, they came to an end, but that’s something I’d rather talk about over a beer, not here, and in spite of all the tsouris, the guy was a friend), we’d get more equipment in than Harry could possibly review. He’d decide not to write about something, having moved onto the next favored-component-of-the-week, when of course the manufacturer was expecting an HP Review (and a major boost in sales). Guess who had to deal with the manufacturer’s ire?

Often, Harry would shuffle the review off to me, and I did not like doing reviews (as noted in Issue 158). So, double stress from getting blasted by rightfully-upset manufacturers, and having to do reviews I didn’t want to have any part of. (I did get to take some great gear home, though.) TAS was having financial issues at the time, which did nothing for my sense of job security, especially since we were starting a family.

Let me interject and note that The Absolute Sound today is a very different organization than the one that I was part of decades ago (jeez, it’s really been decades). They are professionally-run, I know and respect and am friends with most of the people there, and my comments about the way things were have no relationship to the TAS of today.

Ultimately I had to leave. I was at the point where the stress permeated every waking minute. I had gone from loving the music and the gear to desperately wishing I could get away from it. If that’s not audio burnout, I don’t know what is.

******

After I left TAS I didn’t listen to my system for a year.

Once I started listening again, I refused to make any changes to my system. I just didn’t want to hop on the reviewing carousel again.

I kept going to CES, but for some years, didn’t go to see the high-end audio exhibits.

The editor after his first Consumer Electronics Show (CES), 1988. Photographer unknown, possibly someone from The Absolute Sound.

So, how did I get back from acute burnout to having renewed enthusiasm – my normal state, just like an electron that wants to go back to its natural orbit? What’s my advice?

I’ve already implied it, which is perhaps all too obvious. Walk away.

Just walk away from your system for a while. Don’t think about the fact that you even have one. Leave the VTA tweaking, experimenting with different digital gear, speaker placement tweaks, tube rolling and all that stuff aside. If you’re like me, eventually, the desire to hear your music at its best – the reason that got all of us into high-end audio – will come back. When it does, you’ll be listening with fresh ears.

Go see some live music. Admittedly, this was impossible for a while, but it’s becoming (knock on wood) safer now. It will recalibrate your ears and enable you to listen to your system with a fresh perspective.

Sometimes, a system can be “too good.” (See my article in Issue 127). You expect it to sound miraculous, and strain over listening for every sonic detail. A “lesser” system can actually be psychologically easier to listen to. (Of course, when you hear a really awe-inspiring rig, this argument falls apart.) And, some of us simply can’t afford anything more than a modest system. Problem solved!

On the other hand, life isn’t getting any longer. As I’ve noted before, maybe it is time to get that component or those speakers you’ve been dreaming of. I know that if I got myself an X amp or Y speakers, I’d be rushing to get to the listening chair.

A little aside might be in order: when you make a component change or a tweak, give it some time. Don’t make a snap judgment. Equipment can need break-in, sometimes a lot. I remember when I changed an amplifier – after I had sold the previous one – and was crushed by the fact that I thought I’d made an irrevocable mistake. The new amp sounded brighter and flatter. 100 hours later, the new amp blossomed, and crushed the old one.

Invite your significant other and family and friends to listen with you. All too often, audio is a solitary pursuit. But sharing favorite music or watching the reactions of a non-audiophile friend as they’re blown away by the sound of your rig is fun. Make it a party!

Seek out new music. Don’t listen to the same 10 demo tracks all the time. There’s so much out there, and streaming is the gateway to musical infinity.

Most of all: put things in perspective. Don’t take your music and your system for granted. Time is our most precious commodity. Make time to hear the magic.

Header image courtesy of Pixabay.com/Gerd Altmann.

When guitar great Chet Atkins names you as one of only five guitarists he considers a “Certified Guitar Player,” you know that you have reached the top of your game. For Chet, it meant that you had excelled far beyond the normal boundaries of playing. Those five players include Steve Wariner, Jerry Reed, John Knowles, Paul Yandell, and last but certainly not least, the incomparable Tommy Emmanuel.

For decades Emmanuel has been wowing audiences with not only his dizzying guitar skills but his singular sense of showmanship. Fellow players not only marvel at his expansive sense of musical imagination, but his capacity to make each performance electrifying to every audience member, regardless of how well they know guitar. Watching Tommy perform can become hypnotic as he draws you into his music as if he was casting a spell.

Tommy Emmanuel uses a style based on country fingerpicking that leverages the openness of jazz, the speed and technical prowess of bluegrass, the songwriting constructs of folk, and the fierceness and authority of rock and roll. He uses a combination of fingerpicking, a thumb pick, flatpicking (using a standard-type pick), and some unusual fingerings and techniques. He can move from an acoustic explosion to a delicate interlude with skills that most would argue are unparalleled.

A few years back he began a recording project of a series of albums called the Accomplice Series. The first, Accomplice Series Vol. One, was more of a “variety pack,” where he partnered with different kinds of vocalists and players across a collection of songs that covered a wide range of musical ground. Accomplice Series Vol. Two, with acoustic guitarist Richard Smith, was a spectacular homage to Chet Atkins and Jerry Reed. Now comes a third edition, to be released on September 23 on CGP Sounds. Here he partners with British guitar picker Mike Dawes, with whom he has just toured.

Accomplice Series, Vol. 3 is a five-song EP that showcases their rare union and remarkable skills. It begins with an electrifying (though played on acoustic guitars) version of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” and is followed by Sting’s “Fields of Gold” and John Mayer’s “Slow Dancing In A Burning Room.” Here, their approach adds air and space to the songs, allowing guitar moments to float and fly with ease. But it’s on The 1975’s ”Be My Mistake” and Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know” where the duo takes what were already-hypnotic vibes and creates trance-like moments that make the songs even more compelling.

Accomplice Series Vol. 3, album cover.

Copper had the opportunity to speak with Tommy Emmanuel about this record, his legacy, and the commitment he has shown to mentoring up and coming guitar prodigies.

Ray Chelstowski: This is your third record in the Accomplice series. They are all widely different. How do you determine what these volumes should look like?

Tommy Emmanuel: It’s all about the chemistry that I have with the person I’m recording with. I put an album out about four or five years ago called Accomplice Vol. One which was basically a chance to do duets with other artists. I didn’t want to use the words “duet” or “duo” and I found the word “accomplice,” and it just seemed so distinct. The Accomplice series is really about the chance to record more than one track with someone that I particularly like playing with or that I had a particular chemistry with.

Some of them have singing parts and some are just instrumental. The first one that I did was with Trey Hensley and Rob Ickes and that was more bluegrass and some original tunes. Then I did one with Richard Smith, which was a tribute to Chet Atkins and Jerry Reed. This last one that I’ve just done is with Mike Dawes. Mike and I met each other years ago and he just brought something so different to the table, and I love having him with me at my shows. He’s a great performer and he is really out there to play for the people. One night we were messing around playing tunes in the dressing room and I tried to hone in on all of his strengths in playing. I basically let him be “the singer” and I played the melody without getting in the way. Then there were other songs where he had already had his own arrangements and I just came in and doubled the chorus and created harmonies around what he was doing. As two players it worked really well.

Mike Dawes. Courtesy of Adam King Photography.

RC: How did you settle on these five songs?

TE: We didn’t have a lot of songs to choose from because of the nature of Mike’s playing. We had to find songs where I could play melody and harmony, and he was already playing most of these songs as solo pieces. He would play them to me and then I worked out what I could do and it all just seemed to fit together.

RC: How did you and Mike approach the project? Were songs mapped out before you went into the studio or was it largely improvisation?

TE: We basically work out the song, and then when it’s time for solos it’s total improvisation. That’s how we did it. When you watch the video of us doing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” that’s absolutely live and not exactly the same as the recording. With other songs like “Somebody I Used to Know,” I had to find a way to not get in the way of what he was doing, but to bring something that added something to it. “Be My Mistake,” is beautiful, and he had it all down. I just had to find a way of adding some colors and another voice. With “Fields of Gold,” he already had a nice arrangement going with that and I just doubled the melody.

We did a tour in January and played a lot of shows in a row, practiced together at sound checks, and found what really worked. When the tour finished, we stayed in Los Angeles and went to a friend’s studio and played live and recorded this. That’s how it came together. We didn’t spend a lot of time on it. Most of the pieces were captured in the first or second take.

RC: As someone who has covered a wide range of songs, do you know when one is right for you to interpret?

TE: First of all, I have to like the song. I have to really like the melody and it has to work for Mike and I to play. We can have a go at anything but not everything works. When people say something to me like, “Why don’t you play this Beatles song?” I tell them that not all Beatles songs work as instrumentals. You have to find what works as an instrumentalist. It’s a whole different world being a singer and an accompanist. You have to find what works where you can still tell the story without words.

RC: You are one of five players that Chet Atkins named Certified Guitar Players. What was the moment where you realized that maybe you were that good?

TE: I would never think something like that (laughs). I’m just fumbling my way through life like everyone else and finding what works for me. I have had several different goes of doing different things and when it came time for the red [recording] light to go on I didn’t have something to say. It’s then that I have to be honest and say that I’m not going to play anything on this, that I’m not the right person. It’s really a matter of finding music where I can put my emotions and my abilities to work in an honest way. For example, with “Teen Spirit,” I had listened to the original version by Nirvana many times and then we just decided to throw ourselves into it and find a way of making it ours.

RC: You’ve played alongside world-class guitarists like Les Paul, Frank Vignola, and Chet Atkins. Who has pushed you the most?

TE: Well, last weekend I was a guest teacher at Steve Vai’s camp in Las Vegas. That was fun! When Steve and I got to jam on some tunes I switched to electric guitar and we had a lot of great interaction. He likes to push me out on the limb and I like to do the same to him. We fed off each other. It was brilliant.

RC: Is there a practice regimen that you follow when you’re not on tour?

TE: I play whenever I feel like it. I don’t have a specific regimen. I’ve never been that kind of person. But I do go through stages of practicing a real lot, then to just playing for fun and trying new things. My normal routine is that when I get to the theater where I’m scheduled to play I go straight to the dressing room and get my guitar out and start playing. I run through tunes I haven’t played in a while and I’ll start to push myself, play slow, play fast, play soft, and play loud. I’ll try a bit of everything to get myself physically and musically in the zone. Then usually at sound check I’ll play like it’s the show. It’s good for me to do that because it gives me an idea of what the sound is really like. My sound man needs me to play that way too because we need to set levels to that I don’t overdrive things or push channels into compression. I tend to play full-out at sound check.

RC: You’ve played with so many up-and-coming guitarists like Billy Strings. What advice do you give them?

TE: I’ve known Billy for quite a few years and people like him don’t need my advice. He’s doing very well. But for young people who are finding their way and who want to be doing what I’m doing, my best advice for them is to learn some good songs. Have some good songs and good arrangements to play because you’re going to need them. And, with them, you’ll learn so much about music and performance. I could tell you to do all kinds of other stuff like work on your time or work on your tone. But most young people will find that anyway as they go along. My advice is always to learn some good songs and learn what a good song truly is.

RC: You are known for your love of live performance and making people happy through your music. After all of these years is it still as much fun?

TE: Oh yeah! Touring is how I make a living. But touring is also good for my playing. It forces me to play all of the time and it forces me to get better. I always wish that I could record an album at the end of a tour where I’m at my best, when everything has been sharpened by night after night of pushing myself.

It’s great. I get to hang out with friends and experience different places and cultures. It’s so wonderful.

Header image of Tommy Emmanuel courtesy of Alysse Gafkjen.

A 1988 portrait of legendary audio designer Henry Kloss, who co-founded Acoustic Research with Edgar Villchur in 1954. He was also involved in KLH, founded Advent Corporation and Kloss Video Corporation, and was a co-founder of Cambridge Soundworks with Tom DeVesto.

This photo, and other photos of musicians and audio people, is available for sale as a limited-edition print. For more information, contact Steven Stone at sstone8807@aol.com.

Some of you may have read in my previous articles that part of my background originates in musical instrument retailing. As a result of my experience, one of my catchphrases has become, “There is nothing general about the general public.” Every individual person truly is just that, with their very own collection of attributes, creativity, vices, benevolence and many other factors, all to varying degrees, at times shining brightly and sometimes, dull as dishwater.

The wide gamut of different individuals who made their way through my shop doors over the years certainly served to hone my ways of serving and managing customer’s needs, expectations, and yes, their demands.

Managing customer expectations however, is one thing. Managing staff is yet another. Many years prior to my time in retail as a music shop owner in England, I used to work three split shifts in a well-reputed store known to many internationally: Marks & Spencer. When I was 16, I held many varying roles, including opening the store as the key holder, unloading deliveries and loading lorries departing with empty stock cages and waste, cleaning the refrigerators, helping with security, and being in charge of till (cash registers) operation among other duties.

It was the training we received for till operation that made me start to appreciate just what responsibilities a large corporate business takes on when they open their doors to the public and provide customer service. The training was an NVQ (National Vocational Qualification) in retail customer service. Part of the verbal training and supplementary video education we received from M&S was being made aware of a major problem they suffered on an international scale – that of theft by staff collusion. What I found staggering was the statistic touted that, at the time (1992 – 1993), one in three members of the staff would be involved in some type of theft or planned collusion in taking something that simply did not belong to them.

With such a sobering statistic, you may think, “How is it even possible that a retailer could survive, given such potential losses? Surely, no business can survive if subjected to such impact on their profit margins!” Well, it’s true to say that M&S always took pride in employing staff they believed would be honest, industrious and trustworthy. Nonetheless, that fact has stuck me all these years, and who knows what the current figures may be in 2022? [According to the US Department of Commerce, every year, businesses lose $50 billion as a result of employee theft – Ed.]

This is not to categorically state that all retail stores are employing thieves or that every shop suffers losses from illegal activity. Far from it. (How far is debatable.) Generally speaking, along with financial incentives, many guitar shops are likely driven by the great passion their owners have for their love of music, the equipment, and the industry itself, as was true in the store that I managed. It’s all a matter of varying degrees as to what motivates people to make working in musical instrument (or other) retailing a livelihood. Some retail brands seem to have the modus operandi of killing off the brick-and-mortar shops with pointed intent, and the desire to gain as big a slice of the musician’s cash pie as possible. The realities of retail competition is a topic I won’t digress into here.

I do wonder just how many retailers past and present have ever considered the statistics of loss through theft in their business plans and aspirations of opening a new business. Perhaps we’re more aware of the daily weather forecast and the statistical likelihood of rain than we are of certain risks when contemplating a much larger investment than a walk into town with or without an umbrella! Such is the trusting passion that is backing most of those who operate and work in our “sweet shops.” (After all, musical instrument and audio stores are eye and ear candy for enthusiasts.) And the temptation for putting one’s hand in the cookie jar is powerful. I mean, the instruments are literally on hangers all around the walls!

Look but don’t touch! Courtesy of Pexels.com/Stephen Niemeier.

I took this knowledge with me when I started as a Saturday boy working in the local guitar shop back in 1998, right through to the duration of my time as the store manager and then owner. After all, forewarned is forearmed, right?

Thinking that I would be particularly careful in my selection of staff, I would somehow be able to mitigate the statistical averages and prevent those types of employee temptations.

The long and the short of it is that we did fall foul of some surreptitious behavior, but thankfully only from a limited number of individuals during the decade we were in business. I share the experience for the benefit of hopefully preventing any similar issues for fellow retailers. Still, how these events came apparent proved to be, for me, a rude awakening.

The dodgy dealings first came to light when it appeared that we were lower on stock than we had anticipated regarding some of our Crafter budget bowl-back and round-back acoustic guitars. One day, I had gone to the store room to restock from our adequate supply – and discovered we only had a handful of these guitar models left in stock! Perhaps because of their generic nature and limited color options that made them all look very much the same, any rotation on the hook never really registered. And, of course, we trusted our staff implicitly. Perhaps needless to say, we didn’t use a stock management scanning or EPOS (electronic point of sale) system; we used an old-school ledger book and a daily cashing up procedure that married up with our end of day “Z” (cash and card transactions totaled together) total figure, invoice book, and cash and card machine totals. It transpired that the missing guitars had slipped past me as they had not been rung into the till, but rather had been swiped outright!

In addition to this little operation, our “beloved” staff member had also been pocketing cash sales of these guitars and not ringing them in when the opportunity arose. (When I worked at M&S, we’d see videos of employees taking cash before it ever got to the till, with sleight-of-hand abilities that would make professional magicians envious.) But how would I be able to prove that untoward activity had been taking place?

As it turned out, I was grateful for something that a retailer never normally wants to happen. A fault had developed with a stolen item and it needed to be returned. One of our good customers had purchased a small AER acoustic guitar amplifier, and had paid in cash. Well, the temptation obviously had raised its ugly head when the item was sold, to not ring it in but mark it off of the sold items ledger, with the date of sale included. After a few weeks the amp had developed a problem was dutifully returned under warranty. As I checked the sales record and noticed for the first time that the item had been sold a few weeks before, I was able to ask the customer who handled the sale. He was very helpful in pointing out my colleague who sold it, and the customer had indeed paid for it in cash.

“Nailed it!” I thought to myself. So, when I subsequently asked our light-fingered lad, “How can I interpret the evidence any other way?” his reply was, “I suppose you can’t.” This was accompanied by tears, remorseful whimpers and then further confession of other unscrupulous behavior.

This included making cash deposits, this time all accounted for by invoices of course, on a Les Paul Custom guitar. I forget exactly which model had been ordered but I do remember it wasn’t a top of the range version, and neither was it an entry level model. These were the days before Gibson started to embed identification chips in their reissue guitars, which were considered by Gibson to be so close to original period models that they tagged them with a unique code which could later be read to identify the guitar’s provenance. The fact was that the deposits on this guitar were made were from cash obtained from palmed sales monies. The completely daft part of it was that no staff were entitled to order Gibson guitars as single items due to prerequisite minimum-quantity stocking commitments, let alone at trade pricing excluding VAT! I’m pleased to say we snagged this issue, no problem. My father was a tax inspector! We never pressed any charges. It seemed the fact that the employee was very upset, and that he lost his of job with any hope of getting a reference from us was punishment enough.

I can understand that working in a guitar shop must present some of the most tantalizing of temptations for a guitar player. It’s the proverbial kid in a sweet shop scenario ramped up to 11. And, part of me always felt a sense of responsibility to never allow the staff to leave my sight to prevent such things, but what can you do when you are running a business? All operate with a necessary degree of trust.

Having said this and made these observations, however, I have to note that every single one of our many staff people in the guitar shop were golden apart from that one individual, and even he was a very good people person; charismatic even. Interestingly, the only women to have worked in the shop were the supportive girlfriends of the lads, and of course, my dear mom, who kept the finger on the financial pulse of what we were buying and selling. Of all the job applications we regularly received, I don’t recall any from females; certainly, none that ever coincided with a current vacancy.

This trend was not the case, however, when a few years later I went on to run a national apprenticeship recruitment program for the music industry. I placed over 120 apprentices, men and women, in UK music stores and got them trained in new-to-the-industry MI retail qualifications. This was an excellent government-backed program which helped so many young people gain the skills they would need for future employment prospects in their later working lives. It was known as MIRTAS – the Music Industry Retail Apprenticeship Scheme – something of a Herculean effort but so worth the outcomes.

From our guitar technicians and Saturday lads, to our part- and full-timers, overall, I think we beat the statistics by a mile, and my thanks goes to them for being a big part of a super era in my retail career. One of them even went on to join the police force. Thank you. You know who you are.

Courtesy of Pexels.com/mikoto.raw Photographer.

Header image courtesy of Pexels.com/Karolina Grabowska.

I was flipping through my inbox in the morning and came across one of Paul McGowan’s Paul’s Posts daily e-mails. This one said that the new Octave Studios recording facility was up and running! This was a feat. I’ve had to deal with my fair share of construction projects, including rebuilding an entire kitchen and more with five different contractors, so my appreciation for building projects runs deep.

I replied to the e-mail and congratulated Paul and company on the inaugural. I was reminded of my own visit to a different studio.

We went to New Jersey for a wedding a few weeks ago. The wedding took place over the weekend. When I travel, I usually look for places of interest nearby, including record stores and museums. On this trip, I decided to drop a note to an e-mail address of someone who currently oversees the Van Gelder Studio in Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, formerly owned by Blue Note Records’ famed jazz recording and mastering engineer Rudy Van Gelder.

I didn’t hear back that day, and we got busy with packing and such, so I forgot about the e-mail for a bit. While on our journey, I got a reply! It was from Maureen Sickler, Van Gelder’s long-time assistant, who now runs the studio. She said that they had a 30-minute window available between doing some setup work for an upcoming recording and when their piano tuning person would show up on that Saturday. Wedding or no wedding, I took the invitation.

Indian weddings have many ceremonies. This one was spread across three whole days. On that Saturday afternoon, I slipped away unnoticed and drove off from Parsippany to Englewood Cliffs. Only my wife knew where I was! (Note: when it comes to being passionate about audio, a higher WAF is always key.)

I got to the studio’s address but missed the entrance completely at first. I had to turn around and look for it. Ah, there it was. 445 Sylvan Ave. I parked outside, not knowing what to expect. I was still looking for the entrance, and just then, someone opened the door. It was Don Sickler, Maureen’s husband, who runs the studio with Maureen.

The outside of Van Gelder Studio.

Nobody else was there. As I stepped into the doorway, Don stopped me and mentioned that this was the same entrance where Sonny Rollins walked in, and the photo was taken that’s on the Sonny Rollins on Impulse! album. This was that doorway, and I was at the right place! The legendary Van Gelder Studio. Next, I met Maureen Sickler. We spent a couple of minutes exchanging pleasantries and with expressing my gratitude for their accommodation on this Saturday afternoon. Both Don and Maureen were very gracious.

They gave me a tour of the place. I got to see the Scully lathe on which many a Blue Note lacquer was cut. Next to it were a couple of Ampex 440 tape recorders, and a Studer A80 recorder. I have a thing for tape recorders, so I pored over them with glee. I also saw the famed Steinway piano in a sound booth. This piano has been played by many greats. Herbie Hancock’s “Watermelon Man” is a personal favorite. In another part of the studio was the Hammond organ and its companion Leslie speaker. Jimmy Smith came to mind instantly.

Detail of the Scully record cutting lathe.

Another view of the Scully lathe.

The Studer A80 tape machine.

Next, we walked to the other side of the glass windows to see the engineer’s control room with its consoles and monitors. They then showed me the back area of the workshop where Rudy would work on things. The workbench and shelves still hold a variety of components, including vacuum tubes, capacitors, soldering irons and such. On the back wall, a small backlit sign read: “Dr. Rudolph Van Gelder” – a sign from Rudy’s optometry days, when he had to balance his jazz recording calendar with his career as an optometrist!

The new owners are very nice and kind people. It was a joy to speak with them for those 30 minutes. Don is a trumpeter, arranger and producer and teaches at Columbia University. Maureen worked with Rudy since the mid-1980s and went from assistant to recording engineer under his tutelage. She and Don now run the studio for various recording sessions and live events showcased at the VanGelder.Live website.

I also got to see parts of the studio where pictures were taken that show up on various album covers from John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock, Thelonious Monk, Joe Henderson and other jazz greats. These were all taken by Francis Wolff for Blue Note. I suppose in the 1950s, it must have been like a newfangled startup for all of them! The studio also features select photographs taken by Rudy Van Gelder himself. He was an avid photographer. I took some pictures for my own collection, but in my haste and excitement, I forgot to take selfies. This only means that I will have to visit the studio again.

Imagine what it would be like to record here.

The studio’s grand piano.

Dr. Van Gelder’s original office sign.

My own interest in jazz is about a decade old. I didn’t know much about Rudy Van Gelder. Before leaving on the trip, I had looked up information about Rudy Van Gelder’s studio and recordings, and came across RVG Legacy, a site maintained by Richard Capeless, who has also presented this material at the Audio Engineering Society (AES) convention in New York in 2019. His site was a treasure trove for me! It had information on the original studio built in the living room of Rudy’s parents’ home in Hackensack, New Jersey. Quirky that I am, on my way to the studio, I had decided to make a quick stop at 25 Prospect Ave. in Hackensack, NJ, where Rudy used to record in his parents’ home, prior to the purpose-built studio. (There’s a Starbucks across the street, so it’s very convenient.) This location now houses an orthopedic clinic. I had been listening to Sonny Rollins’ Saxophone Colossus on the flight to New Jersey, so it was only appropriate that I paid homage to the location where it was recorded in 1956.

The original location of Van Gelder Studio.

Back at the studio, the piano tuner showed up at the door. This was my cue. I took leave of Maureen and Don. I returned to the wedding, with a quick stop to get some wine. The family was happy to see me, wine and all.

It’s been a few weeks since we’ve been back from the trip, but I’m still euphoric and the kids are a bit tired of hearing about this every day. So be it. It’s their involuntary indoctrination. My one regret is that they were too busy at the wedding and weren’t there with me.

So, there it is: the story of “Same Space, Different Time.” It was surreal to feel that at one point, all those jazz greats were in that building. And so was Mr. Van Gelder.

Sameer Verma is a professor by day and an audio enthusiast by night. His love for music goes back to his childhood when he would sit and listen to his dad’s tape recorder for hours. That tape recorder turned him into an audio gearhead early on. It’s an old bug that haunts him to this day, and he loves every moment of it. True to his academic roots, he has curated his work at https://instagram.com/v3rmaji. He may be reached at sameer.verma@gmail.com.

All images courtesy of Sameer Verma.

In this summer break from his reel-to-reel activities, Ken Kessler discusses an important new book, Richard F. Colburn’s Adventures In Hi-Fi.

Unlike most industries, high-end audio – or, for that matter, hi-fi per se – has been uniquely negligent about its past. We have, for example, no establishments chronicling its history, save for the odd exhibit in science or broadcast museums. While many brands have (belatedly) assembled on-site collections of key models displayed in their factories, e.g., KEF, Audio Research, and a few others, for the most part the manufacturers are as guilty as any.

All you have to do to appreciate this is to see how Porsche, Ferrari, and other automobile companies have honored their legacies. When it comes to watch brands, you would not believe what Omega, Patek Philippe, Jaeger LeCoultre and nearly every other has for representations of their histories. (At this point I should tell you that I am aware of efforts to rectify this in audio, with plans afoot for two hi-fi museums from two manufacturers with collections beyond their own products. However, I don’t want you too be excited, because they are still under embargo and in their earliest stages.)

It’s the same for books about hi-fi. London has entire stores filled with books on motoring. I have 44 feet of shelving for watch brand histories (and it’s by no means comprehensive), and three times that for rock music, which is the reason I got into hi-fi in the first place. Embarrassingly, if not shockingly, my own contribution to the genre of hi-fi books constitutes probably 10 percent of all the available titles – and I have only written four brand sagas and co-curated a paperback history of the high-end.

Naively, I thought that the hugely positive response to my Quad book back in 2003, one of the earliest brand histories and the first to be produced to “coffee table book” production standards, would be followed by a flood of others. I was wrong. Looking at my own hi-fi library, and unable to think of any which I am missing, I have only 35 or so brand histories and another dozen general books. (Note: This does not include technical books, of which there are hundreds, e.g., I have 10 just on tape recording which date from the late 1950s and early 1960s, the same again on speaker design and tube circuitry, and more than a dozen generic “guides to stereo” and the like.)

Richard Colburn at AXPONA 2022. Courtesy of Frank Doris.

I could easily name 50 audio brands which deserve to have their stories told, but this is unlikely ever to happen, and for a number of reasons, not least because the potential sales are too small for mainstream publishers to show any interest. More crucial is the realization that there are too few companies which can afford to produce them in-house and have the inclination to do so, as per books about Wilson Audio, Gryphon, Rega, Quad, KEF, JBL, McIntosh, etc.

An even greater problem is that many of the brands which should have books telling their tales are either defunct, dormant, changed beyond recognition, or have been sold so many times that there are no employees left to fill in the gaps. Far worse is that their archives no longer exist, and scouring through a few thousand issues of yellowing hi-fi magazines requires an independent, properly bankrolled person with stamina, along with the skills to secure rights for reprinting the photos.

If I had a dream list of the histories that I would love to see, it would be Acoustic Research (AR) first of all, as I consider AR to be the most important hi-fi brand ever. It earns that title just for its vast sales in the US in the 1960s, for Edgar Villchur’s game-changing designs, including the three-point suspended subchassis turntable and acoustic suspension speakers, and for the myriad brands it sired, such as EPI and KLH.

Think about the other milestone makers that built this industry. We could do with volumes about H.H. Scott, Fisher, Dynaco, Crown, Marantz (by which I mean something more substantial than the magazine they produced in Japan some years ago), harman-kardon, Empire, Shure, Sennheiser, KLH, and too many others to list. I’d love to see a volume that dealt with the younger brands – perhaps collectively – which kicked off the extreme high-end, such as Phase Linear, Magnepan, Threshold, PS Audio, Theta, SAE, ESS, SOTA, Koetsu, Grace, Fidelity Research, MIT, Burmester, Jadis, Thiel, Apogee, Ohm, Acoustat, Krell, and, of course, Mark Levinson.

KEF 105 loudspeakers, one of the many vintage audio products pictured in the book. Courtesy of Richard Colburn.

B&W DM70 loudspeakers. Courtesy of Richard Colburn.

Heroic efforts, however, have been made by independent authors who – with forensic abilities, the time and wherewithal to undertake the projects, and as much help as they could muster of the remnants of (or current owners of) the brands – have given us titles on Revox, EMT, Thorens, Leak, Ferrograph, Stellavox, and a few others. Having written my four books with full access to the archives of companies which are still in business, as well as the good fortune to interview founders and key employees, I can only bow in admiration to those who are able to chronicle brands which either no longer exist, or which have little connection to their origins.

What does the future hold for researchers and future audiophiles who want to know what went before streaming? I’m not optimistic about anything, especially when I have just learned that in the UK schools want to retitle stories of real-life historical figures Dick Whittington and Dick Turpin because some revisionists think their first names might offend, terrify, and trigger anxiety in students. I kid you not.

Having not yet retired completely, I’ve been in discussions to write at least four more, but thanks to what COVID has done to my willingness to travel, along with old age, I suspect only one of them will see completion. That said, I can at least declare, as one who has been harping on this topic for decades, that I have put my money where my mouth is when it comes to hi-fi’s history.

What has gone some way in rectifying the dearth of hi-fi history is what I think may be only the second autobiographical volume written by an individual who has spent a half-century in high-end audio, thus following Paul McGowan’s salty tome, 99% True. But full disclosure comes first: I have known the author since the time before either of us moved from being music-loving enthusiasts to full employment in the audio industry, there’s a quote of mine is on the cover, and I appear in the book as one of its characters. Take that as bias if you must, but please don’t let it stop you from heading over to amazon.com as soon as you can to buy a copy of Richard F. Colburn’s Adventures In Hi-Fi – My Fifty Years In the Audio Business.

Rich and I first met in 1970, when we were students at the University of Maine in Orono, which is as far from civilization as one can get. Think Animal House, with a campus dominated by guys who still dressed like Wally Cleaver, circa 1958, while Rich and I were pot-smokin’ hippies who met in classes where we studied Greek Theater, just because the professor could have been a moonlighting Terry-Thomas. We found instant chemistry, and attended many a concert together, as recounted in the book.

After Rich graduated and I emigrated to the UK, we lost touch in those days before social media. I had stayed in contact with a mutual friend, Fred Jeffery, because he lived in my home town of Portland, Maine, but neither of us knew where Rich was, or what he was doing. Without spoiling how we met up in the world of hi-fi – again, long before social media and Facebook in particular helped re-establish friendships – suffice it to say that we have seen each other at every CES since (until 2018, that is), along with shows in LA, New York, Denver, and Munich.

But that’s enough about me. Rich has produced a superb read which, although much is best digested by those in the industry, provides a personal, detailed wander through a half-century of high-end audio. Over the decades, Rich has worked for a number of brands and distributors, Nakamichi being the company that reunited us. He has attended more shows than he can count, and has a memory which I envy, as I cannot match his recollections unless provided with photos.

Rich tells the story through retailers, brands, shows, and – to the delight of hard-core enthusiasts – specific products, many of which are lost in the mists of time. The book is profusely illustrated, so you can imagine the delight in seeing photos of the Dunlap-Clarke Dreadnought 1000 and the Mark Levinson HQD speaker system on a paper page rather than via a Google search. If there is anything to criticize, it is the lack of an index, but that’s not terminal. I read this in one sitting. What I can only add to it at this stage are a few more photos to help illustrate the one element of the book with which I was deeply involved. And it even includes editor Doris.

Celestion Ditton 66 speakers. Courtesy of Richard Colburn.

Rich’s spare time, spare room, mostly-vintage audio system. Courtesy of Richard Colburn.

My pact made with Rich when we met some 15 years after last seeing each other was this: on the night before every hi-fi show at which we were both present, we would have dinner. It swiftly evolved into an unofficial event which at one point might have numbered over 25 people. (Like I said, Rich’s memory is better than mine.) In addition to assorted restaurants in Las Vegas, usually Thai or Chinese, we also dined in Denver, and I recall Stereophile shows in New York being preceded by gatherings at the Carnegie or Stage Delis.

As Rich writes, the rules were simple: anyone talking about their products would have to pick up the entire tab. Although other scribes came and went, the only journalists present on a regular basis were Michael Fremer, Frank Doris, and me, so the Colburn-Kessler Pre-CES Blow-Outs stayed pretty much sotto voce. But not sotto enough because when word did leak out, some undesirables wanted to join the festivities. As I organized this with Rich, we ran it like the snootiest private club in London, only without membership fees.

CES 2005 dinner at Chin Chin. Back row (L – R): Aragon’s Paul Rosenberg, Keith Tonge of PMC, Rich, David V Day, Heike Becker of AudioValve, Joe Harley of AudioQuest, and Frank Doris, with Michael Fremer and me at the front, on our knees like all good journalists. Courtesy of Ken Kessler.

CES 2005 at Chin Chin: (L – R) David V. Day, KK, Rich, and Joe Harley. Courtesy of Ken Kessler.

Stereophile’s John Atkinson and EveAnna Manley (Manley Laboratories) at the 2006 CES dinner. Courtesy of Ken Kessler.

Over the decades, faces came and went, some no longer with us like my dear friend Paul Rosenberg, of Aragon. Certain incidents remain in my memory, especially the time when EveAnna Manley of Manley tube amp fame insisted on having a photograph taken of her throwing wads of cash at John Atkinson and me. God forbid it should end up on Instagram.

Crises? There were a few, like Steve Guttenberg joining us at one of the NYC delis, only to announce that he was vegan. This caused a minor furor as the other rule was that the bill was split evenly among all who attended, and I think Steve had maybe one half-sour pickle. Or when Rich and I went to the wrong restaurant in Las Vegas – we didn’t know they had two premises – and 20 people were waiting for us to arrive at the correct address. Or turning up at one of the NYC delis to find it cordoned off by the police because of a murder.

Josh Bizar of MoFi, David V. Day of Day-Sequerra, AudioValve’s Heike Becker, Dave Chesky (also a vegetarian in a deli…), Copper’s Roy Hall, Jay Jay French at the final dinner in 2019, Besflores and Leland and so many others over the decades – I fear I am leaving out too many, so I suggest you read Rich’s book. Like I said, his memory is better than mine.

Considering my advanced years, I am way too old for musical prejudices, but I still experience knee-jerk reactions when confronted by the unknown, “Indie folk rock? No frickin’ way, man!” You see, they creep up on me occasionally, and I know it’s just teenage residue from when I thought everything except hard rock sucked, but I can’t help falling into a rut sometimes. I’ll find myself repeatedly listening to the same old records and feeling musically isolated. That’s when I know it’s time for professional intervention, so I turn to a few record store owners and musician friends who can direct me to exciting new sounds. Although I know plenty of hardcore vinyl audiophiles, I tend not to ask them for suggestions. I always suspect they’re recommending a particular record because it tests well on their systems.

I’m a participant in a turntable forum whose members have high-end pressings of Stevie Ray Vaughn’s Texas Flood, but I’m not interested in comparing my $20 vintage copy to the $125 45-RPM double-LP set, which might not sound much better on my 30-year-old turntable. Furthermore, an esoteric pressing doesn’t teach me anything new or  bring me closer to the building blocks of Vaughn’s sound, and that’s what I’m looking for these days.

In an interview for a Canadian television program Musique Plus, taped in Montreal in 1987, Vaughn reminisces about his earliest influences: Lonnie Mack, B.B. King, Howlin’ Wolf, Jimi Hendrix, and Buddy Guy. All credit is due to the interviewer who does a great job focusing on music and allowing Vaughn to speak uninterrupted during the concise segment. Wouldn’t it be great to have a similar program with artists talking exclusively about music that was life-changing and inspirational, without any product placement or grudges to vent? Well, I found it. It’s called What’s in My Bag?, produced by Amoeba Music in California.

I haven’t been to California in decades, but the next time I go I will head straight to one of their three locations in Hollywood, San Francisco, or Berkley. The stores look cavernous and reminiscent of the long-gone Tower Records in downtown Manhattan with all its merch, music, videos, and melange of customers browsing for music. What’s in My Bag? is a series of short videos, featuring all stripes of artists including musicians, actors, DJs, designers, and writers, who go through the store, fill their bags with assorted media, and tell stories about the items they chose.

Some of the most interesting segments are from lesser-known artists. Chicano Batman is described as an “L.A. Tropicalia soul band” influenced by metal, jazz, and blues, as well as South African, Brazilian, and avant-garde German rock. The members picked records by Johnny “Guitar” Watson (who influenced Frank Zappa), Curtis Knight and the Squires with a young Jimi Hendrix before he left for England, and the “Mexican soul” music of Los Grillos del Norte. I am fascinated by Johnny “Guitar” Watson’s playing style.

Necrobutcher, the bassist and founding member of the Norwegian black metal band Mayhem, selected INXS, The Cult, The Police, Beastie Boys, and Talking Heads. Mayhem certainly put the “black” into black metal as members dabbled in an extremely dark side of human nature, and if Necrobutcher (aka Jørn Stubberud) can make room in his heart for Depeche Mode, so can I.

I knew nothing about HAIM’s music, but the band, comprised of three sisters, is charming, entertaining, and knowledgeable – Este Haim studied ethnomusicology at UCLA. If I’d known that field of study had existed, I never would have gone to library school. HAIM picked Shania Twain, Donna Summer, Selena, ABBA, and the women of Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares, who sing hauntingly beautiful songs.

Huey Lewis’s bag was loaded with Louis Armstrong, Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, Johnnie Taylor, Tower of Power, and not a single Beatles or Rolling Stones album. The selection that stood out to me was Sinatra at the Sands (1966) with Count Basie and his orchestra conducted by Quincy Jones. I put that one on my streaming list.

Actor and comedian Jason Mantzoukas lived in Morocco and traveled extensively through the Middle East after college, and his selections included Alice Coltrane, Gal Costa, and Joni Mitchell, plus Berber, Thai, and Congolese music. He also chose Painted Shut (2015), an album by indie folk rock band Hop Along, featuring a wonderful lead singer, Frances Quinlan. If Mantzoukas ever offers a class or lecture on music, I will attend.

I am neither a fan of GWAR nor Insane Clown Posse, but both of their episodes were completely engaging. GWAR likes “lo-fi” punk bands The Spits, Dicks, The Toy Dolls, and Zeke, as well as Sepultura and Motörhead. ICP is into N.W.A., Sir Mix-A-Lot, Geto Boys, Public Enemy, and KRS-One. It turns out I have common musical interests with each group.

Among his country picks, which include Shooter Jennings, John Prine, and Lucinda Williams, actor and director Ethan Hawke inspired me to delve into Americana and buy albums by Townes Van Zandt and Blaze Foley.

An episode I have watched many times over features the incomparable Bootsy Collins interviewed by DJ Lance Rock. Before Bootsy became a funk legened, he and his brother Phelps “Catfish” Collins (1943 – 2010) were members of James Brown’s backup band, The J.B.’s, for a brief period in the early 1970s. His historical scope and experience provide a wonderful survey of classic American music such as the Meters, Wilson Pickett, Sam Cooke, and Dr. John. Incidentally, Collins and Vaughn share a common appreciation of Lonnie Mack, Buddy Guy, and Howlin’ Wolf, which means I need to explore those three artists.

Amoeba provides a comfortable space for artists to share their favorite bands, and it doesn’t seem like anyone is trying to impress the audience. Sebastian Bach of Skid Row, wearing reading glasses, filled his bag with KISS, Joe Walsh, Van Halen, and Rush records. He already owns most of them but wanted the Van Halen album with the “hype” sticker, and a first pressing of KISS Alive (1975) with the blue “Bogart” label mastered by “RL” (Bob Ludwig). As a person who’s about the same age as Bach and loves those bands too, I can relate to his enthusiasm for special childhood albums.

Music is visceral, personal, emotional, and unifying, and that is why What’s in my Bag? is so captivating. Flea of the Red Hot Chili Peppers was moved to tears as he shared his feelings about J Dilla (1974 – 2006),  a producer, rapper, and legendary record collector.

It’s moments like those which reconnect me to the musical lifeline and deepen my appreciation for artists and genres I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise. If anyone needs a little mind expansion or ideas for future purchases, there are more than 800 episodes with new ones added regularly.

Amoeba Music, Hollywood. Courtesy of Amoeba Hollywood.

Header image: Amoeba Music, San Francisco, courtesy of Amoeba Music/Jay Blakesberg.

In the world we live in today, we need trailblazers, and people who aren’t reluctant to speak up. Lilli Lewis does through her music, and by her commitment to creating greater awareness and diversity in folk, Americana and country. We spoke with Lilli Lewis recently, touching on what she’s been up to during the lockdown, her newest music, her origins, and what she’s looking forward to once COVID-19 breaks.

Andrew Daly: Thanks for taking the time to talk with us. How have you been holding up over the last year or so? What have you been up to?

Lilli Lewis: What have I not been up to? Last year was incredibly busy. When everything shut down, the label I was managing, Louisiana Red Hot Records went into full-on public health advocacy work. We produced a public service announcement anthem called “Mask Up!” that featured a number of New Orleans [musicians] like Kirk Joseph and Glen David Andrews, and then another one of our artists put out a single on flattening the curve. At the same time, with the help of Folk Alliance International, I launched Committing to Conversation, a program designed to engage and empower DEI [Diversity, Equity and Inclusion] initiatives through the global folk community.

This year I focused on releasing a huge project from folk-punk legend Peter Stampfel, and a new title from virtuoso Zydeco [musician] Dwayne Dopsie. Those are both titles I’m really proud of, and of course, we finished up my album, Americana, which we started recording in the fall of 2020. I participated in a program called Global Music Match through Folk Alliance International, which connected me with artists from all over the world and has led to ongoing collaborations. I also launched the first season of a new podcast called FolkRockDivaTalk, and an inaugural Black Opry Fest, a virtual event that centered on Black artists in folk, roots, Americana, and country.

All of this happened while facing health issues with my mother that caused a pretty profound lifestyle change that re-oriented my life to her care and recovery. So, it’s been a huge couple of years for me, both musically and personally. I feel like the last 12 months in particular may have actually made a grownup out of me.

AD: What first got you hooked on music?

LL: As far as I know, there’s never been a time when I wasn’t obsessed with music. When I was three years old I dragged my family into our “fancy room” to give them an air piano performance of the music in my head, which proved awkward for them because unbeknownst to me, they couldn’t hear the music in my head.

For better or for worse, I think it’s been a lifelong obsession of mine to get that internal music out into the world. I’ve always been incredibly shy so the piano was my first best friend, and over time, music became the primary way I allowed myself to share how I see the world. I’ve been opening up a little more in recent years, but music has always been my safe space, the space I allow myself to be myself with no qualifiers or equivocation.

AD: Who were some of your early influences?

LL: My earliest recollections of music were in my father’s church. It was a humble shack of a thing by some people’s standards, but it was called Thank Baptist Church, and I’m still incredibly thankful for the short time I spent there. It had an aging congregation, and in that space, I was raised by the 65-plus–year-old deaconesses who would pinch my ample cheeks every Sunday as part of their painful but effective love language. The way the congregation intoned together before each service felt ancient and fortifying. It had the sound of joyful mourning if that makes any sense, and the stomping of their feet against the hardwood floor was the only percussion besides our heartbeats. Profound. It was at the church’s sesquicentennial celebration when I first sang and played piano at the same time. I was terrified and likely dissociated for half of that performance, but I understand now that it was enough that I just did my best.

Usually, when people ask about my early influences, I say something about my love for turn of the (last) century French music. I let everyone know about my obsession with Gabriel Fauré and something about how my innards dropped the first time I heard the Shostakovich Piano Trio No. 1 performed live…but the most enduring aesthetic that I value, that I cling to, came from those early years in my father’s church.

AD: Tell us about your new release, Americana.

LL: The idea for Americana came with the birth of the song, “If It Were You.” This was during the kids in cages crisis in 2020, and I just found myself unable to reconcile the dismissive ways in which I heard [some] people talking about the circumstances. A lot of times when I feel helpless, songs come along to try to help me understand what I’m feeling. I couldn’t understand that at all, so the opening lyric was, “I don’t know anything about this.” By the time I got to the second verse, I realized I did know a little about the desperation that could lead to uprooting your family, but I never had any intention of singing the song because it was too transparent, sat too close to the bone, especially since, melodically, I was telling it from a child’s voice. Toi Derricotte, a poet I look up to and have had the honor of befriending, once said that with my art it’s imperative that I do what scares me the most, so once I committed myself to singing it, I knew I wanted to find other songs to [complement it]. A few short weeks later, the album closer, “My American Heart (Benediction)” showed up after waking from a dream.

These songs reminded me of a style I used to find myself writing in a lot before I moved to New Orleans. They were more story-driven than backbeat-[driven], and I realized I had a lot of orphaned songs like that. I started making a list and discovered that not only was there an album there, but there was a unifying theme; all of the songs represented stories I’d been collecting during my walk as an intersectional American, meaning, one who occupies a lot of marginalized spaces, and that many of these kinds of stories aren’t often told in my chosen genre of Americana. They may get told in the folk world, with which I also very much identify, but usually more from an observer’s lens, not so much from the first-person point of view. That gave me the silly idea that the record could be more than just a vanity [project], but something that might prove to be of use in the context of the difficult conversation we as a society [find] ourselves in.

AD: Is your music intensely personal, or are you only telling stories?

LL: I find that even when I think I’m only telling stories, it either is or eventually becomes intensely personal. I have a song called “Kisses,” which we recorded for my last record, that was me trying to tell a story about loving someone who doesn’t know how to receive love, from someone else’s point of view. Sure enough, after a few years of singing [it], it became an absolutely lived experience (in the worst kind of way, I might add). On Americana, when I was writing what became “Coffee Shop Girl,” I was collecting the stories of the women in my life who liked to talk about their guns. I had five or six verses written before I encountered the coffee shop girl, who told me [about her feelings about] the Second Amendment, and that she [also] thought integration laws shouldn’t have been imposed on people who didn’t want to integrate. Suddenly, the whole song became about that encounter, and the other people in the song were just there to dress up at that moment.

I used to be self-conscious about how personal my songs were. The writing has always really mattered to me, and I thought that great writing required that I learn to be more abstract, or, if I couldn’t learn to be more abstract or broad, I should at least learn how to write a decent love song. I think now I feel more at ease with the fact that I’m just a steward for the songs that come through me. I’ll certainly keep trying to develop in the craft, but I also feel thankful for every song that has come through.

AD: How have you evolved as an artist since your first release, The Coming of John?

LL: Well, my voice has developed in important ways. Back then, every time I went to sing I felt like I was re-learning how to sing, teaching myself what my body needed in order to find a sound that felt authentic and transparent at the same time. In recent years, I’ve started to see that work come to fruition. I’ve learned that there’s a difference between making music to self-express, music to communicate, and music to connect. I’ve always been aware of the first two, but in recent years, especially during my time in New Orleans, I’ve started to try to learn more about the connection [part]. My social anxiety made that part terrifying to engage in in the past, but lately, I’ve been deepening in the practice my opera teacher, Dr. Gregory Broughton, opened up for me years ago when he commanded me to “stop hiding.”

AD: You’re trained as both an opera singer, and a classical pianist. How have you applied that to your career as a folk singer and artist?

LL: In my early years singing my own music, I tried hard to forget everything I’d been taught as a classical musician because I perceived us, classical musicians, as being rather limited [because of] our dependence on self-expressing through other people’s notes and words. I also found that our assumption that all music could be expressed through the language of Western European art music was shortsighted at best. I believed that the folk music I sought to unite myself with required that I learn something about music that “creates itself” — music that comes from the ether and finds what it wants to say.

In recent years, my classical affinity seems to be rearing its head again, which seems ironic since my vocals now have blues and gospel inflections that they never had before, and my piano technique is practically nonexistent. What’s coming back is the reverence I had for the music as a classical musician. I threw that baby out with the bathwater when I started this journey of learning to play my own music, but the reverence is back in full force nowadays.

I want [audiences] to know that I don’t take their time or their souls for granted. I am not there for their attention, rather, I come to attempt to add value to their lives. I have to remind myself that music designed explicitly to provide healing is in fact high art, and that’s what I’m attempting to bring to the stage these days.

Lilli Lewis and her band. Courtesy of Howlin’ Wuelf Media.

AD: In my opinion, minority artists do not get enough credit in the world of folk music. Why do you feel they are overlooked?

LL: Folk music means different things depending on where you are. For example, I notice that at folk music conferences, indigenous music from around the world counts as folk, and music that represents a specific geography counts as folk, but in the US and in markets impacted by US definitions of folk, the music of Black people has been systematically sectioned off over the last 100 years or so. Segregated America has meant that those in power have been willing to borrow and steal our art, but then un-invite us from the table when they commodified it. This can be the story of any minority group, but I think it is especially true of Black culture in America.

I don’t know that we can say Black people invented folk music because everyone who landed on American soil brought their folk traditions with them. That said, we are the originators of a lot of traditions folded into the folk music lexicon. I know that my language here may seem loaded, but I don’t actually intend that to be so. I am simply trying to present a sober account of what happened to the Black presence in folk music. When I go to folk festivals and ask my audiences to define what folk music is, they [fail to mention] every genre associated with Black people, even though they have white artists at the same event playing the very music they discounted. And as of yet, no one has once brought up the invention of race records, or attempted to contend with how that might have impacted their perception of what folk music is, or who is allowed to define it.

AD: Easy ones now. What are a few of your favorite albums, and why?

LL: Easy? I’ve lived about 100 lifetimes so far, so it’s really hard for me to pick. The recording I’ve listened to more than any other is the Beaux Arts recording of the Faure Piano Quartets and Trio. Anita Baker’s Rapture is probably a close second. I also really like Erykah Badu’s Mama’s Gun. There are too many folk albums I love to begin to try to choose, but I’m a huge sucker for early Indigo Girls and all things Amy Ray. We’re also very much a Johnny Cash and Neil Young household, although Tom Petty probably reigns supreme. My favorite Tom Petty record is Wildflowers, but there’s no big revelation! My second-favorite Tom Petty record is The Last DJ, and I stand by that choice wholeheartedly.

My favorite album of classical singing is Cecilia Bartoli’s Se Tu M’Ami, which I’ll always view as a singular achievement. Close behind that is a tie between Jessye Norman and Lilli Lehmann’s recordings of the Four Last Songs of Richard Strauss, and only slightly behind those is Kathleen Battle’s Honey and Rue, not just because of the rendering of the Toni Morrison song cycle of the same name [as] set by Andre Previn, but because of her terrifyingly stunning performance of Barber’s “Knoxville, Summer 1915” – one of my favorite poets meets one of my favorite composers as sung by one of my favorite singers. There are too many titles to name that send me to full swoon.

AD: I want to dig more into your involvement with online artist directory Country Soul Phonebook.

LL: The CSPB as we refer to it was built in response to some messages I received from [the] industry press after a virtual Black Equity in Americana panel presented by the Americana Music Association back in the fall of 2020. The general air of the inquiries was, “we would cover more of you if we knew about and could find you,” so the nerd/database geek in me thought I’d build a central location to make that possible. A few months later, online magazine Country Queer released a directory that in essence had the data structure I was looking for. I [contacted] Jeremy Leroux, the [site’s] developer, who [helped] facilitate a data home (for CSPB). The CSPB directory has since developed into a larger online community called countryeverywhere.com, and is now under the full stewardship of its original programmer Jeremy Leroux.

Our sister brand is Country Soul Songbook, an organization led by another AMA panelist, alt-Country artist Kamara Thomas out of North Carolina. They named themselves after Charles L. Hughes’ book of the same name, and their focus is intersectional activism in country-adjacent music spaces, so we named this iteration of the database the Country Soul Phonebook to explicitly mirror that intention.

AD: In your opinion, what is the state of the music business these days?

LL: Artists should always be hopeful. It’s our job and sacred duty to remain hopeful, even here at the end of all things! We think we’re society’s Frodo, but really we’re the Samwise Gamgees. It’s certainly a tough playing field, but it’s never been more democratized. If your goal is to make money with music, there are certainly specific paths to accomplish that. If your goal is to be self-expressed and get the music out to others, that’s also more accessible than any other time since maybe that of the troubadours. If your goal is to get famous…and maybe even rich…well, that’s a much narrower needle to thread, and that’s where I’d suggest some deeper study…maybe start with Robert Johnson at the crossroads?

AD: Last one. What’s next?

LL: I haven’t been on an extensive tour since I took over at Louisiana Red Hot Records, so I’m very much looking forward to getting back on the road…and maybe staying there for a bit. I will start next year in residency with the New Quorum in New Orleans, to finish a song cycle based on four poems by Toi Derricotte, followed by a lovely concert we’re planning at the New Orleans Museum of Art. Then we’ll be headed to Folk Alliance International in Kansas City, Missouri, with a number of festivals on the docket for the new year as well.

I think mostly I really am looking forward to supporting this record and finding more time to enjoy a quiet home life with the wifey. I’m going through a simplicity phase – I’m feeling curious about what pleasures a simple life can yield.

Header image courtesy of Howlin’ Wuelf Media.

“Lemons Rally is not a race!”

Rallymaster Jeff barked out our rally instructions at the driver’s meeting around 8:00 am on the Friday that marked the beginning of the Rust Belt Ramble. With a handful of other common sense warnings about respecting traffic laws and property, we read through our rally booklets and prepared to begin the day’s trip from the Detroit Bus Company parking lot. It was a haphazard collection of about 35 vehicles of varying ages, in conditions from “running and largely untested” to rat rod classics, rental cars, and “my hooptie is still on jack stands, so I’m taking my daily driver.”

I was probably the only one in this rally to qualify as the latter, despite Jeff telling me at the end of my last rally to “bring a sh*ttier car next time.” I’m sure you’ve heard about the best laid plans of mice and men. That was me. The rally car sat at home on stands, with a couple of stripped threads in the aluminum block, and a repair kit unobtainable in enough time to make the start of the rally. This was after a couple of weeks of working on the engine to cure an oil burning issue on an 18-year-old car that has already traveled the distance to the moon and beyond.

The choice was to either scratch my entry in the rally, or take the daily driver and endure the derision. At least all I would need to do is load up my usual road trip accessories (12-volt refrigerator, tool bag, an extra tablet and phone, Radenso DS1 radar detector, and some cold snacks), pack the luggage, and hit the road. Without having a theme for my car, I skipped making the vinyl graphics I had planned and instead used the two large Lemons Rally stickers I had left over from the Rocky Mountain Breakdown back in April.

For many of us, planning for a rally starts months in advance. We’re usually booking rooms early, hopefully at accommodations that don’t cost a small fortune. We plan out a theme for the car, and extend that to our choice of wardrobe if need be.

Most importantly, we prepare a vehicle, as long as it’s a car or truck, the older, more dilapidated, unusual, questionable and/or ridiculous, the better. As you can see here, we had everything from K-cars and a Chevy-powered Jaguar to an egg-themed Toyota Previa, a Geo Metro done up in Smurfs blue (with a driver to match), a well-worn Subaru Baja, and a Smart ForTwo posing as a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe.

Some of the cars that participated in the rally. The yellow…contraption at the top left is a mini-truck front with a Chevy Astro van rear.

The Rust Belt Ramble promised to cut a swath through our portion of the country, and it did not disappoint. Starting in Detroit, the route would take us to nightly stops in Dayton, Pittsburgh and Buffalo. Having experienced the former Rocky Mountain Breakdown rally, I knew we were in for unusual checkpoints, historic locations, a few shenanigans, and a long slag along the back roads of America.

Day One: “All Your Transportation Are Belong to Us”

The first day of the rally featured drives to transportation relics of all sorts, and was bookended by a long-defunct car company.

We slowly filed out of the parking lot and headed to the first of our Michigan checkpoints – the Hamtramck Disneyland. Hamtramck, a city whose borders are surrounded by Detroit, was once a major Polish community in the area as well as home to a General Motors plant which produced many different car models over the decades. This particular Disneyland is an “art installation” spread across two backyard lots. Given that the lot was not open at this early hour, all we could see were the fronts of the houses.

Rudy’s daily driver at Hamtramck Disneyland.

Following that, we drove over to the ruins of the Packard Automotive Plant, which is just a few weeks away from demolition as I write this. The South American owner and developer had promised to begin a new development on the property, but nothing ever materialized. The owner missed a court hearing, and the city has now taken over the task of demolishing the entire site, with the owner on the hook for the bill. The ruins are spread across a few city blocks, and this is a small portion of it.

At the ruins of the Packard Automotive Plant.

The final Michigan checkpoint, Webber’s Waterfront Restaurant, was located on what is referred to as the Lost Peninsula. This is a tiny peninsula of Michigan that can be reached only by driving through Ohio or traveling by boat. As we were mere feet from Toledo, our first Ohio checkpoint was close by. The Great Lakes Museum moors a freighter, the Col. James M. Schoonmaker, launched in 1911 and retired in 1980, then opened as a museum ship in 2014.

Our following checkpoint was in the southwest corner of the Toledo area in Maumee. The Fallen Timbers State Memorial is located in a state park and commemorates General Anthony Wayne and the battle of Fallen Timbers (August 20, 1794) which has been called the last battle of the American Revolution, opening up the Northwest Territory for westward expansion.

The Fallen Timbers State Memorial.

Not far away was our next stop, the Lima-Toledo Interurban Bridge, which spans the Maumee River and joins Lucas and Wood counties. Built in 1908, it was once the world’s largest earth-filled reinforced concrete bridge. Given economic conditions, the bridge was used by a few different railway companies until it was finally abandoned in 1937 by the Cincinnati and Lake Erie Railroad.

The Lima-Toledo Interurban Bridge.

The next checkpoint was a genuine piece of kitschy roadside Americana: The Tower of VW Bugs, located on the lot of a pawn shop in Defiance, Ohio.

The Tower of VW Bugs.

From Defiance, we headed to Delphos to locate the Museum of Postal History, then continued ahead to the site of the world’s first automobile crash in Ohio City. In 1891, John Lambert, owner of the automobile manufacturing company bearing his name, hit a tree root and crashed into a hitching post.

The Museum of Postal History.

Our next checkpoint was constructed long ago – the Miami and Erie Canal, which stretched from Toledo to Cincinnati. The specific section we had to locate was the Deep Cut, a 6,600-foot cut through hard blue clay as deep as 52 feet. It is now part of a parks system with recreation trails alongside the now-unused canal.

With automobiles, trains and watercraft covered, our next stop took us to relics from outer space. In Wapakoneta, we located the Armstrong Air & Space Museum. While we didn’t have time to visit the museum, there were plenty of NASA spacecraft outside on the museum grounds.

The Armstrong Air & Space Museum.

The only forms of transportation that may have applied to the next checkpoint might have been trains and stagecoaches. Our specific instructions? “Phoebe Ann Mosey’s famed rifle (kind of).” Mosey’s stage name was Annie Oakley, a sharpshooting entertainer who was popular in the late 1800s. Like many of the clues, there were sometimes multiple map locations which we had to decipher to find the correct checkpoint. The historical marker for Mosey’s birthplace, near Yorkshire, was on a narrow road out in farmland with a rifle in the back corner of the monument.

Annie Oakley’s birthplace.

Piqua, Ohio was next on our list, the task being to locate the now-defunct Piqua Milling Company. This particular grain mill produced what was called white foam flour. Piqua was also known for milling linseed oil.

The Piqua Milling Company.

Trains, watercraft, automobiles, spacecraft…what could be next? In Dayton, our checkpoint was The Wright Cycle Company. It is now part of a museum complex, operated by the National Park System, which features the early history of aviation and the Wright Brothers’ involvement in it.

The Wright Cycle Company.

As with the last rally, the Rust Belt Ramble had a daily “Find It” activity. Today’s activity was to locate blue Ohio-shaped markers throughout the state that marked the level of the Great Flood of 1913. While I didn’t find the blue markers, I did pass the RiverScape MetroPark in downtown Dayton which had its own concrete pillars that marked the flood level. The flood took place in March of 1913, dumping as much as 11 inches of rain in some parts of the area. Dayton alone was under 10 feet of water, and the flood affected many other cities in Ohio as well as spreading through Indiana and several other states.

At the end of each rally day, we had a suggested location of where to meet. Today’s location was America’s Packard Museum in Dayton, a fantastic exhibit full of restored cars in a building that is set up like a Packard dealership from the 1930s. The building itself was originally a Packard dealership. As my grandfather had worked for Packard for over 25 years, I couldn’t help but wonder which of these classic automobiles he may have had a hand in building, the same as I wondered which of the buildings he may have worked in.

Some of the magnificent cars at the National Packard Museum.

Some of the rally cars outside the museum.

The museum opened up for a couple of hours to accommodate our group. Once we were done with the museum visit, I continued to a restaurant in Beavercreek to grab dinner, and check into the hotel so I could plan out the next day’s rally route.

In Part Two, the rally departs in the morning for more of Ohio, with a couple of surprising destinations later in the day.

What would you do if your Uber driver showed up in one of these?

Header image: a Smart ForTwo, done up as a Little Tikes Cozy Coupe (with a real one on the back) really captures the spirit of the Lemons Rally. The team calls themselves Little Yikes. All images courtesy of the author.

It’s not often that internationally known artists make it to the relatively small town (population about 11,000) in which I live, but the folks who run our local 1930s-era movie theater are trying to change that. Not long ago, we were graced with a solo acoustic show by British guitarist Richard Thompson that was quite well attended.

In July, Brazilian jazz artist Sergio Mendes was here for a special screening of Sergio Mendes in the Key of Joy, a wonderful documentary about his life by filmmaker John Scheinfeld. Although there was no concert, both Mendes and Scheinfeld (along with Mendes’s wife and musical partner Gracinha Leporace) were in attendance and participated in a Q & A session afterward.

I have to admit that I own only one Sergio Mendes album, 1972’s Primal Roots. It is not your typical Brasil ’77 outing. It is both more ethnic and jazzy than his usual fare. From the liner notes: “Primal Roots is the result of an influx of new ideas and experiments, and it takes a special place among the recording experiences of Sergio Mendes and Brasil ’77. Most of it reconstructs, through Sergio’s arrangements, authentic folk and popular musical expressions of Brazil.”

Sergio Mendes. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/RCraig09, cropped to fit format.

The film encompasses his long and varied career in depth, and the title is especially appropriate. The 81-year-old Mendes comes across as a positive, joyful person who, as he says, is very fond of the word “serendipity.” Growing up in the town of Niterói, just across a bridge from Rio de Janeiro, he was stricken with the bone disease osteomyelitis at an early age. For a time, he couldn’t play physical sports with the other children, and only penicillin saved him from having a leg amputated. While he was restricted in his activities, he learned to play the piano that his mother had gotten for him.

Although he began by playing classical music, he became enamored of jazz, especially after hearing Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five” around the age of 12. Soon, he was listening to other jazz pianists such as Art Tatum and Horace Silver. While in his teens, Mendes started playing in clubs as a part of jazz trios and quartets. The bossa nova style was just catching on, and he was quite taken with the melodies and rhythms when he got to meet Antônio Carlos Jobim at a bar where Mendes was gigging. That meeting was one of many serendipitous moments in his life.

In 1962, he participated in a bossa nova concert at Carnegie Hall that featured Jobim, João Gilberto, Luiz Bonfá, and Stan Getz. He also got to record with Cannonball Adderley, one of his idols, after encountering him at the legendary Birdland jazz club.

A military coup and general unrest led him to leave Brazil for a home in the United States. Although he recorded several albums on the Atlantic and Capitol labels, his career didn’t take off until he hooked up with Herb Alpert, who was just starting up A&M Records. His first album for the new label, Herb Alpert Presents Sergio Mendes & Brasil ’66, sold quite well, buoyed by the hit “Mas Que Nada.” He had come up with a novel sound featuring two female vocalists, Lani Hall and Bibi Vogel.

His arrangements of popular hits such as “The Look of Love” and “The Fool on the Hill” cemented his stardom. After a few years, Lani Hall left the group to pursue a solo career (and marry Herb Alpert). After this loss, Sergio went back to Brazil for a time. There, he discovered a very young Gracinha Leporace singing in a club and realized she would be his next vocalist. He ended up marrying her, and they are happily married to this day (as are Alpert and Hall).

The documentary features interviews with Quincy Jones, John Legend, Will.i.am, and Harrison Ford. Ford’s commentary is particularly amusing. Before he was a Hollywood star, he made ends meet as a carpenter. His first job was building a recording studio for Mendes on his home property. The self-effacing Ford said, “Would I have hired me to do this? F*ck no!”

Mendes’s career would have ups and downs, with a major rebound coming in the 1980s via the hit song “Never Gonna Let You Go,” with vocals by Joe Pizzulo and Leeza Miller. In recent years, he has worked with a variety of younger, more contemporary artists, such as John Legend and Will.i.am (of the Black Eyed Peas). All spoke glowingly of the opportunity.

After the documentary was shown, Mendes and Scheinfeld talked about the making of the film. When that was over, Mendes took the time to speak and pose for pictures with members of the audience. I had brought along my LP, and he was very gracious in autographing it. He told me that it was the first project that he had recorded in his (at the time) new studio.

One of these days I’ll remember that metallic silver Sharpies don’t like to start writing right away – see the “To Rich” words.

The documentary is available for purchase on DVD and can be streamed from multiple sources. Highly recommended.

Many stories have been written about sidemen who became stars once they got their chance in the spotlight: Glen Campbell (the Wrecking Crew and the Beach Boys), Sheryl Crow (Michael Jackson), Luther Vandross (David Bowie), Steve Vai (Frank Zappa) and perhaps one of the most famous, Jimi Hendrix (the Isley Brothers) are just a few.

More unusual is the star who willingly takes a back seat to serve as a sideman for another band or artist. It’s one thing when stars join forces to become a supergroup, but the willingness to sublimate one’s ego to let someone else take the spotlight is an infrequent occurrence, especially for an entire tour. It involves learning someone else’s repertoire while you become just another member of the band, so a healthy team mentality is crucial for it to work. The motivations to step out of the limelight can vary widely, and here are a few examples of when it has worked successfully.

Johnny Winter With Muddy Waters

As the 1970s closed out the Woodstock Generation, music label consolidation left many legendary blues artists without record deals, including the iconic Muddy Waters, who found himself without a label when Chess Records was sold in 1969. Fresh from rehab with his hit album Still Alive and Well, albino guitar-slinger Johnny Winter proved to still be a major rock star on Columbia, who gave Winter his own record label, Blue Sky. Muddy Waters was the first artist signed to Blue Sky, and Winter was determined to produce a Muddy Waters record that did justice to his musical legacy, after failed experiments with psychedelic blues and other fads.

Hard Again (1977) was a sterling success, and Winter, who had often spoken of returning more to his blues roots, couldn’t have been happier. He insisted on joining Waters’ band on tour to promote Hard Again, which won a Grammy award for Best Traditional Folk Album. Playing with his blues idol prompted Winter’s own Nothin’ But the Blues album, backed by Waters’ band, and Winter went on to produce the follow up Waters albums, I’m Ready and King Bee before Waters’ declining health and passing in 1983.

Eric Clapton and Roger Waters, Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, George Harrison, and the Plastic Ono Band

Eric Clapton’s role as a sideman guitarist in John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers cemented his position as the first British blues/rock guitar virtuoso, which he parlayed into becoming a megastar with Cream, Blind Faith, Derek & The Dominos, and then as a solo artist. However, Eric Clapton has repeatedly let his love for the music guide his path, and has stepped back into the sideman role on a number of occasions, both in the studio, with his iconic guest appearance on The Beatles’ “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” and on many other recordings. He’s guested on stage with John Lennon’s Plastic Ono Band, Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, George Harrison, and Roger Waters, among others. He has also been generous in using his fame to help fellow artists like Steve Winwood, J.J. Cale, B.B. King, Robert Cray, and more recently, Van Morrison.

Nils Lofgren with Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band

When he was still in his teens, Washington DC-bred Nils Lofgren befriended Neil Young and wound up contributing guitar and piano to Young’s landmark album, After the Gold Rush (1970). Although he had minor success with Grin and went on to develop a cult following as a solo artist, Lofgren subsequently joined Young’s backing band, Crazy Horse, and would play again with Young throughout his career, appearing on Tonight’s The Night (1975), Trans (1982), Colorado (2019), and their accompanying tours.

Nils Lofgren. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Takahiro Kyono.

However, apart from his ongoing solo career, Lofgren’s highest public profile has been as a member of Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band since 1984. Originally joining to fill in for Steve Van Zandt, who had started his own group Little Steven and the Disciples of Soul, Lofgren’s superb musicianship and amiability has led him to still remain an active member, even with Van Zandt’s return to the band, and he will be seen on Springsteen’s 2023 tour.

Keith Richards With Chuck Berry

Although the Rolling Stones have long been called “The World’s Greatest Rock and Roll Band,” Keith Richards has always given credit to Chuck Berry as his musical inspiration. In celebration of Berry’s 60th birthday, Richards took the lead in organizing a tribute concert for him in St. Louis, with Berry to be backed by a top-notch band featuring Eric Clapton, Robert Cray, Linda Ronstadt, Etta James, and others. Additionally, he enlisted director Taylor Hackford to document the event, which became the feature film, Hail! Hail! Rock n’ Roll (1987). Humbled to be in the presence of his childhood music hero, Richards endured weeks of verbal abuse and was even decked by one of Berry’s spontaneous punches – yet, he charged on to make sure Berry would be presented at his absolute best for the event, which was truly a labor of love.

Peter Frampton With David Bowie

Frampton Comes Alive! (1976) was a monster record that is still one of the top-five best-selling live albums of all time. The following decade featured a number of personal and career challenges for Peter Frampton: divorce, a debilitating auto accident that led to pain killer dependency and a bout of addiction, the Sgt. Pepper ‘s Lonely Hearts Club Band movie debacle, several underwhelming records, a loss of artistic credibility, and what was probably the biggest blow – a plane crash that killed four people and resulted in the loss of all of his equipment, including his prized 1954 Gibson Les Paul Custom guitar, which had been his mainstay from his days with Humble Pie through his success with Frampton Comes Alive!

Peter Frampton. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/ceedub13.

Frampton’s father was an art teacher at Bromley Technical High School in England. One of his students was the talented David Jones, who would make his mark in the music world a few years later as superstar David Bowie. Teenaged Peter Frampton befriended Bowie over their mutual love of music at the time, and the two remained friends over the next few decades. When Bowie was planning his Never Let Me Down album, he called his old friend to contribute guitar to the recording, which led to Frampton taking the lead guitar chair for the subsequent 1987 Glass Spider Tour, a move that Frampton has credited on numerous occasions with reviving his career. By focusing solely on guitar and not being in the spotlight, he impressed critics and regained his artistic credibility as a guitarist, giving him the confidence to resume his career, including several instrumental releases throughout the next 30 years.

Nuno Bettencourt With Rihanna

A versatile guitarist with additional songwriting and vocal skills, Nuno Bettencourt’s fleet-fingered shred solos and soulful acoustic guitar picking propelled Extreme to MTV stardom, especially with the best-selling ballad, “More Than Words.” Nevertheless, Bettencourt has always been open to collaboration and has enjoyed a diverse history of session work, with appearances on records by Janet Jackson (“Black Cat”), Dweezil Zappa (Confessions), Robert Palmer (Honey), and songs by Toni Braxton, Chad Kroeger, Julian Lennon and Steve Perry. However, his highest-profile sideman role has been as guitar foil to R&B megastar Rihanna. Beginning in 2009 on The Last Girl On Earth tour, Bettencourt has been the lead guitarist on every Rihanna tour since.

Vince Gill With Eagles

With an impeccable tenor, hit songwriting skills and guitar chops that rival Nashville’s top session players, Vince Gill is a triple-threat country music talent with few peers. Starting his career with Pure Prairie League, he was later a member of Rodney Crowell’s Cherry Bombs and an honorary member of Emmylou Harris’ Hot Band, putting Gill on a par with such guitar heroes as James Burton and Albert Lee. Gill’s guitar prowess was held in such high regard that he was once invited by Mark Knopfler to join Dire Straits.

With scores of Grammy and Country Music Award wins and a catalog festooned with platinum and gold records, his solo career has been firmly established for decades.

When Glenn Frey died, Eagles were at risk of breaking up, since Don Henley was the sole original member left. However, Henley, Joe Walsh and Timothy B. Schmit decided to pay tribute to Frey by enlisting his son, Deacon, on their 2017 tour. Along with session ace Steuart Smith filling in for the fired Don Felder, Henley called upon his old friend Vince Gill to supply his stellar vocals and formidable guitar skills to another massive Eagles tour, and Gill agreed, both for the challenge of playing such classic rock music with old friends, as well as to honor Frey.

Gill apparently enjoyed the experience, and the tour was such a success that he has joined them in 2018 and 2019 as well, although he has not contributed to any Eagles recordings to date.

John Mayer With Dead & Company

With his boyish good looks and a mellow voice that crooned hit ballads like “Your Body is a Wonderland” and “Daughters,” John Mayer’s string of famous romances, which have included Taylor Swift and Jennifer Aniston, overshadowed the fact that underneath the sensitive singer-songwriter Lothario lurked a guitar hero with Stevie Ray Vaughan fever trying to break out. Adding more electric numbers to his concerts that highlighted his virtuoso abilities, and playing with stellar musicians like Pino Palladino, raised eyebrows and found Mayer newfound musical respect.

In 2015, the Grateful Dead’s Bob Weir befriended Mayer, who had become a Deadhead in 2011, and the two began playing music together. This led to an invitation from Weir to join Dead & Company on tour, essentially to fill the lead guitar role of the late Jerry Garcia (see Jay Jay French’s concert review in this issue). Seven years later, Mayer still holds the lead guitar chair with the group and relishes the musical camaraderie and critical credibility that his Dead & Company affiliation has afforded him, while blazing new artistic ground on his solo albums.

Ringo Starr and His All-Starr Band

When it comes to the Beatles, boomer-aged musicians stand in awe, and there’s a deep respect among a sizable percentage of Gen-X and Millennials as well. Being invited to join Ringo Starr and His All-Star Band is akin to a badge of honor, and there is a very long list of musical stars who have vied for coveted inclusion in this exclusive club, which has included the likes of Todd Rundgren, Edgar Winter, Steve Lukather, Nils Lofgren, Jim Keltner, Joe Walsh, Sheila E., John Entwistle, Dr. John, Rick Derringer, Dave Edmunds, Peter Frampton, Greg Lake, Jack Bruce, and many others. When it comes to playing with Ringo, the honor of sharing the stage with the former Beatles drummer makes any solo star willing to step away from the limelight.

While there are certainly dozens of more examples that can be found in a wide range of other music genres as well as in rock, this list comprises a few of the more popular instances where ego took a step back to honor a larger musical vision and to create a special musical experience that was bigger than what could be achieved solo. Props to those who are willing to make the effort!

RIngo Starr. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/dearMoon.

Header image: Vince Gill. Courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/Derek Russell.

Very few artists command followings so rabid that, when anyone criticizes them, the band’s defenders come out in force.

I have written critically about the Stones, Springsteen, Dylan, and the Dead in the past.

I never cared for Bruce’s music. His voice drives me crazy and I walked out twice – at two different shows – while watching him with the E Street Band, as the show sound was awful and his stage raps were just plain boring, so that was easy. The Rolling Stones, the Grateful Dead, and Bob Dylan were tougher in that I have loved these artists at different times and my issues with them, over time, have to do with what I believe is an artist’s responsibility to their fans.

In the case of the Stones, who were once one of the greatest live shows on earth, they are just plain pathetic now. The Stones now have a better rhythm section than they have had in years, with great replacements for Charlie Watts and Bill Wyman (Darryl Jones on bass and Steve Jordan on drums) and if Mick could do it, he should just finally put Keith and Woody out to pasture and bring in guys who can actually play guitar. This of course would make them a “cover band” but really, the guitar playing is so lousy, why would anyone want to hear some of the greatest rock songs played in keys that were not meant to be played in because arthritis prevents the correct playing of the songs. Keith was one of my favorite guitar players but he just can’t do it. Woody? Never even a competent player but a great bass player when he was with Jeff Beck. He should have stuck with that instrument.

Dylan…well, Bob’s music is beyond reproach but his live performance skills at this point in his career prove conclusively that he just doesn’t care about how he performs, and it shows with the disdain he has for his fans. His band is very good but the song arrangements are pure garbage. Oh sure, you may love Dylan’s freedom of artistic interpretation wrapped in the guise of a genius artist who refuses to compromise his constant search for new musical reinvention.

I say BS!

This is simple narcissistic pseudo-intellectual crap designed to torture your following and to prove that there is a sucker born every minute. The joker laughs at you and it is just plain sad.

And now to the subject at hand, the Grateful Dead, or I should say, Dead & Company.

This is a tough one, as I have seen the original Grateful Dead more times than any other band (except my own!).

27 times between 1969 and 1972 actually. On acid 26 of those times.

I totally got the debut album simply called The Grateful Dead (1967), followed by Anthem of the Sun, Aoxomoxoa and Live/Dead.

Who didn’t love Workingman’s Dead or American Beauty?

Here is the weird thing though. It wasn’t their singing (barely passable until Workingman’s Dead) or the guitar work (Bob Weir was straight rhythm, although with a distinctive style and Jerry Garcia…well, I never liked his guitar tone, and his lead work, while interesting, was way too repetitive for me). What got me hooked on the band was the interesting (but enigmatic) songwriting style of Robert Hunter, the polyrhythmic double drumming of Mickey Hart and Bill Kreutzmann, and Phil Lesh’s bass playing. During the jams that connected the songs, this incredible rhythm section just blew me away and, on acid, was truly mesmerizing

The Dead may have thought of themselves as a blues-based band but in the strictest sense, they were not that. The Allman Bros Band truly was, and then they could meander and jam, but the guitars were heavy and muscular because Duane Allman and Dickey Betts played Les Paul guitars and Marshall amplifiers. This is heavy artillery.

Jerry’s guitar tone was always thin and mealy so it never got me. He played through Fender amps all during the time I saw them. These amps were super-clean and not to my liking. Jerry played through Gibson SGs and then switched to Alembic guitars. I never liked the sound of Alembics and he got the same weak sound out of his SG.

This is a totally personal view and I get that Deadheads could scream, but I don’t care. I call it as I see it.

The last time I saw the Dead was in October 1972, two months before I started Twisted Sister.

I always loved and admired the communal reach and the near-religious fervor of the Deadheads. This was something that I brought to Twisted Sister and some of the best reviews we ever got mentioned that our shows were like religious experiences. This was a direct result of my seeing the Dead!

So, with this as a background, I walked onto Citi Field to see them for the first time in 50 years.

A lot had changed.

I was just a music fan in 1972. Now I have sold millions of records, my music is the most licensed music for TV, movies and commercials from the 1980s era, and I have played to millions of fans in 40 countries.

Citi Field sold around 40,000 for this Dead & Company show. On the last run of shows on our Twisted Sister farewell tour, we played some venues that held anywhere from 40,000 to 110,000 fans. I’m telling you this because all of this flooded into my brain as I walked to the VIP section located near the sound board.

Hint: want to hear an artist in the best way possible? Always go to the sound board as that is by far where you’ll hear the best mix.

Because Twisted had played over 125 monster shows from our reunion in 2003 until our final show in November 2016, Citi Field actually looked small, which was really a crazy feeling.

I walked out of my last Dead show (before this one) in 1972 because I was not high and it seemed totally boring.

I was into Bowie and Lou Reed at that point and turned my back on everything that the Dead meant to me.

Roosevelt Stadium in Jersey City in 1972 appeared huge and scary, though.

I came to this show because, as irony would have it, the Grateful Dead and Twisted Sister are distributed by the same record label, Rhino Entertainment, and the president of Rhino, knowing my history with the Dead, invited me to the show. He also is a super Deadhead and produced the Grateful Dead documentary Long Strange Trip with Justin Kreutzmann, Bill Kreutzmann’s son. I have become friends with Justin Kreutzmann ever since our documentary (We Are Twisted F***ing Sister!) came out. Justin saw it and e-mailed me to tell me how much he liked it.

Jay Jay French and Rhino Entertainment president Mark Pinkus.

Life certainly is strange, as Justin and I texted each other before the concert, because it was doubtful that his dad, Bill, was going to play the show due to health reasons. But Justin had texted me that his dad was feeling really good and intended to play. He did…the whole show!

Let me just say a word about aging bands and the cost of touring. When you tour on a stadium scale, the costs are so high that you can’t afford to cancel a show, so many “classic” bands (with members age 60 and over) carry extra personnel in case someone gets sick. The Dead do that as well, except for occurrences like the concert at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center that was canceled in July when John Mayer’s dad suffered a heart attack and John rushed to the hospital three hours before show time.

In the case of the Grateful Dead/Dead & Company, the only original members at this point are Bob Weir, Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart. Phil Lesh is still alive and touring with his own band but does not play with the others. The keyboardist, Jeff Chimenti, bassist/vocalist/percussionist Oteil Burbridge, percussionist Jay Lane, and lead guitarist/vocalist John Mayer are all “sidemen.”

As long as fans are OK with this, the bands will continue.

It doesn’t seem to have affected the Dead & Co.’s ability to sell tickets.

Well, what about the music, Jay Jay?

Here’s where it gets weird for me.

I went to the show so I could find out if the magic that the band possessed could still find its way into my heart and soul after all these years.

The Rolling Stones, for example, never recovered the golden years they had with Brian Jones and Mick Taylor on guitar. Not even close, and they get worse as every year goes by.

I have seen them several times since Taylor left, hoping things would right themselves, but sadly their live shows just continued to deteriorate for me.

When they toured from 1969 to 1972 with Mick Taylor, they were truly a majestic rock and roll band. Totally transcendent. Once Taylor left, they lost that mojo and now I would rather see a good Stones cover band any day.

I have gone to many shows over the last 50 years but there was never so large a time gap than I had with seeing the Grateful Dead.

50 years later is a very long time and I kept a totally open mind.

My verdict:

What I can say is that they did their best to create that magic, and hit it at certain points in the show. The sound was immaculate, and the drumming was actually very good.

As most of you know, John Mayer (a curious but ultimately successful choice) is now the replacement for Jerry Garcia.

Many greats have held down that exalted position (Warren Haynes and Trey Anastasio for example) and just because I’m not a Jerry fan doesn’t mean that I don’t get what Jerry brought to this band.

Committed Deadheads at the show confided to me that neither Warren or Trey were the right choices. I was told that Warren made them sound like the Allman Brothers and Trey made them sound like Phish. I was shocked, as these are both great players, but I get it. Imitating another player is a tough act.

When Twisted Sister’s drummer A.J. Pero died in 2015, his replacement, Mike Portnoy – among the most famous drummers in the world – told me that he would play exactly like A.J. and not bring his own personality into it. He didn’t, and was a true professional as he copied A.J.’s style totally.

Getting that Jerry Garcia tone down exactly must have been difficult, especially for John, as he is a much heavier (read “blues”) player. What John did amazingly well was channel Jerry in both guitar style (playing the scales and motifs that Jerry used) and guitar tone. John captured that clean, mealy tone that is the hallmark of Jerry’s unique style, the tone I remembered so well, and that is so revered. A tone that led the Dead, and even though I wasn’t a fan of it, don’t think I’m not aware of its importance to the band’s sound.

Dead & Company opened with “Bertha,” which I saw them open with many times back in the day, and it sounded pretty good. It didn’t roar though, and this was the issue with the whole show. These guys ain’t in their 20s any longer. They can play but the train moves slower. The set then meandered into “Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodeloo” and then went into a surprisingly strong “Shakedown Street.”

Jay Jay and Sharon French enjoying the scene.

John then took over on vocals for “Sugaree,” then Bob went into “Tennessee Jed,” then “Bird Song,” and closed out the first half with “Don’t Ease Me In.”

It ended the first set on a high note and I was pretty impressed that Bill Kreutzmann was so good. I was sending Justin screenshots of his dad the whole time and I felt really good about liking the whole experience.

It was the bass playing, however, that failed the most. Phil Lesh is a “lead guitar bass player” (like John Entwistle and Jack Bruce). I really missed the Phil Lesh style of loping bass runs that ran around the drumming. As good as Oteil Burbridge is, it had none of the Lesh fire and I really missed that.

The band took a 45-minute break. During this time, I hung out with basketball great and Dead superfan Bill Walton, as well as members of the record label and other Dead super regulars. I “got” it, and I could have been one also, had I not become a music pro and stayed on the “civilian side” of the Deadheads.

The weather that night was perfect.

As it was, I just sat and listened to the comments about the show (and comparisons to many others) from people in the audience. My Dead cred laid solely on the fact that I had seen Pigpen with the band 27 times and that Jerry Garcia gave me a tab of acid at one of the Fillmore East shows. The fact that I saw the Dead as an opening band also stunned some of the longtime fans.

I was older than almost all of them and could have told stories, but I just chose to absorb all that the night could give me.

When the band returned for the second set (with Bill still on drums, shockingly, as rumor had it that he could only get through the first half), I decided to sit down and just listen with my eyes closed to see how it felt and really sounded.

There were times that I almost got there. I really wanted them to “get there.” Because I now understand (I just turned 70 and my last show was in 2016) how aging gets in the way.

When they went into “Viola Lee Blues,” it was so slow as to be unrecognizable to me, but the jams went on through some of Terrapin Station and then went into “The Other One.”

Weir never had a strong voice and now he can barely hit any of the notes he used to, but I found myself rooting for him hard as he tried. They finally got into “I Know you Rider,” which was fun but went on way too long. It was at this point that Mickey Hart let his drum experimentation run wild for a nearly 20-minute percussion jam. Long enough for many to take a bathroom break. Self-indulgent? Yes, for me I couldn’t wait for it to end, but the weather was spectacular and I was standing near second base at Citi Field and damn well enjoying the whole of the experience.

Finally, we got to “Standing on the Moon” and “Not Fade Away.” The pace was now much slower and deliberate and totally devoid of that old energy.

John Mayer wore big headphones during the entire show. I was told that he has the “crowd mix” fed into his ears by the monitor mixer so he can hear what the crowd is hearing. This is a very studied approach, as he looks like a studio musician playing to a track. I suppose that he is so sensitive about what his role is that he wants to get it exactly right all the time. Because of that, he doesn’t prance around like a rock star. It was weird to watch it but I respected his approach.

The show ended with “Sugar Magnolia,” after which Mickey walked over to Bill and hugged him and the crowd roared. It was a relief to see Bill make it through the whole show.

They all walked off the stage but said nothing. No thank you or good byes.

They played nothing from Workingman’s Dead or American Beauty.

They did not play “Touch of Grey.” They didn’t play “Turn On Your Love Light” or “Good Lovin’.”

They didn’t play “St. Stephen.”

It was 11:30. The show started at 7:40.

And now, I can say that I saw them.

As the original members are all in their 70s, I can say that they did their best, gave their all, and the crowd seemed to relish the “Dead” experience.

Hard to say how many old timers were there because the age mix was truly diverse. I saw many Millennials, not just gray hairs.

Where else would a grateful Mets fan want to be?

Too bad most of the crowd will never know how truly magnificent (and Deadly) the Grateful Dead once were.

They used to roar and now they purr.

All in all, however, I am happy to say that It was enough for me to consider the experience totally worth it. I let myself go where my emotions could take me and it did bring me back to the Fillmore East on more than one occasion. That was all I was hoping for.

To justify my memories and to get that feeling one more time.

The Grateful Dead shows from 1969 through 1972 were very special to me, and kudos to John Mayer, who did a fantastic job in getting that “Jerry vibe” that made me realize how fundamentally important Jerry was to the “Grateful Dead sound.”

Unlike any other band in the world, the spirit of the music of the Grateful Dead lives on through Dead & Company.

See them while you still can.

All images courtesy of Jay Jay French.

Trumpeter Roy Eldridge used to tell people that he got his incredible ear for music from his mom, who could reproduce anything at the piano. Ironically, while his mother was alive, he only wanted to play drums. It was only after her death when he was 11 that he started to take the trumpet seriously. Although he never learned to read music well, he grew up to be a respected innovator of jazz harmony. This big talent was known by the nickname “Little Jazz.”

Eldridge was born in Pittsburgh in 1911. By 1925 he had dropped out of school and was on the road, trying to make it as a musician. Fascinated by Fletcher Henderson, the young trumpeter mimicked his style as closely as he could, but he was quickly finding his own sound. He also had a natural gift for musical directing, and by age 20 was an experienced bandleader. But he gave up one regular musical director position to be just a player in the band led by Harold Henderson, Fletcher’s brother.

As with most up-and-coming jazz musicians of the day, Eldridge set his sights on New York City. He moved there in 1930, taking the Harlem clubs by storm. Duke Ellington thought he was one of the best young trumpeters around. But Eldridge also spent a lot of time in Chicago, often playing with his brother, saxophonist Joe Eldridge. Over the years he would tour with Gene Krupa, Teddy Hill, and Artie Shaw, as well as sitting in gigs and sessions with many of the biggest names in jazz. After a long career, Eldridge died in 1989 at the age of 78.

Two main factors characterized Eldridge’s style: intense energy and harmonic experimentation. He was especially imaginative when it came to phrase endings, focusing on a type of chord called a tritone substitution to lead back to the home, or tonic, chord.

Enjoy these eight great tracks by Roy Eldridge.

1. Track: “Yard Dog”
   Album: [Released as a single]
   Label: Decca
   Year: 1946

The big band playing on this 10-inch single was a small group known as Roy Eldridge and His Orchestra. It was the B-side to Hoagy Carmichael’s “Rocking Chair.”

This is Eldridge’s first recording of his own tune, “Yard Dog,” which he would later re-record for Mercury, eventually released on Verve. The later 1951 version was conceived at a much faster tempo, as a bebop number.

2. Track: “The Heat’s On”
   Album: Roy’s Got Rhythm
   Label: EmArcy
   Year: 1955

Compiled from tracks recorded in 1951 for a couple of other labels, Roy’s Got Rhythm was finally released four years later on EmArcy. Besides Eldridge, it’s an all-Swedish lineup, including Carl-Henrik Norin on tenor saxophone and the wonderful bass trumpet sound of Lende Sundevall.

There are lots of fun tracks on this album, such as Ellington’s “Echoes of Harlem” and Parts 1 and 2 of Louis Jordan’s “Saturday Nite Fish Fry.” For a condensed definition of Eldridge’s signature sound, absolutely hopping with energy, you can’t beat “The Heat’s On.”

3. Track: “Une Petite Laitue”
   Album: French Cooking
   Label: Vogue
   Year: 1951

On the Vogue Records album French Cooking, Eldridge joins with 10 European players – mostly French and German – to play swing tunes. Among his colleagues here is the outstanding and innovative pianist/composer Claude Bolling.

There’s no trumpet part on “Une Petit Laitue”; instead, Eldridge sings. In French, sort of. It’s less about meaningful lyrics and more about using nonsense French syllables as a bridge to more standard scat sounds.

4. Track: “Embraceable You”
   Album: The Coleman Hawkins, Roy Eldridge, Pete Brown, Jo Jones All Stars at Newport
   Label: Verve
   Year: 1957

Verve founder Norman Granz was a staunch advocate for Eldridge, providing him with many opportunities to perform and record. In the late 1940s he invited Eldridge to join his Jazz at the Philharmonic project, a stable of musicians who were put together in various combinations on tour and in the studio. JATP lasted for over 30 years.

Although this Granz-produced album does not bear the JATP imprimatur, Granz put it together in a similar way. Eldridge is part of a world-class ensemble group performing at the Newport Jazz Festival. Coleman Hawkins plays tenor saxophone, Pete Brown plays alto, and Jo Jones is on drums. Jones’ “All Stars” are Ray Bryant on piano and Al McKibbon on bass.

Eldridge’s muted trumpet solo that starts Gershwin’s “Embraceable You” barely acknowledges the famous melody, instead meandering around its expected notes.

5. Track: “Jolly Hollis”
   Album: The Nifty Cat
   Label: Master Jazz/New World
   Year: 1970

Eldridge got the nickname Little Jazz when he first moved to Harlem because he was so short. Decades later, his friends in the New York jazz scene gave him another affectionate name: Nifty Cat. This album is evidence of just how nifty that cat was in 1969, when Eldridge recorded it live.

What’s notable is where he made this album. It was a place called Jimmy Ryan’s, which specialized in Dixieland, an area of jazz that Eldridge hadn’t shown much previous interest in. He was an innovator, not given to retro styles. He described his modernizing approach as “wanting to build a bridge from Louis Armstrong to something.” It worked, and he kept playing at the club until 1980.

6. Track: “Bad Hat Blues”
   Album: Oscar Peterson and Roy Eldridge
   Label: Pablo
   Year: 1974

After Norman Granz sold the Verve catalogue, he started a new venture, Pablo Records. One of the artists he managed to re-sign was Eldridge, who ended up cutting quite a few discs for Pablo. Pianist Oscar Peterson also followed Granz.

Oscar Peterson and Roy Eldridge is a real treat, an intimate and intricate duo album. It’s just trumpet and piano, with Peterson occasionally switching to organ, as he does on this track. “Bad Hat Blues” is one of two original tunes they wrote specifically for these sessions.

7. Track: “On the Sunny Side of the Street”
   Album: Happy Time
   Label: Pablo
   Year: 1974

Another incredible lineup graces this album. Eldridge and Peterson have a rhythm section this time. Not just bass (Ray Brown) and drums (Eddie Locke), but also the golden touch of Joe Pass on guitar.

Granted, the versions of “On the Sunny Side of the Street” that have been recorded by jazz greats are legion. This one features Peterson and Pass sharing two full choruses of gentle bop decoration before Eldridge comes in to sing at 2:17. His third time through becomes a scat-and-guitar conversation, followed by a couple of choruses on trumpet.

8. Track: “Montreux Blues”
   Album: The Trumpet Kings at Montreux
   Label: Pablo
   Year: 1975

The Trumpet Kings were a combo fronted by Roy Eldridge, Dizzy Gillespie, and Clark Terry, playing both together and separately. They made several live albums. This one, recorded at the Montreux Jazz Festival, was produced by Granz.

Eldridge was an admirer of Gillespie from his youth (Eldridge was six years older). The two giants wrote “Montreux Blues” in collaboration with Louis Bellson, who played drums on the album. The rest of the rhythm section was just as heavenly: Oscar Peterson on piano and Niels-Henning Ørsted Pedersen on bass. (You can read more about NHØP in an earlier Copper column in Issue 155.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/public domain, cropped to fit format.

When they were Kent State University students in the late 1960s, Gerald Casale and Bob Lewis developed the sarcastic theory that mankind was de-evolving rather than evolving. They surely never dreamed that Devo, the band they named after the concept, would still be touring more than 50 years later. One might even argue that the continued relevance of Devo’s wit, perspective, and distinctive musical sound disproves their original theory. There may be hope for mankind yet!

After the Kent State massacre in 1970, Casale and Lewis doubled down on their view of backwards evolution and wanted more ways to express it beyond writing and visual art. Casale had recently met Mark Mothersbaugh, a fellow experimental songwriter. Devo formed over the next few years; through several personnel switches and Lewis taking a behind-the-scenes role, they settled into a quintet that included Casale and his brother Bob, Mothersbaugh and his brother Bob, and drummer Alan Myers (who replaced Mothersbaugh’s other brother, Jim).

As often happens to bands that take a while to hit the big time, the casual fan who likes the two or three best-selling singles tends to have a skewed understanding of the group and its motivation. In the early years, Devo was there to stir things up. They riled up the audience, sometimes purposely alienating them. Festival management sometimes felt the need to unplug their amps and throw them out. What eventually captured the early MTV audience as pure fun and silliness started out as dark humor reflecting a disappointing world.

Their sophistication and innovation caught the attention of some big names after they made an award-winning indie short called The Truth About De-Evolution. David Bowie took notice in 1975; he made good on his promise to advocate for the band with Warner Brothers, where they were signed. Another film opportunity arose in 1977, when Neil Young asked Devo to appear in his movie Human Highway; that was also Mark Mothersbaugh’s debut as a film-score composer, a role he has now played countless times for both cinema and TV shows.

Although Young’s movie did not get released until 1982, it turned out to be perfect timing for the band. The reason? MTV started broadcasting in 1981. All eyes were on Devo. They were simply made for MTV. They had started creating music videos in the early 1970s, not so much for promotion as to add another artistic aspect to their songs.

Their 1978 debut with Warner Brothers presented them with an appropriately arcane, nerdy title. Q: Are We Not Men? A: We Are Devo! was produced by Brian Eno, the British composer, programmer, and former synth player with Roxy Music, who at the time was celebrated for his experimental atmospheric album Ambient 1: Music for Airports. Critics were somewhat baffled; unlike some approaches to new wave that used synths to intensify emotions, Devo took things in the opposite direction. They sounded robotic and emotionally distant.

Except for a cover of the Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction,” the whole album is by M. Mothersbaugh, with and without other band members. “Come Back Jonee,” a single that didn’t chart, sports an instrumental style as inspired by early rock and roll as it is new wave.

Despite Eno’s presence, these early tracks use Bob Mothersbaugh’s electric guitar as if Devo were a standard rock band. This is hardly a synth-fest. The same cannot be said for their second album, Duty Now for the Future, released in 1979. Ironically, the producer for this one was Ken Smith, known for his imaginative yet much more mainstream engineering work with Elton John and the Beatles.

While the new album’s biggest single was “Secret Agent Man,” a synthesized reimagining of the well-known funk-inspired song, that track is kind of a sonic outlier. “S.I.B. (Swelling Itchy Brain),” on the other hand, represents what would come to be the standard Devo sound: electronic blips and twirls, monotonal melody, and high-strung rhythm.

With the release of the single “Whip It” and its associated album, 1980’s Freedom of Choice, Devo’s fortunes changed. They went from being niche weirdos to reflecting the cynical zeitgeist of early 1980s America. And, since they came with ready-made videos and a distinctive visual style (Day-Glo polyester jumpsuits, ziggurat-shaped plastic hats, shades), they were a marketer’s dream.

By the time they released New Traditionalists in 1981, Devo was a hot commodity. Musically, they were continuing down the path toward an all-synth sound world. This record marks the first time they used drum machines; the technological advance allowing the use of real drums as programmable samples had only been available for about six months when they started work on the album. As for the public’s reaction, that love-at-first-hearing engendered by “Whip It” did not turn out to be a lasting affair. The album did decently, reaching No. 23 in the US, but none of the singles came close to the success of “Whip It.”

“Going Under” is a good example of both the programmed drum sound and dark humor characteristic of Devo’s songwriting. The one-note melody and the cover photo showing the men with plastic hair both contribute to the message that this music is written by androids to comment on the human condition.

Devo was not immune to the lackluster reviews and a public that didn’t understand them. They tried to popularize their sound on Oh, No! It’s Devo in 1982 by hiring producer Roy Thomas Baker, best known for his work with Queen in the 1970s, but sales did not improve. Two years later, they released Shout to the worst reviews they’d ever seen. Critics especially objected to the overuse of the Fairlight CMI digital sampling synthesizer, viewing the ability to pre-program elements of songs as a cop-out that led to lazy songwriting. Nobody seemed to listen to the words. The only song anyone praised was the cover of Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced.” Warner Brothers dropped them, and Alan Myers quit.

But the record is not quite as hopeless as its history suggests. “Puppet Boy,” taking on the issues of free will and individual freedom, uses some of the best elements of synth pop, carrying its serious message on energetic keyboard lines that rise and fall like a carnival ride.

There was some hope in 1987 when the band signed a deal with Enigma Records, and David Kendrick, formerly of Sparks, agreed to replace Myers on drums. But 1988’s self-produced Total Devo went nowhere commercially. Smooth Noodle Maps, released in 1990, did even worse, in part because Enigma Records was in the middle of going under and couldn’t support the tour.

It seemed like the last gasp for Devo, and they were ready for the split. Mark and Bob Mothersbaugh were both doing a lot of composing for other projects, and Gerald Casale was making a name for himself directing music videos. For the next six years, except for some individual tracks commissioned for film scores, there was no Devo.

The band regrouped in 1996 to join some collective tours. Between the growth of 1970s – and eventually 1980s – nostalgia and the rise of the internet, the era of Devo was returning. Soon it was stronger than ever, largely fueled by fans who had not even been born when the band started out.

They released Something for Everybody 2010, a full 20 years after Smooth Noodle Maps. Warner Brothers took them back into the fold. The lineup was the Casale brothers, the Mothersbaugh brothers, and drummer Josh Freese. They have not made an album since then, but they continue to do occasional live shows.

Are Devo musicians? Are they computers? Are they a bit of both? The song “Human Rocket,” wryly tinged with heavy metal and country rock, addresses this inscrutable question.

Header image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons/C Michael Stewart.