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| 2/9/2003 |
| Wherein Yogi finally talks about the performance of New Year's Eve 2002! |
NOTE: This story started as a generic news update, and it was supposed to touch on a variety of current Wonky subjects. As I continued typing, however – it turned into a chronicle of how I got a band together to open for the Mike Keneally band last New Year’s Eve, and then what happened at the gig. I hadn’t really publicly addressed those events, except obliquely on the message board a couple of times – and some of you have written to me, asking me when I was going to comment. Well, in this update, I go very painfully deep into exactly how I felt at the time – and it’s not necessarily pretty, so I just wanted to warn you. I also had no idea how long the description was going to get, and so I’ve removed discussions of other subjects from this update, and will post them separately. I’ve tried to be as honest as possible about how I felt about things – and I’m frankly pretty embarrassed about quite a lot of what happened. But, it’s the truth, and well – you wanted to know!
I’ve written at length on this page in past years about the influence that Mike Keneally and his music have had on me. It’s fair to say that without his influence, Any Raw Flesh? might not have come to fruition. It’s possible that I might have walked away from music altogether had I not discovered Mike when I did. But I’ve told you guys that before a million times. However, I thought it was worth mentioning again, since the person who created a necessity for me to have a live band at all was none other than: Mike Keneally.
Mike and Bryan Beller were in the area last October, doing a series of clinics on the west coast for Taylor Guitars. Attending the one in Renton at A# Music was one Doron Raphaely, a friend of Mike’s, who was planning on opening a new venue for jazz and experimental music in Seattle. He was there that night not only to see Mike, but also to convince him to come to Seattle to play a show in his new venue, to be called ATM, or About The Music. Doron wanted to take Mike to see the new place, still under construction, immediately after the Renton clinic. Since Mike and his entourage were staying with Beta Girl and myself that evening, Mike asked if I could tag along with them for the tour.
The venue was absolutely beautiful, if unfortunately kind of far away from everything in Seattle proper. It included a two-story room where the band would play, with a balcony on the upper left side, facing huge windows all along the right wall. There was a nice green room for the artists, a new sound system being installed, an area for serving bottled beers and snacks. Doron took us to dinner afterward in the University District (very generous of him to include me, since he had no clue who I was), and it was here that the focus of conversation briefly turned to me and my relationship with the Keneally clan. As he has always done around me, Mike effusively praised the work I had managed on my album Any Raw Flesh? And then he said something like, “I think it would be fantastic if you have Yogi and his band open for us when we come up to play your venue.”
Just like that, suddenly all my priorities were reshuffled. After the meal, I promised to get Nick Dyson, ATM’s manager, a copy of my album, which I did sometime over the next week. A couple of weeks later, I got a call from Nick, asking if my band could open a Mike Keneally Band show they had scheduled for New Year’s Eve. I accepted immediately. A blinding bolt of excitement shot through me as I hung up the phone, followed by an even more powerful, and longer lasting, jolt of absolute and utter terror.
You see, there was no Yogi band at that moment. There had never been a Yogi band, not really. In late 1995 I briefly rehearsed with a rhythm section to play some of the songs I had been writing, but it fizzled out after a couple of months of rehearsals. Most of the material on Any Raw Flesh? and the Salve EP had never been played by a band.
And now there was a show scheduled.
Luckily, Any Raw Flesh? drummer Chris G had the time and inclination to play with me, but the issue that had been dogging me for years, the lack of a local bassist, was still a problem.
Another day, another Taylor clinic, another fortuitous happenstance.
At the conclusion of Mike and Bryan’s appearance at the Seattle Guitar Center about a week after the Renton clinic, Bryan called me over to where he was talking to a friend of his, a bassist named Brian Timpe. A longtime Keneally fan and full-on Zappa freak, Brian and Bryan had kept up an email correspondence for a while, and hung out whenever the MKB came up this way. Bryan looked me in the eye and said, “This guy is a great bassist. You two should definitely get together.”
Well, now was the time: I contacted Brian immediately after getting the New Year’s show booked. I don’t recall if I had actually sent him a copy of ARF before then, but at some point I got him a copy, to which he responded with great enthusiasm. I crossed my fingers and hoped like mad that he would be able to manage the material AND click personally with Chris and I. Adding to my anxiety, we weren’t able to schedule any rehearsals very soon - since Chris’ time was taken up by his preparations to play in Nick D’Virgilio’s Kevin Gilbert tribute show to take place at Progwest in mid-November. Coupled with my usual December holiday trip to see the family back east, it was looking like we would have about four weeks in which to rehearse before the show. To a perfectionist like myself, this was an almost criminal lack of time to prepare, considering that I had never played this stuff live, but what could we do? Four weeks it was.
I think Brian and Chris and I had our first rehearsal on November 14. At the end of the rehearsal, I knew that Brian could handle the gig, but I wasn’t sure about me: we had only worked on four songs, and my voice was shot all to hell. And I was having a not-so-easy time with the playing-guitar-and-singing-at-the-same-time thing. I drove home from that rehearsal really wondering if I could pull this gig off. Not just the New Year’s show – I mean pull it off ever.
The good news: I got better. Brian got more comfortable with us with every rehearsal, and we were managing three of those a week. Songs that had seemed impossible to coordinate the singing/playing for me started to become automatic. In early discussions with Brian, I mentioned my desire to learn some obscure covers that we could add to the repertoire, and he immediately furnished me with a transcription he’d done of Frank Zappa’s “Echidna’s Arf (Of You)”, a fiendishly difficult instrumental tune. I’d never learned the whole of a Zappa composition before, but it seemed like a good idea to try it for this show – who better than Keneally’s audience to appreciate it? By the time I left for my Christmas vacation, on December 18, I was feeling pretty darned good about the gig.
And then it was very nearly cancelled.
In fact, I think it was cancelled at one point, and while in Virginia I got a flurry of telephone calls from Mike and Bryan Beller at various times. It seemed that the new venue, after opening with a fanfare in late November (Stanley Clarke headlined that night), was foundering badly. They had been having show after show of literally zero attendance. I had feared something like this would happen, given the ATM’s great distance from most of the other music clubs downtown, and also given the fact that they were a new venue that nobody knew about. They had called the Keneally camp and told them that they couldn’t guarantee them the money they had negotiated, and had cancelled every other show in their itinerary. Mike explained to me that every fiber in his body was against just canceling the gig, and wanted to know what I thought attendance would or could be like. Honestly, I had no idea. Mike and his band had drawn over a hundred people to their last performance at the EMP in 2001, and they had drawn nice crowds at their recent Taylor clinics in the immediate Seattle area – one would hope that there would be a nice turnout for their first full-band show there in nearly two years. I couldn’t guarantee much attendance for our band, as it was our first show ever, and almost all of the copies of albums I’ve sold have been via the Internet, to people far outside of the Seattle area. Another possible strike against us was that it was a New Year’s Eve show, after all – not a night exactly lacking in entertainment choices for the masses. Mike seemed subdued after that conversation when I couldn’t really offer much in the way of hope – and he said that he was going to try and find something for his band to play that night in California. Two members of his band, Rick Mussalim and Nick D’Virgilio, had turned down other work for New Year’s to do the Seattle gig – canceling it was going to hit them hard in the pocket book. When I hung up the phone that night, I thought the show was done for.
But it may have been the very next day that Mike called back and said that he really wanted the gig to go on. He’d called the members of his band, and they were game to continue regardless – airfare had been bought, hotel arrangements made. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, and we’d all try and make the best of it.
I got back to Seattle on the 28th of December, and we had time for two more rehearsals before the night of the show. The last was the night of December 30. At the rehearsal, I was in good voice, I felt strong and confident. I still felt kinda iffy on the Zappa tune (it’s a bear), but I thought that the energy of the night would carry me through. The guys in the band had persuaded me to email Mike and ask him to sit in with us on that song, to which he had agreed instantaneously. Weeks before, Beller had insisted that he get to play a song with us as well. Everything was shaping up to be a fantastic night. I walked out of that last rehearsal feeling at peace, content, exhilarated.
If only I could have maintained that feeling for the gig.
Chris, Brian, and I were the first ones to get to the ATM, as Nick D'Virgilio was going to be using Chris’ drums, and Chris wanted to get them set up so they’d be ready when Nick arrived. Rick Mussalim was going to be using my guitar amp as well. My sister had flown in the day before, and came with me and helped me pile my gear inside. I felt nervous, but no more nervous than I usually do at a show.
After some time, the Keneally camp began arriving at the venue – Mike, Sarah, Bryan, Katy, Rick, Nick and his wife. It’s always so lovely to see them – they’re really fantastic people that it’s truly my privilege to know. Gear was set up, mic’s placed - and then they opened the doors and people started trickling in. Around this time I started to lose my mind.
I hadn’t seen this coming. I expected to be nervous, sure – but this was more than that. What settled over me was nothing less than a clear sheen of absolute panic. Who was I kidding? I had never in my life fronted a band before! Some of the songs we were doing were right on the edges of my ability, a sure prescription for disaster. I was only playing the Zappa tune right about 65% of the time in rehearsal, and now I was going to stand next to a guy that had played in Zappa’s band and try to get through it? What was I thinking?
This was terror. This was ice-pick-in-the-forehead, full-on, freak-out time. This was not a typical feeling for me – since 1996 I’ve played nearly 500 live shows in all the various bands I’ve been in. But most of those were cover bands, and in most of those bands I was a sideman. Not the focus. I wasn’t really putting myself at risk in those groups, because I wasn’t playing my music. But now – this was my thing! This was my songs! I’m right out there in front! There was no one to hide behind, in front of an audience that had no idea who I was.
Beller came by and told us to go on at 9:30, and play for 45 minutes, which was about 10 minutes shorter than we’d planned. So I knew we’d have to cut some songs from our set list, and the first that came to my mind was the Zappa tune – I felt that I was not in the proper state to attempt a song of that kind of difficulty in front of an audience that would notice my every miscue. It didn’t even occur to me that by cutting it from our set, I was eliminating the chance for us to play with the man who was responsible for us even being there that night. A man whose abilities and talents that I respected above anyone else’s on the entire planet! I was voluntarily giving up a chance to play on stage with Mike Keneally, and I was costing my band mates the same opportunity. I told Chris and Brian that I was cutting the Zappa song, and on some level I know I registered their disappointment – it was very evident - but I was so far out of my own head that I didn’t care. I’m ashamed to admit that, but it’s the honest truth. All I wanted to do at that moment was run very, very far away, and hide.
But I didn’t. We went on, and we did the best that we could in the time that we had. My memories of our set are pretty hazy, and I haven’t been able to persuade myself to watch the DVD of our performance that Chris Maxfield made for me. I remember opening with a respectable “Owe You”, though my amp was too quiet when we started, so I stopped the band, went and turned it up, and started again. Then I remember botching the first chord of the second song, “Strange Ways”, which resulted in the second consecutive stoppage of the night. I was so rattled by these events that I couldn’t remember the words in “Strange Ways”, and once we had restarted the tune I stood there, stomach churning, frantically trying to recall them - and I forgot to play the rhythm guitar parts correctly. I’m actually amazed that I didn’t have a meltdown right then and there; all I could think about as I sang the wrong words on the chorus was what a hard time I’d been having with the guitar solo in rehearsal, and how if I blew it this time, after mangling the first half of the tune as I was, that maybe I really would just spontaneously combust, and all the pain I was feeling would be blessedly over. Funny thing is, I nailed the solo. Alas, no public fiery death for me.
We then started into “Sleeping”, a track from the Salve album that really will come out some day. It’s an easier tune, more low-key than some of the others, and I just shut my eyes and focused. Somewhere in there, I started to finally breathe. Even though I could barely see any of the people in the audience when I dared peer through my scrunched eyelids (there were very bright lights aimed directly into my face), I did faintly notice some heads bobbing in time with the music, and I could see friends and family like Darin DiPietro, Beta Girl, and my sister all sitting there, sending out the good vibes. They know me very well, and I’m sure they knew what I was going through. It was some comfort to know they were there to support us.
I remember only a few details from there on. I remember losing my voice during the choruses of “Firefly”. I remember thinking that “Truth” seemed really, really good – although we played it at hyper speed. I clumsily invoked audience participation by having a contest to see if anyone would recognize our version of “Tomorrow Never Knows” by the Beatles; the prize was a copy of Any Raw Flesh? Bryan Beller came up to play “Throw Me A Bone” with us, and I think it was then that I was able to really relax a little bit. No disrespect meant to Brian Timpe, who did (and continues to do) a fantastic job, but to be fair, we barely knew each other, and there is a level of personal comfort that I have with Bryan, and seeing him standing next to me on stage, I began to realize that I was going to live through this experience. I was going to make it, and live to play another day. Bryan has been a big cheerleader for me since we’ve worked together, advertising me in his own writings on his website, and often talking me up to others without provocation. He spoke a bit to the audience and said some very supportive and flattering things, and then we played “Bone”, marking the first time that Bryan and I had ever played together at the same time in the same room. Brian Timpe came back up and we played the new version of “Numbered Days” with the Ending Of Doom, and we finished up with “My Love For Lois Is Real”. I’d had the idea of grafting the endings of famous songs we liked onto the ending in rehearsal, and this time we stuck on the last few bars of Rush’s “The Spirit Of Radio”. The cool part was that I could hear people react when we went into it, and after the last big flourish, we got a great response. And we were done. And we hadn’t played the Zappa song.
I staggered off the stage, and I saw my sister smiling, coming over to give me a hug. Then I saw Mike walking toward us, beaming, and I heard him say first “That was really beautiful,” and then I heard him say, “I really wanted to come up and play with you guys!”
And then, as my heart dropped, I opened my mouth and told the truth: “Mike, I chickened out.”
And then, I saw Mike’s disappointment flash over his face. And I heard him say, “What? Really? Awww, man!” Right then, at that moment, I felt as low as I remember feeling in a long time. You know how when you’re growing up, how the last thing you want to do is disappoint your parents? And if you’re a boy, how you especially didn’t want to disappoint your father? How it felt when you heard your Dad say, “Son, I am very disappointed in you.” That’s how I felt right then. It was awful. It was far worse than I felt while I was publicly butchering “Strange Ways”. In a daze, I heard Brian Timpe tell Mike how we had been asked to shorten our set, and I heard Mike ask if we’d come up and play "Echidna's" if he called it during his set, and I heard myself and Brian agree wholeheartedly. But I was feeling horrible, and ashamed. I wanted to cry.
Is this as painful to read as it is for me to write? Does everyone understand why I’m having a hard time getting myself to watch the DVD of the show? I don’t know if I can make myself relive how I felt that night. I apologize for the emotional brutality of this recap – I didn’t know that I would write all of this when I sat down to type. SIGH. Oh well. I started this, so I ought to finish.
Soon after we were done, Mike and his band got up and played, and they were awe-inspiring. Everything that they do, everything they represent, that band – it’s the standard that I aspire to. There is a level of trust and spontaneity and communication present in their performances that is nearly unprecedented in my experience. I’ve seen bands play with that kind of precision before, but I’ve never seen a band that can willfully take left turn after left turn and create magic out of nothingness so consistently. When I see them, I see musicians at the top of their game, doing what they are meant to do, with seemingly effortless grace. My god, I want to know what that feels like.
Somewhere near the end of their first set, we passed over into 2003, and the ATM staff brought out champagne for everyone – and I helped myself to more than my share. Since I hadn’t eaten anything all night, the champagne went right to my head – and then Mike was calling us up to play the Zappa song. Uh oh.
And we went up, and we played it, that blasted “Echidna’s Arf (Of You)”, and the crowd went wild at the conclusion. Brian Timpe and Chris G played very, very well, and I was astounded at how the notes just seemed to explode out of Keneally’s hands. As for me, I was tipsy, and I made a lot of mistakes. Partly I was thrown by the fact that with two guitarists, Mike and I could recreate the call-and-response nature of some of the melodies as they appeared on the Zappa band recordings – though I had learned the song in such a fashion that there wasn’t any call-and-response, I covered everything. But when we hit those sections, I noticed Mike laying out before responding to the melodies that I was playing – and I tried to compensate and play along with this scheme – and it was then that I realized that I’m not good enough to “fly by the seat of my pants” while playing Zappa music. I should have stuck with what I knew, rather than try to alter my part. Luckily, Mike picked up any and all slack I was leaving him – and the crowd loved it. Big applause. I was elated for Chris and Brian, and furious with myself for not having done better. On the other hand, the performance with Mike really seemed to sell us to the crowd. I can’t tell you how many people told me something like, “Wow, I was real skeptical at first, but you guys nailed that Frank tune! Way to go!”
The Keneally band played another terrific, if somewhat scattered set, and the night was over. I couldn’t really socialize much with the MKB-folk this time, as they were scheduled to fly out the very next day, and after the gig was over things got confused, as they were having a hard time getting things straightened out with transportation to their hotels, dealing with venue business, etc. We said goodbyes, and my sister and I drove home, me trying to ignore the black pall that had fallen over me, and my poor sister trying to convince me of all the good things that had happened for me and the band that night. I’m embarrassed to admit that I couldn’t see them. I barely slept that night. I was nearly completely immobilized by depression for several days. To my mind, nothing had gone the way I’d hoped, nothing had measured up to my unrealistically high expectations.
Man, I can be such an ungrateful, unappreciative putz.
The fact of the matter is, to most everyone who I’ve talked to who was there, and to the two other guys in the band, our performance went very well. There is DVD evidence in existence, and I’ve heard people tell me that overall, it’s very good. There were people at the show who came to this very website and bought CD’s after seeing us.
And so: I apologize. I apologize to my band mates; it can’t have been very reassuring or pleasant dealing with me onstage that night. I’ve already mentioned how little I cared for their feelings during the evening, wrapped up as I was in my own selfish neuroses. It’s a testament to their professionalism that they carried on as well as they did with no assistance from me. I apologize also to Mike and his band, for being unable to appreciate what a fantastic opportunity they had given us, for being unable to receive their generous complements, for… well, being such an ungrateful, unappreciative putz. I hope the opportunity to play with them will come along again. I’ll be much better at it next time.
And if you read this whole thing… well, I’d apologize to you, too – but you at least got a warning. |
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