Exposed Behind a Microphone Stand

Paul McCartney doesn't have any insecurities.

I have had a lifetime of struggle to overcome my own insecurities. When I was very young, I was horrified to discover that my parents were quietly standing behind me as I sang to my sister’s albums. They didn’t ridicule my singing; they just stood there smiling, like they were waiting for the punch line from a long joke. Why was I so embarrassed to sing? Everyone has a voice. Everyone has the capability to sing. Yes, everyone can sing but it is the potential ridicule of the listener that keeps the singer silent. I often wonder if the experience would’ve been less traumatizing if they had said something. Anything. Maybe, if they had said, “You can’t sing” or “That’s good, son,” but their silence was deafening. Can I sing? Can I carry a tune in a bucket? Am I tone deaf without knowing it? The answer has haunted me for years and left me with a fear of the unknown. Its a fear that I have kept buried in my psyche and never dared share with anyone. Until now.

What follows is my self-exposure and YOU, the reader of this page, are my therapist.

In the 70s, it was almost mandatory that all Methodist youth participate in our church choir in Terrell, TX. I remember our choir teacher loved my singing an unwritten harmony during practice, but I was too embarrassed to sing it during our church performance. It was safer to blend in; I never wanted a solo. I learned to “sing solo… solo (so low) nobody could hear me.”

The very first time I ever considered singing lead was the result of being encouraged by a friend, Les, who told the rest of our band, “John can sing just as well as Joe Elliot (Def Leppard).” While I immediately disagreed, I was pleased with the remark and it even encouraged me to sing half of our Dragon Master set.

As the guitarist in a later band, Darc Horse, I also sang harmonies and background vocals. We tried a few front men, but eventually just settled on handling the singing “duties” ourselves. This decision was more financially driven because we despised splitting our income with a non-musician.

I’ve always had an ear for harmony, which goes back to my childhood listening to Three Dog Night. Picking out the 3^rd or 5^th, instead of just the melody, just comes naturally to me. It’s an attribute that I take for granted and don’t often realize that it is a true talent. My direction of “you sing the 3^rd” is often met with gaping mouths by my bandmates. My being able to pick out and sing harmonies is probably the only skill that has differentiated me and kept me in many bands. I don’t have a great sounding voice, but have a good vocal range and can sing what I need to sing. We used to boast that we were the only band who could go from George Strait to AC/DC in the same set, usually saving the harder stuff for the last set because it shredded my vocal chords. Also, by the time of the last set, those songs were more acceptable by the crowd to which we were playing. It’s amazing how good I sound when the audience is inebriated.

Where did I get my vocal range? When I was younger, I learned to sing “Child In Time” by Deep Purple. I sang it over and over and over. Other attempts at ‘nailing’ the voices of Robert Plant and Geddy Lee stretched my vocal chords. I won’t say that I sound like either of these guys, but I will admit that trying never hurt. Once I figured out that I could actually hit higher notes, I started looking for other things to sing. I loved the vocal acrobatics in THAT part of “Victim of Changes” by Judas Priest. But just as importantly as stretching my upper range, was trying to sing low, like Don Williams or Billy Gibbons. Stretching high and reaching low led me to the range I have now.

I have a great range but have never really liked the timbre of my voice. The recordings of my own self-written songs sound like a raspier version of Don Henley, which I begrudgingly admit must be my true voice. I was once told that I sound like Rod Stewart, which is truly a backhanded compliment. Fortunately, years of mimicking the voices of other singers has left me with the ability to avoid actually singing like myself.

Ironically, I didn’t really appreciate my own voice until I started singing karaoke. A dare got me to sing and apparently I did well enough to be asked to sing more. At first, I felt naked on stage without my guitar. Hiding behind a single mic stand, I persevered until I won a later karaoke contest. I’ve been told that its like winning a “Tallest Midget Contest,” but it took karaoke to actually open me up to singing in public, almost 40 years after being ‘caught’ singing.  Now, whenever I venture back to that karaoke place, I am recognized and get requests to sing.  I don’t feel the adoration of a conquering hero, but will admit that I enjoy the simple recognition. I oblige the requests only because I have finally overcome my insecurities.

With Apologies to FUMC-Allen

Okay, there comes a time in a parent’s life when the actions of his children embarrass him to the point of wanting to shrink to nothingness. If only we, as these embarrassed parents, could dissolve into our surroundings without a trace of ridicule from the judgmental non-parents, our dignity and possible hope would be restored to the social norms. What follows is THAT time in my life.

First United Methodist Church of Allen, TX is a fairly large congregation. Oh, not in the usual Catholic or Baptist ‘large’ scale, but as a Methodist Church, we’re pretty big. There are three services on Sunday morning and we attended (note the PAST TENSE here) the middle one, which was usually attended by around 400-500 on a normal Sunday. However, this day that I am about to describe was on Easter Sunday and, as expected, there were twice as many in attendance that morning.

Please allow me to further set the stage: Like all toddlers, my youngest son didn’t have the dexterity to extend his index finger which caused him to point with his entire hand. Also, keep in mind that a child of that age doesn’t really speak in complete sentences and communicates more like a caveman, “Want milk”, “Go potty”, “Lana nug nug”, etc. These are facts. Period.

His visiting relatives were late getting to church and brought their son, Kyle. Okay. Caught up? Here we go.

Okay. Easter Sunday. Full capacity sanctuary. Rapt attention being given to a sermon about our Lord and Savior miraculously rising from the dead on the third day after his crucifixion. My son, noticing the arrival of his cousin, stands in the pew, “points” with his entire hand and screams, to our utmost horror, the following phrase.

“SEE KYLE!!!!” 

If you don’t understand the terrible looks we got, then say it out loud a few times.

Thinking About Selling Your Soul?

Robert Johnson at the crossroads

Selling your soul? I’ll take it. I’ve decided that if I could strike up a deal with the devil, for fame and fortune, I could potentially use YOUR soul as the bargaining chip instead of my own. Not a bad thought. Of course, I am an opportunist and entrepreneur. I would get to live lavishly while you get to look forward to an eternity of damnation. All because you were stupid enough to sell your soul on eBay.

Do you really believe this? Then you’ll LOVE this “Become A Blues Legend” kit.

Chances are, though, if you believe that you can actually “sell your soul to the devil”, then your soul is probably not worth selling. I guess we are all created equal and all that blah blah blah… but really, think about where you are in your life and what your true options are. Value can be assessed by the following: age, condition and desirability. For the purposes of this argument, we can eliminate a soul’s age as a mitigating factor. That leaves condition and desirability. If you are a worthless person full of sin, then honestly, the poor condition of your soul is probably the reason. So, let’s look at desirability. Do you think that Satan would place a high value on a worthless, vile soul? I’m not a souls commodity broker, but I guess that there is a reason why the temptation of Christ was so important to the devil. Imagine the value of THAT soul! So, to place value on your own soul, look at the way you conduct your life. Before you calculate your minimum bid for your eBay auction, think about increasing your value.

I, for one, don’t really subscribe to the “Robert Johnson at the Crossroads” story of actually trading your soul, but there are those who literally swear by it. Faustus? Daniel Webster? Charlie Daniels? Eh!

So, what IS a soul. I’ve read, or heard, or dreamt, that there is a moment upon your death bed when your body will actually decrease in weight from the release of your soul. I think this weight has been calculated at 21 grams. For what it’s worth, I’m certain that this is just the release of your bodily fluids streaming onto the gurney, but again, I’ve never really seen anything die before. Nothing. Not even a pet. Unless birds or bugs count, I’ve never witnessed death. I’m not sure I want to. Regardless, if 21 grams separates our life from eminent death, then that’s pretty light. I estimate that, if your soul was GOLD instead of “spirit”, then 21 grams would be worth a little over $1,000. Not a bad exchange for something that is your essence. Now, I’m thinking about how much 21 grams actually weighs. I hate the metric system, so I’ve got to convert it all into pounds, then something more substantial. Hmm. 21 grams = .047 pounds. A cotton napkin weighs 28 grams, so your LIFE weighs less than a cloth napkin. Interesting.

A US dollar bill weighs one gram, but a $20 bill still weighs one gram. 

20 souls would still be less than a pound. No wonder Satan values them. They’re light and expensive.

Yes, I’d say that it will fetch a good sum of money on eBay. Good luck with that.

Now, if you’re the type who is easily offended, please understand that I really don’t care. If you want to take it back to the Biblical, then remember that God gave us all a sense of humor. Some of us choose to use it.

But What Makes It a “Christian” Song?

"Talk to the hand because I'm not listening!"

The mountain is high, the valley is low, and you’re confused on which way to go, so I’ve flown here to lend you a hand, and lead you into the promised land..

With apologies to Edgar Winter, the above lyrics were taken from his 70s classic hit, “Free Ride“. Is this false prophesy? Am I to believe that Edgar Winter will actually guide me through the triviality of life? Regardless of his intentions or misrepresentations, take the song for what it’s worth, which is a catchy tune with an even greater message.

When I was asked to join and play bass for our church praise team (often referred to as “Banjo Mass” by yours truly), I was initially unaware of band politics that dictated what songs were to be learned, rehearsed and performed for each Sunday morning service. I soon realized that there was one “leader”, a non-musician, who chose the songs and keys based on what would make her own voice sound best. At this moment, I have “Shout To The Lord” running through my head like a runaway Brahma bull. Yes, it’s a great praise and worship song, I won’t deny that, but as a self-professed rocker, playing it every Sunday is as painful as root canal surgery without anesthesia. Multiply that pain by 12 (the number of other songs published by the same Hillsongs praise band) and you can see how frustrating this weekly process can become.

Thinking that I couldn’t possibly be the only musician that tired of these songs, I started discussing alternatives with some of the other guys in the band. Our proposal of playing the aforementioned and “Jesus Is Just Alright (With Me)” was met with disdain and disgust. I was immediately branded with a scarlet letter H, for “heretic”, for even broaching the subject. The reply was, and I quote, “I don’t think the ‘DOOBIE’ (make air quotes here) Brothers really had Jesus on their minds when they sang that he was ‘just alright’ (again, air quotes) with them.” Hmm. As I’m typing this, I can feel the knife plunge into my bubble, spilling the air that once was my hopes and dreams. Okay then, this was ten years ago and I’m over it now. Or am I, really? What she might have not realized is that the Doobie Bros version was a cover from an original gospel song. Yep.

Well, this was about the same time that a pseudo-Christian band called DC Talk had recorded the classic Bill Withers song, “Lean On Me.” That song was never meant as a “Christian” song, even though it also has a great message. I was reminded, by the same hypocritical leader, that we could perform that song because it was released by a Christian artist. My rebuttal was cut short and dismissed as argumentative.

Here’s what I wanted to say, but was never given the chance: So, just because somebody records a classic rock song and brands it as “Praise and Worship” makes it open for us to play in church, but any other great song is off limits if it has yet to be exploited by a Christian artist for monetary gain. Please read this paragraph again. I don’t want there to be any mistakes of how I truly feel.

This non-argument came to a head when, before church service, there was a remake of Paul McCartney‘s “Maybe I’m Amazed” being played on the sanctuary sound system. It was the exact same song, only redone by some bible-thumping wannabe. When I brought this up, I was, once again, shot down with the following: “It’s not the same song. They changed the lyrics from ‘BABY I’m Amazed’ to “MAYBE I’m Amazed.” WHAT? This was a ridiculous comeback from an unknowing, manipulative dictator with absolutely no musicology background. The song was never, and has never been, BABY I’m Amazed!

Well, that settled it. I knew my days in Praise Team were numbered, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. The next Tuesday at practice, a few of us in the band, played classic rock songs with changed lyrics. Our set list consisted of the following: “Highway to Hell”, which we changed the one word, Hell, to “Heaven”. Everything else was the same. I’ll admit that I’m pretty good at making up parodies on the fly, but I am most proud of what I was able to get out of Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion“. I changed it to “Sweet Devotion”. Funny as that was, I’m proudest of my line, “.. can’t catch me ’cause the RABBI done died.”

I was told the next night that there was a shuffle in the band and that there wasn’t enough room on stage for me. Instead of having a bassist, they did have room for the saxophonist and harmonica player though.

Oh, one last thing before I release you. Mike, the saxophonist soon moved to Boise, ID. He called me and told me that the first song that the Boise Methodist Banjo Mass team played was “Jesus Is Just Alright With Me.”

The Pirates Oak Confessional – My Life in East Texas

(in my best movie promo voice) Picture a place where nobody breathed without the entire community knowing. In a time before alcohol, rock and roll, and chicks with boobies, there was a small band of friends, miscreants. They were kinda like those kids from The Sandlot, only they didn’t play as much baseball and there wasn’t a big dog chasing them.

Well, that was us. The kids of Pirates Oak, uh, our tree house in Meredith’s Woods. Not a great big tree house; it was just a few loosely hammered boards stuck to the largest tree in the woods. But it was OUR tree house. Oh, we dreamed of a Swiss Family Robinson place, but settled for scrap lumber and rotting ropes. Our “member” list grew and shrunk with each club meeting, but it was mainly Robert, John and me. We’d sit in that tree for hours, dreaming of how we’d defeat that gang from the imaginary rival tree house.  I often think back, with fondness, on that simpler time. (oh, sorry. That was my movie voice again).

Here is a short collection of some of the shenanigans from my youth.

1) Playing FUGITIVE, a game we made up. Here’s how. Set up the tent in the backyard and invite your friends over for a camp out. This allows you access to wandering the streets all night without ever having to actually sneak out of the house. We never stole or destroyed anything; we were still good kids. Really. Rules: walk down the street. Have a great time talking and visiting (long before texting or cellphones). When you see headlights, scatter like mad and stay hidden in bushes, behind trees or just in shadows until it’s “safe” to come out. We played this until one car stopped and looked right at us. We were “caught” and never played it again.

2) There was a roadside hole in the ground at Brookhollow and Griffith. The city must’ve been doing something, but we didn’t care. All we knew is that we could block the entire street with a barricade and giggle as cars had to turn around and find an alternate route to get past. This is when I started to understand human nature and gullibility. More importantly, I learned a few new curse words that night!

3) Randy’s dad parked backwards in their garage. I don’t know why. Maybe he was trying to get to work faster in the morning or something. Too bad they always left their garage door open. To complete this task, first, you have to buy some really heavy gauge fishing line. Next, tie all yard equipment, tools, bicycles and lawn chairs to the back bumper. The real fun is trying to suppress laughter  when you find out that all their stuff was dragged halfway down the street. Never mention a word of this to Randy because his dad has told him that the person who knows about it is obviously the person who committed the prank. Lastly, be sure to practice apologizing to Randy’s dad.

4) Wait until Fall when everyone has their pine needles nicely raked and placed in easily accessible trash bags. Collect as many of these as you possibly can and place them in the middle of a main street, like Griffith Avenue, for example. Lite the pile and see how many firetrucks and police cars are on duty that evening. I’d say that a haystack of dried pine needles smokes profusely, but I won’t tell you how I know.

Other things I learned as a child:

It takes approximately 30 minutes to ride your bike to the pool, but it takes 45 minutes to ride back past Mary’s and Debbie’s houses a few times. Oh, and it’s harder to ride back from Gibson’s Discount Center while holding a Pink Floyd or KISS album.

You can chuck a dirt clod into a flock of blackbirds and possibly hit one. When they fall to Earth, they make a nice tight spiral. Oh, and when you find the fallen bird, sometimes its beak is knocked sideways like Daffy Duck.

A bucket full of rocks seems heavier when it falls from a rickety tree house hoist, especially when it is directly overhead.

If one of your best friends is black (before there were African-Americans) and you happen to be playing football in your front yard, racist neighbors will stop their cars when he’s chasing and tackling you.

Mixing every household chemical, cleaner and perfume together will effectively kill ants. Doing the math, this bug killer is extremely expensive to produce and can cause great damage to the manufacturers.

Spying on a friend’s big sister while she’s in the bathroom is NOT a good idea when she’s on her monthly period.

Should you have questions about developing womanhood…. (I can’t finish this statement because I’ve erased this memory from my mind.)

Instead of making a snowman, make a snow woman too. I’d suggest pine cones as breasts. As an added bonus, you get to perform a mastectomy after your mother gets calls from the angry neighbors across the street.

No matter how long you dig, you’ll never be able to create a tunnel system like that featured in Paint Your Wagon or The Great Escape.

You can, and WILL, lose your footwear when stuck up to your neck in mud.

Even in the Summer, getting sprayed off with a water hose makes you shiver. Damn mud!

If you ever get a new bicycle, learn how to properly use BOTH handbrakes before racing your sister down the hill. Caution! Hitting only the front brake can launch you over a parked car.

When launched over a parked car, it is advisable not to drag the bike with you, even if the handlebar is jammed into your leg.

If by chance, you happen to be flying through the air with a bicycle attached to your leg, it is best to position your body as not to land directly on your forehead.

Should you ever be in a situation where you have smashed your head into the pavement in a bizarre cycling accident, make sure that your parents buy your class pictures to prove that you only had one eyebrow in 2nd grade.

Crawdad fighting is legal in Texas. You can get them to fight by dangling a little bit of raw bacon between them. Suckers!

Most importantly, if you ever decide to sneak a beer from John’s dad, A) make sure it’s cold and B) try not to get the Schlitz Malt Liquor.

It might sound like a good idea to hide a Penthouse magazine in another magazine’s cover, but teachers can get suspicious when 4 or 5 boys are gathered around a Sports Illustrated with a centerfold.

No matter how much a grass snake wiggles, it can never escape the slickness of a middle school library table.

A middle school librarian’s scream can be heard all over the school.

If you get called to the principals office for, let’s propose, releasing a grass snake on the library table, it’s always better if your Vice Principal, who  is also your Scout Master, has a sense of humor and a gentle paddle swing.

A moistened wad of toilet paper can stay on the school’s bathroom ceiling for at least two years.

The statute of limitations on most crimes is 30-35 years. Right?

If your father is President of the School Board, do not think you can get away with anything.

What’s In A Name? Besides a Little Dignity, I Mean.

Okay, I’ve recently watched two documentaries, or “Behind The Music“-type shows, where the leader of each band complained how badly they hated the name of their own band. Dave Grohl said, “If I had know we were going to be this big, I would’ve picked a better name (than The Foo Fighters).” In a similar fashion, Billy Joe Armstrong stated how much he hated the name Green Day. All of this brings me to write this article/blog/post/rant/rave.

In order, the names of the bands I have been in are as follows: Mercury, Dragon Master, Darc Horse, The Johns, Thunder Chicken, and Lost Dog. There were plenty of others that never performed, but I spent a good portion of time in these “jam session” bands: Kazz Zipper, Suture Self, The Rave, Diamond’s Edge, Piece, CARB, and plenty more I don’t even remember (or care to). As you can see, with the exception of just a very few, most of the bands I’ve been in are two-word names.

There always seems to be trends in band names:

In the 50s and 60s, the trend was (First Name)(Last Name) & the (Random Plural Word). Examples are Joey Dee & the Starlighters, Smokey Robinson & the Miracles, Diana Ross & the Supremes. It just seemed to fit the mold for band names.

Toward the late 60s, “The” always seemed to be at the beginning of the band name: THE Beatles, THE Rolling Stones, THE Kinks, THE Animals, THE Mamas & THE Papas, etc…

Colors always have been popular: Deep Purple, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, Blue Cheer, Green Day, Red Rider, Whitesnake, White Lion.  Regardless of decade, colors always are popular.

Animal bands: Ratt, Whitesnake, Glass Tiger, White Lion, King Cobra, Faster Pussycat, Def Leppard, or just cover them all like The Animals did.

Of course, there are always bands with geographic names: Kansas, Boston, America, Europe, Atlantic Rhythm Section, Little Texas, Rammstein,  and even Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass.

Literary references? How about Genesis, Uriah Heep (a character from Charles Dicken’s “David Copperfield”), and even Aerosmith (derived from “Arrowsmith” by Sinclair Lewis).

Somehow, in the 60s and 70s, there seemed to be a lot of ‘grocery list’ bands: Bread, Cream, Meatloaf, Moby Grape, Strawberry Alarm Clock. This theme carried into the 80s with Red Hot Chili Peppers, Blind Melon, and then even later with Korn and Limp Bizkit.

It seemed that there were a lot of bands featuring numbers toward the end of the century: 311, Matchbox 20, etc. Of course, those bands will never equal the success of The Four Tops or The Jackson 5. But who’s counting?

There’s also always been the names of conflict or contrast: Led Zeppelin, Iron Butterfly, Velvet Revolver. I think these are my personal favorites just because they can be somewhat whimsical and often thought provoking. What exactly IS an Iron Butterfly? Well, read the album sleeve of “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida”; they tell you.

What about good old fashion WTF names like The Flaming Lips, Violent Femmes, Echo & The Bunnymen? Insanity! Try explaining Psychedelic Firs or Polyphonic Spree to your grandparents!

When naming a band, it might be important to first think about the band’s optional GROWTH and possible EVOLUTION. Let me explain. As a performing band trying to make money to support the craft you love, you will probably have to branch out and play cover songs, slow dance or even (gulp!) country music. One of my first bands, Dragon Master, eventually played “Feels So Right” by Alabama. Think about that for a bit. That absurdity is precisely why, when naming Darc Horse, we decided on a name that was flexible enough to span all genres. Even though we started out playing Ozzy Osbourne and Judas Priest tunes, the name was strong enough that nobody snickered when we also played some Jerry Jeff Walker and George Strait songs. “Come on, Darlin, let’s go boot scootin. I hear there’s a great band playin at the honky tonk. They’re called Curdled Blood.” It just wouldn’t work, would it?

Little Wing – Meeting SRV

Sleeping to the only static-free radio station out of Wichita Falls, there were only two songs that ever woke me from a complete sleep. Lionel Ritchie’s “Hello” and

To John, Thanks for caring! Stevie Ray Vaughan 89

an instrumental version of “Little Wing“.

I knew who Stevie Ray Vaughan was, even had Texas Flood, but couldn’t confirm that this version of “Little Wing” was him. This is before the internet and I knew the song wasn’t on any of his albums. Was it him? I wondered for about 5 years, bought every album, but never heard it again.

Well, I got my chance to ask the man himself. Here’s how.

In 1989, SRV was touring his “In Step” along with Jeff Beck, who had just put out “Guitar Shop”. They were leap-frogging each other every other night to see who would headline this double bill. Since this show was Austin, home of SRV, he got to headline the Erwin Center concert. He put out the word that anyone donating 100 non-perishable items to the Food Bank would get a back stage pass. Well, I was chosen to help count the incoming cans and load them into the trucks before the show started. I invited my friend, Phil Davis, to come with me and we counted food cans and Ramen noodle cases until the show started. We were originally told that there might not be enough back stage passes for us, but we would get a free ticket to the concert. Well, there WERE enough backstage passes, but we missed the first few songs of Jeff Beck’s show. Regardless, we were on the 4th row and center stage. Awesome!

After blistering sets by both artists (I mean ARTISTS!), we went back stage and got to meet only SRV. I didn’t care that the rest of Double Trouble wasn’t there. I would’ve like to meet Jeff Beck though. I waited patiently in the autograph line, listened to mundane questions and comments “Where did you get that hat?”, “How long have you had that ring?”, “You’re the greatest”, etc..

I stood in front of the man, asked my question. He stopped signing autographs, looked me right in the eye and I immediately felt like I was the only person in the room with him. He told me that they attempted to record a version of that song every time they were in the studio, but never got it quite right. I replied that the version I heard was one of the greatest pieces of music I’d ever heard and woke me from my sleep. He thanked me and told me that the version I heard was most likely a live version recorded at Steamboat (Austin 6th Street club). When I told him that he should just put that version on an album, he smiled and said that he would think about it. He wanted to know if there was anything else? “Sure. During your set, you had a plexi-glass shield in front of your amp, but you pulled it away during the encore. Why?” “Well, I keep my amp too loud for the soundman to mix everything on stage. When I pulled it away during ‘Voodoo Chile’, I wanted the audience to feel what I was feeling.” Cool.

Stevie Ray Vaughan died less than a year later, August 1990. We all know the story.

The 1991 album The Sky Is Crying was the first of several posthumous Vaughan releases to achieve chart success. It charted at number 7 in the US, won a Grammy and went platinum. On that album was that instrumental version of “Little Wing”. I seriously doubt that I had anything to do with getting that song on the album, but I can dream. I can dream until I’m awakened by another song playing on the radio. It’s been over 25 years and it hasn’t happened yet.