During high school I was not cool. I was not an athlete. I had never won anything, not a contest, not a raffle, not classroom bingo, nothing. I was quite conscious of this; probably why I didn't win.
In school, my academics were poor. I have mentioned my so-called learning disability in a previous post. This was a factor of course but I also just didn't care that much. I might not have cared at all, but my brother was getting excellent grades and my parents were both teachers. They were good not to pressure me to the point of rebellion but I knew they were at least a little disappointed. My teachers, noting that I was actually pretty intelligent would say “If only he'd apply himself..."
Okay, I'll do better. I'll work hard and... I'll just do better. I promised myself.
I studied, I did homework, I but after just a few minutes it was as if I was just looking at a different language on the page. Each word would evaporate from my mind as I read them. Soon my desire to pick up my bass won out over the books. I was breaking new ground on bass but looking at C's and D's as ever in school.
My social life wasn't going that well either. In my school, one of those places where everyone was very much caught up with football, we were known as “band fags” or 'biffs'. Nice huh? If I were to have listened to the masses I would have thought of myself as being the bottom of the food chain. Which of course I did. I was in high school with a low self esteem, not some semi-enlightened adult. Though I claimed to disdain them, the popular kids were royalty. I effectively bowed when they passed and cared very much what they thought of me which as a result, wasn't very much.
Girls: I thought about them all the time. The ones I liked I could barely utter an intelligent syllable to and I pretty much liked them all.
Music was what I was good at. It was my island it; the 'Earth' where I was superman and high school was my Krypton where I was just another weakling.
But music, my island paradise, had it's problems too.
I was not, nor have I ever really been, a disciplined or academic musician. I didn't practice as often as i should have and when I did I played what I felt like, not learning scales or practicing reading music—my big weak point. I had barely mustered a B- on my NYSMA (New York State School Music Association) solo competition solo on upright bass and I think they were being kind. As a bass player in the school music groups I was in, and even the rock bands I played in, I was always in the background, there was always some else in the spot light. As with many bass players, it was my self-image that had really put me there, not my choice of instrument.
Auditions, I hated them. It was not just about how well I could play, which was pretty good, it was about having the cool confidence to play before scrutinizing ears and eyes, by myself. It was a test of mojo, not just musicianship. During my senior year I went to Penn Yan, New York to audition for the Area All State Jazz Ensemble. There were several others auditioning, but I primarily noticed this one local guy warming up. He was a skinny kid that had a silk shirt with pictures of little records on it. He was playing some Led Zeppelin tune to warm up. He wore his bass strap very low, his bass almost to his knee. "Mr. Cool."
"No problem", I thought, "I can outplay this guy. I'll clean up Mr. Cool without breaking a sweat."
During my audition though, things did not go smoothly. There was no drummer, no band to play along with I was completely exposed. My mojo was out by the highway thumbing a ride back to Canandaigua. For the site reading one of the judges handed me a chart for a piece that he himself had composed and that I had never seen before (the whole point of site reading). Without anyone else to play with, I could barely get out the notes let alone lay down the good feel, the thing I was best at.
Did I mention this particular judge was also from Penn Yan: Mr. Cool's music teacher? No matter.
Mr. Cool was in and I was out. I was disappointed even a little pissed that I would have to sit out area allstate my senior year. I had put all my eggs in one basket and didn't audition for the allstate orchestra. I put it out of my mind and I most certainly didn't go to the concert.
Shelly Binder, was a stellar trumpet player from our school. She passed her audition with ease and played lead trumpet for the Area Allstate Jazz Band. She was a great player both academically and in the true musical sense. She also had what I lacked back then: self confidence. Shelly was also a good egg and has lent me some of her chutzpah on more than one occasion. When she returned from performing with the select group, the one with Mr. Cool on bass, she brought with her a jazz-rock chart that they had performed. During jazz band rehearsal she mentioned that the Pen Yan bass player, "Mr. Cool", had taken a solo in the piece. My blood began to boil but then she finished. "Joel would have done better. He should take a solo too." Mr Peters, our director agree and I was given eight bars of spotlight.
You can bet I worked my ass off on a rockin' solo.
Later that year the Canandaigua Academy Jazz Band, our jazz band, was at a jazz competition at Haverling High School in Hammondsport, New York. We were backstage, on-deck to perform. There was another band milling about that was playing after us. Among them was a tall beautiful girl in a yellow dress with a Les Paul Custom guitar strapped on.
Be still my heart! A cute girl with a Les Paul! I was instantly in love; that happened a lot (not seeing cute girls with Les Pauls around their necks, falling in love with cute girls with pretty much anything around their necks).
I attempted to make conversation with her but she, noting I was wearing a cheap, Korean-built Hondo II P-bass copy, was well aware that she outclassed me by around a thousand dollars. There was no talking to her. It didn't bother me too much though. I knew what was coming.
Onstage, in the late measures of our last piece, that same jazz-rock piece that Shelly brought in, I reached back and twisted the volume knob up on my Fender Bassman. I spun around in time to light into my solo. I wailed, my fingers flew, the notes came together together like Swiss gears and left my amp like a forest fire. I was completely in the moment. I relished every note.
1. I didn't even look at the snobby chic guitarist with the Les Paul as we left the stage. Maybe she was impressed with what a cheap bass could do in the hands of a bad ass bass mo-fo, maybe she wasn't, I didn't think about it much frankly. She was a lightweight who'd borrowed her daddy's guitar and could barely play with the feel of a cardboard box as far as I was concerned, and I hadn't even heard her play.
2. Mr. Cool was also in attendance for the solo. My friend Scott, also a Penn Yan student, was sitting next to him and told me that Mr. Cool was quite impressed with what I had done with 'his' solo (I choose to believe that meant intimidated as hell). My revenge was complete…
Or was it?
"The bass player from Canandaigua."
Whaa? What did they say?
There was back-slapping from all directions, otherwise I'd have thought I was hearing things. Apparently it was the award for 'best soloist'. Stunned, I began to rise from my seat to redeem my award, but the slapping hands pulled me back. Karl Taylor, our band's representative was already onstage to receive all our awards. Our band won the overall competition as well.
I still have the plaque
4. Still reeling from my award and life's shift away from never having won anything, I sat on the bus with the rest of the band waiting for our director, Barry Peters, to return from the judges meeting. We were all on a psych from the win. Everyone continued slapping me on the back and shaking my hand. They had known about the Area Allstate thing. I got the feeling they were nearly as happy about my unexpected win as the band's championship.
When Mr. Peters reached the bus it was plain that he was very pleased too. He came right up to me grinning like the Cheshire cat: "One of the judges is the jazz band director at St. Bonaventure University. He was really impressed with your playing. In fact, he wants to pay you a scholarship to go to school there and play in their jazz band."
I've never been so blown away in my life. I was already adjusting to my first "win". The word "scholarship" didn't belong in the same sentence with anything having to do with me. Frankly, it was a little hard to take, all this honor and attention—it was also mentioned during the morning announcements the next day at school. It was all great and wonderful but I was completely unprepared to know how to feel.
5. By the time the bus reached our school and drove home it was after midnight. I rapped gently on my parents' bedroom door and stepped into the dark of their room.
"You'll never guess what," I said.
| DOUBLE J's Double Take |
| A Music & Personal Update |
| I just returned home from the second and final weekend of the Hyundai 'event' I was working on. This Weekend we were in Paso Robles in Central California. the weather couldn't have been any more perfect, even if not compared to last weekend's 100 degree plus sweaty fry-fest in Arizona. Even better, our hotel, The Carlton Hotel was this awesome little restored hotel in Atescadero, California, about ten miles from our shooting location. A nice restaurant and I had a really charming very large and luxurious room, one of the nicest I've stayed in. The price: a steal at $150 a night. I highly recommend the place.  I car-pooled up and back with a couple of great guys. One I already knew and one I had just met on this project who has lead an amazing life so far and had many fascinating tales to tell. Now I'm home and in about eight hours (2:30AM) I start my first shift covering Wimbledon at Tennis Channel. Afterwords I going to work sorting out the gear from the Hyundai thing. Tomorrow's going to be a long day! I got a couple rehearsals in last week. Lets see if i can get three in this week. |
1 comment:
Well told Joel, I felt like I was there with you.
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