I recently finished Daniel Levitin's book This Is Your Brain On Music. Levitin, a former rocker turned neuroscientist, explains the hows and whys of music and the brain. He covers a lot of information that most musicians already know, such as music theory, but it is the explanations of brain activity in relation to music making and music listening that is the most fascinating.
Along with various neurological and physiological reasons for how we perceive music, our emotional response, and what happens in the brain when we play or listen, Levitin explains groupies. For the uninitiated, a groupie is usually female (although there have been instances of male groupies) and will have a predilection for a particular instrument. In other words, groupies that like guitar players generally will not pursue a drummer, and vice versa.
Groupies are not a result of the rise of rock bands, even though it seems that way. Music actually plays a role in sexual selection according to Leviton, who quotes Darwin saying, "I conclude that musical notes and rhythms were first acquired by the male or female progenitors of mankind for the sake of charming the opposite sex." Leviton adds that music indicates biological and sexual fitness, serving to attract mates. Music is like the peacock's feathers.
So, I guess there was nothing we could have done when those girls followed our band around the prairies, sometimes popping in unannounced several hundred miles from their home only to say "I was in the neighbourhood." Right. In the neighbourhood. Drayton Valley, Alberta is in the neighbourhood of Regina, Saskatchewan. And these poor girls could not help themselves either. When it's the biggest feathers you want, no distance is too far.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Michael Jackson: The Last Time With Feeling
Michael Jackson died today. Already the news channels are clamouring over themselves to get the best story. It reminds me of the hysteria that surrounded the deaths of Elvis Presley and John Lennon. But, love him or hate him, Jackson holds as important a place in popular music history as Presley and Lennon. The phenomenon that was Thriller speaks for itself, especially considering "Beat It" has one of the best guitar solos ever.
While I was never a big MJ fan, I enjoy his hits and I own a copy of Thriller (on vinyl) and I'll confess to being amused by his wacky behaviour. He was an icon and an influence. It's sad that he has passed.
RIP Michael Jackson.
While I was never a big MJ fan, I enjoy his hits and I own a copy of Thriller (on vinyl) and I'll confess to being amused by his wacky behaviour. He was an icon and an influence. It's sad that he has passed.
RIP Michael Jackson.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Baloney and a Mattress: Surviving Muskeg Lake
Last Friday, June 19, I drove to St. Paul, Alberta to do a gig with my cousin, a Metis fiddler. The gig was a rodeo dance at the Saddle Lake reserve. Unlike other rodeo dances I have played, this one was low-key and, generally, a calm affair. But, I was anticipating the usual drunken revelry that accompanies these type of events. This was not to be, however, as I was told Saddle Lake was a dry reserve. A far cry from other reserve events I have played.
One of the most memorable, or infamous, was with Trail's End in the early 1980s. We were contracted at the Muskeg Lake reserve, northeast of North Battleford, Saskatchewan. We were told accommodations and food would be supplied. We arrived at the gig around 6 p.m. and were met by one of the tribe officials. Things started going south right off the bat. Our accommodations consisted of clearing out a classroom in the school, then we could either put sleeping bags on the floor (which we didn't have) or wait until they brought us a mattress (the operative word here being "a"). "One is on the way," we were told, and sure enough, down the road a tractor pulling a haywagon with a ratty mattress was putt-putting toward the school. The "food" was baloney sandwiches on white bread, nothing else. We declined the offer of accommodations and choked down the baloney. There was nothing to drink so we had to use the water fountains in the school. The gig was slowly turning into a disaster.
"We'll clear out the quonset for you guys," said the chief's assistant. They backed their grader out of the quonset hut; set up two 45 gallon oil drums that had been cut in half, each half filled with ice and either beer or cheap wine; ran a couple of extension cords outside to the power pole; laid some astro-turf looking mats on the concrete floor for us to stand on, and we were in business.
The gig was relatively uneventful, except for the usual drunken foolishness. We tried to keep to ourselves all night and thankfully the gig seemed to pass quickly. In fact, that gig held the record for striking the gear and loading the vehicles. After our final "Thank you, see you later" we were down and loaded in half an hour. Usually this would have taken an hour or more. Despite the expediency of the load-out, it took another hour for us to get paid. The chief wrote us a personal cheque, which immediately set off alarm bells, but being glad the gig was over, we took the cheque and drove, so to speak.
We were booked in Saskatoon two days later, and after making a late-night phone call to a friend there, we ended up staying with her and then headed downtown the next day to cash our cheque. Rather than fight with the bank, we went to our agent's office and I convinced her to pay us cash and then she could recoup the money from the Muskeg Lake tribe. I found out two days later the cheque bounced when our agent deposited it. She did eventually get the money.
As gigs go, Muskeg Lake was not the worst. There were plenty worse than that; however it was a test of our musicianship and ability to hold it together under adverse conditions. Our greatest concern was getting the gig over with and getting out of there. Saskatoon never looked so good.
One of the most memorable, or infamous, was with Trail's End in the early 1980s. We were contracted at the Muskeg Lake reserve, northeast of North Battleford, Saskatchewan. We were told accommodations and food would be supplied. We arrived at the gig around 6 p.m. and were met by one of the tribe officials. Things started going south right off the bat. Our accommodations consisted of clearing out a classroom in the school, then we could either put sleeping bags on the floor (which we didn't have) or wait until they brought us a mattress (the operative word here being "a"). "One is on the way," we were told, and sure enough, down the road a tractor pulling a haywagon with a ratty mattress was putt-putting toward the school. The "food" was baloney sandwiches on white bread, nothing else. We declined the offer of accommodations and choked down the baloney. There was nothing to drink so we had to use the water fountains in the school. The gig was slowly turning into a disaster.
"We'll clear out the quonset for you guys," said the chief's assistant. They backed their grader out of the quonset hut; set up two 45 gallon oil drums that had been cut in half, each half filled with ice and either beer or cheap wine; ran a couple of extension cords outside to the power pole; laid some astro-turf looking mats on the concrete floor for us to stand on, and we were in business.
The gig was relatively uneventful, except for the usual drunken foolishness. We tried to keep to ourselves all night and thankfully the gig seemed to pass quickly. In fact, that gig held the record for striking the gear and loading the vehicles. After our final "Thank you, see you later" we were down and loaded in half an hour. Usually this would have taken an hour or more. Despite the expediency of the load-out, it took another hour for us to get paid. The chief wrote us a personal cheque, which immediately set off alarm bells, but being glad the gig was over, we took the cheque and drove, so to speak.
We were booked in Saskatoon two days later, and after making a late-night phone call to a friend there, we ended up staying with her and then headed downtown the next day to cash our cheque. Rather than fight with the bank, we went to our agent's office and I convinced her to pay us cash and then she could recoup the money from the Muskeg Lake tribe. I found out two days later the cheque bounced when our agent deposited it. She did eventually get the money.
As gigs go, Muskeg Lake was not the worst. There were plenty worse than that; however it was a test of our musicianship and ability to hold it together under adverse conditions. Our greatest concern was getting the gig over with and getting out of there. Saskatoon never looked so good.
Friday, June 12, 2009
The CCR Effect: How I Kept On Chooglin'
Last week I flew to Victoria to see John Fogerty. It was my third Fogerty concert, the first was in Toronto's Massey Hall a few years ago, and the second in July of 2008 in Edmonton's Rexall Place. Aside from some sound problems, last week's show was as entertaining and fulfilling as the others. In addition to the plethora of Creedence Clearwater Revival hits such as "Proud Mary," "Travelin' Band," and "Who'll Stop the Rain," the set list included two songs from the Blue Ridge Rangers album, John's first solo album after the breakup of Creedence, and hits from the trio-CCR period.
A departure from the sets he played at the Toronto and Edmonton shows, the eclectic choices might have resulted from the fact Victoria was the last date of the tour. Still, at 64 years old, John rocked with the best of them, working up a sweat and playing extended solos in "Born On the Bayou" and "Ramble Tamble." The band included session musicians Kenny Aranoff on drums and Billy Burnette on rhythm guitar, and faithfully reproduced the Creedence sound. John played for two hours and after the show I reflected on how much he has had an influence on my own style.
I started playing the guitar at 13 years old. I taught myself to read notation and learned all of the first position "folk" chords. By high school I could play barre chords and sing and play at the same time. (The latter may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but singing and playing at the same time is one of the more difficult tasks for a novice guitarist.) Becoming a musician was beginning to percolate my thoughts, as my guitar became my best friend. By 16, I had a "repertoire" of around a dozen songs, half of them were Creedence songs.
"Proud Mary" was the first Creedence Clearwater Revival song I ever heard. For hours I sat in my bedroom struggling through what I thought were the opening chords to the intro. I had heard the song so many times that figuring out the chord changes for the verses and chorus was relatively easy, not having access to the recording made determining the progression for the intro that much more difficult. After what seemed like months of trying, I finally learned the intro from a friend and it all came together.
Initially I would have to learn the songs by memory and trial and error. I did not have any kind of recording device and could only listen when CCR was played on the radio. Trying to remember how a song goes when you only hear it a couple of times can be a daunting task, and for me being a fledgling guitarist it was. It was not until my first year of high school that I finally managed to buy some CCR records. Southern Music, a jukebox supplier in Calgary, would sell the 45s that came out of the jukeboxes. Records with the fewest "plays" were replaced with new hits and more popular songs, then Southern would sell the "old" 45s for ten cents each. Twice a month my friend and I would ride Calgary Transit downtown to rifle through the new "old" 45s for sale. I was thrilled to come up with "Fortunate Son," "Down On the Corner," "Looking Out My Back Door," "Bad Moon Rising," and "Green River." And all on the green Fantasy label to boot! It truly was nirvana.
I played those CCR 45s over and over, painstakingly learning the chord progressions and riffs. By the end of high school I had my first band and could put my newfound skills to use. We were called Ek-Seption (I know, but it was the 70s) and had a "regular" gig at the local Eagles' club. I could play and sing a half dozen CCR songs, "Proud Mary" and "Bad Moon Rising" being two of my specialties, and along with "Down On the Corner" and a raucous version of "Cotton Fields" we burned up the recreation room on Friday and Saturday nights. I played Creedence songs for the next thirty years but never really considered the impact they had on my own style.
It was at the Massey Hall concert that John's influence became apparent. I had great seats, fourth row centre, and was so close I could see the fingerprints on the finish of his guitars, I could see how he fingered the intro to "Up Around the Bend," and I discovered that John tunes his old black Les Paul down a whole step, which is why the intros and solo sections of "Bad Moon Rising" and "Fortunate Son" sound like they do. I had no idea. It was during "Born on the Bayou" that I noticed the similarity of my rhythm guitar style to John's. This was a revelation as I finally realized how completely his playing had influenced mine over the years. I always attribute John as an influence, but until the Massey Hall concert, I never knew how much of an influence he actually was.
Every guitarist can tell you who they first listened to or which guitarist is their favourite, and over the years there have been other guitarists that have helped shape my style and sound, Albert Lee, James Burton, and Dave Holloway to name three; and along with CCR, the southern and country rock music of the late 1960s and early 1970s also helped shape my playing. Plus, there was not a conscious effort on my part to emulate John's sound and style, in other words, I did not set out to be John Fogerty II; but rather absorbing CCR during my formative musical years contributed to not only my performance practice and sound, but also the manner in which I conceptualize music. My understanding of music theory began with the CCR songs I played over and over to learn the chords.
If I ever meet John Fogerty I will thank him for what I learned. There has been a Creedence Clearwater Revival album in my pile of "records I'm currently listening to" for years now and the music has become comfortable. It's a big, warm musical comfy chair, but when I strap on my trusty Gibson S-1, I'm chooglin' baby.
A departure from the sets he played at the Toronto and Edmonton shows, the eclectic choices might have resulted from the fact Victoria was the last date of the tour. Still, at 64 years old, John rocked with the best of them, working up a sweat and playing extended solos in "Born On the Bayou" and "Ramble Tamble." The band included session musicians Kenny Aranoff on drums and Billy Burnette on rhythm guitar, and faithfully reproduced the Creedence sound. John played for two hours and after the show I reflected on how much he has had an influence on my own style.
I started playing the guitar at 13 years old. I taught myself to read notation and learned all of the first position "folk" chords. By high school I could play barre chords and sing and play at the same time. (The latter may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but singing and playing at the same time is one of the more difficult tasks for a novice guitarist.) Becoming a musician was beginning to percolate my thoughts, as my guitar became my best friend. By 16, I had a "repertoire" of around a dozen songs, half of them were Creedence songs.
"Proud Mary" was the first Creedence Clearwater Revival song I ever heard. For hours I sat in my bedroom struggling through what I thought were the opening chords to the intro. I had heard the song so many times that figuring out the chord changes for the verses and chorus was relatively easy, not having access to the recording made determining the progression for the intro that much more difficult. After what seemed like months of trying, I finally learned the intro from a friend and it all came together.
Initially I would have to learn the songs by memory and trial and error. I did not have any kind of recording device and could only listen when CCR was played on the radio. Trying to remember how a song goes when you only hear it a couple of times can be a daunting task, and for me being a fledgling guitarist it was. It was not until my first year of high school that I finally managed to buy some CCR records. Southern Music, a jukebox supplier in Calgary, would sell the 45s that came out of the jukeboxes. Records with the fewest "plays" were replaced with new hits and more popular songs, then Southern would sell the "old" 45s for ten cents each. Twice a month my friend and I would ride Calgary Transit downtown to rifle through the new "old" 45s for sale. I was thrilled to come up with "Fortunate Son," "Down On the Corner," "Looking Out My Back Door," "Bad Moon Rising," and "Green River." And all on the green Fantasy label to boot! It truly was nirvana.
I played those CCR 45s over and over, painstakingly learning the chord progressions and riffs. By the end of high school I had my first band and could put my newfound skills to use. We were called Ek-Seption (I know, but it was the 70s) and had a "regular" gig at the local Eagles' club. I could play and sing a half dozen CCR songs, "Proud Mary" and "Bad Moon Rising" being two of my specialties, and along with "Down On the Corner" and a raucous version of "Cotton Fields" we burned up the recreation room on Friday and Saturday nights. I played Creedence songs for the next thirty years but never really considered the impact they had on my own style.
It was at the Massey Hall concert that John's influence became apparent. I had great seats, fourth row centre, and was so close I could see the fingerprints on the finish of his guitars, I could see how he fingered the intro to "Up Around the Bend," and I discovered that John tunes his old black Les Paul down a whole step, which is why the intros and solo sections of "Bad Moon Rising" and "Fortunate Son" sound like they do. I had no idea. It was during "Born on the Bayou" that I noticed the similarity of my rhythm guitar style to John's. This was a revelation as I finally realized how completely his playing had influenced mine over the years. I always attribute John as an influence, but until the Massey Hall concert, I never knew how much of an influence he actually was.
Every guitarist can tell you who they first listened to or which guitarist is their favourite, and over the years there have been other guitarists that have helped shape my style and sound, Albert Lee, James Burton, and Dave Holloway to name three; and along with CCR, the southern and country rock music of the late 1960s and early 1970s also helped shape my playing. Plus, there was not a conscious effort on my part to emulate John's sound and style, in other words, I did not set out to be John Fogerty II; but rather absorbing CCR during my formative musical years contributed to not only my performance practice and sound, but also the manner in which I conceptualize music. My understanding of music theory began with the CCR songs I played over and over to learn the chords.
If I ever meet John Fogerty I will thank him for what I learned. There has been a Creedence Clearwater Revival album in my pile of "records I'm currently listening to" for years now and the music has become comfortable. It's a big, warm musical comfy chair, but when I strap on my trusty Gibson S-1, I'm chooglin' baby.
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