European Saga Continues

The phone chants its merry tune to alert me that Joe is calling me. Oh … wake-up! Sleepily I wonder if he is on the train or if he is already in Hanover, Germany. Joe says there’s a bit of a thing. I sit up, rubbing my eyes and yawning. What kind of thing I ask. Well the train was very crowded and he and Orville didn’t get off the train in order to catch their connecting train to Hanover. Great! The new ticket is 128 euros … each. They have between them 160 euros. I stumble over to the iMac and ask Apple a question. 128 euros = how many $ and the answer is … $166.80. What a difference. But they need twice that amount because they need two tickets. I figure out how much they need (all without benefit of coffee mind you) and deduct the 160 euros pocket change. I tell them okay you need XX$ and okay use XX bank card as there is enough in that account.

In the meantime …

Skyping With Joe

Joe hasn’t had much sleep. We just talked for over thirty minutes via Skype. They performed in Paris last night to a packed house, two shows and after press release, autograph signing and CD sales, they tumbled into their respective beds at the hotel. Up three hours later and took a taxi  bus to the train. Two of the band members were late and the driver got a call and then pulled over to the side of the city street and told them they needed to get out of the vehicle. What! He had to go to his next client. Shabby French businessman! Not only had they prepaid but they had a train to catch to Rennes, France!

They walked around lugging all of their equipment and suitcases, bags and computers for ten minutes or so, before they got another ride in a big taxi bus. $200.00 later, they just made their train, and in four hours they arrived at the next city. Rennes is west of Paris and near the Atlantic coast. Joe and the guys went to the club for sound check and checked into their rooms. He phoned me and then we Skyped.

He did get a couple of hours rest before it was time to return to the club to a sit down dinner prepared by the chef and then to perform to another packed house. Same after performance curriculum and back to shower, dress, pack up and stay awake in the hotel’s lobby until the driver appears to take them to the train. Back to Paris, another taxi bus ride to another train station and then on to Hannover, Germany. Sheesh! My baby’s tired! It was nice to chat three times on our Wedding Anniversary. Joe is a Prince among men!

I Miss Dressing Up

"Theresa Anne Haislip fourth grade"

There was a time in my life when I did not have much of a wardrobe. I remember (being the baby girl of four children and with one son and I, the last in line of three daughters to working parents), that we would pass-down clothing from relatives to the eldest sister. Then they would go to my middle sister and finally, I got to wear them as well. By fourth grade I was the proud possessor of four new dresses. One red with a red and white-collar. One blue with a white-collar. One madras (mostly red, blue and green with a white-collar … do we see a theme here?). The last was a solid one in the hue of a dull mustard. Whenever I wore the last one my teacher would ask me if I felt well. I didn’t catch on until later in life when my sisters and mother were researching the latest copy of Carol Jackson’s “Color Me Beautiful” book swatches and color charts. Apparently I am a winter. It was great fun and I know the results actually do work to enhance the wearer to stand out in any of their colors, verses an outfit overpowering one’s complexion. Wear your colors and rule the day.

Back when I was performing I would only purchase outfits that were on my color chart and sure enough, I would feel good no matter which frock I donned. I used to change between almost every set and for the floor shows some of the groups I worked with. It was show time and having grown up wearing school uniforms or a few new items or hand-me-downs, I ran with the costume changes. I was after all a young girl playing dress-up.

Over the past few decades all of the clothing and styles (for most of us) have relaxed to the point that there is not much difference between our bedtime lounge clothes and our daytime lounge wear. Somewhere along the way we stopped dressing up the way we used to. Even as a little girl we wore dresses to play outside. And by  the time fourth grade came around (the year of the four dresses), we could wear slacks outside and of course, shorts in the summertime.

Last night as I watched Dancing With The Stars, the Macy’s Dancers performed wearing a 1960s style suit and sporting Frank Sinatra styled hats, I thought how exciting they looked. Their dance routine was outstanding, excellent … marvelous and it brought to mind that we do look better dressed up. It is one of the reasons the show is so popular … everyone is dressed to the nines.

I love my comfy clothes and jeans and T-shirts, but this fall I am going to go shopping and start dressing up. It’ll be fun.

Back In The Day

When we were going through the boxes in the basement, I found that this album cover, along with many family photographs, books and other albums, had been salvaged from the fiasco of the water under the door, flood back in February 2003. Even my high school prom photos were messed up. Oh well. I spilt tears back then but I am glad for what was saved.

This album was recorded at Power Station, in Manhattan, New York City, NY. I performed with Big Al Downing, Don’s brother, Don Downing and the twins. Ann and Marie worked with them for years, and I stepped in after Ann had borne her beautiful baby son. We traveled a lot and did five to six nights a week in night clubs and usually, one floor show per night, too. We covered mostly top forty tunes (dance music) and sang the originals from the brothers’ respective albums. We rehearsed more than any other group I had been involved with and we performed as a tight-knit unit. We had a blast.

I stayed with this act for a year just prior to meeting my husband. His partner had come to see the show and invited me to record with him and Joe. Sure thing! That’s how it was back in the day, when everyone wore tall shoes and even though I looked sort of tallish it was because I was wearing five inch-heels. It was very hot under the lights and our faces were a tad shiny, not to mention the orange light. My nephew (also a musician and recording artist) found this link I didn’t even know about.

Montgomery College Concert

We went to the college last night to listen to the orchestra and our niece sing with the chorus. There was a harpist prior to the performance, music and then four soloists along with the chorus. The conductor was really cool and we enjoyed it. The Messiah by: Handel. I got 30 seconds on my phone but do not know how to upload it!

I Wish Everything Was Uncomplicated

I’m listening to music my husband has been recording for some time now. He has a fair number of tunes for his upcoming CD. Back in the day, before recording studios got so technical, before ear monitors were ever thought of, recording a record was pretty uncomplicated. A huge percentage of the music from the 60′s through the mid 80′s was jumbled, stumbled, and sometimes thrown together, because there was a beginning, a middle, a chorus, a bridge, and an ending. It was pressed and released.

The listeners or audience were so glad that the process was fast, because they had new hits every week. It was hard for Dick Clark’s American Bandstand or Soul Train to keep up with the stars and hits. Playing Radio City Music Hall and Madison Square Gardens back then was the pinnacle of performance groove. And when I was on the road singing backup for Candi Staton, we played Richmond’s Mosque, with Teddy Pendergrass and his Teddy Bears. I remember my sister bringing Matthew, my nephew, to see the show. Our Mother also made the trip and I took them backstage to meet Teddy. Matthew was shy and hid his face, much as I did when my Daddy took me to meet a Native American television star named, Cocheese, in Manhattan. But Matthew’s Father was an entertainer, his brother plays Las Vegas, and he is a recording artist in his own right. This music thing runs in our families from all sides.

Now though, it seems with the computer gizmos and CD’s and digital process that no one seems as satisfied. They need it to be perfect. And perfect isn’t what matters. The music and lyrics is the important part. The artists interpretation and sound is more valid than making certain every single note is sung right on pitch. My favorite artist was and still is Johnny Mathis. When he couldn’t hear himself clearly, he went off pitch, but that didn’t stop him from becoming phenomenal. It didn’t stop millions of his listeners to throw out his albums because, oh no, Johnny sang a note or two sharp or flat. Yeah it bothers me some, too, but the interpretation is part of the charm.

I wish we could just go into the studio, jam and press it. Fast and great. That’s how The Beatles and most of the others did it and when hit after hit after hit shows the will of the people, then that should speak volumes. I wish everything was uncomplicated.

Separate Spaces

While he is in his downstairs studio making loud musical sounds, I am upstairs in the loft where I have strategically placed my studio.  I can hear him but now we do not share the same area.  This is so much better as I can think and he doesn’t need to hear me asking him to please turn down the volume.

When I used to sing for my bread and butter, I stood on stages where my position always ended up in front of the drums with my ears on the same level as the crash cymbals.  Naturally, the bass amplifier was behind me and the guitar amplifier was to my right.  The keyboards were usually further to the right.  It is true that we had monitors for the vocals and that they were on the floor, facing upwards.    

They might have thought this was fair, my having the monitors, but they always seemed to keep turning up the little buttons on their instruments.  As the evening wore on and the dancing revelers were singing and shouting, I would be surrounded by a cacophony of music, noise and an overabundance of levels.  My brain had to process these, my ears felt overwhelmed and I had the distinct disadvantage of having to expend loads of energy to force more sound out in order to compete with their beer induced frenzies.  No wonder I used to sleep twelve and fourteen hours a day.

We were excellent musicians and kept the crowds going, but it took it’s toll on my vocal chords and my ear drums.  It has been over a decade since I performed and I find myself hankering for the stage once more.  There is still a lot of music left inside me and I am toying with the idea of getting another band together.  It truly is a great release of pent-up emotions and creative juices.

By the way, I might have had to compete with their sound levels but I had so many good times that I suppose I wouldn’t have traded them at all.  Memories when they are good are the spice of life.

Stage Doors Galore

 

 

stage door, originally uploaded by slimmer_jimmer.

Back in the day when I was performing nightly, there was usually a certain way the band members would enter a night club or performance hall. Just because you stepped through the stage door, didn’t mean that you would leave the way you entered. In fact, you were seldom the same personality going out as the one who’d arrived hours earlier.

On your way in there is the usual ebb of first night acclimatization. Even having played a venue previously didn’t entitle you to know if the same manager, waiters or bouncers would even work there anymore. Their turnover rate is pretty high. A familiar face is always good at putting one at ease and then your next thought is to find the dressing room.

The majority of these places boast dressing rooms that are tawdry, even scented by spilled beer or alcohol. Then it blends with an array of strange smelling cleaning fluids to mask the inane attempts of a lowly paid maintenance worker. I was always appreciative of clean rooms, well lit and secure. Nowadays, I wouldn’t put it past some places to have live feed cameras spying on their artists. Things have changed in this regard. When I was working in this industry, there was always a healthy respect shown to me and my fellow entertainers.

Because I happen to enjoy pretty costumes, I would provide my own wardrobe, carrying as many as five outfits for floor shows and dance sets. The lights are strong and quite hot. Dance around underneath their glow and sing and play a few percussion instruments and voila. You have broken a sweat. It is hard work, so I really enjoyed repairing my make-up, hair, and donning dry clothes.

This was good in the way that I did not have to spend too much time on my breaks, being hit on or making idle conversations. I left the stage, cleaned up, changed clothes, smoked and grabbed a drink from the bar. Sometimes it was juice or soda, but usually it was a mixed drink. By then, drink in hand, all I had time for were rushed blurs of hellos and engaging smiles, a hand shake, a swift hug and I was headed for the stage.

One-Two-Three-Four – Wham! Music began and we were off. The dancers hit the floor and we jammed for another forty minutes. Sometimes there were shows and the audience sat and relaxed during this time. The times I was on a concert, we worked forty-five to sixty minutes and then the PR began and there were after parties to attend. I enjoyed the variation of my career.

A major concern was getting the sound system to produce a well blended mix of our voices and instruments. The majority of the evening my vocal chords were the ones getting hammered. For the most part, I had adequate monitors but when the band played louder and louder, the competition was harsh. Drinks flowed and these guys knew how to throw down the shooters and glasses of beers. All they had to do was turn up the volume on their instruments. I on the other hand was made to expend much more energy in forcing more air through my frame, in order to keep a steady pace. At the end of the night I wrapped my neck with scarfs to keep my throat warm and I readily admit that I sucked on a lot of Halls lozenges. I helped that company get rich.

Never knowing what mood the crowd was going to be in leaves one on tender hooks, like walking across bottles and not breaking any. As soon as the first note was strummed, the smile was there on my face. Hate to bark about it but I was always smiling for five to ten people at a time. After a few drinks the guys warmed up, or rather woke up and their faces took on the appearance of enjoyment.

Night clubs are cozy places where you can meet folks who are out for a good time, meeting friends or just hiding and hanging out with the regulars. No special reason to go clubbing, but nice to be out of their houses. Many times clubs are in hotels and their happy hour crowds spill over into the night and workers who’s spouses are eating alone, were out partying with their co-workers and friends. The club proved to be a sanctuary and the band made it even better. Who wanted to go home?

Four to six hours of this mostly great mood and it was time to make the final change and this time back into cosy comfortable clothes. Flat shoes were the best part of coming out of those high heels. Sometimes after being on my feet and jumping up and down on the hard stage, dancing back and forth for hours, my feet were so thankful I got off of them, that I literally had to just sit still. My body would vibrate and the wealth of relaxing waves washed over my being. Silence was golden and a few minutes of it cures many things.

Time to gather my belongings together, pack them up and be on my way. That is if I wasn’t convinced to hang out for a bit more. After hours, even on a week night was normal and many of us would end up going out to eat at a local restaurant. I most often had my main meal in the late afternoon and then would lie down in order to compose myself before heading off to the shower. Eating before a performance is a tremendous mistake. So eating in the wee hours of the morning was a normal time for me to eat.

Because I love food and good conversations, I would drive into my parking lot or driveway around 3 AM. Music would be playing softly and I would put my clothes on their padded hangers allowing them to air out, before returning them to the closet. My dry cleaning bills were huge.

Getting back to the hub of my story is easily explained now. By the end of the evening, you might leave with your friends by way of the front door or go out the door you entered hours earlier. But the point is, you never leave the same person, as the person you were when first you arrived. Something or someone always changes you.

The next time you see a sign bearing the name “Stage Door,” you might see it a little differently than you did before.