Go cruising with Plainsense in his Boattail Riv. Along the way we will discuss what's on our mind while drinking a craft beer, smoking a fine cigar and only listening to good music. So hop in and let's go! I only ask that you throw in a little gas money.
Kent is a long ways from Louisiana, but if you put in the work, learn your craft and mentor with the greats, even a kid from a small town in the United Kingdom, Cranbrook, can grow up to be the preeminent pianist of New Orleans. Cleary's solo performance at the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis on March 30, 2022 demonstrated that Cleary is much more than a piano player. He is also a fine vocalist who knows his range and has an encyclopedic knowledge of New Orlean's standards with stories to match. Cleary is also a fine songwriter and opened his show with his original, "Frenchmen Street Blues" which is a masterpiece, capturing the essence of the Crescent City in it's beautiful lyrics:
Sprinkle my ashes on Frenchmen Street.
Don't be upset at the news,
Just cut me loose with a soulful song.
Don't play no Frenchmen Street blues.
Hitch me a ride on a river breeze
To Elysian Fields so green
And I'll join the spirits standin' by to smile,
On the backstreets of old New Orleans.
All those years hanging out in clubs like the Maple Leaf, where James Booker once lived upstairs and would play whenever the feeling struck him, have paid off for Cleary and even come full circle. For it is Cleary who now holds down a regular slot at the Maple Leaf, often accompanied by his band, the Absolute Monster Gentlemen. Through hard work, respect for his art and its history, Cleary has truly become an authentic Ambassador for America's greatest soft power to the world, New Orleans and its music. Another memorable night of fine dining and great music at the Dakota, which along with the more famous First Ave and its family of venues, make Minneapolis the Crescent City of the North.
The City of Minneapolis is rapidly approaching perhaps the most important election in its history. Voters will not only be choosing who will be the City’s next Mayor and lead us at a time when we are facing challenges like no other since the “greatest generation”, but also deciding several important referendum issues that will have lasting effect on the day to day lives of ordinary citizens.
The stakes could not be higher. The question is whether we, as citizens, are going to submit to the manufactured fear that is being peddled by the perpetrators (bad actor cops) in the hope that change, if it comes, will be negligible and leads to the same safe and overly cautious approaches and with it the same predictable, if not obvious, results?
"In Minneapolis, a metro that has been plagued by several other prominent police brutality incidents in recent years, there are actions the city could have taken but weren’t. The Minneapolis police union blocked the city from incorporating new reforms for the police department — including new rules for the deployment of neck restraints, as was used to kill Floyd.
Instead, cities like Minneapolis make taxpayers pay for police violence on the back end, after a police officer has already injured or killed a civilian, and after he’s been tried or the case has been settled. This is true for most large cities, where the legal costs for defending police are usually paid out of the city’s own general funds, or through issuing bonds, either way paid with taxpayer funds. Cities are effectively using their residents to mortgage police violence — a proposition that may grow less and less palatable as families’ finances are depleted by other circulating disasters." Id.
As the election nears (early voting is already underway), city residents’ mailboxes are being inundated with slick advertisements containing false choices and half-truths created by the best advertising agencies and public relations firms that money can buy. The theme of the “No to Question 2” proponents and against the creation of a new Department of Public Safety boils down to fear and false choices. Nothing drives public opinion like fear and the friend of the status quo is fear of change.
The combination of fear and the inertia of the status quo can create strange bedfellows. It is not surprising that the Police Union and rank and file police officers, who know they have a rigged game with little accountability and are so used to acting with impunity, are vehemently opposed to restructuring. Instead of discussing reform and practical solutions, they are stoking the fears of residents and engaging in work slow downs creating the conditions that encourage a rising crime rate. They are hoping that by creating the problem and exacerbating it, they will get their desired result of the status quo and its hollow promise of reform. But now they are being joined by a group of centrist Democrats who have apparently caved into fear and are falling for the union's and rank and file's promise to reform. The citizens demonstrated in the wake of George Floyd's murder that the time of unfulfilled promises to reform are over and demand action now,
False Choice number one perpetuated by the “No to Question 2” supporters is that an armed police presence will disappear upon passage of vote yes. The fact is under a restructuring involving the creation of the Minneapolis Department of Public Safety an armed police presence would still be its largest component. The opponents to reform have cynically adopted the goals of the reformers e.g. changes in police recruitment, training accountability and discipline and integration of mental health and violence prevention experts, but virtually insure that said reforms will never happen by opposing a structural overhaul.
The only way to implement the changes and reforms stated above is to cut out the cancer which created the abuses and that is the corrosive police culture and its union that pits officers against citizens and promotes a subculture based upon paranoia and a warrior ideology. We need to get out from the one-sided collective bargaining agreement negotiated by a union out of touch with the citizenry. In order to implement the reforms both sides agree on, this change in structure is required.
Sadly, the well funded and organized campaign of the police union and politicizing what should be a non-partisan issue like public safety, is showing signs it is getting its desired result. But this is not a conservative or liberal issue yet the opponents to reform have the public believing crime is out of control when in fact the police are deliberately creating this false impression and encouraging crime with their work slow down and public threats to resign should the reforms be adopted. To those who feel that way I say “we understand and accept your resignation”.
Those who joined law enforcement for the right reasons, to protect and to serve, should have no problem with a system that requires the accountability the current culture has resisted up and until the George Floyd case. If you doubt the accuracy of this sentiment just look at the lack of reform the last 16 months since the murder of George Floyd and the history of reform opposition in the MPD the last 50 years.
“It’s self-preservation,” said one officer who retired after Floyd’s death, speaking on the condition of anonymity. He said the force’s commanders didn’t order a slowdown, but also did nothing to stop it. “The supervisor was like, ‘I don’t blame you at all if you don’t want to do anything. Hang out in the station.’ That’s what they’re saying.”
If that anecdotal evidence does not persuade you that the MPD needs restructuring how about the plain statistics:
The Reuters article goes on to quote "A police spokesman, John Elder,..." who said ..."short-staffing meant 'we were running from call to call and didn’t have time for anything else.' He did not respond to additional questions."
Nevertheless, Reuters found, "...the drop in police-initiated interactions was steeper and more sudden than the drop in the number of officers. By July 2020, the number of encounters begun by officers had dropped 70% from the year before; the number of stops fell 76%."
False choice number two being promoted by the "Just Say No to Question Two" proponents, is by voting yes to Question No. 2 you will getting rid of Chief Arredondo, a beacon for reform. I personally agree with sentiments expressed by the chief in his testimony in the George Floyd case and would greatly encourage the city to hire him to lead the new Public Safety Department. The problem with leaving things with the status quo with only a hope for reform is the current rank and file and police union perceive Chief Arredondo the same way they perceived and treated Chief Bouza, and that is, if not with utter disdain, then they ignore him.
That was to be predicted and is a playbook that dates back to the police administration of Tony Bouza. For those too young to remember, Tony Bouza, who famously battled bad police culture and corruption as portrayed in the movie “Ft. Apache the Bronx”, was brought in by Mayor Don Fraser in 1980 to reform a department mired in the same abuses we have now. Bouza served as Chief of the MPD until 1988 with a mandate to reform the abuses that culminated tragically with the death of George Floyd. But if the great reformer Tony Bouza failed why should we go down the same path of reform now? The answer is that the Minneapolis Police Union and some rank and file officers fought the reforms tooth and nail and knew that they could out last a reformer who served at the pleasure of elected officials. “Well,…” one would say, “…that is democracy and how accountability works”.
The problem is the police have no such accountability. We have known for generations what works to get police abuses under control and they are citizen review boards, changes in the qualified immunity law, require officers carry insurance and changing the rules of engagement for the use of deadly force and police chases. These are the only things that will actually make a difference but as long as the abuses were affecting minorities and the poor, all we got was lip service and half-hearted attempts at reform that were never supported. This is why structural reform is so important.
Have the courage to make the reforms necessary to insure equal protection and safety of all Minneapolitans, Vote Yes to Question 2. Early voting begins September 17, 2021 and election day is November 2, 2021
Music with a message from the James Montgomery Blues Band. If you care about live music, getting vaccinated is something we all can do to restart the real gig economy. The unvaccinated constitute most of the new cases and create conditions that greatly increases the chances of the virus mutating and keeping us in a constant state of pandemic. Unless you have an underlying health condition which precludes you from taking the vaccine, please protect yourself, your loved ones and your fellow citizens and get vaccinated.
There once was a modest fishing resort located on the Rainy River about 12 miles North of Baudette called the Riverview Resort. Nothing fancy. A collection of white washed cabins that served their purpose (i.e. a place to sleep). The cabins were immaculately clean but came with few amenities other than a table to play cards or mix drinks and discuss the day's catch.
The proprietor from 1973 until 1994 was a colorful Chicago transplant named Larry Cauble (photo on left and seated at table on left in above photo). In the early 1960's Larry had come up from Chicago on his first fishing trip to Lake of the Woods and the rest, as they say, was history. Larry moved to Lake of the Woods in 1963, part time at first and after saving enough money for the down payment on the resort, he quit his city job and left Chicago for good.
Larry fished every chance he could and by acting as a guide for his favorite guests he got paid for doing something he loved. It wasn't long before Larry earned a growing reputation for being one of the most knowledgeable guides on the lake. By the time I met Larry in the late 1980's his reputation had grown to legendary status. The other guides on Lake of the Woods referred to him as "Pappy" as in the father of all guides. If the fishing was slow Larry always seemed to know of a spot where they were biting. If you were lucky enough to be fishing on one of his launches you would spend the first hour or so trying to lose a flotilla of boats full of fishermen hoping to horn in on his hot spots and techniques. While imitation is high praise the last thing you want if trying to catch fish is fleet of morons scaring your fish away. Larry dealt with the problem in several ways.
First, his launches had large inboard engines and were deceptively fast. Once the flotilla of boats that trailed us up the Rainy River reached Wheeler's Point and entered Lake of the Woods, Larry cranked up his engines and ran full out for the first 45 minutes or so making for a very long, uncomfortable ride. However, it produced the desired result and we would lose all but the fastest and most die hard tag-a-longs. What really got under Larry's skin were people who thought they could save the cost of guide services and launch rental by bringing their own boats and tailing Larry.
For the persistent cling-ons or dingleberries, Larry's other favorite trick was to lead them to a sauger hot spot and start reeling them in one after another. From a distance saugers look like a small walleye and people get caught up in the excitement of catching fish like that.
By the time the other boats realize it is nothing but saugers, Larry has quietly snuck off, out of eyesight, before opening it back up and running flat out until you are surrounded by nothing but water. Like being on the ocean or one of the Great Lakes, you can go a long time without ever seeing a shoreline or other point of reference.
For the uninitiated, Lake of the Woods is a huge body of water located in the "cap" that juts out on Minnesota's Northern border with Canada. When I say huge, Lake of the Woods boasts 65,000 miles of shoreline, 14,000 islands and over one million acres of water. It is known by those who fish as one of the finest walleye fisheries in the world. Once you fished Lake of the Woods and experience the prolific action and abundant catches first hand, you are ruined for life. The only other fishing experience I can compare it to is when I fished an indoor trout farm in Maryland. You did not even have to use bait, just a naked hook and your catch was only limited by what you were willing to pay, calculated by the pound.
Fishing Lake of the Woods with Larry as your guide was nearly as easy and you also paid by the pound, for tackle. The best spots to fish Walleye were rocky reefs and Larry would troll back and forth over them. He would suggest what color lure to use, give you an approximate depth, then it was up to you to jig off the bottom without snagging the rocks, a nearly impossible feat. Run out of tackle? No problem. Larry had a veritable tackle store on board his launch and I think he made almost as much money selling tackle as he made from guide services.
Don't get me wrong, although Larry was a businessman, he was generous to a fault. While he did not suffer fools well, if he liked you, you were treated to special perks like a shore brunch of just caught walleye filets, battered and fried with onion rings on an open camp fire. We jazzed it up with a case of champagne. To this day I think that was about the best meal I have ever ate.
If the name Denny Freeman means nothing to you, you must not play guitar. Denny Freeman was the guitarists' guitarist. Freeman had it all, tone, taste, versatility and the killer thing, he made it all look so easy and relaxed. I once told a guitarist that his playing reminded me of Denny Freeman and he damn near cried saying "...that is the best compliment anyone has ever given me...". From Taj Mahal to Bob Dylan, the greats got in line to ask Freeman to play in their band. Dylan loved his playing so much he kept him for 4 years. In fact, that is Freeman you hear on "Modern Times" the album that sparked one of Dylan's many come backs.
Born in Florida and grew up in Dallas, Freeman was one of a handful of Dallas blues players who blazed the trail to Austin. Just how good was Freeman? Let me put it this way, Freeman was the lead guitarist in a band called the Cobras. The other guitarist in the band was a young kid named Stevie Ray Vaughn.
While Freeman made a career of making other people sound great, in 1997 he penned the greatest album title in the history of music: "A Tone For My Sins". Don't get it? Ask a musician.
As God is my witness , one of the first things I was going to do was take a trip to Austin to see 4 of my favorite musicians/singers: Lavelle |White, W.C. Clark, Alejandro Escovedo and Denny Freeman. Sadly, I have one less reason to go to Austin. Celebrate the talent of Denny Freeman by listening to one of my favorite guitar instrumentals of all time, "It's a Love Thing" from the before mentioned album, "A Tone for My Sins". The talent in Heaven's House Band just got raised to a whole 'nuther level! Rest in Peace Brother Denny.
There is an old saying “out of adversity comes opportunity”. “Timing is everything” is another one. "Tough times don't last , but tough people do", you get the picture. If you are lucky and have perseverance, you can string together several of life’s truisms to create success. Curtis Salgado has weathered numerous adversities and persevered to release a magnificent new cd that is easily the best blues/soul album of the year.
Almost to the day of our one-year anniversary of going into lockdown to fight a terrible pandemic that has darkened performance stages and taken a toll in human life reminiscent of the Dark Ages, comes some aural sunshine that goes well beyond mere “Damage Control”. Call it luck or call it wisdom, but head alchemist and producer Curtis Salgado has conjured up a powerful set of original songs that, while highly personal, speak perfectly to the time we are in. Leveraging his 40 years of experience and contacts in the industry, Salgado assembled three different groups of musician wizards, at three of the country’s finest studios adroitly tapping into the strengths of each, as called for by the collaborative material.
The project was recorded at Ultratone Studios in Studio City , CA; Rock House Recordings in Nashville; and the studio that is making San Jose the Muscle Shoals of the new millennium, Kid Anderson’s Greaseland. With this amalgam of sessions and talent one could expect somewhat of a disjointed feel. Not to worry. Much credit, therefore, goes to Sandy Solomon whose mix maintains a seamless feel to the collection of nearly all original material that is both timely and timeless.
The disc opens with the poignant but joyous gospel like treatment entitled “The Longer That I Live”. Considering Salgado has battled and survived liver and 2 bouts of lung cancer make this an inspirational anthem for our current times. Salgado’s and co-writers Dave Duncan and Mike Finnegan’s songwriting here is simply superb. Honest, direct and highly emotional, given Salgado’s back story, yet it never descends into self-pity but rather kicks things off with the joy and hope of someone happy to be alive. When Salgado sings the first verse asking human-kind’s most profound question, it is clear he has given it serious thought:
“…What is the meaning of life?
Well, I can’t talk philosophy
I know that every new sunrise
The more it dawns on me
I may be getting’ old
But I sure ain’t done yet
Cause the longer that I live
The older I want to get…”
Which is why his answer is so real and believable. Even Bob Dylan would be envious of the way how Salgado perfectly captures the itinerant musician’s lament or creed:
“…You see, I’ve climbed the mountains high
And I’ve played the valley low
And for all the gigs I’ve done
I ain’t got much to show
Though I’m never slowin’ down
Until I play my final set…”
Salgado’s songwriting prowess is perhaps best exemplified on the disc’s third track, “Your Gonna Miss My Sorry Ass”. Co-written with Alan Hagar, the song is an anti-cautionary tale from the criminal’s point of view with a refreshingly honest point of view expressed with smart, believable imagery worthy of a literary award. I am by trade a criminal defense attorney who has many former clients as friends. When I play this track for them they all get a big kick out of it and agree that Salgado and Hagar capture the sentiment with lyrics that smack of authenticity.
“My daddy was wild
He ran with bad men
He robbed a drugstore
With a filthy syringe
He got a nickel and a dime
In the state pen
And the warden said
He'd never last
Well, that wasn't true
Oh, the story instead
Yeah, three squares, a blanket
And a bunkbed
He did 15 years
Standing on his head
And parole
Came up fast
On his release
He turned to say
'I enjoyed myself a vacation stay
I made some new friends
Hell, we had a lot of laughs'…”
The Texas singer-songwriter crowd have nothing over Mr. Salgado.
There is so much to praise on this record I honestly don’t know where to begin or end so I will just give you some of my highlights. “Precious Time” is one of several tracks that stands out as deserving heavy rotation on commercial radio. Another track with a timely message, “Precious Time” has a great, sustained slide guitar line reminiscent of Lowell George and Bonnie Raitt interplaying with a nuanced B3 organ. The following track, “Count of Three” reminds me of Elvis circa mid-60's where Elvis could take ordinary material and make it interesting and Curtis has the pipes to do the same on this playful number.
The next track, "Always Say I Love You (At the End of Your Goodbyes) is a beautiful slow burn ballad which Salgado's performance gets just right in conveying a mixture of longing and pain. "Hail Mighty Caesar" is a horn driven workout with the feel of a mid-80's Roomful of Blues number when Curtis was the lead vocalist (see photo below of Salgado and Roomful at Summerfest in Milwaukee.)
"I Don't Do that No More" has Salgado channeling Delbert McClinton which is as good a compliment as any singer could get. The songwriting again shines on the title cut "Damage Control" a beautiful mood piece with great interplay between the organ and George Benson-esqe guitar riffs. Salgado shows off his versatility with genres with the help of Wayne Toups on "Truth Be Told", an upbeat zydeco workout.
Salgado's collaborative songwriting prowess shines again on the disc's second to the last track, "The Fix Is In", a topical tale of life in America at a time when a growing number of Americans are watching the sun set on their American Dream. I think one of the easiest (or laziest) things a songwriter can do is go topical and sing about the times they are living in. Like the old adage that anyone can play the blues, but very few can play the blues well, anyone can go topical but very few singers or songwriters can go topical without the end product sounding hackneyed. Salgado and Company again prove to be the exception to the rule with "The Fix Is In". On this track Salgado plays the hip, but world weary protagonist, a working man of the late baby boom generation. Time after time the singer is sold a bill of goods under the guise of the American Dream only to have it snatched away again and again by the usual suspects: the greed heads on Wall Street, unethical businessmen and crooked politicians. The song's witty and intelligent lyrics capture perfectly the angst and fears of a generation, so much so it pissed me off the first several listens.
The well paced album leaves you feeling good though, thanks to the disc's only cover, a fresh and absolutely rollicking version of Larry Williams classic "Slow Down".
From fronting his own blues band in the late 60's, to vocalist in the early Robert Cray Band to lead vocalist in Roomful of Blues, to a successful solo career the last several decades, Curtis Salgado is by no means a new commodity. The Portland, OR based vocalist's talent has been well known in the music industry but has escaped widespread national attention. With the release of "Damage Control" those days are gone for good.
(Photo Credits, in order: Jessica Keaveny, Laura Carbone and Plain Sense)
New Years Day 2021 will mark the 26th anniversary since the passing of one of the most unforgettable and indominable spirits in American music, Ted Hawkins. If you are not familiar with the name Ted Hawkins it is not surprising because his life and career was a study in how immense talent is no match for powerful life adversities of which Ted had more than his fair share. Born black and poor in Mitchell, Mississippi during the height of the Great Depression to an alcoholic mother and abandoned at an early age by his father, Ted's mother resorted to prostitution to survive.
With no father and little supervision, Ted became increasingly difficult to control, so his mother sent him to the Oakley Training School run by the Mississippi Human Services Department for what Ted would later describe as "misbehaving". Such facilitates are euphemistically referred to as reform schools or Boys Towns today, but this was Mississippi in the Jim Crow1940's and Ted was a poor Black child. Yet, ironically, it was at this unlikely place that Ted would have a seemingly chance encounter that would cause him to change course. A pattern that would follow him throughout his life.
For it was here that Ted's singing caught the attention of one of the facility's counselors, Henry Byrd. Mr. Byrd, more famously known as Professor Longhair, arranged with the school for Ted to accompany him when he went on the road to play gigs. It was not long before the Professor, (or"Fess") had him singing backup or as the warm up act. Ted would never return to Oakley. While some would point to this as some kind of divine intervention or anointment, it was Mr. Hawkins' strong sense of self-preservation, hard work and dogged perseverance that led to his glimpses of success. But success came to Mr. Hawkins in spurts and stutters, mainly abroad (e.g. UK and Europe). In his life's final irony, just as he was experiencing sustainable success in his native land he was felled by a stroke on December 28, 1994 and taken from us four days later.
Since today is Christmas I thought I would share a Christmas Eve story from twenty years ago that still has me shaking my head and is a reminder to all to keep trying because sometimes, something that is extremely improbable, the proverbial one in a million longshot, comes in.
I first encountered Ted Hawkins unknowingly and by sheer serendipity. By unknowingly I mean I did not know the name of the man I was watching and listening to. There was, however, one thing I did know about him, he made one hell of a first impression that was seared into your brain and once made you would never forget. It was November of 1985 and my father mentioned in passing he had a frequent flier voucher that was about to expire and he was too busy to use it. I was still in law school and though Fall semester exams were looming, I was not about to let the opportunity for a free trip anywhere in the continental U.S. pass me by. As it was November in Minnesota with a long winter ahead, I pondered warm destinations where friends lived.
I immediately thought of my old friend, Andy, who I attended high school with outside of Washington, D.C. back in the late 1970's. After high school I had moved back to Minnesota to attend the U of M and Andy went to OU (The Ohio University) in Athens. Following college graduation, Andy had made his way out to Los Angeles to successfully pursue a career in video editing and production. I had been wanting to get back in touch with my old friend for years but one of us was always busy or I lacked the resources to make it happen. Even though I would have less than three days to make the roundtrip from Minneapolis to L.A., a free trip is a free trip. I gave my pal a call and he graciously consented to my inviting myself for a visit.
I know the exact date I left on my trip to L.A. because my flight left Monday evening, November 17th. I know this because Andy was bummed that my flight was scheduled to arrive during the Monday Night Football game and his beloved 'Skins (Washington Football Club) were playing that night.
Being a native Minnesotan and life-long Vikings fan, missing some or all of a 'Skins' game was not a big deal for me. I suffered through 10 football seasons in the 1970s, arguably the most successful in the Vikings' franchise history, unable to watch my favorite team's games on Sundays. Instead, at that time, your only choice to watch a NFL football game on Sunday was to watch the local team's game and if it was a home game it was only televised if it was sold out. As I lived in Northern Virginia, my only choice on Sundays was to watch the Foreskins game. Naturally, this lack of choice meant I despised the Washington Football Club and especially disliked their cocky quarterback Joey Theismann. My problem with Theismann was two-fold: First, he played his college ball at Norte Dame and second, was the manner in which he left his wife and kids for tv celebrity Cathy Lee Crosby. Public opinion around D.C. felt sorry for the discarded wife and kids and to many it appeared that his football success had inflated his already hefty ego to the point where he felt he deserved a trophy girlfriend on his arm as he navigated higher social circles.
When Andy met me at LAX he looked agitated and anxious, I could immediately sense that there was something wrong, really wrong. So wrong I instinctively knew this was not about me interrupting his game by having to pick me up at the airport, rather, he tells me that Theismann had suffered a broken leg. Not only did he break his leg the injury was caught on live t.v. and was incredibly gruesome and horrific.
My old friend and die-hard Redskin fan was not expecting what next came out of my mouth: "YAHOO!" I screamed. Followed by "Ain't Karma a bitch!" and "I gotta see this for myself!" Bewildered by my reaction and in utter pain and dismay over the prospects of his favorite team snapping like a dried twig and blowing away in an instance, Andy gave me the thousand mile stare of a shell shocked soldier.
As we were closer to his work than his residence in West Hollywood, Andy drove directly to the video production company where he was employed. He assured me it was no problem as nobody would be there this time of night and besides he was recording the game there so as not to miss any of it while picking me up at the Airport. It also gave him the opportunity to show me the state of the art, professional audio visual equipment he used at work.
Due to the time of night, we had no problem finding a parking space right in front. Andy narrated a quick tour of the premises as he led me to what I would call a control or editing room.
We must have watched the play where Theismann's leg was broken a dozen times from multiple angles, focusing in and enlarging his ankle and watching the compound fracture at different speeds: normal, speeded-up but the best was definitely the super slow motion. The first couple times Andy replayed it were met with uproarious laughter punctuated by cruel comments and cat calls, but the more times we watched the quieter we got until even I was no longer getting off on it. "Seen enough?" Andy asks me. "Yeah, I can't watch anymore" I respond. What I was thinking, but kept to myself at the time, was that I was almost beginning to feel sorry for Theismann and that was a feeling I absolutely did not want so off we went to his house in West Hollywood.
The next day being a Tuesday my friend had to work. Before he left he asked if there was anything I wanted to do in the short time I had before my return flight on Wednesday. "Nah, I've been to L.A. as a kid and have done the tourist thing, I think I would like to see the beach and just kick back". Besides, it was mid November which is well into winter weather back in Minnesota and Minnesotans will always try to get a little tan if they are lucky to get a chance to escape the frozen tundra. "Okay", Andy said, "take the Santa Monica Bus Line all the way, past UCLA until you get to the end of the line and you will be at Venice Beach. Here is my work number call me this afternoon with where you are at and I will meet you there after I get off work ". "Cool" I called out as Andy headed out the door.
I hang out around my friends pool in the morning before heading out on my bus trip to Venice Beach. I kill time people watching, drinking fresh squeezed orange juice sold by the vendors that dot the landscape and scouting for a good bar to meet my friend when he gets off work. I eventually find what looks like the perfect place, so much so it could have been the proverbial beach bar out of a Keith Sykes song. Funny thing is I now cannot remember its name, but maybe there is an explanation for that, besides early onset Alzheimer's.
Around 4 PM I call Andy with my location and tell him I have a front row table overlooking the boardwalk (sidewalk?) so he can't miss me. I catch the waitress's eye and order a Tequila Sunrise and kick back to watch a glorious sunset slowly get consumed into the Pacific Ocean. I am in heaven and I can see why people flock to California to live.
It was at that moment of utter bliss that I see coming my direction, like an apparition, a large guy carrying a guitar case and a box of some kind. The closer he gets, little details start to emerge like, that is not a box, but a milk crate and I also notice he is wearing a glove with no fingers, something you would never wear in Minnesota for fear of frostbite. This is going to sound terrible, especially in hindsight, but I start praying to myself: "Please God, please God let the man pass by without stopping...Oh Please God!" You guessed it. Almost as if God heard my pathetic plea and decided to teach me a lesson, the guy sets up directly across from me in front of my view of the sunset.
"Just great!" I think to myself. Although I am a huge music lover and idolize my favorite musicians like some of my friends worship sports heroes, I do not suffer fools. Besides I was looking forward to catching up with a good friend who I had not seen in years and last thing I needed was a bad mariachi band extorting me for tips, not to play, but to silence them.
As the man was setting up I could feel my whole body begin to constrict and wince for what surely was to come would be terrible. Then to my utter disbelief and astonishment what came out was good and the more he played the more you appreciated the man's talent. Unique arrangements of classic soul and r n b that balanced the original material, some of which although dark, were delivered with such earnestness and conviction that they became almost joyful. My friend arrived and he immediately asked, somewhat skeptically, if the guy was any good. By the end of the song he walked in on had finished the first words out of Andy's mouth were "Hey, this guy is pretty good!" It was not long before my friend and I became lost reminiscing and then we were off to the Apple Pan for burgers. My biggest regret to this day is not going over to the musician to thank him and slip him a tip.
Fast forward to some time after returning from my trip, my older brother walks into my room raving about this album he just bought and shows me the cover.
I couldn't speak for several moments, frantically pointing as my mind tried to process the disconnect. "I - I - I saw that guy on the Venice Beach boardwalk when I was out in California visiting Andy!" I stammered. "That makes sense..." my brother says, adding "...apparently he moved to England and is big in the UK and Europe these days".
I could finally put a name to the mysterious busker who so impressed me and armed with that knowledge I sought out everything I could on Ted Hawkins but there wasn't a lot out there. As time passed, "Watch Your Step" became one of the most cherished albums I owned and I never tired telling about my chance encounter with this enigmatic character. But what I really wanted was to see him live again. It was quite a wait. Then one day out of the blue, that same brother who turned me on to "Watch Your Step" and later "Happy Hour" walked in to my house clutching concert tickets and announced "I got us one of the front tables at the Fine Line for Ted Hawkins! Happy Birthday and Deja Vu!
So on October 7, 1994, my brother Pete and I are sitting at one of the front tables at one of the nicest music cafes in Minneapolis waiting for a street busker I had seen nine years earlier by accident while on a trip to California. Since that time this unknown street busker has gone over to and conquered the UK and Europe and had become one of my favorite singer songwriters. More importantly for the artist himself, this underdog of all underdogs was beginning to get the recognition he so richly deserved here, at home, in his own country. Surely, life can't get any better, sadder or stranger than this! Or Can it?
The Fine Line Show was a smash success and Ted had created quite a stir in the Minneapolis Music scene. The buzz on Ted had grown so loud, so fast, that they quickly booked Ted for another show in a larger venue, the Guthrie Theater in January 1995. My brother again rushed out to get tickets. Then, like a punch to the solar plexus, we get the tragic news of Ted's death on January 1, 1995 following a stroke he suffered on December 28, 1994. It is still so painful I had to stop as I type this and it took many years before I could listen to his music.
Life moves on and years pass and I can again listen to his music and again take great pleasure in introducing the uninitiated to the great Ted Hawkins. Then in 1999 my father passes away and the year before that my Uncle Harry passed away. The deaths in our fathers' generation got my cousins and our families nostalgic for the family Christmas gatherings we attended as kids. So in the early 2000s my cousin Hal graciously volunteered to host a Christmas Eve gathering at his home in suburban Minneapolis. Hal had gone on to become an executive for a nationwide video rental chain headquartered in the same suburb of Minneapolis where Prince built his studio.
As I am the youngest of my parents five children and both my parents were the youngest child in their respective families, for years I was always the youngest at family gatherings and all my cousins were considerably older and socialized with my older siblings. The point I am trying to make is I did not talk alot about things like music with my cousins except the older I got the more I got to know and respect the musical opinions of Hal's eclectic brother Tommy who was 10 years ahead of everyone and into bands like Television and the Ramones when they first came out. I laugh now looking back on our conversations where I would say "I can't understand how anyone can like that crap! They can't even play their instruments!" as he would patiently try and explain what the punk scene was all about with a bemused look on his face, that in retrospect, I now realize meant "I wish I could be there when this dumb kid has his epiphany". Hal's music tastes on the other hand went to the other extreme such as the Lettermen and his favorite the Four Freshmen.
So in this setting and with this background I give you the denouement to my Ted Hawkins story. I must have been off in a corner talking music with my brother and cousin Tommy trying to top each other with our vast music knowledge and who had the superior music taste, when I mention Ted Hawkins and how serendipity played such a big role not only in how I learned of him but in Ted's career as well.
It was at this point that my cousin Hal, the Four Freshmen fan, hearing the name Ted Hawkins from across the room, walks over and says to his hipster brother and 2 cousins: "Did you say Ted Hawkins?" and we all just kind of nod at him waiting impatiently for his pointless interruption of mistaken identity to be over. "Was he a black guy in his late 50's?" Now he has our attention and we all say "yes". "He wouldn't be a musician of some kind?" "Yeah" we respond wondering where in the Hell he is going with this. "Well...", says Hal, "... if we are talking about the same guy, I meet him once." Adding, "As a matter of fact, he performed a private concert for us in our conference room back in 1994 just before Christmas."
After the three of us pick our jaws up off the ground and I am able to get the wind back in my lungs, I startled everyone in the room. "What?" I shriek in disbelief. "There is No way!", I say. Hal explains very matter of factually, It was getting late in the afternoon the day before we close the office for Christmas vacation when the receptionist buzzes me and says there is a man here who would like to speak with whoever is in charge of selecting inventory for video tape rentals. "Does he have an appointment?" Hal asks. "No" comes the reply. "What's his name?" Hal asks.
"Ted Hawkins", comes the reply. "Never heard of him, but send him in anyway".
Ted explained how he was a musician and has a video he is promoting that he would like their stores to carry. "I know you might have never heard of me and that is why I would like to play something for you and your workers." Although no one have ever heard of him and despite everyone being in a hurry to start their Christmas vacation and attend to last minute errands, they agree and the remaining staff of less than 10 people gathered in a conference room for what may well have been Ted Hawkins last performance.
What I would have given to be in attendance! After Ted would finish a song there would be an awkward silence and one or more of the staffers would quietly sneak out of the room until it was down to just Hal who thanked him for his audition and they would keep him in consideration adding when you are done could you please close the door behind you when you leave.
Shortly before his passing Ted recorded the following acapella version of a self-penned number, "Great New Year".
If you live in a battleground state, like I do, you are probably fed up with the political ads running ad nauseum on every device you own. The fact that it is still only September has most people wanting to head to their favorite bar hoping to take refuge in a stiff drink and, if your lucky, some live music. Anything for a distraction.
Unfortunately, that is not an option thanks to the pandemic. But there is an alternative for those who find themselves "Too Far From the Bar" with the election year blues and it comes courtesy of Sugar Ray Norcia and his Bluetones, featuring the late Little Charlie Baty.
On paper this project looks like a no brainer. Take one of the best blues vocalist and harp players and his group of stalwart musicians and combine them with a legendary blues guitarist. As an added bonus, bring in an equally legendary and talented blues guitarist/producer as your ringleader and you should have, in theory, a good result. But expectations can be misleading and some of the best laid plans often go awry. Thankfully that is not the case in this instance. Messrs Norcia and Baty along with the immensely talented Bluetones, pianist Anthony Geraci, bassist Mudcat Ward and drummer Neil Gouvin, all contribute on what in my mind is the best blues release so far this year.
The festivities kick off with an irresistible cover of an old 5 Royales single on the King label entitled "Don't Give No More than You Can Take". A cautionary tale with its Golden Rule message, it could have been ripped right out of today's political headlines but actually dates back to 1960. From the opening notes of Little Charlie's period guitar to Ray's throaty vocal, what immediately comes to mind is tone. Like an early T-birds record, Little Charlie and Sugar Ray have perfectly captured the feel and tone of the great 1950s R n B labels like Chess, Cobra, Duke, Excello and King without losing the freshness that made the originals sound so exciting. It takes an artist like Norcia, who is a master at phrasing, two of the best guitarists in the business and an all pro rhythm section like the Bluetones to convincingly pull off such a feat.
It would have been fun to be a fly on the wall when Norcia, Baty and Robillard sat down to select what material they wanted to record for this project. Like all of Norcia's work, the album benefits from well chosen material be they covers, like Little Walter's "Can't Hold Out Much Longer" or an original, like the album's rollicking title track, the Norcia penned original, "Too Far From the Bar", the result is the same. "It all good!" It wouldn't be a Sugar Ray record without a little sweetness and Ray delivers with another original "Too Little Too Late". For the harp aficionados out there is the original instrumental Reel Burner that lives up to its name with Ray's scorching harp playing which is reprised to close out this delightful set. I would be remiss if I did not mention Ray's jaw dropping, neck-breaking fast rendition of the old Jerry McClain classic "My Next Door Neighbor" featuring Little Charlie's exquisite guitar solo. The track order and pacing is well thought out as the action is slowed considerably with the next two tracks featuring beautiful piano work by Anthony Geraci and Rays legendary phrasing. This is by no means an exhaustive recounting of the music on this disc and I leave it for the listener to discover in its entirety. It can be purchased in CD or MP3 form at
Produced by and playing guitar on four tracks is Roomful of Blues founder and original guitarist, Duke Robillard. After leaving Roomful in the mid 1970s Robillard has compiled a resume that is the envy of most musicians. Whether it was as a member of the Fabulous Thunderbirds or the honor of touring with Bob Dylan, Robillard's guitar playing has always been in demand. In addition Robillard has maintained his prolific solo discography and somehow found the time to launch a side project reuniting many of the originals members of Roomful of Blues called the Founders. As if all that were not enough, lately Duke has developed quite a reputation as a producer of other artists. Most notably, the Robillard produced This Time for Real by Billy Price and Otis Clay earned the Blues Music Award for Soul/Blues album of the year in 2016.
In a tragic coincidence, like Otis Clay who passed away suddenly in 2016, Little Charlie Baty died unexpectedly from a heart attack this past March. While 66 years is way too young to shuffle off this mortal coil, Little Charlie can be proud of the fact that he went out at the top of his game as evidenced by this fine work.
That's right, you heard me correctly, Tommy James the musician and leader of the Shondells once gave the then Vice President and 1968 Presidential candidate a "black beauty" (i.e. amphetamine pill) to help the drowsy Humphrey stay up after a long day on the campaign trail.
This immediately set my mind to wondering on a multitude of questions, like "how in the hell did Mr. 'Crimson and Clover' get to know HHH ?" and "was it really a good idea to give someone with the exuberance of Mr. 'Pleased as Punch' an upper?".
Too bad Mr. James did not come forward with his "giving speed to Humphrey" story earlier, it might have softened Hunter S. Thompson's harsh view of Humphrey, a politician whom Hunter loathed even more than Nixon, and that is saying a lot.
Hunter famously called Humphrey "...a treacherous, gutless old ward-heeler” and wrote had Humphrey won in 1968, (a Humphrey Administration) "... would have been equally corrupt and wrongheaded as Richard Nixon's, (but) far more devious...".
Despite his eccentricities and excesses, Thompson was, if anything, an immensely talented writer for sure, but equally as shrewd a political commentator.
In an article he did for the New York Times on New Year's Day in 1974 entitled "Fear and Loathing in the Bunker", Thompson wrote prophetically:
"This is the horror of American politics today—not that Richard Nixon and his fixers have been crippled, convicted, indicted, disgraced and even jailed — but that the only alternatives are not much better; the same dim collection of burned‐out hacks who have been fouling our air with their gibberish for the last twenty years.
How long, oh Lord, how long? And how much longer will we have to wait before some high‐powered shark with a fistful of answers will finally bring us face‐to‐face with the ugly question that is already so close to the surface in this country, that sooner or later even politicians will have to cope with it?"
Reading HST's old NYT article really makes you yearn for fearless political commentary and emphasizes what a profound loss it was to our democracy when Hunter lost his battle with his demons.
Note: This article was written back in 2017 and never posted.
I finally got to see Michael Streissguth's excellent documentary on a subject near and dear to my heart: "Nighthawks on the Blue Highway: A Film About the Hardest Working Band in America". Watching the DVD at my good friend Ralph's house last Saturday the memories came rushing back so rather than ruin another screening of this gem of a music documentary I thought I would put my remembrances down for posterity. This film is also timely as my first viewing coincided with the passing of Gregg Allman whose collaboration with the Hawks is covered in the film.
As background, I first saw the band warm up for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes with special guest Ronnie Spector at the Warner Theater in about 1977 and was blown away. Since that show I have seen them dozens and dozens of times. When I moved away from D.C. (No. Va) and back to my
hometown of Minneapolis in 1979 I introduced myself to the guys when they came to town and would follow them around the upper midwest whenever they came within driving distance.
When I graduated law school in the Spring of 1986 I bought a new motorcycle for the express purpose of living my dream and following the Hawks on an extended tour of the Mid and South West. While my classmates studied for the bar exam I was riding from town to town on a schedule that could only be described as brutal. Any notion that the life style of professional musicians was that of the "Rich and Famous" was quickly dispelled. But no matter how long the ride or how bad the weather, or running out of money at the end of my trip, it was all worth it because each night I was rewarded with the best in live music by one of America's greatest bands at the height of its powers.
It was humbling to see the respect they garnered around the country. The after bar (VZD's) party I went to with Jimmy at a local musicians' home in Oklahoma City talking music and listening to Jimmy on acoustic guitar until dawn, staying at the Rodeway Inn in Austin, TX (a dump, the band stayed elsewhere) where CB Stubbs had his restaurant and where I had dinner (great juke box) and then seeing a blasted CB show up at Antones (a former Country Kitchen or Pizza Hut!) where he walked out on stage and attempted to sing (Mojo Working) but only looked foolish (you would never laugh at him as he was such a large man). I will never forget attempting to order breakfast at his restaurant the next morning: One of his daughters was the waitress and in response to my request for eggs and bacon she said "You can have cold beans and rice cause Daddy says we can't make any noise with the pots and pans" and then whenever someone entered or exited the kitchen there was that mountain of a man with an ice pack on his head moaning sitting at a table in the kitchen.
There was the show at Joseph's Foodliner down in San Antonio after which Thackery grabbed a case of some "exotic" beer called Corona and joined a friend and I back at our motel room drinking and listening to the greatest stories like the riot at Jimmy's 21st birthday party in Bethesda and his meeting Root Boy Slim for the first time...at one point Jimmy tried to teach me to sing like my idol Eddie Hinton. But what I will forever remember and cherish about that trip was the final stop for me with the band on that 2 week, nearly 4,000 mile trip, in Kansas City, MO. The night before the band had played in Wichita, home to one of the country's best blues societies and to a crowd of very knowledgeable blues fans. One of the Hawk fans , Tim Fairhurst, Jimmy entrusted with his beloved but shabby looking fedora. Tim promised to take it to one of the country's best hatters, Wichita Jack, to be cleaned and blocked and had it back to Jimmy the next night in Kansas City.
I had spent the last bit of cash and all the money in my bank account for a hotel room by the band at the down town Howard Johnson on the river. The band was playing that night at the Lone Star in West Port (where video I mention was shot). I was in a panic since the money my relatives put in my bank account was not yet electronically available and wouldn't be for 3 days. I literally had no gas money to get back home to Minneapolis let alone food and beer money. So even though I had been hanging out with Jimmy alot on my trip and was sadly hearing about his plan to depart my beloved band I would also hang with Jan and Mark at times and hear their perspectives. But when my chips were down it was Mark who came through for me like a big brother. But he wasn't just going to just give or loan me the money, that would have been too easy and set a bad example for an already spoiled child of middle class privilege, oh no he did me a favor and taught me one of those lessons I would remember for the rest of my life, he said if I would do some work for him that afternoon he would pay me by buying me dinner and then the gas money to get home. Just the idea of hanging out with Mark for an afternoon was cool beyond my wildest dreams... I should be paying him I thought to myself. Little did I know what I had got myself into.
I will never forget the ride to the former Kenny's Cycle Shop where I was to work off my board and gas money. It was a blistering hot June day with a temperature approaching 100 degrees as Mark drove the band's van. On the way there I asked Mark if he remembered one of the lines to Chuck Berry's Promised Land and he sang me the whole thing including verses I had never heard before. To this day how someone can memorize the lyrics to so many songs still astounds me. We arrived at an old warehouse district of Kansas City which looked like it had seen its better days a century earlier. When we entered the shop Mark was welcomed like the return of a prodigal son. After numerous greeting between Mark and the owner as well as the extremely tough looking staff, the owner said "who is Rudolph?" referring to my bright red nose from nearly 2 weeks of riding. There was a constant stream of rough looking guys showing up all afternoon long. I later learned from Mark that the the owner (the name Wayne sticks in my head for some reason) was known in the biker community to give jobs to men fresh out of prison which was often a condition of their parole. It was very apparent that the shop was over staffed but I never saw him turn down a man's request for work the entire time we were there. I found the following photo ascribed to Wayne's Motorcycle Sales and Service on the internet. I hope I am correct in thinking his shop was the former Kenny's.
The owner and Mark had a brief discussion and then we ascended to the steaming hot upper floors that served as a parts warehouse. Mark explained that the location had been a Harley Davidson dealership since the late 1920's until the mid 1970's when AMF took over the company. The last ten years the owner operated as a custom bike shop but now it was time to retire and Mark had designs on his parts inventory. We spent the afternoon picking our way through several floors of dusty OEM Harley parts which for Mark was like a kid in a candy store. After several hours we returned to the first floor where I overheard Mark and the owner having hushed negotiations before agreeing on a price with a handshake. After a quick estimation of how many semi loads it would take to move the inventory, Mark looks over at me and says "How about dinner?"
As I had not had much to eat the last couple of days, I was more than ready. Mark did not take me out for just any meal but in the home of barbecue Mark takes me to Gates, but not one of the umpteen franchises that dot the greater K.C. landscape, but to the original restaurant in the heart of the African American community. Now here is the coolest thing , Mark got the same greeting in Gates that he got from the biker crowd, and we were the only honkies in the joint. I learned that day to be with Mark is to be treated with love and respect because that's how he treated others.
That night there was going to be quite a thunderstorm so it was suggested I ride to the gig at the Lone Star with the band. When we arrived there was a guy setting up a professional Sony hifi camera on a tripod. He approached the band to ask permission to film the show where to my great surprise and honor Mark and Jimmy said "take it up with our lawyer" gesturing to me. My conditions were that it not be sold commercially without further permission and most importantly, that I receive a copy. It turns out the guy filming was big in the nascent music video industry having just shot the new, clothespin please, Van Halen video. Highlights that night include a fight breaking out on the dance floor , a close call narrowly missing being involved in a bad accident on the drive back to the hotel and hanging with the reggae band also staying at our hotel (if you get my splif).
My life has been so incredibly enriched by the music education I have received, just by paying attention to the band's influences and the friendships I have made from my acquaintances in the band and their fans, simply because "I have seen the Nighthawks"! Long live B Town Slim and the Bad Boys from Bethesda!!
