The Wednesday night Baked Potato residency is an extraordinary experience for me. It's like playing in my living room for a bunch of my close friends. Throw in a few strangers for flavor and someone to bring you food and drink and it makes for a winning combination. It's such an intimate setting. I've grown comfortable with it. It's a throwback to what live music in nightclubs used to be. At this point in my fine, fine career, I prefer the environment of a small club to the big stage. Somehow the "Big Rock Show" feels awkward and disingenuous to me. Maybe it's because I don't do too many of them or maybe I don't feel the need to compete with the world of "Rock." In any event, I like playing at the Baked Potato.
These shows are completely outside the mainstream rock scene. This is pretty unique, considering this is Los Angeles, the epicenter of the music industry. We're like guerillas operating behind enemy lines. What we do on Wednesday nights has absolutely nothing to do with hit records or radio or MTV. It is the simple act of playing music for people who enjoy hearing music played.
The special guests all bring their own unique gifts to the music and the outcome is always unexpected and often wonderful. Don't get me wrong though. Sometimes we have some real train wrecks, but the good news is, no one is injured in them.
After all, what's the worst that could happen?
A vile ending to a song? Happened.
A botched chord change? Happened.
An ill-advised pairing of guests? I'm wild. I'll take the chance.
Greg Ginn played with us last week and I was so impressed with him. He is a most gracious man and much revered as a founder of Black Flag and his groundbreaking record company SST. I knew his style was unorthodox, and I thought it might be a good match up. We had a ball.
left to right: Freddie Kron, Hunt Sales, Wayne Kramer, Greg Ginn, Doug Lunn
I was told later, after the gig, that this was the first time Greg had ever joined a spontaneous session with musicians he had never played with. This, to me, is the sign of a true artist. He took a chance. This showed courage. He played passionately on every single tune. He took a risk with us. We played songs with form, and songs without form (or at least conventional form). You know that's going to be the case when you add David Was on harmonica and drummer Hunt Sales as surprise ingredients to the mix.
Working with these cats, Greg displayed a wide-open mind at work, which is a real anomaly in today's music world where bands rarely even play on their own records. And when they play live, they do the exact same set, same songs and same arrangements every night to avoid those ever-annoying "surprises." This assembly-line approach to live music is degrading the art of music performance. It sells the audience and the artist short and relegates live shows to the level of computer games and MTV. Actually, I take that back. Computer games may be more interactive than the average touring Hit Band.
I had the great pleasure of spending the weekend with Michael Davis. Michael and have been seeing more of each other lately. We had a ball in London last spring doing the Sonic Revolution gig and we may do some more. We attended the screening of MC5: A True Testimonial at Allison Anders' Don't Knock the Rock film festival.
Later that night I inaugurated the festival at the Knitting Factory. The band was reconfigured since Doug Lunn and Eric Gardner were on another engagement. Drums and bass were most ably filled by Brock Avery and Trent Stroh. This was Trent's first work with me and it was a delight having him on the band. He is not only a first-line musician and superb vocalist, but is also a genuinely admirable fellow. Brock remains a genius drummer and will join us at The Baked Potato in September. I had bass players in abundance that night. As a special treat, we were joined by Michael Davis for the MC5 song "The American Ruse." Michael rocked the house as only a hardcore Detroit bass player could.
As time goes on, I find myself further distanced from, and acutely aware of, The Great Lie of Rock and Roll.
I have a friend who is a screenwriter and we were talking about what kinds of jobs a person might be able to do that left time for writing or rehearsing or painting or whatever you're into. He turned me on to the Bureau of Labor and Statistics web site. If you're interested in any job in the world, it's in there. There are job categories for professional singer, musician, arranger, composer. But there is no job category for "Rock Star." This is because it doesn't exist. It's not a job. The number of people who reach the level of "Rock Star" is so small that the odds are far worse than reaching the NBA or NFL or professional baseball. I put it at a million to one. Of all the folks who chase the dream, how many achieve it? How many Bruce Springsteens are there? How many Eminems? How many Missy Elliots are there? And how many are trying? And trying and trying.
This is one component in the Great Lie. The other is that if you have a hit (fill in the blank record/book/movie/TV show) you will be delivered and your life will be ok. That somehow fame and success and money will fix whatever is wrong with you. It just ain't so. Not only will it not fix you, but it will make whatever is wrong with you worse. This has been my experience. I see it over and over again in the lives of young folks who get some recognition in their chosen field of music, TV, sports or movies. They lose their minds. The ego gets inflated and they don't even know it's happening. I have great empathy for folks who get into trouble with drugs and booze and sex and who try to get help. The problem is, they are surrounded by a world that tells them You are special! and The rules don't apply to you! Rules? They're for the little people.
There is nothing wrong with working in the entertainment industry. These are industries and the people who work in them are workers, no matter that they are on TV or in movies. It is labor.
But the lie is very powerful. It's sold to the public in very seductive ways and it's believed wholesale. Every day at LAX, hundreds of new hopefuls arrive here to chase that dream. Problem is, they don't have a clue of what is involved in the business of being a self-employed artist. But sure, they're going to "make it," whatever that might mean to them. It would be funny if the results weren't so tragic. The trail of dead is as long as the trail of damage.
But it doesn't matter what I say about it, or what anyone else says based on their own real life experience, because the dream is too strong. The lie is too powerful, the lure of deliverance too great for understanding.
This business of show is something to do only because you can't not do it. You do this because you love the actual work involved. It can be a living, but it's a tough living. Don't do it for security, or a steady paycheck, because those things are not here. Most of all, don't do it for stardom. That price is too high. There is nothing wrong with wanting--or getting--the respect of your peers, but to exceed that is inviting trouble. Do this because you love music and you love to write songs or you love playing your instrument or you get a kick out of singing and dancing and making a complete fool out of yourself in front of everybody. Do it because you're a natural born show-off.
But don't think it's any more than what it is. There are moments of transcendence and beauty. There are instants of joy. But those things are gifts to the artist, as they are gifts to the audience. They are fleeting. Beware of the lie.
Best, w
These shows are completely outside the mainstream rock scene. This is pretty unique, considering this is Los Angeles, the epicenter of the music industry. We're like guerillas operating behind enemy lines. What we do on Wednesday nights has absolutely nothing to do with hit records or radio or MTV. It is the simple act of playing music for people who enjoy hearing music played.
The special guests all bring their own unique gifts to the music and the outcome is always unexpected and often wonderful. Don't get me wrong though. Sometimes we have some real train wrecks, but the good news is, no one is injured in them.
After all, what's the worst that could happen?
A vile ending to a song? Happened.
A botched chord change? Happened.
An ill-advised pairing of guests? I'm wild. I'll take the chance.
Greg Ginn played with us last week and I was so impressed with him. He is a most gracious man and much revered as a founder of Black Flag and his groundbreaking record company SST. I knew his style was unorthodox, and I thought it might be a good match up. We had a ball.
left to right: Freddie Kron, Hunt Sales, Wayne Kramer, Greg Ginn, Doug Lunn
I was told later, after the gig, that this was the first time Greg had ever joined a spontaneous session with musicians he had never played with. This, to me, is the sign of a true artist. He took a chance. This showed courage. He played passionately on every single tune. He took a risk with us. We played songs with form, and songs without form (or at least conventional form). You know that's going to be the case when you add David Was on harmonica and drummer Hunt Sales as surprise ingredients to the mix.
Working with these cats, Greg displayed a wide-open mind at work, which is a real anomaly in today's music world where bands rarely even play on their own records. And when they play live, they do the exact same set, same songs and same arrangements every night to avoid those ever-annoying "surprises." This assembly-line approach to live music is degrading the art of music performance. It sells the audience and the artist short and relegates live shows to the level of computer games and MTV. Actually, I take that back. Computer games may be more interactive than the average touring Hit Band.
I had the great pleasure of spending the weekend with Michael Davis. Michael and have been seeing more of each other lately. We had a ball in London last spring doing the Sonic Revolution gig and we may do some more. We attended the screening of MC5: A True Testimonial at Allison Anders' Don't Knock the Rock film festival.
Later that night I inaugurated the festival at the Knitting Factory. The band was reconfigured since Doug Lunn and Eric Gardner were on another engagement. Drums and bass were most ably filled by Brock Avery and Trent Stroh. This was Trent's first work with me and it was a delight having him on the band. He is not only a first-line musician and superb vocalist, but is also a genuinely admirable fellow. Brock remains a genius drummer and will join us at The Baked Potato in September. I had bass players in abundance that night. As a special treat, we were joined by Michael Davis for the MC5 song "The American Ruse." Michael rocked the house as only a hardcore Detroit bass player could.
As time goes on, I find myself further distanced from, and acutely aware of, The Great Lie of Rock and Roll.
I have a friend who is a screenwriter and we were talking about what kinds of jobs a person might be able to do that left time for writing or rehearsing or painting or whatever you're into. He turned me on to the Bureau of Labor and Statistics web site. If you're interested in any job in the world, it's in there. There are job categories for professional singer, musician, arranger, composer. But there is no job category for "Rock Star." This is because it doesn't exist. It's not a job. The number of people who reach the level of "Rock Star" is so small that the odds are far worse than reaching the NBA or NFL or professional baseball. I put it at a million to one. Of all the folks who chase the dream, how many achieve it? How many Bruce Springsteens are there? How many Eminems? How many Missy Elliots are there? And how many are trying? And trying and trying.
This is one component in the Great Lie. The other is that if you have a hit (fill in the blank record/book/movie/TV show) you will be delivered and your life will be ok. That somehow fame and success and money will fix whatever is wrong with you. It just ain't so. Not only will it not fix you, but it will make whatever is wrong with you worse. This has been my experience. I see it over and over again in the lives of young folks who get some recognition in their chosen field of music, TV, sports or movies. They lose their minds. The ego gets inflated and they don't even know it's happening. I have great empathy for folks who get into trouble with drugs and booze and sex and who try to get help. The problem is, they are surrounded by a world that tells them You are special! and The rules don't apply to you! Rules? They're for the little people.
There is nothing wrong with working in the entertainment industry. These are industries and the people who work in them are workers, no matter that they are on TV or in movies. It is labor.
But the lie is very powerful. It's sold to the public in very seductive ways and it's believed wholesale. Every day at LAX, hundreds of new hopefuls arrive here to chase that dream. Problem is, they don't have a clue of what is involved in the business of being a self-employed artist. But sure, they're going to "make it," whatever that might mean to them. It would be funny if the results weren't so tragic. The trail of dead is as long as the trail of damage.
But it doesn't matter what I say about it, or what anyone else says based on their own real life experience, because the dream is too strong. The lie is too powerful, the lure of deliverance too great for understanding.
This business of show is something to do only because you can't not do it. You do this because you love the actual work involved. It can be a living, but it's a tough living. Don't do it for security, or a steady paycheck, because those things are not here. Most of all, don't do it for stardom. That price is too high. There is nothing wrong with wanting--or getting--the respect of your peers, but to exceed that is inviting trouble. Do this because you love music and you love to write songs or you love playing your instrument or you get a kick out of singing and dancing and making a complete fool out of yourself in front of everybody. Do it because you're a natural born show-off.
But don't think it's any more than what it is. There are moments of transcendence and beauty. There are instants of joy. But those things are gifts to the artist, as they are gifts to the audience. They are fleeting. Beware of the lie.
Best, w
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