How Does It Feel?

Growing up, I heard plenty of music in my home; my parents had, for those days, a really fine stereo system in our living room, and some beautiful LPs - Modern Jazz Quartet, Odetta, Harry Belafonte, The Weavers, original cast recordings from shows like Fiddler On the Roof and West Side Story, the Brandenburg Concertos - I was far from deprived. And on top of all this, my older sister would let me listen to her 45s with her, on the little portable turntable in the den. The Shirelles, The Crystals, The Ronettes, The Chiffons.

But the most exciting music was always on the radio, because it was where I heard the newest music. And the car radio was best, because we could play it loud, especially when my sister took the car out to cruise around. And my parents were more amenable to letting her have the keys if she let me tag along.

Which is all by way of saying that the first time I heard Bob Dylan, I was in our family's car. Summer of 1965. We had been out somewhere - a restaurant? - and on the way back, my parents had let me play one of "my" stations. No long before we pulled into our driveway, the song came on.

Six minutes later, it was still playing. My parents had already gone inside, telling me to just turn off the car and bring the keys in when I was finished. So I sat there in the back seat, with my door open to let a little breeze in, as the last crashing, wailing measures faded out.

This morning, almost fifty years later and three thousand miles away, I heard it on the way to work - for what may have been the thousandth time - and once again, I was thrilled to the core. I thought - not for the first time - "this is the song that changed me forever".

Then I thought - for the first time - "So what?"

What have you done, with this "changed" you? Have you made the world a better place? Yeah? How?

Where has all this led you?

How does it feel?

February 1972, Clinton, NY

The only thing harder than being in a band

is not being in one.

Years ago - post-Nixon and pre-Reagan - I was lucky enough to be in some bands with people who were not just inspired performers and songwriters, but who were also fiercely dedicated to making a living at it. And we actually did. But a big part of what made that even possible was because we were young enough to exist on almost nothing. At times, we lived four, five, even ten to a house, splitting rent and utilities and groceries, pitching in for gas and maintenance on cars and vans along the way. Speaking for myself, I walked a lot, and I went for a couple of years without spending more a few bucks a day on food. Ever.

So, under those conditions, being a "professional musician" was feasible, even when we only had a handful of paying gigs a month. Plus we played on the street regularly, and became proficient at getting folks to open their wallets.

But it was still grueling, because what we all really wanted was for something Big to happen. And when nothing did, the bickering began. As I've said elsewhere, being in a working band is like the worst parts of a marriage and a small business.

Fast forward: some of us persisted and found ways to make some kind of living from music. Some eventually said to hell with it and pretty much stopped playing. Me, the most money I ever made from playing music in any given year was around $200, which paid for a red Mexican Telecaster that was my main guitar for a little while.

But I was proud - I AM proud - to have never become an ex-musician.

I've been playing with my current band, The Waterdogs, with pretty much the same personnel, since, oh, 1997? Wait, is that right? Sixteen years? We have never really gigged much, because as middle-aged guys with day jobs, the prospect of competing with 22-year-olds for the privilege of playing to a mostly empty bar on a Tuesday night holds little appeal. So what perfomances we've done have been mostly block parties and school fund-raisers, where the pay is often in hot dogs and beer. But the hours and working conditions are good - generally weekend afternoons, outside.

And when you're playing just for pleasure, with no realistic prospects of fortune or fame, there is generally less stress. I say generally, since where there are people, there are egos, and where there are egos, there is stress. So, after all these years, The 'Dogs are going through some more changes, and the future is uncertain.

But then, when is the future ever certain?

In any event, I thought this would be a good time to share a lovely song of my long-time musical comrade's, Kurt Regas. Recorded by us nearly fourteen years ago, but still fresh. We use only the finest ingredients.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hBWM4JQ_ANc