My latest entry for the Good stuff Guitars Newsletter:


A couple of years ago, I got free Bass Strings all the time.

It wasn’t me, really. I didn’t have an endorsement deal, but the guy I worked for did. He didn’t play bass or guitar, but a big name company gave him strings all the same. See, he had a very famous name, and when he was on his way into the Grammys one year, a representative from Big Name Stings signed him on the spot to a string endorsement deal.

So, while I played for him, I got free bass strings.

The best part of free bass strings was…well…free bass strings. The downside was that I only got Big Name String companies strings. Fortunately, I found some they made that worked really well for the gig, so it worked out.

Bass strings are the kind of thing a veteran bass player takes for granted. We find which string goes with which bass – because they might all be different – and use what gives us the sound we want in our head. Younger players might not have ever thought about the differences in types of string, or how they could affect their tone and feel.

Here’s the ten-cent primer; in general there are two basic types; roundwound and flatwound. A string is made from a couple pieces of wire; a main wire, or core. This is usually round or hexagonal, then another wire is wrapped around the core. This wire can be either round, or flat. If your outer wrap is stainless steel round, your tone will be zingy, and high end. At the other end of the spectrum, a nickel flat wound will be all about thump and boom.

There are other variations, like half, or ground wound, with straddles the line between round and flat, nylon wrap, gold wrap, bronze acoustic bass guitar strings, and nylon core, all different specialty strings.

I generally prefer a flat wound string, but I use different strings on different basses. The bass will tell you what it wants. Bass strings can run fairly expensive, especially compared to cheap, scrawny guitar strings, but changing strings is the cheapest way to modify the sound of your bass.

The other great thing about getting free strings was this; I like to leave strings on my bass for…ever. I like the tone once it mellows and settles. When I’d get a box of strings from Big Name Strings, I’d get six sets, which generally meant I’d use a couple of sets, and give the others away to bassists I’d meet! It worked out great, because handing out bass strings makes friends really quickly.

Recently, I sent Big Name Strings a letter, and told them who I was, what I did, what I liked about their strings, and asked if they might send me a half dozen sets a year, for me to use and give away, like I used to do. I got a letter back saying that their endorsement roles were full – of guys who don’t play, like my old boss, I guess – so no strings for me. Thus, ‘the names have been changed to protect the…”, cheap, Big Name String guys, I guess.

As you probably know, I am something of a “Freelance” musician. This means I do a lot of subbing for other bass players, and various other fill-in gigs for bands that need a bassist short term.

While there is nothing like being in a band that you’re proud of, that works a lot, and satisfies your artistic wishes, playing with a bunch of different people, playing a bunch of different kinds of music keeps everything fresh and exciting.

One reason I get so many of these gigs is that I have a reputation as someone who does the homework to prepare. One of the things that can drive a person crazy about these gig, is…doing the homework to prepare. It seems like every time I take a gig, it involves learning thirty new songs!

I’ve got three packages on my desk right now, full of set lists, CD’s and charts. Jumping in and doing the work is the hard part, so as a way of putting off working on tunes, I thought I’d write this column about…doing…the, umm…work. “Putting the ‘Pro’ in ‘Procrastination’ since 1968!”

So let’s take a look at the current crop of tunes I have to learn!

Package No. 1; The Michael Robinson Band. I’ve got two gigs coming up with Michael, this Thursday and Saturday, and while a lot of his list is standards I already know, there are a lot of originals to learn also. Most of these I can get by with notes in the margin of the set list, or quick charts, and I spent a good deal of Monday morning on these.

Tuesday morning I’m getting together with Jeff Magidson, to work on charts for our Winery gig this Friday in Ukiah.

Package No.2 is The Red Hot Blues Sisters. I’m totally excited about these gigs, because I really like these people and I really like this band! I’m flying up to play in Vancouver with them the first weekend in September, and then do a festival with them on the border. They’ve sent me three CD’s, and a whole book of charts! So far I’ve sorted through the charts, and started listening to the tunes. Tuesday I’ll spend some time reading through the charts with the tracks.

In the meantime, I have a handful of songs I have to chart out for an upcoming Becca gig at the end of August. I’ve got to carve out some time for this early next week.

Package No.3 is from Sweet Jones, a band I’m playing with in New Orleans on September 19th. These guys are friends, and when Cindy and I booked our trip down, I checked to see if they needed a bass player for a scheduled gig. Score! I’ll be able to concentrate on this stuff after all the other things, so I haven’t really cracked it yet.

Making the time to sit down with all the homework amidst all the other things that go with everyday life is the ‘job’ part of my career. This preparation is why I get paid to play. I have a very good reputation, and like it or not, it’s because I do the homework.

I just have to remind myself of this from time to time.

Howdy friends,

Fresh off our fun appearance on KRSH with Linda Seabright, The Brothers Goldman return to Armando's for another Thursday night of funk, jazz, R&B, and whatever else comes flying by. The Brothers Goldman don't play a lot, but for me it's an opportunity to really stretch out and play some bass!

Armando's is a gem of a club, a place where musicians can play and feel like musicians, NOT feel like Beer Salesmen. If you haven't been, you should go.

Armando's is located at;
707 Marina Vista
Martinez, CA

The show is a "grown up friendly" 8 to 10PM affair, so unless you go overboard on the Beer and Wine sales (21 and over, please), we'll have you home in time for The Daily Show.

Thanks for all your support, and I hope to see you tomorrow night!
Kennan Shaw

We’ve discussed this before; I am not a Luddite, but I do exist somewhere between “New Media Savvy” and “Old Guy with Flashing VCR Clock.” The fact that I even use the ‘flashing VCR clock’ to describe myself in any way is a tip-off as to which end of the spectrum I favor. What this all means is, as a ‘Working Musician’, I’ve got to try to keep up with the technology enough to use it to my benefit.

First I got my own website; http://kennanshaw.com/. Thanks to the fine folks at Bandzoogle, it’s easy to set up and easy to maintain. I could post my schedule, write anything I wanted, and start my ‘Web Presence’.

Next came MySpace. I’ll make a confession here; when I signed up for MySpace, I didn’t know there were separate set-ups for regular people, and musicians. I got a Regular Person site, and while it’s been cool, I felt kind of foolish. However, it’s been another outlet for my Blog, my calendar, and it’s been a great way to connect with others. It’s here; myspace.com/kennans

Then, through Red House, I became involved in the East Bay Blues Network. The EBBN is a Social Network site where people can sign up, promote their stuff, write and read Blogs and Forums, post pictures, videos and songs…one stop shopping. Yet another place for my writing, and more shameless self promotion. Check it out here; http://www.eastbayblues.net/

But this is 2009! According to the World’s Preeminent Solo Bassist and New Media Guru Steve Lawson, MySpace is “like stepping into an internet museum, cruising on back to 2004...”. So in an effort to keep my cyber-head above water, I started a Facebook account, rather timidly, and watched the “Friends” roll in. Facebook has been wonderful for re-connecting with people I haven’t heard from in a while, and now seems to be full of really old pictures of…me. Weird. http://www.facebook.com/kennan.shaw

Last week, sitting in Jury Duty, I was reading through my latest issue of Bass Player Magazine, and lo and behold there is a Steve Lawson interview, conducted over Twitter! 140 characters at a time. Steve says Twitter is a great way to connect with fans, friends, and even the vaguely curious. Steve is the prototypical new media musician, and has been at the front edge of all things internet, and his Empire (http://www.stevelawson.net/wordpress/ )is an amazing, multi-headed beast that encompasses all possible facets of Internet type action. While this makes me a little nervous about the coverage of the impending birth of “Baby Flap Jack”, it certainly means that his advice is sound.

So…I’m on Twitter, struggling to find enough to be interesting about. I’ve got some followers, and there’s a couple of people I follow, but I’m really feeling this one out, one day at a time. So far I’ve been vicariously enjoying Steve’s holiday in Belize, and trying to get some traction of my own. If you’re so inclined, cheer me on at http://twitter.com/kennanshaw, and you may have noticed I’ve added my “Tweets” to the my Blog page on kennanshaw.com. Huh? Huh? Savvy, right?

I’m totally ‘the lost generation’ when it comes to this stuff. We’re young enough that we should know how to use it, but old enough…well, look, my first record was more than likely a Flexi-Disc from the back of a cereal box, okay? I’m just waiting for those to come back. In the meantime, I'll be on something called "the Radio" this Saturday with The Bros. Goldman. Check out KRSH, at 8PM, Pacific.

As I’ve probably mentioned a time or two, I’ve had the good fortune of knowing and playing with a lot of really good musicians. As a bassist, it’s usually drummers who stand out, because a great drummer is like Magic Johnson; he makes everyone around him better.

However, when I think about the musicians I most enjoyed working with, and who could amaze me the most, it’s a handful of singers that leap to mind. A really, really good singer has the ability to hold a crowd, and has the gift of infusing the song with emotion in an effortless manor. The best among them are our modern day Sirens; Alison Krauss and Emmylou Harris spring to my mind – and can sweep you away with their voices. Recently I’ve been gigging with Miko Marks, and her energy and the joy that comes from her time singing is infectious.

I don’t think it’s easy to become a really good singer. I think the chips are stacked against you for a couple of reasons. First of all, at some point in their lives, everyone has been a singer. Every single person has done it, so there’s a built-in “what, like it’s hard?” factor. Secondly, most of what passes as ‘great' singing in pop these days is…how can I put this delicately…crap. “Vocal gymnastics” have all but erased melody from entire songs. Even ballads end up sounding like a 13 year old emulating Van Halen guitar solos.

A few years ago, two household name, super-diva singers did a duet for an animated movie. They both worked so hard to ‘out do’ the other that the results sounded like a bag of cats. (For the super curious, look under “Prince of Egypt”.)

Now let’s talk about Pitch Correction Software. I think then general public would be shocked if they knew how many “singers” can’t really sing. Pitch Correction takes the digital signal of a vocal line, and aligns it to the key of the music. Turn the effect all the way up, and you’re Cher or T-Pain. Keep the level lower, and you’re in tune with very little sonic coloration.

This used to be just the purview of expensive recording studios, but as with all things software, now it’s portable and easy to use. In fact, it’s so prevalent now, that we only really think about it when they forget to use it, like the recent Michael Jackson memorial (everybody was…ummm…shall we say ’pitchy’, and it wasn’t because of emotions). So singers have become ‘entertainers’; a package of looks, fashion, production, make up, lighting, and oh yeah, the singing bit. They’re more corporation than musician.

All of which leads to my greatest pet peeve; lip syncing. At the recent All-Star game, a superstar ‘performed’ the National Anthem, and the fact that she was mimicking to a pre-recorded track was barely concealed. This has been going on for years and years; performers without the guts to actually sing at big televised sporting events or even Music Awards shows. Granted, the “Star Spangled Banner” is a difficult and unwieldy song, but if you can’t do it, maybe you just…shouldn’t. It all seems very cowardly and unpatriotic.

To add insult to sonic injury, at the All-Star game, when they got to the Seventh Inning Stretch, the viewing audience had to sit through a plodding, recorded version of “God Bless America”. Intention aside, that is one awful, awful song, and if you slow it down and try to over-emote it while lip syncing, it’s almost enough to turn you into an enemy combatant.

So, celebrate real singers. The one’s who work on their voice the same way we work on playing our instruments. They still may look great, and know how to be that Front Person like any big-time video diva, but they’ve built their reputation from the voice up. Seeing them live isn’t like sitting around listening to recordings while they dance.

I’m working with a singer this Saturday who I’ve known since she was a girl, and who impresses me more every time I work with her. Becca has a lot of talent, and I think she has a chance to do really well for herself in music. Maybe someday she’ll be given the chance to lip sync our National Anthem before a Tostito’s Bowl, or a Bud Lite NASCAR race, but I’d like to think she’d actually sing it. Y’know; being a singer and all.

Becca
Gazebo at “The Grove” Public Park, Downtown Clayton
Saturday, July 25th, 6 to 8PM.

I stand here before you an apologetic man. I have strayed, and in the eyes of some, I have sinned. I have betrayed my solemn commitments, and violated the trust of many who are dear to me. I can only stand here before you and beg your forgiveness, and perhaps try to illuminate my story to garner your understanding.

I have always promised to love, honor, and obey The Blues, and now I feel I have let that promise fall by the wayside. It started innocently enough; a “Trio” gig at The Maple Leaf, a jazz show here and there; nothing really improper – no ‘Ultimate Sin’, just a warm friendship. Then, totally unexpectedly, a winter evening in a little club in Forestville blossomed into a full blown improv funk gig. I didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did.

Before I could even think it through I was sneaking off to sit in with R&B bands! More and more New Orleans funkiness was seeping into my playing. I had very little compassion for anyone who would treat a Blues Rumba lightly. And before you knew it, I was telling people I was going to a blues date, and sneaking off to do Zydeco gigs. That’s right; Zydeco.

How much fault can The Blues take for my indiscretions? The Blues played a major role in making me the man, and Bass Player I am today, no doubt. Always coaching me on playing full quarter note walks, and keeping my lines simple and firm, providing a solid foundation for the flights of fancy any guitarist might take. The Blues showed me how to cut my hair, what shirts to wear, and where to get those funny little hats. The Blues made sure I knew all the tunes on the accepted list of standards, and wasn’t afraid of changing keys. The Blues also told me that too much syncopation was wrong, and should be left to Latin players and other ‘jazz’ musicians.

Maybe all of this drove me away. Maybe it was the tipping point for my own mid-life crisis. Surely The Blues could see the signs; my new little red sports car, that gets great mileage and fits my big bass cab behind the rear seat, my ‘new look’; full beard and mustache and my new flowing locks – definitely not a Blues Uniform, for sure. Ultimately, I am the only one that can take the blame for driving me into the arms of funk and Zydeco.

But make no mistake; this is not just some tawdry affair; this is a love story. A tragic, star-crossed love story. It’s very difficult finding a steady outlet for these feelings here. I, however, know…that I have met…*sniff*…my Soulmate. I will always have that. I just hope The Blues and I can work through this, and remain close.

Thank you. No questions at this time.

    I believe that it’s become a law now that if you write…anything…you must comment on Michael Jackson. Sorry, that’s just the way it is. Coup in South America? Yawn. Civil unrest in the streets of Iran? Whatever. American Governor going AWOL in Argentine with his “Soul Mate” in the most public Mid-Life-Crisis Meltdown in history? Well, that one’s pretty damn good, but…hello…’King of Pop’ over here.

    Unfortunately, my life is fairly bereft of MJ episodes. I remember someone brought a little Black and White T.V. to elementary school the day he was on “The Dating Game”. I remember when “Thriller” came out , I was working at a record store (look it up, kids), and we sold about 75 copies of that album every day. I remember my friend Gary Phillips was on a single that went to Number 2 in the whole U.S.A. but couldn’t quite get past Michael for the top spot.

    Good little tales, to be sure, but as big ‘celebrity as culture’ deaths go, I still defer to Elvis Presley. It’s not that I was a big Elvis fan; I was 17 when he died, and my frame of reference was that he was the old fat guy in the polyester jump suits who had made all those cheesy movies. Harsh, but like I said, I was 17 in 1977; I wasn’t supposed to like Elvis. I was not his demographic.

    Elvis died on August 16th. I know this date, because I remember it printed on the KISS ticket I had. They were playing at the Cow Palace or some barn that night, but I wasn’t there. I had to give up my ticket because August 16th was the day our family vacation to Hawaii started. Okay…I know; “Oh poor guy, has to go to Hawaii. Let me call you a Waaa-mbulance”, but here again; 17. I learned of Elvis’ death because the first thing I did in my hotel room; shared with my two little sisters, of course, was try to tune in some good music on the radio, and that’s when they announced his passing.

    Normally, that would have been just another “big deal” teenage moment, but sometimes life deals you some amazing cards on the river, and suddenly what looked like a crummy hand turns to golden memories. See, Elvis really liked Hawaii. He made movies here, and he hung out here. He even had a favorite hotel, where he’d always stay, and he knew the staff, and was always in a great mood whenever he was there.

    Guess where my family had dinner reservations for that evening? For the big “Fire Show”? That’s where they run around and light torches and play drums and hula dance for the mainlanders who are drinking out of cocoanuts and pineapples. All of this was made so much more enjoyable by the fact that the hostess and all the waitresses in the restaurant were bravely soldiering on with tears streaming down their cheeks as they seated you, and took your drink orders. “What’s the special tonight?”

    I don’t have any real, memories of the “show” itself, beyond some running and fire juggling, but the pre-requisite “Moment of Silence” is still family lore to this day.

    Wait; if I don’t set this up right, it could seem like we’re terrible people, and we’re not. You have to put yourself in the scene; we ended up here by some bizarre twist of fate. My parents thought it would be a hokey but fun evening, and now we’re surrounded by crying women, men in grass skirts, and a room full of people in white-belt-and-shoe ensembles and not many other kids. My sisters and I had a good ‘giggle undercurrent’ going by then, with my Mom admonishing us to stop, but not because she was embarrassed, but because she didn’t want to start laughing herself. So when the men in grass skirts bowed their heads, holding flaming torches aloft, and the solemn voice over came over the P.A., and said…said…well, look; I know speech impediments aren’t really things to be made fun of. And I’m pretty sure this was an impediment and not an accent. Not that accents should be laughed at either, it’s just that…to this day, if the family is sitting around together, one sure-fire way to get a laugh is to say “Bang the Big dwum…”. It made us all laugh out loud then, and it makes us all laugh now. Except now it’s not pissing off a room full of grieving people.

    Ultimately, as the years went by I decided that Elvis was okay, and that anyone who touched as many people’s lives as he did for so long had to be given some points for cool. He was so famous for so long that eventually he became famous for being famous, once the creative output dwindled. Sure, his final years seemed weird and drug addled, his appearance frightening to his friends and fans alike, but ultimately he made his choices. I don’t buy into the whole “fame killed him” junk. After his death there was a period where family and so-called “insiders” battled for their own little pieces of the legacy, whether to tarnish it or try to shine it to a too-bright finish. Eventually memories get replaced with The Icon, and then, “Icon Inc”.

    The passing of Michael Jackson will be exactly the same. Well, except for the personal comedic value.

   There’s an old story about going to Nashville to “make it” in music. What you’re supposed to do as you drive towards Nashville is pull off the road about fifty miles from town, and find the nearest gas station. Roll into the gas station, take out your guitar (or bass), and hand it to the attendant. If he plays better than you, turn around and go home. If not, continue on your journey, stopping about every ten miles to pit your skills against the ‘locals’. If you make it all the way to the city limits, you might have a shot. I said ‘might’.

   That particular legend came back to me about halfway into Miko Mark’s first set Saturday night there at the corner of Commerce and Second, just up the street from Broadway, when I had a small epiphany – y’know; the little kind that makes you laugh at weird times – when I realized that I was in the heart of Nashville playing a Patsy Cline song.

   The entire city was one gigantic party to celebrate the CMA Fan Fest, and a city that‘s all about music was full to the brim with players and fans hanging out together. Autograph sessions, outdoor stages, a ton of nightclubs, and the stadium were humming with activity all through the weekend. The beer was flowing, the girls were pretty, and the streets were packed.

   As fun as the whole festival part of the whirlwind, in and out trip was, the best part might have been the people I met. Our guitarist, Kelly Back (from ‘Wingnut’ days) had lived in Nashville some years ago, and still had friends in town. Having the chance to talk to locals about the whole scene and how the game works was very illuminating. Guys like Chris Boggs and Scott Alexander have the insiders view, and shared it freely. Chad Lemons was somewhere between a one-man tourist bureau, and a natural disaster; if you can balance those two, a certain type of people will flock to your door. Whether you want them there in the morning is something else entirely.

   The city get called – derisively – “Nash-Vegas” a lot, but it reminded me of Hollywood, in that everyone is “industry” to some degree, or has an angle, or plays one form or another of the name-dropper game. Where that stuff is so damn superficial and annoying in the movie industry, it kind of made sense to me in Nashville. See, it’s not enough to say “it’s all about music”. What it really is all about in Nashville is getting people to listen to music. It’s bigger than the players, bigger than the industry, and even bigger than the ‘artists’. “Music City” boasts the best studios, the best rehearsal facilities, the best all around support structure for getting people to listen to music, and the best musicians to play that music. One person associated with a studio – who shall go unnamed to protect the…umm…well, guilty – said that in other cities they could “spend all day trying to explain the feel we needed on a track to the keyboardist or the guitarist, and still not get it. Here, we’re done before lunch.”

   So I don’t know how far towards town I would get taking the “pull over and check your skill level” advice, but I know that we blew into the heart of Nashville with a country band from Oakland, and we represented. We played hard, and we played good. Miko kicked butt. Come see for yourself when she plays Union Square on Sunday, June 28th from 2 to 5PM.

   For me, Nashville instantly made my fairly short “Places I would totally live” list. And between you and me, I don’t think any of those gas station attendants are going to keep me out. At least not quietly.

Music is hard wired into our brains. Every culture has had music. While not every culture has the same 12 note scale of Western music, “octave equivalence”; the fact that if the frequency of sound waves of a given tone is doubled, the note will be the same but an octave higher, is present in all music. The “perfect consonances” of Fifths and Fourths are easy concepts to anyone who’s learned a blues, folk, rock, country…any kind of song. The “oldest known popular song” was written on a Sumarian clay tablet 3,400 years ago, and when it was deciphered and performed several years ago, it turned out to be a so-called “I IV V”, like C, F, & G. Just like all the Chuck Berry classics. Just like the plaintive songs of Hank Williams. Just like almost every blues song ever played at a jam.

So what really separates these songs from one another? Where does the concept of ‘music genre’ come from? Bass and drums, my friends; bass and drums. A change in the rhythm section is all it takes for songs to achieve classification.

I’ll show you; take an easy, well known I IV V song; “Three Little Birds” by Bob Marley. You know this one; “Don’t worry, about a thing, ‘cause ev’ry little thing, is gonna be alright…”. Nice reggae groove; lot’s of space in the bass, snare hits feel like they’re on ‘three’ with that reggae, half-time feel.

Now, strip it down to vocals and rhythm guitar, and this time ad a straight drum beat and a “1, 5, 1, 5” bass line, and viola; y’all’er playin’ country and western! Pod’ner!

Wait; now put in a good, snare rollin’ ‘train’ beat, with a blues-rumba bass line; a “Crosscut Saw” type of rhythm, and that is straight up New Orleans gumbo!

Now use a Chicago style blues box pattern, like “Tore Down”, and it’s Chess Records all over again!

Us humans like melody. Because of the nature and consonance of a good I IV V, a lot of great melodies fit right in there. While ‘Groove’ is (or should be) the inescapable goal of any song, which groove is always up for interpretation, and that’s where the value of a true rhythm section (including the vastly underrated Rhythm Guitar) comes into play.

I’m off to Nashville, where I’ll be tending to the groove with Miko Marks at this year’s CMA Fan Fest! If you’re in town for any of the scabillion shows, come see us at The Wild Beaver Saturday night!

People play music because they love to play music. “Play”. The artistic freedom. Good times with friends. The titillating satisfaction that comes with the situational adoration that accompanies performance…y’know; chicks.

I don’t throw around absolutes too often, *ahem*, but I will say this; nobody ever got into music because they enjoyed the concept of trying to book gigs. There is no “thrill of the hunt” in continuously trying to talk bar owners out of their money. Let’s face it; the ‘business’ part of the music business, is often demoralizing and depressing, and probably contributes more to Musician Drop-out than anything else, except maybe “Musicians Flaky-Jerk Syndrome”.

So let’s walk our way through some typical Club Owners and/or Bookers to see if by identifying their genus and species, we can’t learn to deal with them better.

“The Beer Seller”; Easy to spot due to a certain general weariness that permeates their existence. Upon engaging them, it’s easy to begin questioning whether they even like music at all. Incapable of understanding why you can’t draw two hundred people at Eleven PM on a Tuesday night to their ‘hot spot’ that no one goes to. Be careful; ‘Moral Ambiguity’ is a trademark of the Beer seller, and you can never be sure where the uncrossable line exists. Sure, hiring strippers to ‘dance’ during your set will fill the room, and sell a lot of beer, but chances are that for every person who may enjoy such a thing, there are others who will be mad. Really mad. The irony of the “Careful what you wish for” lesson is wasted on the Beer Seller.

Care and Feeding; Engage the Beer Seller only if you are adept at selling beer. If you have that kind of draw, take advantage of it and woo only the best Beer Sellers with the brightest plumage. Otherwise, you should probably avoid them.

“The Moneyed Hipster”; The entire reason for even owning a Nightclub for the Moneyed Hipster is because of the elevated status it brings to it’s owner. You’re ability to be booked there is directly proportionate to how cool it would be to have a picture taken with you. Make no mistake, he considers you part of his plumage. Deep psychological problems from childhood are always on display. Put one small chip in his well constructed mental playhouse, and he’ll turn on you in an instant, and all of his self aggrandizing stories will become cries of “You’ll never work in this town again.” He could, for instance, be on stage trying to turn off your bass amp while the lead singer is running through the club chased by Bouncers, gleefully knocking over the house P.A., and you wind up in a Sacramento motel two hours later thinking “What the hell was THAT?”

Care and Feeding; Cultivate the relationship. Moneyed Hipsters have a tendency to overpay to hang out with you, and throw cash around to attract friends. They might as well throw some your way! Just remember to keep an escape route for when it goes bad.

“The Woe-is-Me”; You generally have to get close to hear their plaintive call; some variation on “Life is hard, running a bar is harder, and thankless, and if I can scrape by for just one more month, I’ll be doing the world a favor.” There is some speculation that the Woe is a crossbreed between the Beer Seller and the Moneyed Hipster, but to date, there’s no scientific proof of that. Generally very friendly, they are quick to talk about their problems, and offer visions of a glorious future just over the horizon. Beware; one minute, you’re practically partners, and before you know it, your band is playing New Years Eve for two hundred bucks and a handful of shiny promises. When you try to cash in those promises, you find the Woe has already sold out and flown the coup. You get one more soul crushing “no good deed goes unpunished” lesson.

Care and Feeding; Engage but keep a respectful distance. Commiserate instead of sympathize. Stay business-like. Remember that generally speaking, no favor done for a club owner, especially a Woe-is-Me, is ever repaid.

These three examples are by no means the only species of Club Owner/Booker out there. There are others, like “The Clueless”, who obviously have an extremely short life span, “The Jaded Cougar” who spends all it’s time desperately chasing the latest trends, and “The Who Cares”, that will take up with whoever calls first at the special designated random secret time, and that is all that matters.

Of course, there are some exceptional Club Owners/ Bookers, and these are the ones that should be most sought after. They come by many names usually associated with “nice”, “cool”, and “friend”. They’re honest with you up front, and you can tell that they see their club as part of a Music Community. You might be lucky enough to see one or two of these rare birds, and they are the ones most worthy of protecting. It’s no surprise or mistake that the best people make the best Club Owners/Bookers.

Speaking of which, if you want to catch a glimpse of just such a rare bird or two, come to Armando’s, on Thursday, June 11th to see me and The Bros. Goldman, for an evening of ‘Meters’ inspired, New Orleans funk. A fine time will be had by all. I promise.

The Bros. Goldman
Thursday, June 11th, 8 to 10PM
Armando’s
707 Marina Vista
Martinez