It’s hard to see so much talent go up in smoke

Five years ago I was living in Detroit.

That sounds like the start of a gripe of some sort, but it’s not. Unlike a lot of people, I love the former Murder Capital of the World. The Big D earned that moniker in the late ‘70s, back when I was still attending high school there. Detroit residents have slacked off considerably since then; these days the world’s most dangerous city is Caracas, Venezuela (Thank you, Google).

Sure, Detroit’s still ranked Number Five in America, but if you know which neighborhoods to avoid, your odds of eluding a bullet increase dramatically. Still, while living there I would occasionally venture onto “the wrong side of the tracks.” Why? Because that’s where all the fun stuff happens.

I was looking for work with a weekend bar band. The Craigslist classifieds offered a couple good leads. One was an ‘80s tribute band, but I played all those tunes the first time around, back in the ‘80s. And in my opinion, musically, that’s not a decade that cries out to be revived. Also, I’m getting old and fat. I have no desire to ever again wear a “big hair” wig and Spandex pants in public.

The other lead was more promising; a “roots blues and classic rock” group. According to the ad, they had recently lost their lead singer and had several upcoming gigs “more or less” on the books. I called and scheduled an audition for the following Friday.

The neighborhood was not good, but I’ve lived in worse and the car I parked out front of the rundown duplex was not worth stealing.

The five guys in the band seemed OK; younger than me, but only by a handful of years. There seemed to be no buttheads, egomaniacs, primadonnas, or serial killers among them. If you’ve ever played in a working bar band, you know how unusual this is.

Also, no band wives were present, thus reducing the chances we’d encounter the dreaded “Yoko Syndrome” somewhere down the road. In short, they seemed a good bet.

We ran through a few of the standards together; “Mustang Sally,” “Thrill is Gone,” some James Brown and Springsteen. Both the guitar players were phenomenal, as was the keyboard player. The drummer and bass player were rock solid and deep in the pocket.

I play all those instruments myself, but not as well as any of them. So all I had to do was blow the harp and sing. This has always been a dream of mine, since it means I’d have to carry less equipment to gigs.

Our styles blended well. I liked them. They liked me. Everybody was getting excited and talking about all the money we were going to rake in once we put together the requisite 40 songs needed to get through a club gig.

And then the smoke came out.

Now, I’m no Pollyanna and I don’t give a dingo’s backside what anyone does when they’re off the clock, but I don’t confuse work with partying. And getting 40 songs down tight in a short amount of time is work, folks. Believe it.

Within a half hour, everyone in the rehearsal space, myself excepted, was deep into Bob Marley-ville. Every tune fluxed into a snooze-inducing, half-hour Phish jam. It was then I learned these guys had been “rehearsing” in this same basement twice a week for years and had played exactly zero money gigs.

I would be drawing Social Security by the time they managed to put 40 tunes together. I’m not sure they noticed when I booked.

It was almost two years later I noticed a help wanted ad on the bulletin board at Junkyard Guitars. Blues, originals, classic rock. And most important to those of us trying to keep Ramen noodles on the table, the words “working band.”

I made the call. The guy who answered the phone sounded nice enough. We talked for a bit and again, things seemed promising. He asked what tunes I knew, my influences, etc., the usual stuff. I asked about their booking schedule. Though they had nothing solid set up at the moment, the guy had a bunch of leads he planned to follow up on just as soon as the band firmed up.

“Well, that sounds good,” I said. “The last band I auditioned with were great players, but all they wanted to do was sit around the basement jamming and smoking, not necessarily in that order.”

“Oh, yeah, been there, done that,” the guy laughed.

And it turned out he indeed had been there and had done that. Twice a week, for who knows how many years. I recognized the address the moment he gave it to me. Same house, same guys, same story.

He didn’t remember me, which did not surprise me all that much. I didn’t keep our appointment and he never called back. A few months later I moved back to this side of the state.

It’s kind of a shame, because they all really were great players.

Is there a moral to this story? Ya got me. Sometimes, there are too many conclusions to be drawn to settle on just one.

mtaylor@staffordgroup.com

(616) 548-8273

Give me coconuts or give me death! But I’d really prefer coconuts

I don’t know where you stand on evolution and frankly, I don’t care. My kids are grown and out of school and based on everything I’ve seen on Nickelodeon while babysitting my grandson, there’s no hope for future generations anyway. If educators want to start telling students Adam and Eve rode dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden, that’s fine by me.

I was once a staunch believer in the Theory of Evolution, if only because so many of my friends – I’m thinking mostly of the guys from my weekend bar band – are quite obviously descended from apes. I’m guessing I am, too, based on the abundance of chimp-like hair sprouting from my back and shoulders.

Now, I’m no scientist or theologian (obviously), but I’m beginning to think there’s room for improvement in both schools of thought. Particularly where evolution is concerned.

For those of you who were home schooled, evolution is the theory that all living creatures evolved from lower creatures. Amoebae begat fish, fish begat dinosaurs, dinosaurs begat birds and mammals, birds and mammals begat monkeys which then begat human beings. According to many scientists, there was more begatting going on in Earth’s prehistory than in the entire Old Testament and yes, I’m including 1 Chronicles, so we’re talking a lot here.

(And I’m only kidding with the “home schooled” comment above. One of my editors was home schooled and it’s been a while since I gave her a reason to want to punch me in the esophagus. Mission accomplished.) 

At any rate, my explanation of evolution is vague and oversimplified, but so is my understanding of same, so… My point is, I’m no longer so sure the Theory of Evolution is accurate. Just lately I’ve been thinking Darwin had it backward. We didn’t evolve and we’re not evolving.

In fact, just the opposite may be true. I think we’re devolving. Devolution is the theory that species can, over time, revert to more primitive forms. I don’t want to believe that’s happening, but sometimes I watch the news and can’t help but entertain the idea.

I mean, let’s take a quick look at the history of humanity. Whether you want to call them Adam and Eve or something more scientific, at one time there were only a handful of homo sapiens running around on the face of the planet. Homo sapiens, by the way, is Latin for “wise person.” I think that moniker is apt, or was at that time.

Humanity was scattered and not numerous enough to cause a lot of trouble. We lived off the land, got along well with most plants and animals we didn’t eat, and wanted nothing more from life than a warm meal, a mate who was occasionally in the mood for romance and a roof over our heads when it rained.

Life was hard, but good.

Then we started growing things on purpose rather than simply gathering coconuts from the trees. Communities sprang up to support this new agricultural lifestyle. Things were still pretty good, though not everyone was happy with the Friday night crowds at all the good restaurants.

Then came industry. Some people were better at it than others and it didn’t take long before there were employers and employees. One group had more, the other less. Those who had less wanted more. So did those who already had more.

Now remember, their (supposedly primitive) ancestors were happy eating coconuts and laying around in the sun all day. The notion of “more” and “less” hadn’t even occurred to them. So they were happy.

But once an idea takes root, it’s hard to stamp it out. Before long, everyone wanted more. And then – and this is where the devolution thing really takes off – someone figured out you could make a buck by promising people more more more! A coconut in every pot and a Chevy in every garage!

They called the people who made these rash, unfulfillable promises politicians.

There’s probably a Latin word for “politician” but I’m guessing whatever it is, it doesn’t translate into “wise person.” Politicians, I believe, are the driving force behind the devolution that will eventually have humanity back in the trees, swinging from vines and picking the nits off each other’s backs.

You doubt my theory? Have you seen any of the presidential debates so far?

Just under 2,500 years ago, humanity was represented by Socrates. Not much later, on the theological front we had the teachings of Jesus, Muhammed, Buddha. Then later came Galileo, Kepler, Descartes, Newton, and finally, Einstein.

Near as I can tell, it’s pretty much been downhill from there.

And when I see those presidential candidates on the news? Well, all I can say is, I’m not seeing anybody up there at the podium smarter than Socrates. Or Larry, Moe and Curly, for that matter.

I’m picking out my tree now. I want one with a lot of coconuts close to a stream.

mtaylor325@gmail.com

(616) 548-8273