Hey Bob.

Kenny Lee Lewis here from the Steve Miller Band.

I loved your Navy Seal analogy to the music business.

When I go do honoraria speeches at universities and music schools about the entertainment business, one of the first things I do is ask the class who loves music. Of course everyone raises their hands. Then I ask who wants to have a career in music, and around half raise their hands. Then I ask who wants to be a musician or a songwriter, and around a third respond. Then the last question is "who here today is determined to make a living as a musician, songwriter or an entertainer?" Usually around 10 to 15 % of the class raise their hands. Then I exclaim, "Why in God’s name would you want to do this to yourself and your families! You’re going to break everyone’s heart, and if you make it, you’re going to be an asshole, an addict, you’re going to leave your spouse and kids, and probably die in a pauper’s grave!"

Of course everyone is shocked and was so looking forward to me romanticizing the life of a rock star to pump up their dreams. After everyone settles down, I then take them through the paces of what would metaphorically be basic training in boot camp. You are right on the money. The weaklings and posers will fall first and only the ones with true character and humility will even have the opportunity to try and fail at doing this insane business.

I am working on an instructional video right now on how to play in a hit rock rhythm section but most importantly, how to "HANG" with other musicians which in my opinion is about 90% of how far one will go in this business. You should see the looks on their faces when they realize that it’s more about the hang than the appearance, the material or all the chops they can come up with. They really get bummed. By the time I’ve worked them all over for an hour, maybe 3 or 4 people will come up afterwards to thank me and say that they "got it". Two are lying and another is just stoned, dig?

I just got back from a three week tour with Miller with Greg Allman opening. Talk about two beat up vets! It’s just amazing what some people will do and sacrifice just to be up there on that doggone stage. Obviously, they both deserve it.

Peace

Kenny Lee Lewis
www.kennyleelewis.com
www.stevemillerband.com
www.hangdynasty.com

Stanton said we had to go to his studio.

I would have passed but I’d gotten this e-mail from Stephen Budd saying his band Dry The River was recording there and what a coincidence!

Not that I knew who Dry The River was, or Peter Katis, or even Stephen Budd.  But I do know Stanton, my whole life.  He stayed in Fairfield when so many leave.  He’d been regaling me forever about this hockey band the Zambonis he does work for and he was testifying about Peter and I got caught up in the enthusiasm and said LET’S GO!

Because I love the studio.  That’s where records are made.

But now a studio is a Mac Pro with Pro Tools, the records are made in one’s head and laid down in a bedroom and only the rich can afford to record in the big rooms of yore, those that are still standing anyway.

So I didn’t expect much.

But I was wrong.  

IN BRIDGEPORT!

Nothing cool ever happened in Bridgeport.  And in my mind, still never does.  But Peter Katis has got his studio there in an old Victorian and he makes National records there.

Now that’s quite a calling card.  Because they don’t come any hipper, nor more critically lauded, than the National.

But Peter’s first breakthrough was Interpol.

And he made that solo album with the guy from Sigur Ros and he told me he’s got so many offers he’d need to clone himself six times to do all the work.

IN BRIDGEPORT!

He started off in his parents’ basement.

Actually, after graduating from UVM he took classes at SUNY Purchase to learn recording.  And then he wrangled a paid internship in the city, at a place where they cut high end karaoke.  And then he realized he could do it himself, and moved to his parents’ basement in Greenwich.

And then Schneider, from the Zambonis, convinced Katis he had to move to Bridgeport.  And about ten years ago he did.

The edifice is staggering.

Built in 1895, in Los Angeles it would be worth 8 mil.

On the ground floor is the kitchen and the band lounge and Peter’s personal living quarters.

On the second floor is the rest of his house and the band bedrooms.  That’s the deal.  You make a record and you live in the house, although he insists you leave on the weekend, to get some perspective, so Dry The River was not there.

And on the third floor was the studio.

I was not prepared.

This was real.

There was a separate control room.  With a Neve board, used mostly for patching, and a Studer A 827 and a Studer half inch machine too.

It was fascinating.  Peter cuts tracks to tape.  But what about the hard time getting tape?  He just uses the same reels over and over again.  Since he transfers the tracks off so soon, there’s no print-through.  Although Peter did tell me that the longer you let the tracks sit on the tape the more organic they become, they mellow, they get that analog sound.

And there’s tons of outboard gear and the requisite Mac Pro and on the other side of the glass…

Was a collection of amplifiers and instruments worthy of any "real" studio.  Old Silvertones and Voxes and fifties Gibsons and Marshalls and a bunch of manufacturers I’d never heard of.  Actually, Peter was raving about this tiny new Vox amp that when pushed yields amazing sounds.

And there were these amazing headphone rigs.  With faders and…  I’d never seen anything like it, state of the art, but if you’re a studio rat, you know what I mean.

And at first, Peter’s doing it for free in the basement.  Then someone says they like his drum sound and want to pay him. This is after playing in a band for ten years called the Philistines Jr.

And then he got lucky with Interpol.  Not that it was a matter of luck, but it’s about paying your dues, following an uncharted course, where inspiration meets perspiration and the public reacts.  And suddenly, after ten years with your head down, you’ve made it.

But you’ve always got further to go.

Peter charges a grand a day.  All-in.  At least for now.  He doesn’t want an open-ended album fund, then the band works forever.  That’s one of the biggest problems acts have, they can’t let go, they’re in the studio once every couple of years and they want to get it perfect.

But there’s no such thing.

And despite living in BRIDGEPORT Peter’s done some shoot-outs on household name acts, mixing tracks.

But mostly Peter’s operating in the indie world.  Working incessantly.  But claiming two nights for hockey.  You’ve got no perspective if you have no life.

And I’d like to tell you I knew every act Peter talked about.  His personal breakthrough was his recording with the Mommyheads.  I know the name, but that’s it.

But this is where the future lies.  At the intersection of the underground and the web surfer.  The company?  Not so important.

No amount of publicity and placement can break a stiff record.

And now, everything stiffs except a tiny sliver.  Sure, you can stay alive, as a journeyman, but if you want to be ubiquitous, if you want to play Glastonbury, like the National, you’ve got to be really damn good.

But what impressed me most about Peter was that he cared.  He took it seriously.  Despite being conversant in commerce, being represented by Sandy Roberton, it was all about the music.

IN BRIDGEPORT!

Tarquin Studios

I’m reading an article on the Navy SEALS.  It recounts Hell Week, wherein you either pass or fail, make it or don’t.  Only 21 of the author’s class of 220 survived the test.  What does it take to succeed?

"What kind of man makes it through Hell Week? That’s hard to say. But I do know – generally – who won’t make it. There are a dozen types that fail: the weight-lifting meatheads who think that the size of their biceps is an indication of their strength, the kids covered in tattoos announcing to the world how tough they are, the preening leaders who don’t want to get dirty, and the look-at-me former athletes who have always been told they are stars but have never have been pushed beyond the envelope of their talent to the core of their character. In short, those who fail are the ones who focus on show. The vicious beauty of Hell Week is that you either survive or fail, you endure or you quit, you do – or you do not."

Sounds like an audition for "American Idol".  Did you see that article wherein the stars of "The Voice" were shown to have appeared on previous TV shows?

The Stars of ‘The Voice’–Where You’ve Heard Us Before

That’s taking the easy way out, that’s a desire to strap yourself onto a rocket to the moon, real stardom demands more.  It’s not a lucky break, it’s all that preparation when no one is looking. Making it comes when you least expect it, when you’ve almost given up but are still slogging along on sheer adrenaline.

It is about character.  Much more than talent.

"Some men who seemed impossibly weak at the beginning of SEAL training – men who puked on runs and had trouble with pull-ups – made it. Some men who were skinny and short and whose teeth chattered just looking at the ocean also made it. Some men who were visibly afraid, sometimes to the point of shaking, made it too."

You can’t predict who is going to be a star.  That beautiful girl with the fantastic pipes in high school, where is she today? Your buddy who could wail on the guitar?

Making it is like becoming a Navy SEAL.  You’ve got to endure all kinds of horrific abuse, when no one is watching.  Are you gonna flake out for the doughnut or hang in there?  Used to be getting a record deal was like becoming a SEAL, the beginning.  Now even that doesn’t count.  People wanting record deals are pussies, they want someone else to do all the work.  Today, if you want to survive, you’ve got to do the work.

It’s a battle.

Very few can make it in music.  Even fewer than can make it in movies.  You can fake it in acting (Arnold Schwarzenegger?), but you can’t fake it in music.

Oh, don’t complain about the pretty faces with Top Ten hits written by the usual suspects.  Everyone knows they’re not real. Which is why they can’t sell a ticket and are forgotten almost instantly.

And the old labels don’t want to do the hard work and neither do the concert promoters.

The old labels just want to plug you into the system.  Get you TV and radio exposure, play online games to make you famous.  If the labels wanted to do the hard work, they’d sign people who sounded nothing like what’s on the radio and break them.  That’s what they used to do, but now it’s too hard.  Just try getting a deal at a major label if you don’t make Top Forty music.

And once upon a time, promoters broke acts.  Before consolidation, when agents and managers were loyal.  Now promoters are conglomerates focused on the bottom line, it’s about anything but music.  Live Nation trumpeting the success of the Charlie Sheen tour?  Would Bill Graham have promoted that?  Money doesn’t trump everything.  Let’s see you try to book ANOTHER Charlie Sheen tour.  In the old days, the acts started small and ended up big.  Charlie Sheen started out big and ended up small.

The reason we haven’t had many new breakthroughs, in both music and business, is it’s so damn hard to do.  Techies want instant returns and so do the acts.  No one wants to put in the hard work.

What struck me about all the e-mail regarding the Outsiders was that this was not everybody’s first band.  Jimmy Fox was in many before forming the James Gang.  Greatness takes a while to pan out.  You don’t make it immediately.  You keep slogging on, rejiggering, practicing, refining, getting it right.  To the point when people discover you you look like an overnight success, yet you’re anything but.

On some level, that’s what’s wrong with America.  No one wants to do the hard work.

But some do.  And they’re the ones who succeed.

The Seal Sensibility

Bob,

When I was in high school in Lyndhurst, Ohio, there was a place called the Chagrin Armory, where the up and coming bands would play. It was basically just a huge, empty concrete warehouse, with terrible acoustics, but it could probably hold 1500 people.

I heard The Outsiders were going to be playing there, and a couple of my friends and I decided to venture out from the protective cocoon of Lyndhurst to the wilds of Chagrin and check them out.

I had heard "Time Won’t Let Me" on the radio, and, as a card carrying Mod, had turned my nose up at it. It had horns (yuch!) and organ (blech!) and it seemed to me the lead singer, Sonny Geraci, was a touch flat for the whole song, but, in the spirit of adventure, we ventured out anyway.

They blew me completely away.

They were wearing matching navy blue blazers and white pants. Their hair was long, but not too long. I looked up at the stage, and instead of seeing the "greasers" I had expected to see, they were really pretty cool.

Then they started to play.

By the time they got to "Time Won’t Let Me" I was a bonafide fan. Everything sounded just like the record, only better, and Sonny Geraci turned out to be a fantastic frontman.

I don’t think I knew which one Tom King was, at the time. It was really all about Sonny, and the horns, but I knew Tom was the guy who wrote the song.

It was years before I learned that Jimmy Fox played drums on the album (a lot of that time they credited MY drummer, JIm Bonfanti) but, I’ve got to say, all these years later, that record still holds a special place in my heart. It’s that "moment in time" kind of record, that takes you back to exactly where you were when you first heard it.

It was painful reading about how Tom was screwed out of his record and writing royalties for $500, but most of us have been there.

All I can say is, that song, and The Outsiders, were an inspiration to me at a time when inspiration was everything.

I still see Sonny around town. He’s still gigging, and he looks great and sounds better than ever.

Thanks Tom ( and Sonny), for a memorable night, and a record that will live forever.

Eric