Often times when I am teaching throughout the year I am asked to make gift certificates for people that are bought by friends or relatives. It is funny how often those recipients don't claim there presents. I often never hear from them. I am sure there are myriad of reasons that I have never even heard of as to why they couldn't use their gift certificate. Perhaps bought by the lover who is now an ex and it goes without saying the last thing you would be caught using is a present from your ex partner. Some people are too shy to call you for their lessons. In many cases they were given lessons to encourage them out of their shell and music is an accepted way of doing that and is much cheaper than a therapist.
I received a call from a lady whose husband was just turning 50 and she thought it would be good for him to experience music before he died. To possibly relieve some of the stress of being a high level businessman along the way. She ask me how much the lessons were and asked if she could pick up a gift certificate to give him on his birthday the following weekend. I generally use quite informal wording in my gift certificates to lighten them up; 'Because you are a good boy
and will continue to be a good boy an elf has granted you a ______lesson at Keith Bennett studios.' She left with the present printed on the best paper I had. The day after his birthday the birthday boy called to arrange a time for his lessons. She had bought him 2- one hour lessons and he was eager to get started.
He knocked on the door, I introduced myself and we got down to business. I showed him what I call the " entry level" lesson. History of the harmonica, some simple rhythm playing and the 12 bar blues explained and then explained according to the harmonica player and what he or she would play in it. He was fast learner and very keen; nodding his head after each important idea that he understood. He left quite excited and I closed the door after him thinking that times like these make me feel that it was a good thing to get into teaching after all. Helping someone to find a voice. The next week he came back at the same time for part 2 of his gift certificate and I noticed he now had 3 harmonicas with him and a book. I asked him what harmonicas he had bought he showed me and I noticed that they were all in the same key.
It customary to buy different keys of harmonica of which there are 12 but no one had told him that and he
wanted some more so now he had 3 in the key of C. I suggested that if he was going to purchase additional harmonicas he might consider the key of A followed by the key of D or G. He wanted to continue his lessons and on the following week he showed up with 3 C's, an A , a D , and a G harp, 3 books and 8 blues CDs.
Each week his collection grew and he carried everything in a plastic shopping bag. I finally decided to get him a present for his next lesson. I stopped by the Salvation Army store to buy one of those 1950's ladies overnight cases with the little elastic pouches on the inside and the mirror in the lid. I thought it would be better than a plastic bag - somewhere to put his harps and paraphernalia.
He was outwardly thankful when I gave it to him but didn't say much after I think it had something to do with the fact that it was pink. The very next week he arrived with the most expensive soft pouch camera case I have ever seen. He demonstrated it to me with all it's hidden pouches and zippers and padding. Each and every pouch was filled with either a harmonica
or a microphone or a cord or a book or a CD. He even bought a mini sequencer which he had spent some big money on. I was starting to get the idea that the store manager of the music store he went to must know his name and have instructed all his staff learn it. When I started to play I waited months for my next harmonica and it took me years to amass such a horde of harmonica stuff.
There are those that do and those that collect things. It didn't take me too long to see that his heart was really in possession of the accoutrements and not so much in the practicing of the instrument. We plugged along and month after month he would show up at my door with his collection. He did start to show marked improvement after I suggested he play in his car while driving and before too long was playing through the songs I had given him.
He told me that recently he had been on his way to a very important board meeting about 70K away on the freeway. He was having a great old time playing blues harp along with some backing tracks I had made for him. He drove right past the exit for his meeting and kept going down the freeway in the wrong direction. When he finally noticed, he realized that the next place he could turn around was 8K away so he was very late for the meeting. When he finally arrived to a large board room table filled with people waiting for him he turned to the president of the company and came clean. "I'm sorry I'm late I have to tell you that I was playing harmonica in my car and drove right by the turn off". The president, who up to this point wore a scowl demanded " You play harmonica? I play harmonica too. What kind of harps do you use?....... Needless to say the meeting was a success and another musical bond was formed that day.
About a year into teaching him I had to make a schedule change so I could record on a Doug and the Slugs CD so I called him up to change the time. His wife answered the phone. "Hi it's Keith. I need to change the lesson time this week so I can.." "It's you! She interrupted. He's driving me crazy! He plays harmonica in the morning, he plays harmonica at night, he plays harmonica in the car, he plays harmonica in the bathroom, he's driving me nuts with that thing!"
Then there was a silence. After about 5 seconds she said calmly:
"Can you teach me to yodel" I really want to learn to yodel."
I thought about it for a few seconds and as I always do before I properly think things through. I said: "Sure I can do that, it's just like singing” I lied. "When can I come in" she said and I found her a spot on another day from her husband and hung up the phone.
The next week she arrived for a yodeling lesson and her husband appeared later for his weekly harmonica lesson. I had to do some quick research at the library on the art of yodeling and was surprised to find out exactly how difficult it really is.
Can’t you just picture those two lovebirds at a campsite in the summer sitting around the campfire. He plays his harmonica and she yodels and every so often they look into each others eyes and sigh and look back at the fire. It would be very quiet there as they would no doubt be surrounded by deserted campsites.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
I Crack Me Up!
New Years is the musician’s goldmine. It is the one night of the year that
a band can command up to twice what it would normally charge.
Not having a gig on New Years would be like a girl not being asked to the prom.
In the months that lead up to the big night there is a flurry of phone activity with most musicians asking each other “Are you booked for New Years”?
This particular year, my band had been asked to play for New Years Eve by a promoter I had not heard of before. It is fairly common practice for promoters with little experience to suddenly appear on the scene a month or two before New Years Eve. They will book a venue, hire a band, a caterer and then charge $75-$125 a ticket with the hopes of
walking away with a large chunk of money for one night.
On two occasions in the past I have witnessed the best intentions crumble
at the last minute due to poor advertising and just bad planning.
I learned my lesson and made sure I got a hefty deposit.
The venue he had chosen was the Old Holiday Inn off Robson
with a revolving restaurant on top.
The load in was one of the worst the band had ever experienced.
We had to load our gear into a tiny service elevator around the back
of the building and ride up to the 19th floor. We then had to take everything out of the
elevator and walk it down a cluttered hallway to load it all again into
another tiny elevator that would take us to the roof.
In a revolving restaurant there is a ring about 25 feet wide that
moves 360 degrees in about an hour. The bandstand was luckily in
front of the elevator when we arrived on top and we quickly loaded
our gear before it escaped too far. Set up was quite difficult
with such a narrow stage; behind us rose a 20 foot high window
that was engineered so that the top of the window was pushed out
at least 6 feet farther than the bottom. This gave a very panoramic
view of the surrounding city.
In setting up a band, however, one gets used to the world of 90 degree
angles and walls to lean things against. Setting up on this night was like setting up in a china shop. We finally got everything set just right and I noticed two people were
missing -- the promoter and our bass player.
“Downbeat,” as it is called was for 7 PM and we were now at 6:45 and
still no sign of either. It was 7:05 when the bass player lugged his amp and his bass towards the stage. I just wanted to do a good job and ignored the excuses and
just said, " let’s get started." He had not brought an extension cord
to help his bass amp reach to the closest power source which is often
longer than the amp cord. So in desperation, I decided to plug him
into the power bar located behind my guitar amp. I was using a
Roland JC-120 guitar amp at the time. I liked the great sound it produced and the convenience of the built-in wheels to help it roll around
with. On top of my guitar amp sat my Pevey 6 channel PA head for the
microphones.
I reached behind the amp to plug in the bass amp cord when the whole
amp swayed slowly backward on it wheels and crashed into the revolving window.
This was no ordinary window. The crack started at the bottom from the
impact from the corner of the amp head hitting it. To my horror it
grew like a convoluted spider web until every corner from floor to ceiling was joined by tiny cracks. I pulled the amp back onto the stage and stood watching dumb-struck
with my mouth wide open feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.
I looked at the band members and saw various degrees of shock on
their faces. I pictured a thought entering their collective minds: "Sucks to
be you man ….Ouch! "
I had to tell someone. I had no time to waste as people were arriving,
the lights were dimming and we had yet to tune up. I went downstairs hoping to find the promoter but I found only someone whom he had hired to take the money at the door.
This was the early days of cellphones when they were still the size of bricks
and I didn’t have his number to call him.
I went downstairs to find someone in management but could only find
the catering staff. When I returned to the bandstand the lights had
dimmed and the shattered window was leaving the scene of the crime.
I decided we should start playing and we did the first set. It was
very hard to concentrate knowing that any moment the window could
break and shower the busy street 30 floors below with thousands of shards of falling glass.
During the third song of the second set, the promoter finally arrived with
two of the managers. They stood pointing at me and waving their arms
in the air. The head honcho of the hotel shook his head stormed off.
I had a bad feeling about this and dreaded the rest of the night having to
deal with the promoter and management. I had visions of not being paid
and having to be on the hook for the band's wages.
And so we reached the end of an otherwise uneventful New Year’s Eve party. After the last song of the night, I went to find the promoter, received our wages and paid out the band members. I made it clear to each one of them as I paid them that the band would be on the hook for half the cost of the window replacement. Not one of them offered to help with the cost of the window even though they were receiving three times what they would normally make on a gig throughout the year. They all took their money and fled into the night.
I packed the sound system and my guitar gear by myself and
threaded it downstairs to my van.
As it turned out, the cost of the window was shared three ways by the hotel, the promoter and myself. The hotel decided it didn’t want to increase the insurance deductible by claiming the window so in the end my share was $800.
I asked for an invoice from the glass company they were using which was faxed to me and I decided in the end to pay the cost. I could have complained and
tried to make a stink even taking it to small claims court. It has been my experience however, that the stress endured in situations like that more than outweighs the cost
one might save even if you win. I was the contractor, I broke the window so I paid the $800 out of my own pocket and wished myself a Happy New Year.
I have since changed my concept regarding the traditional term “band” and the so-called loyalties assumed therein. From that day forward I use only Union musicians as a farmer would hire hands to help harvest ripe fruit. I now phone around to see who’s available when I need them. Now I know where they got the term “Hired Gun”
a band can command up to twice what it would normally charge.
Not having a gig on New Years would be like a girl not being asked to the prom.
In the months that lead up to the big night there is a flurry of phone activity with most musicians asking each other “Are you booked for New Years”?
This particular year, my band had been asked to play for New Years Eve by a promoter I had not heard of before. It is fairly common practice for promoters with little experience to suddenly appear on the scene a month or two before New Years Eve. They will book a venue, hire a band, a caterer and then charge $75-$125 a ticket with the hopes of
walking away with a large chunk of money for one night.
On two occasions in the past I have witnessed the best intentions crumble
at the last minute due to poor advertising and just bad planning.
I learned my lesson and made sure I got a hefty deposit.
The venue he had chosen was the Old Holiday Inn off Robson
with a revolving restaurant on top.
The load in was one of the worst the band had ever experienced.
We had to load our gear into a tiny service elevator around the back
of the building and ride up to the 19th floor. We then had to take everything out of the
elevator and walk it down a cluttered hallway to load it all again into
another tiny elevator that would take us to the roof.
In a revolving restaurant there is a ring about 25 feet wide that
moves 360 degrees in about an hour. The bandstand was luckily in
front of the elevator when we arrived on top and we quickly loaded
our gear before it escaped too far. Set up was quite difficult
with such a narrow stage; behind us rose a 20 foot high window
that was engineered so that the top of the window was pushed out
at least 6 feet farther than the bottom. This gave a very panoramic
view of the surrounding city.
In setting up a band, however, one gets used to the world of 90 degree
angles and walls to lean things against. Setting up on this night was like setting up in a china shop. We finally got everything set just right and I noticed two people were
missing -- the promoter and our bass player.
“Downbeat,” as it is called was for 7 PM and we were now at 6:45 and
still no sign of either. It was 7:05 when the bass player lugged his amp and his bass towards the stage. I just wanted to do a good job and ignored the excuses and
just said, " let’s get started." He had not brought an extension cord
to help his bass amp reach to the closest power source which is often
longer than the amp cord. So in desperation, I decided to plug him
into the power bar located behind my guitar amp. I was using a
Roland JC-120 guitar amp at the time. I liked the great sound it produced and the convenience of the built-in wheels to help it roll around
with. On top of my guitar amp sat my Pevey 6 channel PA head for the
microphones.
I reached behind the amp to plug in the bass amp cord when the whole
amp swayed slowly backward on it wheels and crashed into the revolving window.
This was no ordinary window. The crack started at the bottom from the
impact from the corner of the amp head hitting it. To my horror it
grew like a convoluted spider web until every corner from floor to ceiling was joined by tiny cracks. I pulled the amp back onto the stage and stood watching dumb-struck
with my mouth wide open feeling like the wind had been knocked out of me.
I looked at the band members and saw various degrees of shock on
their faces. I pictured a thought entering their collective minds: "Sucks to
be you man ….Ouch! "
I had to tell someone. I had no time to waste as people were arriving,
the lights were dimming and we had yet to tune up. I went downstairs hoping to find the promoter but I found only someone whom he had hired to take the money at the door.
This was the early days of cellphones when they were still the size of bricks
and I didn’t have his number to call him.
I went downstairs to find someone in management but could only find
the catering staff. When I returned to the bandstand the lights had
dimmed and the shattered window was leaving the scene of the crime.
I decided we should start playing and we did the first set. It was
very hard to concentrate knowing that any moment the window could
break and shower the busy street 30 floors below with thousands of shards of falling glass.
During the third song of the second set, the promoter finally arrived with
two of the managers. They stood pointing at me and waving their arms
in the air. The head honcho of the hotel shook his head stormed off.
I had a bad feeling about this and dreaded the rest of the night having to
deal with the promoter and management. I had visions of not being paid
and having to be on the hook for the band's wages.
And so we reached the end of an otherwise uneventful New Year’s Eve party. After the last song of the night, I went to find the promoter, received our wages and paid out the band members. I made it clear to each one of them as I paid them that the band would be on the hook for half the cost of the window replacement. Not one of them offered to help with the cost of the window even though they were receiving three times what they would normally make on a gig throughout the year. They all took their money and fled into the night.
I packed the sound system and my guitar gear by myself and
threaded it downstairs to my van.
As it turned out, the cost of the window was shared three ways by the hotel, the promoter and myself. The hotel decided it didn’t want to increase the insurance deductible by claiming the window so in the end my share was $800.
I asked for an invoice from the glass company they were using which was faxed to me and I decided in the end to pay the cost. I could have complained and
tried to make a stink even taking it to small claims court. It has been my experience however, that the stress endured in situations like that more than outweighs the cost
one might save even if you win. I was the contractor, I broke the window so I paid the $800 out of my own pocket and wished myself a Happy New Year.
I have since changed my concept regarding the traditional term “band” and the so-called loyalties assumed therein. From that day forward I use only Union musicians as a farmer would hire hands to help harvest ripe fruit. I now phone around to see who’s available when I need them. Now I know where they got the term “Hired Gun”
"Space"
The 1 mile square of high-rises called the West End in Vancouver BC, hosts one of the most densely populated areas in North America. There is a hotel in the base of one of the many towers with a pub called Shampers. I call it the living room of the studios as most of the clientele live in the high-rise towers and tend to call bars such as this their watering holes.
One weekend I was performing in the pub with a keyboard player and a drummer.
During the second set I could see a strange man standing by the doorway of the bar wearing a long raincoat and
carrying a garbage bag under his arm. I was in the middle of singing and I noticed him by the door.
He stood by the entrance and listened to the band for a while. He had long straggly hair and hadn’t shaved.
We were doing some mellow early evening songs as there were few customers at that point in the evening.
Shampers was the kind of room that allowed me the flexibility to pick the songs that I thought the regulars would want to hear. Our friend at the door waited for me to finish a song, ambled towards me and asked in a soft low voice
" Mind if I sit in?” “Sure man, what do you play?” I answered. “Well,… I play…. this!”
He said as he slowly pulled a plastic saxophone out of his paper shopping bag. It was smaller than a real saxophone and had a kazoo instead of a normal mouthpiece. The keyboard player and myself exchanged uncomfortable glances and I surveyed the ten or so people in the room, most of whom were playing pool.
What the heck I thought “How about a blues in Bb – ‘Route 66’ ” I asked. Our new band member just nodded his head as I started to sing the first verse. After the second verse I turned to him indicating that his was the first solo.
Now I haven’t heard a lot of kazoo players in my time but this guy could make that plastic sax sound like Mckoy Tynor one of the masters. He looked like his fingers were actually playing the little plastic keys while his voice hummed the sounds of the sax; he had amazing talent. It sounded so good that I rolled my first finger in a forward circle indicating that he should keep soloing while the rest of the band smiled at each other.
After his solos I sang the chorus, repeated the first verse and ended the song. He carefully put the little plastic sax back in his bag and was walking slowly towards the door. “Hey man, what’s your name? I called after him.
He slowly turned around and softly said: “Space” before walking out the door.
After he left I said into the microphone in a low voice:
“Ladies and Gentlemen: “Space”.
One weekend I was performing in the pub with a keyboard player and a drummer.
During the second set I could see a strange man standing by the doorway of the bar wearing a long raincoat and
carrying a garbage bag under his arm. I was in the middle of singing and I noticed him by the door.
He stood by the entrance and listened to the band for a while. He had long straggly hair and hadn’t shaved.
We were doing some mellow early evening songs as there were few customers at that point in the evening.
Shampers was the kind of room that allowed me the flexibility to pick the songs that I thought the regulars would want to hear. Our friend at the door waited for me to finish a song, ambled towards me and asked in a soft low voice
" Mind if I sit in?” “Sure man, what do you play?” I answered. “Well,… I play…. this!”
He said as he slowly pulled a plastic saxophone out of his paper shopping bag. It was smaller than a real saxophone and had a kazoo instead of a normal mouthpiece. The keyboard player and myself exchanged uncomfortable glances and I surveyed the ten or so people in the room, most of whom were playing pool.
What the heck I thought “How about a blues in Bb – ‘Route 66’ ” I asked. Our new band member just nodded his head as I started to sing the first verse. After the second verse I turned to him indicating that his was the first solo.
Now I haven’t heard a lot of kazoo players in my time but this guy could make that plastic sax sound like Mckoy Tynor one of the masters. He looked like his fingers were actually playing the little plastic keys while his voice hummed the sounds of the sax; he had amazing talent. It sounded so good that I rolled my first finger in a forward circle indicating that he should keep soloing while the rest of the band smiled at each other.
After his solos I sang the chorus, repeated the first verse and ended the song. He carefully put the little plastic sax back in his bag and was walking slowly towards the door. “Hey man, what’s your name? I called after him.
He slowly turned around and softly said: “Space” before walking out the door.
After he left I said into the microphone in a low voice:
“Ladies and Gentlemen: “Space”.
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