Category Archives: Soul

One Starry Night in San Antonio

 

 

OK, this is why it works. Perfect night. About 70 degrees. Stars out. Mary had an invitation to the Witte Museum, where the traveling exhibition, The World of Mummies http://mow2.studiobanks.us/ is currently in full swing. Just as importantly, the evening was sponsored by The San Antonio Express News http://www.mysanantonio.com/. Among those speaking at the short 15-minute program was Managing Editor Mike Leary, the Pulitzer Prize-winner, most recently at The Philadelphia Inquirer.

We arrived a few minutes early and walked the beautiful grounds of the Witte, situated on the banks of the San Antonio River. You can now walk (or ride your bike) from the museum, past the Pearl Brewery complex, through downtown, past the Riverwalk, through the King William District, past the Blue Star complex, all of the way to the other missions, several miles south of town. The “back” of the Witte, which features several (re-located) historic buildings from San Antonio’s past, faces Brackenridge Park, itself full of WPA and CCC buildings and playgrounds. The grounds were lit with fairy lights for Christmas and worth an hour or two on their own.

The Express-News provided a nice buffet and we heard from the publisher and advertising director how the newspaper was committed to the community, how it was adding sections, and – more importantly – more writers. The response was warmly enthusiastic from the couple of hundred people in attendance.

After their talk, I hobbled over to speak to Mike Leary. I introduced myself as a professor from Baylor and he immediately complimented me on the long list of awards The Lariat, Round Up and Focus magazine have all received in recent years, including those where we beat the student newspaper at the land grant school in Austin. I asked him about my friends Mike Blackman (who taught at Baylor until this semester) and Henry Holcomb (a former Lariat editor), both of whom worked at the Inquirer. Leary regaled us with stories of the two, implying – quite maliciously, I’m sure – that both of those stellar gentlemen may have imbibed hard liquor at some point in their youth. Henry’s adventures as head of the union shop while Leary was editor prompted another affectionate story or two. We parted and he reminded me that the Express-News was “beating the bushes” for interns from Baylor.

In the museum, we were much impressed by The World of Mummies. Mary and I had seen the extraordinary mummies on regular display in the British Museum, but this traveling exhibit included mummies from South America, the peat bogs of Northern Europe, and an entire family interred and forgotten for centuries in a hidden vault in an ancient German castle. Nearly every mummy had a digital display as well, showing the results of MRI and and X-ray scans. Informative and beautifully done.

The night was still young, so we drove a few minutes west towards North St. Mary’s Street where Tycoon Flats http://www.flatsisback.com/ features a biergarten, various brews on tap, good pub grub and best of all on this fine December evening – live music. San Antonio is a town full of live music, but the first Friday evening of each month belongs to the MFS Band (Music Fa Ya Soul) http://www.myspace.com/mfs4lifeband, an uncommonly talented R&B and funk band that specializes in both familiar and unfamiliar tunes by Prince, Cameo, Earth, Wind & Fire, the Gap Band, Zapp, the Stylistics and all of the great dance bands that were in business between the fall of soul music and the rise of disco. Oh, we love those guys. They were in rare form Friday night, too. Mary was compelled to dance on numerous occasions under the stars, joined by grandmothers, ankle-biters and everybody in between. Van even stopped by, en route to a special evening of his own at Floores Country Store in Helotes. I even managed to dance a slow song … but only because Mary danced very, very slowly.

When the last set ended, we hugged new friends, and were home in 15-20 minutes in light traffic.

One starry night in San Antonio, y’all…

 

After Midnight

After Midnight

The only thing harder than forming a great band is leaving one. After 14 years (or so – we’re not quite sure when this actually began) of drumming for the best cover band in Central Texas, I had to reluctantly tender my resignation from After Midnight last week. While this isn’t exactly John Lennon leaving the Beatles, it still hurts. A lot.

I’ve grown to love these guys. Barry Hankins (guitar, vocals) and I had played together at 7th & James for several years, usually backing other people for youth talent shows, 7th’s Up, and even Cool Yule when I asked him if he’d be interested in forming a band that specialized in R&B and Texas shuffle. He said yes. Barry had been in a number of bands through the years and has this wonderful Bob Seger/Detroit rock voice that was just achin’ to be spotlighted.

Within a couple of weeks, we’d heard about Steve Gardner (keyboards, vocals) at Lake Shore Baptist. We approached Steve, played a few tunes at his house and found an immediate musical/personal fit. Steve had also been in bands growing up in Oak Cliff In fact, Jimmie Vaughan, Stevie Ray’s brother, once asked Steve to go on the road with him. Steve instead chose to go to college. Jimmie’s loss, our gain.

Several other wonderful musicians came and went — Jim LePeyre, Scott Rasnic, Andrew Armond, John Haskett and others — before we finally found Lance Grigsby (bass) who, at the time, had an office across from mine in the Department of Journalism, PR & New Media. Lance is a multi-instrumentalist and good-naturedly set out to master the bass guitar. Which he did. In the process, he became After Midnight’s youngest member and token eye candy.

But between the commute from San Antonio and my knees and now my shoulder, it has gotten harder and harder. I never dreamed it would get so difficult I’d have to leave something I love this much. When I told the guys, they were disappointed, but supportive. In time, a good band becomes like family. And I had come to regard our Saturday morning and Tuesday evening practices as an anticipated family reunion. Relatives by choice.

I’ve strongly urged them to continue and I believe they will. After Midnight is certainly a lot bigger than one broken-down drummer. It gives too many people too much pleasure to stop now.

In those 14 years, we’ve played every possible gig – private parties, the Bosque River Stage, the Carleen Bright Arboretum, fund-raisers, benefits, wedding receptions, smoky dives off the Circle, La Fiesta, Hog Creek, Common Grounds, 40th, 50th and 60th birthdays, even a particularly unsettling gig on the old Brazos Queen, where we were repeatedly asked to play the Eagles’ “Desperado.” And when we didn’t replay it immediately, the entire party left the dance floor, never to return.

And, oh, the stories …

We once played a reception for an academic conference in Austin on Halloween. I had had a kidney stone the day before. But in the great “the show must go on” tradition of rock’n’roll, I played the gig with a catheter and on some serious pain meds. That night, as Mary drove us out of the downtown hotel where we’d play, we were stopped by the midnight Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender costume parade. Still loopy from the meds, I watched hundreds of beautiful LGBT people – mostly dressed as slutty nurses – parade by. Strangely, nobody remembers this but me.

We eventually came up with a two-tiered fee system. We had one fee for afternoon Southern Baptist wedding receptions where only punch was served and a lesser fee for everything else. I didn’t become a drummer to play softly.

Over the course of the years, we got to be very good. Actually, Steve, Barry and Lance were pretty good to start with. I was the one who got better. Playing with real musicians will do that for you. I’m not enough of a musician to be a great drummer, so I concentrated on keeping a funky beat when a funky beat was called for. My drumming idol is the late Al Jackson Jr., the great minimalist drummer with Booker T & the MGs. But then, the Stax/Volt and Atlantic soul/R&B eras of the ‘60s are my musical foundation.

Being a drummer in a rock band, of course, is the greatest gig in the world. You make people happy. There is nothing I like better than watching people dance and enjoy themselves. The bass player and the drummer, relieved of the added burden to be the featured soloists and sex symbols, usually people- watch. Lance and I have seen couples come together and break apart, shy guys ask a girl to dance for the first time, tipsy 70-year-olds emulate the Solid Gold Dancers, and – at the many outdoor gigs we’ve played – shooting stars explode on the horizon.

When After Midnight is cookin’, I would get totally lost in the music and the beat. I never thought about what would come next, which drum to hit, which cymbal to crash. I would get caught up in it. Making music. Having fun. Watching people smile.

In songs like “Walking to Memphis” or “Brown-Eyed Girl,” I could just play and listen to the band at the same time and marvel at their skill and my luck to be a part of it.

We eventually adopted “Mustang Sally” as our “theme” song – or, perhaps, our audiences adopted it for us. As Lance would begin the intro, our most faithful fans – Mary and Kathy and Ann and Becky and Linda and Dana – would rush the dance floor. And when we’d hit the “Ride, Sally, ride!” chorus, everybody would sing along. Magic.

Jesus, I’m going to miss that.

 

 

Blue-eyed Soul

Do you believe in the concept of “blue-eyed soul”? It has been used as a perjorative (Michael McDonald or Michael Bolton — white guys trying to sound black) and it has been used as a compliment (Steve Winwood and, of course, Van Morrison). Sam Baker has it.

His is an extraordinary story: He was “caught in someone else’s war,” as he says. Riding on a train in Peru, his compartment had a IED planted by the Shining Path terrorists. He alone survived, but with brain injuries, a shattered left shoulder, his left hand crushed beyond recognition, and a host of internal injuries. Multiple surgeries and years of rehab later, he re-learned to speak and walk, taught himself to play guitar left-handed (he can hold a pick, but little else) and began writing the most astonishing songs I’ve ever heard.

Sam Baker played at UT’s beloved Cactus Cafe Saturday night. Flanked by a weathered poster from a previous performer (the late Townes Van Zandt, who would have loved Sam’s music) and accompanied by a single musician who played violin and mandolin, Baker played what may have been the single most memorable concert I’ve ever heard — and I’ve heard 100s of them.

His songs, many of which are short stories, others of which are sharply drawn vignettes (he’s also a painter), all have a lovely melancholy, reinforced by occasional repetition and Sam’s halting (he still struggles with aphasia) voice, which leads for some unexpected — but altogether wonderful — pauses.

If you have an iPod or Rhapsody, please do yourself a favor and take a chance on his songs “Waves” and “Baseball” … if you don’t like them, I’ll refund your $2.

Blue-eyed soul? Oh my, yes …