http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm Wed, 16 Mar 2011 03:22:11 GMT http://bandzoogle.com http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=834540 Hi! I’m Kennan Shaw! You may remember me from such Touring Musician stories as “Czech Please!”, or “Detained in Antigua”, or “Blame Canada, Volumes One, Two, Three, Six and Thirteen.” There’s no doubt I have a very cool job. Being paid to go places and play music for people that want to hear it is the greatest thing in the world, and very addictive. However, the secret word today, boys and girls, is Brevity. I’ll show you what I mean; let’s take a look at my schedule here… Thursday morning I’ll be up bright and early to get to San Francisco Airport for my 6:25AM flight to Miami, arriving at 2:35PM. At 5:45, having sampled everything the Miami Airport has to offer, I’ll board a flight for St. Thomas, arriving there at 8:15. There, I and the rest of the band will be met by a Taxi Driver whole will take us to the Ferry Terminal, hopefully in time to catch the 10PM ferry to St. John’s, where another Taxi will meet us and take us to our hotel. The next day, we pretty much have to ourselves until 7:00PM, when a car will take us to the venue for the Blues Festival we’re playing Friday night with Grady Champion and Albert Cummings. We’ll play around 9:15, and do a 60 minute set. After which, well, partying ensues. The next morning, we’ll be in the lobby by 8:30, so we can catch the 9:00AM Ferry to St. Thomas to catch the 10:50 flight to San Juan. After a two hour layover, we catch a flight back to Miami, where we’ll once again have about four hours to get re-acquainted with that particular Airport, before boarding my flight back to SFO, scheduled to arrive Saturday night at just midnight. A “Glass half empty” kind of guy would no doubt point out that our layover time alone for the trip is about ten times the length of our set! I am, however, definitely a “glass half full of bitchin’ stuff” guy, and this is where our secret word comes in. Remember? Brevity. And how does that apply? I’ll tell you; you know what I say when people ask “So, what’s next?” I say “I’m leaving Thursday to play a Blues Festival in the Virgin Islands! How cool is that?”
There’s no doubt I have a very cool job. Being paid to go places and play music for people that want to hear it is the greatest thing in the world, and very addictive.

However, the secret word today, boys and girls, is Brevity.

I’ll show you what I mean; let’s take a look at my schedule here…

Thursday morning I’ll be up bright and early to get to San Francisco Airport for my 6:25AM flight to Miami, arriving at 2:35PM.

At 5:45, having sampled everything the Miami Airport has to offer, I’ll board a flight for St. Thomas, arriving there at 8:15. There, I and the rest of the band will be met by a Taxi Driver whole will take us to the Ferry Terminal, hopefully in time to catch the 10PM ferry to St. John’s, where another Taxi will meet us and take us to our hotel.

The next day, we pretty much have to ourselves until 7:00PM, when a car will take us to the venue for the Blues Festival we’re playing Friday night with Grady Champion and Albert Cummings. We’ll play around 9:15, and do a 60 minute set. After which, well, partying ensues.

The next morning, we’ll be in the lobby by 8:30, so we can catch the 9:00AM Ferry to St. Thomas to catch the 10:50 flight to San Juan.

After a two hour layover, we catch a flight back to Miami, where we’ll once again have about four hours to get re-acquainted with that particular Airport, before boarding my flight back to SFO, scheduled to arrive Saturday night at just midnight.

A “Glass half empty” kind of guy would no doubt point out that our layover time alone for the trip is about ten times the length of our set! I am, however, definitely a “glass half full of bitchin’ stuff” guy, and this is where our secret word comes in. Remember? Brevity. And how does that apply?

I’ll tell you; you know what I say when people ask “So, what’s next?”

I say “I’m leaving Thursday to play a Blues Festival in the Virgin Islands! How cool is that?”

]]> Wed, 16 Mar 2011 03:22:11 GMT 38EBC25948FEB1712C5C2940B8F8A6EC http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=751920 When I joined the Candye Kane Band just about a year ago, it was kind of dizzying. Leading up to the audition I focused on learning mostly tunes from her latest disc “Superhero”, but she has nine other releases, and the set list is deep with catalog. There’s no way I could have gotten up and running fast enough without everyone in the band’s help, especially Evan the drummer, yelling when to play and when to shut up! Every once and a while I’d hear him yell “Hey!” over my shoulder, to get my attention. He’d just give me a “Something’s coming, pay attention” look and I’d be ready…usually. Evan is leaving the band, and will be starting a new musical adventure, and I want to wish him well on his “hero’s journey.” Consider the fact that he’s been playing and touring with the band behind his own Mother for eight-plus years; it takes a certain heftage of balls to decide to do something else! Thanks, man. Literally couldn’t have done it without your help and support. In time I’ll introduce everyone to our new drummer, when we figure out his Stage Name. Just ‘Patronius’? We’ll get back to that. The Spring and Summer road trips are filling out, but in the meantime there are opportunities for our Southern and Northern California friends to catch up with the band as we work him in. Check out the schedule and come say “Hi. What’s your name?” Then let me know what he says. (I tease, Marcus, because I care!) Candye Kane Tour Dates 2/11 Solana Beach/ Belly Up Tavern Happy Hour 530-8 2/12 San Diego, Ca/ Humphreys Backstage/ Blues Festival 2/13 San Diego/ Viejas Casino 3/11 San Juan Capistrano/ The Coach House w Eric Sardinas 3/13 Los Angeles/ The Redwood Bar w/ Exotiki and the Dick and Jane show 3/18 St. Johns Blues Festival! St. John, Virgin Islands 3/25 San Francisco, Ca/ Biscuits and Blues 3/26 San Jose/ The Poor House Bistro 3/27 Modesto, Ca/ Fat Cat/ Pinkie Rideau’s Breast Cancer Fundraiser 4/1 Solana Beach, Ca/ Belly Up Tavern 4/2 Los Angeles, Ca/ Spaceland - Benefit for Marty Nation
There’s no way I could have gotten up and running fast enough without everyone in the band’s help, especially Evan the drummer, yelling when to play and when to shut up! Every once and a while I’d hear him yell “Hey!” over my shoulder, to get my attention. He’d just give me a “Something’s coming, pay attention” look and I’d be ready…usually.

Evan is leaving the band, and will be starting a new musical adventure, and I want to wish him well on his “hero’s journey.” Consider the fact that he’s been playing and touring with the band behind his own Mother for eight-plus years; it takes a certain heftage of balls to decide to do something else! Thanks, man. Literally couldn’t have done it without your help and support.

In time I’ll introduce everyone to our new drummer, when we figure out his Stage Name. Just ‘Patronius’? We’ll get back to that.

The Spring and Summer road trips are filling out, but in the meantime there are opportunities for our Southern and Northern California friends to catch up with the band as we work him in. Check out the schedule and come say “Hi. What’s your name?” Then let me know what he says.

(I tease, Marcus, because I care!)

Candye Kane Tour Dates
2/11 Solana Beach/ Belly Up Tavern Happy Hour 530-8
2/12 San Diego, Ca/ Humphreys Backstage/ Blues Festival
2/13 San Diego/ Viejas Casino
3/11 San Juan Capistrano/ The Coach House w Eric Sardinas
3/13 Los Angeles/ The Redwood Bar w/ Exotiki and the Dick and Jane show
3/18 St. Johns Blues Festival! St. John, Virgin Islands
3/25 San Francisco, Ca/ Biscuits and Blues
3/26 San Jose/ The Poor House Bistro
3/27 Modesto, Ca/ Fat Cat/ Pinkie Rideau’s Breast Cancer Fundraiser
4/1 Solana Beach, Ca/ Belly Up Tavern
4/2 Los Angeles, Ca/ Spaceland - Benefit for Marty Nation





]]> Tue, 08 Feb 2011 19:41:33 GMT 307D9474657BCEAA50C94A30D841A35B http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=698401 The last two days we’ve been rehearsing frantically for the opening of Candye’s play, “The Toughest Girl Alive.” Well, ‘frantically’ is a bit of a stretch on my part. I show up, sit in a chair, and play bass. The cast has been at this for a month. The work that goes into a Theater production is amazing; remembering lines, getting props, getting props in position, cleaning up props, making sets, moving sets, sound and lighting…the word “Production” takes on a lot more significance. To make all of this at least appear to run like a well-oiled machine, the Theater has a very rigid, laid out discipline. Things have to be where their supposed to be, when their supposed to be, and how their supposed to be. No strays, nothing left to chance. Needless to say, this is all a very foreign language to a touring blues band. Now, it’s not like we’re Guns & Roses, showing up three hours late, then settling in backstage for a nice little “Heroin refresher.” We’re all grown ups. It’s just different. One example of the differences is the concept of Wardrobe. That’s clothes. First night of the band at rehearsal, we were instructed to bring in examples of what we might wear during the play. We were informed of the production’s color palette, and told to “be playful.” Fortunately, Black was in the color scheme, otherwise I don’t really know what I’d wear. So I threw a couple of black button-up shirts and a pair of black jeans on a hanger, and brought them down. Later, the Wardrobe/Seamstress sent for my hanger for approval; black jeans; check. One shirt didn’t excite her much, but she liked the other. “What shoes are you wearing? Those?” White leather high-top Chucks with big red laces? Well, no. I have these great Cowboy Boots that… “What color? What? ‘Peanut Brittle Iguana’?” she said smiling. “I don’t know what that is! Could you bring them in for me to see? I like those Chucks, though.” She went on to explain that our wardrobe would stay at the theater, and ‘the girls’ would do the laundry every Monday. When you’re on the road, you have what you brought. A couple of pants, and some shirts that work. You do your own laundry when and where you can, you occasionally iron, and if by chance, something really bad happens, you bag it up and toss it out. The concept of leaving my clothes on a hanger in San Diego, and people doing my laundry, is all just a tad…weird to me. The reason is obvious; no one needs the pressure of worrying if someone will show up in pink balloon pants and a camo hoody, saying “Awww…dude, I forgot my suit!” I, however, am going to have to find a compromise. I’ll leave the shirt, the one she liked. They can wash it, and do whatever they will to it, and I’m okay with that. I’m going to take my black pants, though. I promise not to bring anything down to SoCal that isn’t Black Jeans for the remainder of the run of the play; no chance of a faux pas. But they’re not really ‘wardrobe’; they’re my pants. And, I’m going to wear my boots. They’re not black, but I can’t do the play in high tops. Cowboy boots bring a certain attitude with them that I need. Chucks are fun, light hearted. Cowboy boots are for business. I need the boots for the play. I’ll tell you what, though; next week, I’ll surprise her with the Black Stingrays. She’ll dig those. http://www.moxietheatre.com/toughestgirl
The work that goes into a Theater production is amazing; remembering lines, getting props, getting props in position, cleaning up props, making sets, moving sets, sound and lighting…the word “Production” takes on a lot more significance.

To make all of this at least appear to run like a well-oiled machine, the Theater has a very rigid, laid out discipline. Things have to be where their supposed to be, when their supposed to be, and how their supposed to be. No strays, nothing left to chance. Needless to say, this is all a very foreign language to a touring blues band.

Now, it’s not like we’re Guns & Roses, showing up three hours late, then settling in backstage for a nice little “Heroin refresher.” We’re all grown ups. It’s just different.

One example of the differences is the concept of Wardrobe. That’s clothes. First night of the band at rehearsal, we were instructed to bring in examples of what we might wear during the play. We were informed of the production’s color palette, and told to “be playful.”

Fortunately, Black was in the color scheme, otherwise I don’t really know what I’d wear. So I threw a couple of black button-up shirts and a pair of black jeans on a hanger, and brought them down. Later, the Wardrobe/Seamstress sent for my hanger for approval; black jeans; check. One shirt didn’t excite her much, but she liked the other. “What shoes are you wearing? Those?” White leather high-top Chucks with big red laces? Well, no. I have these great Cowboy Boots that…

“What color? What? ‘Peanut Brittle Iguana’?” she said smiling. “I don’t know what that is! Could you bring them in for me to see? I like those Chucks, though.”

She went on to explain that our wardrobe would stay at the theater, and ‘the girls’ would do the laundry every Monday.

When you’re on the road, you have what you brought. A couple of pants, and some shirts that work. You do your own laundry when and where you can, you occasionally iron, and if by chance, something really bad happens, you bag it up and toss it out. The concept of leaving my clothes on a hanger in San Diego, and people doing my laundry, is all just a tad…weird to me.

The reason is obvious; no one needs the pressure of worrying if someone will show up in pink balloon pants and a camo hoody, saying “Awww…dude, I forgot my suit!”

I, however, am going to have to find a compromise. I’ll leave the shirt, the one she liked. They can wash it, and do whatever they will to it, and I’m okay with that. I’m going to take my black pants, though. I promise not to bring anything down to SoCal that isn’t Black Jeans for the remainder of the run of the play; no chance of a faux pas. But they’re not really ‘wardrobe’; they’re my pants.

And, I’m going to wear my boots. They’re not black, but I can’t do the play in high tops. Cowboy boots bring a certain attitude with them that I need. Chucks are fun, light hearted. Cowboy boots are for business. I need the boots for the play.

I’ll tell you what, though; next week, I’ll surprise her with the Black Stingrays. She’ll dig those.


http://www.moxietheatre.com/toughestgirl
]]> Thu, 13 Jan 2011 23:04:57 GMT 78DDD930B9D30E5DFBC4AD57B346F72D http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=686628 People come up to me all the time, and say “Kennan, we see you play live all the time. We’ve heard you on the radio, and seen you on television. Your life is an open book for the reading on-line. When are you going to dazzle us with your acting ability?” Well, the wait is over. I shall ‘Tread the Boards’, so to speak, when I appear in “The Toughest Girl Alive.” I’m not the star; this isn’t Shakespeare at the old Globe. “The Toughest Girl Alive” is the autobiographical play about Candye Kane, which will run at the Moxie Theater in San Diego from January 13th through February 6th. I play the role of…let me check my script…ah yes; “Bass Player.” The play is billed as “The life, times and music of Candye Kane.” Beyond that, I really don’t know what to expect. Sure, I’m familiar - as some of you are - with Candye’s short form bio; “Raised in a dysfunctional, blue-collar family, Candye became a teenage mother, a pin up cover girl and a punk rock, hillbilly and blues-belting anarchist by the time she was just 21 years old.” That’s all well and good, but not exactly the stuff of legend, necessarily. But if you’re like me, you just know there’s more to the story, right? I mean, if people go to the trouble of putting a whole play on, there’s got to be some juice there, right? I’m not holding out on you, I don’t know what’s involved, really. I do know that what will happen on stage is that Candye will talk about events in her life, supported by a slide show, then two actors, a man and a woman, will act out scenes from her life, then the band - this is my part - will play some Candye Kane music. Oh, and I understand that some of the images are best suited for mature audiences. Everything beyond that you’ll just have to wait and see. So come down and catch the play! It runs Thursday through a Sunday Matinee during the above dates, at the non-profit, female-run Moxie. There’s even a special “Pay What You Can Afford” performance, for those of us less than plush in this economy. Really, this is one of those “So much WIN” situations you’ve been hearing about. Plus, when this whole thing explodes, and ends up going on the road, you can say “I saw it when…!” Now excuse me while I go work on my character… http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=116799465042977
Well, the wait is over. I shall ‘Tread the Boards’, so to speak, when I appear in “The Toughest Girl Alive.”

I’m not the star; this isn’t Shakespeare at the old Globe. “The Toughest Girl Alive” is the autobiographical play about Candye Kane, which will run at the Moxie Theater in San Diego from January 13th through February 6th. I play the role of…let me check my script…ah yes; “Bass Player.”

The play is billed as “The life, times and music of Candye Kane.” Beyond that, I really don’t know what to expect. Sure, I’m familiar - as some of you are - with Candye’s short form bio; “Raised in a dysfunctional, blue-collar family, Candye became a teenage mother, a pin up cover girl and a punk rock, hillbilly and blues-belting anarchist by the time she was just 21 years old.”

That’s all well and good, but not exactly the stuff of legend, necessarily. But if you’re like me, you just know there’s more to the story, right? I mean, if people go to the trouble of putting a whole play on, there’s got to be some juice there, right?

I’m not holding out on you, I don’t know what’s involved, really. I do know that what will happen on stage is that Candye will talk about events in her life, supported by a slide show, then two actors, a man and a woman, will act out scenes from her life, then the band - this is my part - will play some Candye Kane music. Oh, and I understand that some of the images are best suited for mature audiences.

Everything beyond that you’ll just have to wait and see. So come down and catch the play! It runs Thursday through a Sunday Matinee during the above dates, at the non-profit, female-run Moxie. There’s even a special “Pay What You Can Afford” performance, for those of us less than plush in this economy. Really, this is one of those “So much WIN” situations you’ve been hearing about.

Plus, when this whole thing explodes, and ends up going on the road, you can say “I saw it when…!” Now excuse me while I go work on my character…

http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=116799465042977
]]> Sat, 08 Jan 2011 07:43:25 GMT 4F34C780E6820C3E877BA7F8FC725411 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=638471 A very, very sweet person recently compiled a list of their Top Ten Bass Players, and generously included me. Naturally, I was honored and humbled. And immediately updated my Resume, referring to them as “Noted Blues reviewer and musicologist.” Okay, not really, but I am seriously considering it. I figured that since I’m on a bass player role, with my last piece on Blues Bass and all the great responses I got, I’d compile my own quick list here. I’m not going to put a lot of thought into this; just throw it against the wall and see what sticks. So here they are; 1. Jeff Neighbors. The list has to start with him, because everything started with him. When I was a 5th grade Violinist, Jeff was not only my public school, once a week music teacher, but also the bassist in “The Joy of Cooking”. One day he looked at me and said “You’re tall. You play bass now.” Everything since then is pretty much his fault. 2. Overend Watts. When I was discovering ROCK, Mott the Hoople was tearing it up and putting out crazy albums and were always somewhere in the pages of Rolling Stone magazine. Watts, with the huge White Thunderbird, the thigh high boots, and the cranked bass lines, came along at a time when I was going through puberty. I haven’t tried to do that stance in years; knees together, feet splayed, butt of the bass jammed in the crotch while you lean over to grab the fingerboard. It would probably hurt my back now. It doesn’t really work anyway unless you’re wearing six inch platforms. 3. Bill Wyman. Maybe this is for The Rolling Stones in general, because the live album, “Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out” was a thick piece of vinyl, and I wore right through that sucker. Bill’s lines were perfect and understated, so once I learned them, then I could learn to seriously overplay. Double stops, laying off the root, doubling the solos; I was all over it, man. I learned a lot about groove from the Stones, because what they did breathed. Listening now to the remastered stuff, that Wyman guy was doing some very cool things down there in the mix. 4. Ray Brown. I sat at his feet for about an hour as a teenager, and learned two of the most valuable lessons in my life. First of all, no one will know you’ve made a mistake unless you make “the mistake face.” Secondly, “You don’t really know a song until you can play it in any key.” Both of these gems have been invaluable during my entire career. 5. John Paul Jones. Led Damn Zep. Bass players always talk about “II” as the album, and no doubt, it’s seriously awesome, but “Physical Graffiti” taught me all about counter punctual lines. Everyone knows the riff to “Kashmir”, but listen to what the bass is really doing; playing a repeating, 3 over 4 sounding line that’s hypnotic and amazing. On “Ten Years Gone” he’s harmonically supporting the main guitar figure without being obvious, changing what is perceived as the “root”, and making the whole thing darker. That’s bass playing, man. Deep. 6. Jaco. My intro to Jaco wasn’t typical bass player fare. The first time I heard him, a friend from school, who I shared a love of Mott with, brought in Ian Hunter’s solo album “All American Alien Boy”. Jaco was the bassist on the album, and the title cut grabbed me instantly. His tone, his power and his out-right nasty ass groove jumped out of the record player! Nobody sounded like that, or played like that, or blew up the bass world like that. Then, he takes a solo, and it was over. Several years ago I read an interview with a top Nashville bassist who said “the history of bass is split in two eras; pre-Jaco and post-Jaco. When his first album came up, I know a lot of guys who just…quit.” 7. Willie Riser. Chances are, that if you live outside the Bay Area, you don’t know who Willie Riser is. Through the 90’s, as groove and blues was taking hold of me in a big, big way, Willie was the house bassist at the Blue Monday Jam at Blake’s on Telegraph in Berkeley. I’d go every chance I got, and I’d want to play, no doubt about that, but I went to see Willie. Willie can take all that Jaco style groove, put it through his personal Chicago Blues grinder, and it comes out as his own cool thing. I stold…er, “learned” so much from Willie that I probably should pay him for lessons retroactively. 8. George Porter Jr.. I don’t know when the New Orleans bug grabbed a hold of me, but it surely did. I can’t get enough of the history, the food, the culture, and of course, the music. George is the man, pure and simple. Whatever he plays, and whoever he plays with, this shit is funky. I like George’s playing because he surprises me with where he goes; he comes from different angles that I hear, and it opens up my thinking about what I’m doing. Plus, he’s fearless, and one of the nicest guys in the world. 9. Bobby Vega. My mentor, my “Spiritual Patron”, my confident, and my friend. The first time I met Bobby, at Rich Bandoni’s house, we were making small talk about gigs and amps and whatnot, and while we talked he was playing a bass. I was involved in the conversation, but my brain was screaming “What is he playing? How is he doing that? My God, what even IS that? Make him do that again, but slower!” Bobby is the funkiest bassist on the planet, and his techniques are unique and jaw-dropping. Instead of just copping his licks, I try to find that same inner motor, the place in your soul that brings that kind of funk to your fingers, and then apply that to whatever I’m playing. That groove will benefit any style of music, and I know I’m a better player just from thinking that way. 10. Me. There, I typed it; Me. Allow me to explain; I will never be on the cover of a Bass magazine. This is a super rare appearance by my name on a Top Ten list (twice in 24 hours!). I am not the best bass player even in the small city I live in (Mr. Ehrmann), but here’s the thing; I’m the best guy for the job. I do the work, I play the groove, and I understand how songs work and how to play with singers, soloists, and drummers. Hanging around and learning count, and I’ve done that. I truly believe and live by my credo; “If I’m not playing bass, mistakes were made!” Egotistical? Well, yeah! It’s kind of a job prerequisite at a certain level! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. So there. I’ve no doubt left a lot out, but this is a pretty influential group for me. These days I listen to a lot of people I consider friends who happen to be monster players. Maybe my next list will be Monster Players You Should Hear Because They’re Awesome!
Okay, not really, but I am seriously considering it.

I figured that since I’m on a bass player role, with my last piece on Blues Bass and all the great responses I got, I’d compile my own quick list here. I’m not going to put a lot of thought into this; just throw it against the wall and see what sticks. So here they are;

1. Jeff Neighbors. The list has to start with him, because everything started with him. When I was a 5th grade Violinist, Jeff was not only my public school, once a week music teacher, but also the bassist in “The Joy of Cooking”. One day he looked at me and said “You’re tall. You play bass now.” Everything since then is pretty much his fault.

2. Overend Watts. When I was discovering ROCK, Mott the Hoople was tearing it up and putting out crazy albums and were always somewhere in the pages of Rolling Stone magazine. Watts, with the huge White Thunderbird, the thigh high boots, and the cranked bass lines, came along at a time when I was going through puberty. I haven’t tried to do that stance in years; knees together, feet splayed, butt of the bass jammed in the crotch while you lean over to grab the fingerboard. It would probably hurt my back now. It doesn’t really work anyway unless you’re wearing six inch platforms.

3. Bill Wyman. Maybe this is for The Rolling Stones in general, because the live album, “Get Yer Ya Ya’s Out” was a thick piece of vinyl, and I wore right through that sucker. Bill’s lines were perfect and understated, so once I learned them, then I could learn to seriously overplay. Double stops, laying off the root, doubling the solos; I was all over it, man. I learned a lot about groove from the Stones, because what they did breathed. Listening now to the remastered stuff, that Wyman guy was doing some very cool things down there in the mix.

4. Ray Brown. I sat at his feet for about an hour as a teenager, and learned two of the most valuable lessons in my life. First of all, no one will know you’ve made a mistake unless you make “the mistake face.” Secondly, “You don’t really know a song until you can play it in any key.” Both of these gems have been invaluable during my entire career.

5. John Paul Jones. Led Damn Zep. Bass players always talk about “II” as the album, and no doubt, it’s seriously awesome, but “Physical Graffiti” taught me all about counter punctual lines. Everyone knows the riff to “Kashmir”, but listen to what the bass is really doing; playing a repeating, 3 over 4 sounding line that’s hypnotic and amazing. On “Ten Years Gone” he’s harmonically supporting the main guitar figure without being obvious, changing what is perceived as the “root”, and making the whole thing darker. That’s bass playing, man. Deep.

6. Jaco. My intro to Jaco wasn’t typical bass player fare. The first time I heard him, a friend from school, who I shared a love of Mott with, brought in Ian Hunter’s solo album “All American Alien Boy”. Jaco was the bassist on the album, and the title cut grabbed me instantly. His tone, his power and his out-right nasty ass groove jumped out of the record player! Nobody sounded like that, or played like that, or blew up the bass world like that. Then, he takes a solo, and it was over.
Several years ago I read an interview with a top Nashville bassist who said “the history of bass is split in two eras; pre-Jaco and post-Jaco. When his first album came up, I know a lot of guys who just…quit.”

7. Willie Riser. Chances are, that if you live outside the Bay Area, you don’t know who Willie Riser is. Through the 90’s, as groove and blues was taking hold of me in a big, big way, Willie was the house bassist at the Blue Monday Jam at Blake’s on Telegraph in Berkeley. I’d go every chance I got, and I’d want to play, no doubt about that, but I went to see Willie. Willie can take all that Jaco style groove, put it through his personal Chicago Blues grinder, and it comes out as his own cool thing. I stold…er, “learned” so much from Willie that I probably should pay him for lessons retroactively.

8. George Porter Jr.. I don’t know when the New Orleans bug grabbed a hold of me, but it surely did. I can’t get enough of the history, the food, the culture, and of course, the music. George is the man, pure and simple. Whatever he plays, and whoever he plays with, this shit is funky. I like George’s playing because he surprises me with where he goes; he comes from different angles that I hear, and it opens up my thinking about what I’m doing. Plus, he’s fearless, and one of the nicest guys in the world.

9. Bobby Vega. My mentor, my “Spiritual Patron”, my confident, and my friend. The first time I met Bobby, at Rich Bandoni’s house, we were making small talk about gigs and amps and whatnot, and while we talked he was playing a bass. I was involved in the conversation, but my brain was screaming “What is he playing? How is he doing that? My God, what even IS that? Make him do that again, but slower!” Bobby is the funkiest bassist on the planet, and his techniques are unique and jaw-dropping. Instead of just copping his licks, I try to find that same inner motor, the place in your soul that brings that kind of funk to your fingers, and then apply that to whatever I’m playing. That groove will benefit any style of music, and I know I’m a better player just from thinking that way.

10. Me. There, I typed it; Me. Allow me to explain; I will never be on the cover of a Bass magazine. This is a super rare appearance by my name on a Top Ten list (twice in 24 hours!). I am not the best bass player even in the small city I live in (Mr. Ehrmann), but here’s the thing; I’m the best guy for the job. I do the work, I play the groove, and I understand how songs work and how to play with singers, soloists, and drummers. Hanging around and learning count, and I’ve done that. I truly believe and live by my credo; “If I’m not playing bass, mistakes were made!” Egotistical? Well, yeah! It’s kind of a job prerequisite at a certain level! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So there. I’ve no doubt left a lot out, but this is a pretty influential group for me. These days I listen to a lot of people I consider friends who happen to be monster players. Maybe my next list will be Monster Players You Should Hear Because They’re Awesome!

]]> Tue, 14 Dec 2010 20:53:26 GMT 0D35E22D7EF71C0ED50C16A7E66BC5D8 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=629948 Stringed instruments and keyboards have been around hundreds of years. Drums go back to the dawn of man. The electric bass guitar is less than sixty years old. A virtual ‘baby’ of an instrument. Before electric bass, there was the upright, but really, the two instruments have far more differences than things in common. In Jim Roberts’ fantastic book “How the Fender Bass Changed the World”, he makes the point that when the bass went electric, and therefore louder, it changed the way drummers played, and this “new” rhythm led directly to Rock and Roll. The nice thing about playing such a nascent instrument is that the innovators have been here during, or shortly, before our lifetimes. We’ve witnessed the electric bass growing up, and we are writing the new rules every day. As a form of music, the blues abides by a certain set of rules and guidelines. The scope can be broad, and I’ve written about the “Big Tent” before, but a big part of being a blues bassist, is recognizing what is expected of you in a given situation, and adapting, chameleon-like, to the wishes of others. For instance; I’ve played on occasion with The King of North Beach Blues, Johnny Nitro. Johnny plays Texas style, and has for years. When I play with Johnny, I know he wants long, legato notes. Full Quarter notes, one running into the next. Big, fat and smooth. “That’s the secret to playing blues bass” says Mr. Nitro. Conversely, earlier this year at a festival gig, Chicago Guitar slinger Nick Moss complimented my “clipped Quarter notes.” Nick likes tiny spaces between the notes; like dividing a Quarter note into 8 32nds, and playing the first 7 and leaving a hole where the 8th one lands, before starting the next note. It’s a “jumpier” feel, more rhythmic and bouncy. I’ve always thought of it as a “Chicago Feel”, so Nick complimenting my playing was gratifying on a couple of levels! For a while now I’ve been working on and off on a Blues Bass book; “How to”, and “What for”, and “Says who?” type stuff. I’ve been thinking about the history of Electric Bass in Blues. I know quite a few of my friends on Facebook are blues bassists, so I have a question for you; who are your influences? Who did you listen to when you were learning? Who do you consider the ‘Founding Fathers’? I’m talking specifically about Electric Bass here; I know Willie Dixon is the man when talking about blues bass, and I know he played a little electric, but it’s not what he’s known for. My own story is one that caught me by surprise; a few years ago, I was on a festival in Austin, and Kenny Wayne Shepherd, who’s rhythm section that day was Double Trouble, featuring bassist Tommy Shannon. I’ve written about sharing a trailer and trying not to let that little inner star-struck voice out. It’s not that I had listened to a lot of SRV; I really hadn’t. When I listened to Tommy play, I was stunned by the fact that, to me, I sounded just like him. I knew what he was playing, where he was going, and it all made perfect sense. Apparently, I learned a lot about blues bass from Johnny Winter albums from the 70’s, and while my playing developed all these years, Tommy’s lines from those early days formed the foundation of what I still do today! Now I want to hear your Electric Blues Bass stories. You don’t even have to be a bassist. Just have an opinion, or at least a good story!
In Jim Roberts’ fantastic book “How the Fender Bass Changed the World”, he makes the point that when the bass went electric, and therefore louder, it changed the way drummers played, and this “new” rhythm led directly to Rock and Roll.

The nice thing about playing such a nascent instrument is that the innovators have been here during, or shortly, before our lifetimes. We’ve witnessed the electric bass growing up, and we are writing the new rules every day.

As a form of music, the blues abides by a certain set of rules and guidelines. The scope can be broad, and I’ve written about the “Big Tent” before, but a big part of being a blues bassist, is recognizing what is expected of you in a given situation, and adapting, chameleon-like, to the wishes of others.

For instance; I’ve played on occasion with The King of North Beach Blues, Johnny Nitro. Johnny plays Texas style, and has for years. When I play with Johnny, I know he wants long, legato notes. Full Quarter notes, one running into the next. Big, fat and smooth. “That’s the secret to playing blues bass” says Mr. Nitro.

Conversely, earlier this year at a festival gig, Chicago Guitar slinger Nick Moss complimented my “clipped Quarter notes.” Nick likes tiny spaces between the notes; like dividing a Quarter note into 8 32nds, and playing the first 7 and leaving a hole where the 8th one lands, before starting the next note. It’s a “jumpier” feel, more rhythmic and bouncy. I’ve always thought of it as a “Chicago Feel”, so Nick complimenting my playing was gratifying on a couple of levels!

For a while now I’ve been working on and off on a Blues Bass book; “How to”, and “What for”, and “Says who?” type stuff. I’ve been thinking about the history of Electric Bass in Blues. I know quite a few of my friends on Facebook are blues bassists, so I have a question for you; who are your influences? Who did you listen to when you were learning? Who do you consider the ‘Founding Fathers’? I’m talking specifically about Electric Bass here; I know Willie Dixon is the man when talking about blues bass, and I know he played a little electric, but it’s not what he’s known for.

My own story is one that caught me by surprise; a few years ago, I was on a festival in Austin, and Kenny Wayne Shepherd, who’s rhythm section that day was Double Trouble, featuring bassist Tommy Shannon. I’ve written about sharing a trailer and trying not to let that little inner star-struck voice out. It’s not that I had listened to a lot of SRV; I really hadn’t. When I listened to Tommy play, I was stunned by the fact that, to me, I sounded just like him. I knew what he was playing, where he was going, and it all made perfect sense.

Apparently, I learned a lot about blues bass from Johnny Winter albums from the 70’s, and while my playing developed all these years, Tommy’s lines from those early days formed the foundation of what I still do today!

Now I want to hear your Electric Blues Bass stories. You don’t even have to be a bassist. Just have an opinion, or at least a good story!



]]> Fri, 10 Dec 2010 09:09:21 GMT 91317FD40218E80902CC4FA1E8F7A7E1 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=605239 Lots of good stuff coming up, so I thought it all merits a blog…or a note…or whatever. The month starts out with the return of The Red Hot Blues Sisters! Well, they never went away, so it’s actually MY return with the band. We’re playing Thursday the second at Patrick’s in San Diego, and Friday the third at Café Boogaloo in Hermosa Beach! The whole horn section is making the trip too, so come out and enjoy Seattle’s REAL “finest”. Saturday the 4th, The Candye Kane Band comes North for a gig at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz. It’s been a while since I’ve been there - I played with Eric Lindell opening for Derek Trucks - and I’m looking forward to some familiar faces. Sunday the fifth is the Second Annual Holiday Pageant and Toy Drive sponsored by the Martinez Music Mafia at Armando’s. Show is from 3 to 6, and admission is $10 and a new, unwrapped toy. Lots of performances by all your local faves, and I’ll be playing a short set with an “All Star Cast”. St. Nick himself will be stopping by, and a fine time will be had by all. Speaking of the venerable Armando’s, I’ll be in town for both Good Stuff Guitars Blues Jams after missing a couple. This month they fall on the 13th and 27th, starting at 7 and running until 10. Come out and play, but be sure you bring your “A game”. No half-steppin’. On the 18th, The Candye Kane Band makes it’s way to Phoenix, for a special show at the Rhythm Room, 1019 E. Indian School Road. I know a very special opening act is in the works as I type, and without spilling the beans, it’ll be a treat for sure. New Years Eve will be another fine Cocktail Hour show at The Belly Up in Solana Beach with the Candye Kane Band. These shows are 5:30 to 8PM, and are a great way to kick off your festivities! So that’s…let’s see…eight gigs in the month of December. That leaves a lot of open dates where I’m available! Need bass? Call me! Anywhere, anytime. Remember my credo; “If I’m not playing bass, mistakes were made!” Happy Holidays, y’all!
The month starts out with the return of The Red Hot Blues Sisters! Well, they never went away, so it’s actually MY return with the band. We’re playing Thursday the second at Patrick’s in San Diego, and Friday the third at Café Boogaloo in Hermosa Beach! The whole horn section is making the trip too, so come out and enjoy Seattle’s REAL “finest”.

Saturday the 4th, The Candye Kane Band comes North for a gig at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz. It’s been a while since I’ve been there - I played with Eric Lindell opening for Derek Trucks - and I’m looking forward to some familiar faces.

Sunday the fifth is the Second Annual Holiday Pageant and Toy Drive sponsored by the Martinez Music Mafia at Armando’s. Show is from 3 to 6, and admission is $10 and a new, unwrapped toy. Lots of performances by all your local faves, and I’ll be playing a short set with an “All Star Cast”. St. Nick himself will be stopping by, and a fine time will be had by all.

Speaking of the venerable Armando’s, I’ll be in town for both Good Stuff Guitars Blues Jams after missing a couple. This month they fall on the 13th and 27th, starting at 7 and running until 10. Come out and play, but be sure you bring your “A game”. No half-steppin’.

On the 18th, The Candye Kane Band makes it’s way to Phoenix, for a special show at the Rhythm Room, 1019 E. Indian School Road. I know a very special opening act is in the works as I type, and without spilling the beans, it’ll be a treat for sure.

New Years Eve will be another fine Cocktail Hour show at The Belly Up in Solana Beach with the Candye Kane Band. These shows are 5:30 to 8PM, and are a great way to kick off your festivities!

So that’s…let’s see…eight gigs in the month of December. That leaves a lot of open dates where I’m available! Need bass? Call me! Anywhere, anytime. Remember my credo; “If I’m not playing bass, mistakes were made!”

Happy Holidays, y’all!


]]> Mon, 29 Nov 2010 07:25:17 GMT A297DA8A84A035B7182FEA1535B8EED2 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=587499 There’s only two shows left on this tour, and as it winds down, as tours go, this was a good one. Lots of fun gigs, good people, and a fine time had by, I think, all. The shows have been really great, especially once we hit Oregon. Ashland was amusing as hell. Hanging with Karen and Lori is fun enough, but the characters that inhabit that place are…special, to say the least. Eugene was a very pleasant surprise, as the entire Rainy Day Blues Society showed up to make us feel welcome on a weeknight. Duff’s Garage in Portland, and Highway 99 in Seattle are like homecomings, we have so many friends there. Both places feel like we’re playing parties instead of “just” nightclubs. Getting to, and from Nelson, British Columbia was Nightmare City, thanks to our Border pals, but unbelievably, it was totally worth it. The hospitality crashed on us like an avalanche, and the big crowd had to be the most fun I’ve ever played for in Canada, outside of a big festival. Our Northern Neighbors can be somewhat more polite than we’re used to from an audience, but the folks from Nelson were ready to throw down! Beautiful place, too. I’m not saying I could live there; the thought of having to shoo Grizzly Bears from your garden doesn’t exactly excite me, but I certainly look forward to return visits. A restaurant gig in Salt Lake City on a Monday night where they’re charging $20 a ticket sounded like a recipe for disaster, but damned if the fine people of SLC and Pat’s Barbecue show up big time! We had a really good show, and met lots of great people. The whole show was videoed and will apparently be available on Comcast On Demand in the SLC area after the first of the year. I’ve come to believe that the entire economy of Wyoming is based on people hitting huge snowstorms on Highway 80 while trying to dash across it’s width. And that’s all I’ll say about that. So, here I am at the oasis that is the Boulder Outlook Hotel. There is no place in America that makes life easier or more fun for traveling musicians than this place. They really, really like us! Stay here, play here, and everybody seems to enjoy having us here. Even if they do occasionally run out of Costa Rican Vanilla Ice Cream. But I’m a professional, and I didn’t let it affect my performance. Tonight we hit Denver, then finish the tour Saturday night in Woodland Hills, down by Colorado Springs. Then, over the river and through the woods, home for Thanksgiving! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I’m quoted in a really good article on the state of the Vintage Bass market in December’s edition of Premier Guitar! I know it’s a subject near and dear to everyone’s heart, and I’ll be glad to autograph copies, for free, because I love you. http://www.premierguitar.com/Magazine/Issue/2010/Dec/PG_Readers_Perspectives_on_Vintage_Bass_in_2010.aspx Stuff coming up; the day after Thanksgiving, the Candye Kane Band is playing Happy Hour at the Belly Up in Solana Beach! Come dance off some of that turkey. “Black Friday” indeed. I’ll be playing with my good friends from Seattle, The Red Hot Blues Sisters on December 2nd at Patrick’s in San Diego, and the 3rd at Café Boogaloo in Hermosa Beach! Always a fun gig! December 4th, The Candye Kane Band makes another Bay Area appearance at The Catalyst. Santa Cruz counts as Bay Area. December 5th is the Martinez Music Mafia's 2nd Annual Holiday Pageant and Toy Drive at Armando’s. This is a not-to-be-missed show, and needless to say, a really good cause. You’ll be hearing about all of these as the days go by, but for now, see you tonight at Brennan’s in Denver, and tomorrow night at the Crystola Palace! I can only handle one thing at a time anyway.
The shows have been really great, especially once we hit Oregon. Ashland was amusing as hell. Hanging with Karen and Lori is fun enough, but the characters that inhabit that place are…special, to say the least. Eugene was a very pleasant surprise, as the entire Rainy Day Blues Society showed up to make us feel welcome on a weeknight.

Duff’s Garage in Portland, and Highway 99 in Seattle are like homecomings, we have so many friends there. Both places feel like we’re playing parties instead of “just” nightclubs.

Getting to, and from Nelson, British Columbia was Nightmare City, thanks to our Border pals, but unbelievably, it was totally worth it. The hospitality crashed on us like an avalanche, and the big crowd had to be the most fun I’ve ever played for in Canada, outside of a big festival. Our Northern Neighbors can be somewhat more polite than we’re used to from an audience, but the folks from Nelson were ready to throw down! Beautiful place, too. I’m not saying I could live there; the thought of having to shoo Grizzly Bears from your garden doesn’t exactly excite me, but I certainly look forward to return visits.

A restaurant gig in Salt Lake City on a Monday night where they’re charging $20 a ticket sounded like a recipe for disaster, but damned if the fine people of SLC and Pat’s Barbecue show up big time! We had a really good show, and met lots of great people. The whole show was videoed and will apparently be available on Comcast On Demand in the SLC area after the first of the year.

I’ve come to believe that the entire economy of Wyoming is based on people hitting huge snowstorms on Highway 80 while trying to dash across it’s width. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

So, here I am at the oasis that is the Boulder Outlook Hotel. There is no place in America that makes life easier or more fun for traveling musicians than this place. They really, really like us! Stay here, play here, and everybody seems to enjoy having us here. Even if they do occasionally run out of Costa Rican Vanilla Ice Cream. But I’m a professional, and I didn’t let it affect my performance.

Tonight we hit Denver, then finish the tour Saturday night in Woodland Hills, down by Colorado Springs. Then, over the river and through the woods, home for Thanksgiving!

If you haven’t checked it out yet, I’m quoted in a really good article on the state of the Vintage Bass market in December’s edition of Premier Guitar! I know it’s a subject near and dear to everyone’s heart, and I’ll be glad to autograph copies, for free, because I love you.
http://www.premierguitar.com/Magazine/Issue/2010/Dec/PG_Readers_Perspectives_on_Vintage_Bass_in_2010.aspx

Stuff coming up; the day after Thanksgiving, the Candye Kane Band is playing Happy Hour at the Belly Up in Solana Beach! Come dance off some of that turkey. “Black Friday” indeed.

I’ll be playing with my good friends from Seattle, The Red Hot Blues Sisters on December 2nd at Patrick’s in San Diego, and the 3rd at Café Boogaloo in Hermosa Beach! Always a fun gig!

December 4th, The Candye Kane Band makes another Bay Area appearance at The Catalyst. Santa Cruz counts as Bay Area.

December 5th is the Martinez Music Mafia's 2nd Annual Holiday Pageant and Toy Drive at Armando’s. This is a not-to-be-missed show, and needless to say, a really good cause.

You’ll be hearing about all of these as the days go by, but for now, see you tonight at Brennan’s in Denver, and tomorrow night at the Crystola Palace! I can only handle one thing at a time anyway.


]]> Fri, 19 Nov 2010 20:35:14 GMT D0B48A95640ED90E475AD9C1BC473D1C http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=508586 One show left on this tour, Monday night at The Ram’s Head in Annapolis. Then Tuesday morning, the mad dash across the country starts. Regular readers already know that I hold no romantic notions about driving across the country; it simply goes with the job. The more time I have to spend doing that, the less I’m home with the family. Once I finally get home, there are numerous opportunities to come see me play, and I highly encourage all my local friends to come say “hi”, and partake of some live music. First up is KT & the Wicked Gents on Saturday night, October 23rd, at Armando’s in Martinez. I have sang the praises of Armando’s for years now, and if you don’t know what a gem the place is, for anyone who listens to, loves, or plays music, well, you haven’t been paying attention! The show is from 8 to 11, and the band is like an All-Star team of seriously good players flexing a little musical muscle! Monday the 25th I’ll be back in the House Band for the Blues Jam, sponsored by Good Stuff Guitars, also at Armando’s; it’s kind of my “Home Club”, after all. Come out and play! Wednesday, November 3rd the Candye Kane Band return to Biscuits and Blues in San Francisco for two shows, at 8 and 10PM. I’m hoping all my Bay Area buddies consider taking this show in! After all, it’s always fun to show off a little in your own town. The Candye Kane Band is at the Torch Club in Sacramento on Thursday the 4th, and up in Humbolt County at the Riverwood Inn in Phillipsville on Saturday the 6th. After that we’re of on another two week tour that runs up the West Coast, across Canada, and down through Colorado. That will about do it for the year, aside from a couple of “spot” gigs here and there. My December schedule is fairly wide open, should you find yourself in need of a bassist! Remember; “If you book it, I will play.”
Once I finally get home, there are numerous opportunities to come see me play, and I highly encourage all my local friends to come say “hi”, and partake of some live music.

First up is KT & the Wicked Gents on Saturday night, October 23rd, at Armando’s in Martinez. I have sang the praises of Armando’s for years now, and if you don’t know what a gem the place is, for anyone who listens to, loves, or plays music, well, you haven’t been paying attention! The show is from 8 to 11, and the band is like an All-Star team of seriously good players flexing a little musical muscle!

Monday the 25th I’ll be back in the House Band for the Blues Jam, sponsored by Good Stuff Guitars, also at Armando’s; it’s kind of my “Home Club”, after all. Come out and play!

Wednesday, November 3rd the Candye Kane Band return to Biscuits and Blues in San Francisco for two shows, at 8 and 10PM. I’m hoping all my Bay Area buddies consider taking this show in! After all, it’s always fun to show off a little in your own town.

The Candye Kane Band is at the Torch Club in Sacramento on Thursday the 4th, and up in Humbolt County at the Riverwood Inn in Phillipsville on Saturday the 6th.

After that we’re of on another two week tour that runs up the West Coast, across Canada, and down through Colorado. That will about do it for the year, aside from a couple of “spot” gigs here and there.

My December schedule is fairly wide open, should you find yourself in need of a bassist! Remember; “If you book it, I will play.”

]]> Mon, 18 Oct 2010 06:06:36 GMT 5809C28C14BF9B73A11C80E6CB65DD53 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=497661 I have a bass that I bought a few years ago straight from Harvey Brooks. Harvey played with…oh…everyone. Electric Flag. He played on Bob Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited”. He played on Miles Davis’ “Bitches Brew”. He played on a whole lot of things. The bass itself is kind of dirty, and has Harvey’s autograph HUGE on the back. The dirt is all Harvey‘s; I’d never clean it. The only thing I’ve done to the bass is change the strings to flat wounds; much easier on the fretboard. Playing this bass makes me feel a small but direct link to these artists, and acts as inspiration. Last week I played in a bar, and mounted on the wall in a glass case were two guitars; one autographed by Pink Floyd, and one autographed by Led Zeppelin. The guitars are both super cheap, “budget of a budget” brands. No one has ever played a note of joy on either guitar, or ever will. Neither model is remotely associated with the bands that autographed them. For all the musicality of these guitars, they may as well be toasters, or crescent wrenches. That don’t work. One is a virtual talisman, ready to be imbued with all the spirit and magic you can hoist onto it. The others are pretty much just cocktail napkins. This was my dilemma standing outside the gate to Hemingway’s house in Key West, Florida. Magic or napkin? See, I pretty much think Hemingway saved the world. Prior to Hemingway, writing was dense, demonstrative, and condescending. Every detail, emotion, action, and detail were spelled out in language meant to be difficult; as though showing off your vocabulary was more important than the story itself. Hemingway let dialog, and even silence outline what was actually happening. Okay, these are broad generalizations, but pre-Hemingway, writing was a symphony; a big, thick symphony, with every part outlined and directed. Hemingway’s writing was a jazz combo, with the reader as a participant, interpreting and reacting with the characters and story. So there I was at the gate, looking at the $12 admission. I’d been all over the web site, looking for any solid info; what had he written there? When did he live there? Hat did he do while he was there? That was all pretty vague. It seems he lived there starting in 1931, for “About ten years.” The web site did however, had a lot of information about the sixty or so cats that live on the grounds. There were pictures of some of them with their names, a section on the special fence that keeps them in, and just generally tons of info about cats. A lot of these cats are polydactyl; they have extra toes. This was apparently considered good luck by ship captains, one of which gave Hemingway his first cat. Also, a lot of the cats on the grounds are “probably” descendants of that original cat. But here’s the thing; the cats were brought to the house after Hemingway committed suicide in 1961, twenty years after Hemingway moved out of the house. So the cats are the “hook” to get people into Hemingway’s house? The cocktail napkins of America’s greatest literary giant? The “Starcaster” guitar with Ernest’s scrawl? I didn’t think I could handle it. And I like cats, so that’s not the problem. I just think the shrine should be special. I know Hemingway got up every morning and wrote a thousand words; that was his discipline, his ritual, his church. To see this space, the desk he sat at, the window he looked out of, the room he sat in, would be worth the $12 admission. I don’t even know what I’d pay for even one minute sitting at the desk by myself! That would be absolutely priceless. I just wasn’t sure I could put up with the other distractions to enjoy it. So that’s why I paraphrased one of my favorite parts from “The Sun Also Rises” for my Facebook status. “It’s a simple exchange of values; you give them money, they give you admission to a cat infested mansion.” Now, maybe if they had a stuffed dog in the house…
The bass itself is kind of dirty, and has Harvey’s autograph HUGE on the back. The dirt is all Harvey‘s; I’d never clean it. The only thing I’ve done to the bass is change the strings to flat wounds; much easier on the fretboard. Playing this bass makes me feel a small but direct link to these artists, and acts as inspiration.

Last week I played in a bar, and mounted on the wall in a glass case were two guitars; one autographed by Pink Floyd, and one autographed by Led Zeppelin. The guitars are both super cheap, “budget of a budget” brands. No one has ever played a note of joy on either guitar, or ever will. Neither model is remotely associated with the bands that autographed them. For all the musicality of these guitars, they may as well be toasters, or crescent wrenches. That don’t work.

One is a virtual talisman, ready to be imbued with all the spirit and magic you can hoist onto it. The others are pretty much just cocktail napkins.

This was my dilemma standing outside the gate to Hemingway’s house in Key West, Florida. Magic or napkin? See, I pretty much think Hemingway saved the world. Prior to Hemingway, writing was dense, demonstrative, and condescending. Every detail, emotion, action, and detail were spelled out in language meant to be difficult; as though showing off your vocabulary was more important than the story itself. Hemingway let dialog, and even silence outline what was actually happening.

Okay, these are broad generalizations, but pre-Hemingway, writing was a symphony; a big, thick symphony, with every part outlined and directed. Hemingway’s writing was a jazz combo, with the reader as a participant, interpreting and reacting with the characters and story.

So there I was at the gate, looking at the $12 admission. I’d been all over the web site, looking for any solid info; what had he written there? When did he live there? Hat did he do while he was there? That was all pretty vague. It seems he lived there starting in 1931, for “About ten years.” The web site did however, had a lot of information about the sixty or so cats that live on the grounds. There were pictures of some of them with their names, a section on the special fence that keeps them in, and just generally tons of info about cats.

A lot of these cats are polydactyl; they have extra toes. This was apparently considered good luck by ship captains, one of which gave Hemingway his first cat. Also, a lot of the cats on the grounds are “probably” descendants of that original cat. But here’s the thing; the cats were brought to the house after Hemingway committed suicide in 1961, twenty years after Hemingway moved out of the house.

So the cats are the “hook” to get people into Hemingway’s house? The cocktail napkins of America’s greatest literary giant? The “Starcaster” guitar with Ernest’s scrawl?

I didn’t think I could handle it. And I like cats, so that’s not the problem. I just think the shrine should be special. I know Hemingway got up every morning and wrote a thousand words; that was his discipline, his ritual, his church. To see this space, the desk he sat at, the window he looked out of, the room he sat in, would be worth the $12 admission. I don’t even know what I’d pay for even one minute sitting at the desk by myself! That would be absolutely priceless. I just wasn’t sure I could put up with the other distractions to enjoy it.

So that’s why I paraphrased one of my favorite parts from “The Sun Also Rises” for my Facebook status. “It’s a simple exchange of values; you give them money, they give you admission to a cat infested mansion.” Now, maybe if they had a stuffed dog in the house…

]]> Wed, 13 Oct 2010 07:33:27 GMT B685715FF98E4612C99F3BE4C87C6DCD http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=493457 Last night, here in Atlanta, we played the Second Annual Sean Costello Memorial Fund For Bipolar Research Benefit Concert. Sean Costello was a young man who grew up obsessed with guitar, and was considered a masterful young player, a soulful singer, and an amazing songwriter, all far beyond his years. As he matured he was less and less bound by the constraints of genre, and his music covered a lot of ground while retaining his personal touch. I never saw him play. I can’t say I spent any time listening to him or frankly, knew much about him. I sure didn’t know him. All of that stuff I just wrote, I looked up and read. So last night, among all his family, friends, and fans, I felt a little out of place. Sean died a day shy of his 28th birthday, of what was called an accidental drug overdose. Subsequently, his family disclosed his long battle with Bipolar disorder. In a few cases, the same mental chemistry that bestows talent and artistic drive, seems to lend itself to bipolar disorder. The meds that treat the problem also wipe out the creative side, so too often, “self medication” becomes the norm, and that leads to tragedy. As a bass player, I know that it’s pretty much the same fate that befell Jaco Pastorius, the man who changed the way people even think about the electric bass. So Sean’s family is trying to find some meaning in the tragedy by starting a Foundation. Last night, this search was the thing that hit home. I don’t know how you come back from the death of a child. I don’t think you do. I imagine that everyday of your life, at some point it comes rushing back, and that hole you feel in your chest returns. Even your best days are tempered by memories and feelings you can’t hold back. I miss my kids madly, but that’s just distance. This kind of perspective doesn’t really show up too often on tour; I tend to get hung up on ridiculous, tiny things, and it’s easy to forget that we get to work in life’s toy box. My heart goes out to the Costello family. I hope their quest brings them some small modicum of peace. Please take a moment to check out their foundation; http://www.seancostellofund.org/
Sean Costello was a young man who grew up obsessed with guitar, and was considered a masterful young player, a soulful singer, and an amazing songwriter, all far beyond his years. As he matured he was less and less bound by the constraints of genre, and his music covered a lot of ground while retaining his personal touch.

I never saw him play. I can’t say I spent any time listening to him or frankly, knew much about him. I sure didn’t know him. All of that stuff I just wrote, I looked up and read. So last night, among all his family, friends, and fans, I felt a little out of place.

Sean died a day shy of his 28th birthday, of what was called an accidental drug overdose. Subsequently, his family disclosed his long battle with Bipolar disorder. In a few cases, the same mental chemistry that bestows talent and artistic drive, seems to lend itself to bipolar disorder. The meds that treat the problem also wipe out the creative side, so too often, “self medication” becomes the norm, and that leads to tragedy.

As a bass player, I know that it’s pretty much the same fate that befell Jaco Pastorius, the man who changed the way people even think about the electric bass.

So Sean’s family is trying to find some meaning in the tragedy by starting a Foundation. Last night, this search was the thing that hit home. I don’t know how you come back from the death of a child. I don’t think you do. I imagine that everyday of your life, at some point it comes rushing back, and that hole you feel in your chest returns. Even your best days are tempered by memories and feelings you can’t hold back.

I miss my kids madly, but that’s just distance. This kind of perspective doesn’t really show up too often on tour; I tend to get hung up on ridiculous, tiny things, and it’s easy to forget that we get to work in life’s toy box. My heart goes out to the Costello family. I hope their quest brings them some small modicum of peace.

Please take a moment to check out their foundation;
http://www.seancostellofund.org/


]]> Mon, 11 Oct 2010 17:16:44 GMT 848389854F091AE7384C29DD72190217 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=473767 I saw my buddy Mark Johnson last night! Mark blew California two years ago and is now the best guitarist in Hammond. He plays with Chris Gray, and they play all the time. He and his pal Shane came down and we found some pizza down on Magazine. It was an early night for them; Shane leaves for work at some ridiculous hour that even farmer’s would laugh at. I wasn’t quite ready to call it a night, so I had the best time $2.50 can buy; a ride on the St. Charles Street Car. I hopped the car a block from my place, and rode down to Carrollton, past antebellum mansions, universities, and restaurants and bars. The evening was beautiful, warm with a slight breeze, and the windows were all down. I jumped off where the tracks turn, and walked up Carrollton checking out the bars. Cold Stone and Baskin Robbins were both closed, so no Milkshake “Nightcap!” At Oak Street I turned and made my way down the street. Years ago, on my first visit to Oak, I thought the neighborhood was sketchy. Now it’s all trendy cafés and Art Galleries. And of course, The Maple Leaf. I didn’t go in, just listened to a little Russell Batiste from outside, with all the other cheapskates. A little of that, then back on the Street Car for the return trip. Your fellow passengers are all part of the fun of riding the street car, especially at night. I swear New Orleans has a large troll/elf population that that comes out at night, and uses the Street Car pretty much exclusively for transportation. Their usually easy to spot; Crocs. This morning, my shower head committed suicide, mid-shower. Water started spraying out of parts that it wasn’t supposed to, and the whole unit kind of “fell over” in slow motion, water spraying everywhere. After cleaning up the bathroom, I headed for Community Coffee for Hazelnut Iced Coffee, and internet; they have the best free wireless. I had to check into my flight to Oklahoma, After two big cups and a lot of Facebook ‘gardening’, I figured Magazine Street was as good a place as any to find a new shower head. Magazine is one of my favorite areas. First off, to get there means a stroll through the beautiful Garden District. Secondly, there’s a lot to see and do along there. Brilliant clothing stores like Storyville, Fleurty Girl (with their “Boutte Call” T-Shirts), Funky Monkey, and even Buffalo Exchange. Sidebar; the Saints winning the Super Bowl has turned this town upside down. There’s Black N’Gold stuff everywhere! It used to be that LSU purple and gold ruled the city, and the Saints were the loveable losers. Not any more. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I know guys that are life long Saints fans who still stop a couple times a week and think “Did that really happen? The Saints really are the Champions? Wow.” The headline on the front of the paper after they won said “AMEN”. Magazine boasts a ton of antique stores, some staid and traditional, some goofy and fun like Neophobia. There’s a pretty good Pawn shop, a not-too-bad music store, and some really good places to eat. You can “make groceries” at the Breaux Mart, and get a flu shot at Walgreen’s. So, making my way the several blocks to Ace Hardware takes a while with all the stops. The walk home was quicker without the stops. The Garden District was already filling up with Walking Tours, and I tried to listen in on a couple of the guides to prepare for my new career, but couldn’t hear enough to make sense of what they were saying. I really wanted to walk by and stop incredulously and say “What!?! That’s not true at ALL! Don’t listen to this guy!” Then walk away shaking my head. Once I got home with my new shower head, it became clear that neither of my two little Crescent Wrenches were going to fit to loosen the broken one. It was rapidly approaching nap time, but I figured rather the two or so miles back to Ace, I’d try the Walgreen’s about a half mile away. “There are approximately 96 Walgreen’s stores within a ten mile circle of where we‘re standing now. Walgreen’s was started by Mildred Walgreen, widow of Colonel Beauregard Walgreen. When the Colonel died of his wounds during the Battle of New Orleans, while serving with Andrew Jackson, his widow vowed to help soldiers get bandages and medicine as quickly as possible, The Walgreen’s chain grew from her personal efforts, and was a monument to her husband, and her love for him. Moving along; here’s where Sandy Bullock lives!” See. I could totally do that. Anyway, the wrench. Walgreen’s does not carry wrenches. Neither does the Williams Mart at Jackson and St. Charles. So it was nap time. Refreshed but groggy, it was time to catch up with some of my regular haunts in the Quarter. We’ve been over the whole Street Car versus Bus thing, so I’d skip ahead, except Santa Claus was on the Street Car. Swear to god! Red Hawaiian shirt and red shades, but pretty recognizable. The car was crowded, so I couldn’t check his shoes, but all the school kids riding home were pretty well behaved in his presence. First stop was Louisiana Music Factory; a great music store with a strong local focus. I love this place, browsing the bins, checking out the great T-shirts, and all the cool concert photos, a lot of which were taken by my old buddy Clayton Call (nice stuff Clayton!). Then it was time for a stroll down Royal. Royal Street is the antithesis of Bourbon Street. Where Bourbon is loud, drunk and stupid, Royal is upscale, reserved and old fashioned. Art, antiques, and coolness prevail. I won’t go into details, but there are a few stores I always check on. The 16th Century Treasure Chest was a highlight! It was open, so you could see all the workings of the lock mechanism. The autograph store has so much signed Drew Brees stuff, that I can’t believe he’s had any time to play football. And the wire mesh shadow sculptures still look cool to me. I like to stop at the Lalurie Mansion and see what’s going on. The Lalurie Mansion is the scene of one of the most horrific tales of cruelty to grace New Orleans, and the house is said to be haunted by the souls of the tormented and tortured slaves who perished there. Look it up! The mansion had a Real Estate sign with a “SOLD!” placard added to it. No one told me it was for sale! Dang! Anyway, there was a family across the street taking pictures, and a horse drawn sightseeing tour was pulling by. The idiot didn’t even mention the history of the place, because he was too busy pointing out Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s place, and complaining about “rich people buying things”. See? I’d be totally better than that tool. Stopped in a new guitar store on Charters, and asked about hardware stores. Then on the guy’s advice I was off to Elysian Fields and Royal. Unfortunately, they were closed. I’m pretty much at a loss now, so I figured I’d head to Frenchmen Street. This is where all the best nightclubs are. This is the hip part of town, and where locals go for live music. There are a mess of clubs in a three block stretch, and even though it was only about 7PM, there was a lot of activity. And, it so happens, a bicycle shop. Unfortunately, they only had small wrenches like the one’s I already had. They did, however, tell me that there’s an AutoZone store, down Elysian Fields and Clairborne. So, off I go. If you know New Orleans, right about now you’re thinking “My God, he walked all over hell and back!” Yes. Yes I did. It’s kind of what I do, away from home and on my own. I walked back to the Quarter, through the triangle, and down to where they were finishing packing up the French Market for the day. At Toulouse, I figured it was time to treat myself, so I went to Ralph & Kackoo’s, and had one of my favorite meals; Blackened Gator, Crawfish Etouffee, and Key Lime Pie. The Gator is just amazing, and makes you think about the line where “meat” becomes “oeuvres d’oerves”. The Etouffee has a lot of crawfish, and I can’t think of a better Key Lime Pie. Back on the bus for me. Well, bus, then street car. Home to fix the shower head, and frankly, I’m kind of fried. So I’m listening to WWOZ, playing some Sudoku, and writing this. Tomorrow morning I’m off to the airport, and Oklahoma City, and the beginning of a two and a half week tour. I understand that the whole band will spend a couple of days back here. There are some days off right on the front end of the tour. Back to New Orleans. Works for me!
It was an early night for them; Shane leaves for work at some ridiculous hour that even farmer’s would laugh at. I wasn’t quite ready to call it a night, so I had the best time $2.50 can buy; a ride on the St. Charles Street Car. I hopped the car a block from my place, and rode down to Carrollton, past antebellum mansions, universities, and restaurants and bars. The evening was beautiful, warm with a slight breeze, and the windows were all down.

I jumped off where the tracks turn, and walked up Carrollton checking out the bars. Cold Stone and Baskin Robbins were both closed, so no Milkshake “Nightcap!” At Oak Street I turned and made my way down the street. Years ago, on my first visit to Oak, I thought the neighborhood was sketchy. Now it’s all trendy cafés and Art Galleries. And of course, The Maple Leaf. I didn’t go in, just listened to a little Russell Batiste from outside, with all the other cheapskates.

A little of that, then back on the Street Car for the return trip. Your fellow passengers are all part of the fun of riding the street car, especially at night. I swear New Orleans has a large troll/elf population that that comes out at night, and uses the Street Car pretty much exclusively for transportation. Their usually easy to spot; Crocs.

This morning, my shower head committed suicide, mid-shower. Water started spraying out of parts that it wasn’t supposed to, and the whole unit kind of “fell over” in slow motion, water spraying everywhere. After cleaning up the bathroom, I headed for Community Coffee for Hazelnut Iced Coffee, and internet; they have the best free wireless. I had to check into my flight to Oklahoma,

After two big cups and a lot of Facebook ‘gardening’, I figured Magazine Street was as good a place as any to find a new shower head. Magazine is one of my favorite areas. First off, to get there means a stroll through the beautiful Garden District. Secondly, there’s a lot to see and do along there. Brilliant clothing stores like Storyville, Fleurty Girl (with their “Boutte Call” T-Shirts), Funky Monkey, and even Buffalo Exchange.

Sidebar; the Saints winning the Super Bowl has turned this town upside down. There’s Black N’Gold stuff everywhere! It used to be that LSU purple and gold ruled the city, and the Saints were the loveable losers. Not any more. It’s to be expected, I suppose. I know guys that are life long Saints fans who still stop a couple times a week and think “Did that really happen? The Saints really are the Champions? Wow.” The headline on the front of the paper after they won said “AMEN”.

Magazine boasts a ton of antique stores, some staid and traditional, some goofy and fun like Neophobia. There’s a pretty good Pawn shop, a not-too-bad music store, and some really good places to eat. You can “make groceries” at the Breaux Mart, and get a flu shot at Walgreen’s.

So, making my way the several blocks to Ace Hardware takes a while with all the stops.

The walk home was quicker without the stops. The Garden District was already filling up with Walking Tours, and I tried to listen in on a couple of the guides to prepare for my new career, but couldn’t hear enough to make sense of what they were saying. I really wanted to walk by and stop incredulously and say “What!?! That’s not true at ALL! Don’t listen to this guy!” Then walk away shaking my head.

Once I got home with my new shower head, it became clear that neither of my two little Crescent Wrenches were going to fit to loosen the broken one. It was rapidly approaching nap time, but I figured rather the two or so miles back to Ace, I’d try the Walgreen’s about a half mile away.

“There are approximately 96 Walgreen’s stores within a ten mile circle of where we‘re standing now. Walgreen’s was started by Mildred Walgreen, widow of Colonel Beauregard Walgreen. When the Colonel died of his wounds during the Battle of New Orleans, while serving with Andrew Jackson, his widow vowed to help soldiers get bandages and medicine as quickly as possible, The Walgreen’s chain grew from her personal efforts, and was a monument to her husband, and her love for him. Moving along; here’s where Sandy Bullock lives!”

See. I could totally do that.

Anyway, the wrench. Walgreen’s does not carry wrenches. Neither does the Williams Mart at Jackson and St. Charles. So it was nap time.

Refreshed but groggy, it was time to catch up with some of my regular haunts in the Quarter. We’ve been over the whole Street Car versus Bus thing, so I’d skip ahead, except Santa Claus was on the Street Car. Swear to god! Red Hawaiian shirt and red shades, but pretty recognizable. The car was crowded, so I couldn’t check his shoes, but all the school kids riding home were pretty well behaved in his presence.

First stop was Louisiana Music Factory; a great music store with a strong local focus. I love this place, browsing the bins, checking out the great T-shirts, and all the cool concert photos, a lot of which were taken by my old buddy Clayton Call (nice stuff Clayton!).

Then it was time for a stroll down Royal. Royal Street is the antithesis of Bourbon Street. Where Bourbon is loud, drunk and stupid, Royal is upscale, reserved and old fashioned. Art, antiques, and coolness prevail. I won’t go into details, but there are a few stores I always check on. The 16th Century Treasure Chest was a highlight! It was open, so you could see all the workings of the lock mechanism. The autograph store has so much signed Drew Brees stuff, that I can’t believe he’s had any time to play football. And the wire mesh shadow sculptures still look cool to me.

I like to stop at the Lalurie Mansion and see what’s going on. The Lalurie Mansion is the scene of one of the most horrific tales of cruelty to grace New Orleans, and the house is said to be haunted by the souls of the tormented and tortured slaves who perished there. Look it up! The mansion had a Real Estate sign with a “SOLD!” placard added to it. No one told me it was for sale! Dang!

Anyway, there was a family across the street taking pictures, and a horse drawn sightseeing tour was pulling by. The idiot didn’t even mention the history of the place, because he was too busy pointing out Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie’s place, and complaining about “rich people buying things”.

See? I’d be totally better than that tool.

Stopped in a new guitar store on Charters, and asked about hardware stores. Then on the guy’s advice I was off to Elysian Fields and Royal.

Unfortunately, they were closed. I’m pretty much at a loss now, so I figured I’d head to Frenchmen Street. This is where all the best nightclubs are. This is the hip part of town, and where locals go for live music. There are a mess of clubs in a three block stretch, and even though it was only about 7PM, there was a lot of activity. And, it so happens, a bicycle shop.

Unfortunately, they only had small wrenches like the one’s I already had. They did, however, tell me that there’s an AutoZone store, down Elysian Fields and Clairborne. So, off I go. If you know New Orleans, right about now you’re thinking “My God, he walked all over hell and back!” Yes. Yes I did. It’s kind of what I do, away from home and on my own.

I walked back to the Quarter, through the triangle, and down to where they were finishing packing up the French Market for the day. At Toulouse, I figured it was time to treat myself, so I went to Ralph & Kackoo’s, and had one of my favorite meals; Blackened Gator, Crawfish Etouffee, and Key Lime Pie. The Gator is just amazing, and makes you think about the line where “meat” becomes “oeuvres d’oerves”. The Etouffee has a lot of crawfish, and I can’t think of a better Key Lime Pie.

Back on the bus for me. Well, bus, then street car. Home to fix the shower head, and frankly, I’m kind of fried. So I’m listening to WWOZ, playing some Sudoku, and writing this. Tomorrow morning I’m off to the airport, and Oklahoma City, and the beginning of a two and a half week tour.

I understand that the whole band will spend a couple of days back here. There are some days off right on the front end of the tour. Back to New Orleans. Works for me!

]]> Fri, 01 Oct 2010 15:49:46 GMT DA94EB1A8B54141E7022536999D45B73 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=470714 I am in New Orleans. I’m not (quite) on the road, but I’ve come down for a couple of days of reclamation. It’s been about one solid year since I’ve been here, and I desperately need to wallow - just a little - in what this place has to offer. I need to be careful, though. No jumping up and down, no singing Mardi Gras songs, no talking about Blackened Gator Bites; I’ve been traveling a lot lately, and leaving the family behind for a vacation is a tad…selfish, I know. But a year away leaves me hurtin’! I start smiling as soon as the plane gets near Lake Ponchartrain. When the cab makes that turn onto St. Charles Avenue, I can barely sit still. The warm air, the shade of the Oak trees, and the sound of the Street Car are like Christmas, summer vacation, and your first date all rolled into one. And I say that completely without hyperbole. Honest. I got to my little hideaway, settled my stuff, then headed out. I figured I’d take the Street Car down to Canal, cross through the Quarter, maybe grab a bite, then head to Frenchmen. Ah, the best laid plans…! Unfortunately, due to some extensive road work, the Street Car only runs a few blocks towards downtown before doubling back towards Carrollton. The night was too lovely to take the bus ( note to any and all transit authorities; buses are very poor replacements for Street Cars, or Trains, or pretty much anything. There’s a distinct lack of romance. Just sayin’.), so I just started walking. It’s a bit of a hike from the Garden District to the Quarter, a couple of miles anyway, but it was a perfect night for it; not too hot or too cold. St. Charles Avenue, past Lee Circle, serves as the imaginary boundary between the CBD (Central Business District) and the “Warehouse/Arts District”. At night it’s usually quiet, but that’s where all the street resurfacing is taking place. I exchanged smiles with a couple enjoying their patio meal while the repair crews tore up the street about 30 feet from them. The first thing that greets you on Bourbon Street as you cross Canal is the brass band that plays right there every night. This is a young band, dressed in wife beaters against the heat, and just blowin’! There’s always a crowd, tourists and what were once called “rummies” side by side. I watched a troop trying to pull people into a good old fashioned “Shell Game”, some less fortunate individuals trying to solicit money for their dancing, and a slick-haired poser trying to figure out how to entice his young girlfriend to check out the Hustler Adult Store, all within about five minutes. Sadly, Bourbon Street goes downhill from there. It’s amazing that in what surely has to be the funkiest city in the world, the main tourist thoroughfare is so unbelievably unfunky. Positively “Square -Headed.” There are two kinds of bands on Bourbon; dismal “Classic Rock’ bands, and a few “Blues” bands made up of guys sporting that “Kill me now”, middle distance stare. The street is loud, bright, frat-ish, and flows with things you don’t want on your shoes. Even the barkers with their “Huge Ass Beer” signs and strippers at their elbows can barely muster to enthusiasm to try to wave you towards their doors. Drunken businessmen stand on the balconies with beads they bought (who BUYS beads, for cryin’ out loud?) hoping for just a glimpse of what Google Uncensored shows them when they type “Mardi Gras”. The more successful ones, with expense accounts, are racking up the charges at the strip clubs that appear as “Theater Performance” on the charges. It’s sad and disgusting as only “forced revelry” can be, like some weird, alcohol-fueled “New Years Eve World”. Or St. Patty’s Day in Chicago. I headed down to Jackson Square to take in the sights. This is postcard territory, and at night, when all the Tarot readers and Palmistry experts ply their trade by candlelight, time becomes meaningless. I decided to skip Café Du Monde for now, and find some food, but all the usual suspects were closed. I was in no mood to eat on Bourbon proper, so I hit the Krystal back at Bourbon near Canal, and listened to the band, talked to Cindy on the phone, got the Giants score (YES!), and watched the shell game crew get increasingly annoyed that nobody would fall for their con. There’s nothing quite like an inept con man’s girlfriend, trying drum up business. Krystal makes little burgers you buy in bulk. I bought three, and the meat tastes like it’s spread on with a knife, but when they’re gone, the thought crosses your mind that you should have more. Don’t listen to it. Drink your Fruit Punch and move along, Sailor. Otherwise, Bourbon Street might take you in and never let you go, trapped in her velvet covered, icy grip, you’ll… Not really. I just got carried away. Someday I’m going to get a horse buggy, and drive around telling totally made up “historical facts” to tourists. Sprinkle in some real, Herbert Ashbury stories, but mostly just crap off the top of my head. But there is that whole “horses are trying to kill me” thing I have. I might have to settle for a Rickshaw. So there you go. That’s just the first few hours. Every time I’m here, I have to go through the check list of why I would leave. Family, work, gigs…all these bring me home to California. All these important things, though, are ultimately mobile. So someday the checklist won’t be there anymore. It’ll all be here.
I need to be careful, though. No jumping up and down, no singing Mardi Gras songs, no talking about Blackened Gator Bites; I’ve been traveling a lot lately, and leaving the family behind for a vacation is a tad…selfish, I know. But a year away leaves me hurtin’!

I start smiling as soon as the plane gets near Lake Ponchartrain. When the cab makes that turn onto St. Charles Avenue, I can barely sit still. The warm air, the shade of the Oak trees, and the sound of the Street Car are like Christmas, summer vacation, and your first date all rolled into one. And I say that completely without hyperbole. Honest.

I got to my little hideaway, settled my stuff, then headed out. I figured I’d take the Street Car down to Canal, cross through the Quarter, maybe grab a bite, then head to Frenchmen. Ah, the best laid plans…! Unfortunately, due to some extensive road work, the Street Car only runs a few blocks towards downtown before doubling back towards Carrollton. The night was too lovely to take the bus ( note to any and all transit authorities; buses are very poor replacements for Street Cars, or Trains, or pretty much anything. There’s a distinct lack of romance. Just sayin’.), so I just started walking.

It’s a bit of a hike from the Garden District to the Quarter, a couple of miles anyway, but it was a perfect night for it; not too hot or too cold. St. Charles Avenue, past Lee Circle, serves as the imaginary boundary between the CBD (Central Business District) and the “Warehouse/Arts District”. At night it’s usually quiet, but that’s where all the street resurfacing is taking place. I exchanged smiles with a couple enjoying their patio meal while the repair crews tore up the street about 30 feet from them.

The first thing that greets you on Bourbon Street as you cross Canal is the brass band that plays right there every night. This is a young band, dressed in wife beaters against the heat, and just blowin’! There’s always a crowd, tourists and what were once called “rummies” side by side. I watched a troop trying to pull people into a good old fashioned “Shell Game”, some less fortunate individuals trying to solicit money for their dancing, and a slick-haired poser trying to figure out how to entice his young girlfriend to check out the Hustler Adult Store, all within about five minutes.

Sadly, Bourbon Street goes downhill from there. It’s amazing that in what surely has to be the funkiest city in the world, the main tourist thoroughfare is so unbelievably unfunky. Positively “Square -Headed.” There are two kinds of bands on Bourbon; dismal “Classic Rock’ bands, and a few “Blues” bands made up of guys sporting that “Kill me now”, middle distance stare. The street is loud, bright, frat-ish, and flows with things you don’t want on your shoes. Even the barkers with their “Huge Ass Beer” signs and strippers at their elbows can barely muster to enthusiasm to try to wave you towards their doors. Drunken businessmen stand on the balconies with beads they bought (who BUYS beads, for cryin’ out loud?) hoping for just a glimpse of what Google Uncensored shows them when they type “Mardi Gras”. The more successful ones, with expense accounts, are racking up the charges at the strip clubs that appear as “Theater Performance” on the charges.

It’s sad and disgusting as only “forced revelry” can be, like some weird, alcohol-fueled “New Years Eve World”. Or St. Patty’s Day in Chicago.

I headed down to Jackson Square to take in the sights. This is postcard territory, and at night, when all the Tarot readers and Palmistry experts ply their trade by candlelight, time becomes meaningless. I decided to skip Café Du Monde for now, and find some food, but all the usual suspects were closed. I was in no mood to eat on Bourbon proper, so I hit the Krystal back at Bourbon near Canal, and listened to the band, talked to Cindy on the phone, got the Giants score (YES!), and watched the shell game crew get increasingly annoyed that nobody would fall for their con. There’s nothing quite like an inept con man’s girlfriend, trying drum up business.

Krystal makes little burgers you buy in bulk. I bought three, and the meat tastes like it’s spread on with a knife, but when they’re gone, the thought crosses your mind that you should have more. Don’t listen to it. Drink your Fruit Punch and move along, Sailor. Otherwise, Bourbon Street might take you in and never let you go, trapped in her velvet covered, icy grip, you’ll…

Not really. I just got carried away. Someday I’m going to get a horse buggy, and drive around telling totally made up “historical facts” to tourists. Sprinkle in some real, Herbert Ashbury stories, but mostly just crap off the top of my head. But there is that whole “horses are trying to kill me” thing I have. I might have to settle for a Rickshaw.

So there you go. That’s just the first few hours. Every time I’m here, I have to go through the check list of why I would leave. Family, work, gigs…all these bring me home to California. All these important things, though, are ultimately mobile. So someday the checklist won’t be there anymore. It’ll all be here.

]]> Thu, 30 Sep 2010 00:05:13 GMT 7DBF27FEC91AE67D093C1E8EAA74BA01 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=451538 ...Are the one's we throw for each other. They say that “time heals all wounds”. I suppose that’s true, at least until a well-placed Country song opens them up again for inspection. I’m certainly hoping it’s true, not so much for me, but for someone else I know. A lot has been written - if you know where to look, at least - about Thomas Yearsley’s run in with a train. A quick overview; Thomas, who A.) runs Thunderbird Recording Studios in Oceanside, B.) plays bass for The Paladins, and C.) is Candye Kane’s ex-husband and father to her children, was walking his long-time companion, the Australian Healer, Swango to the beach, like pretty much every other day. Swango was having a bad week; he had an abscessed tooth, and the swelling was affecting his one good eye (the other he had lost to a cat as a pup). Thomas had been treated the abscess himself, and Swango wasn’t too keen on any of that thank you very much. So when Swango planted himself on the tracks ahead of an oncoming Freight Train, he wasn’t inclined to come when called. Actually, Swango’s motivation has been wildly speculated on, but it’s certainly not for me to make any guesses. Thomas ran to try to get Swango off the tracks, and both were struck by the train. Swango didn’t make it. Thomas got a deeply gashed and broken leg, and a nasty bump on the head, but amazingly, survived. He was airlifted by helicopter to the hospital, and was very well taken care of. While recovering, he was quoted as saying “I don’t know why they called a helicopter. There was a train right there.” So, there are bills. Fortunately, Thomas has a lot of friends and fans that care a great deal for him, and have rallied to his side in his time of need, and there is an ongoing series of benefits being held all over Southern California. There is also a website set up that kind of tells Thomas’ story while soliciting donations at http://helpthomas.com/. On such benefit - a really good one, I think - is happening Sunday night, September 19th, at the Redwood Bar in Los Angeles. The bill is great; Thomas’ own band Exotiki opens at 8PM, followed by a reunion of sorts of the original Blasters line up, with Dave Alvin. Following The Blasters is the Candye Kane Band, and rounding out the evening is Karling Abbeygate. It’s kind of a big deal. I’m even looking forward to going to L.A. for this! The joint, as they say, should be jumpin’. Hopefully, a ton of money will be made. I know Thomas has talked about his wish to “pay forward” a good chunk of people’s generosity towards him, and has spoken about his gratitude at length. These are the times when you feel the best about your fellow man, and this community of musicians, that usually are too busy scrambling just to try to get a little something for themselves, much less help one another out. I’ll be forever grateful for having played even my tiny, itty-bitty role in the epic tale this will become. I shouldn’t mention this, but really, I can’t tell you what a scret thrill it is to be able to write “I’m doing this and this for Thomas, who was HIT BY A TRAIN.” That’s awesome, right? I mean, come on! Total Ninja! You can try this too; just make a donation through helpthomas.com, and you too can say you did it for this guy who got hit by a train. See? Doesn’t that just feel cool?
They say that “time heals all wounds”. I suppose that’s true, at least until a well-placed Country song opens them up again for inspection. I’m certainly hoping it’s true, not so much for me, but for someone else I know. A lot has been written - if you know where to look, at least - about Thomas Yearsley’s run in with a train.

A quick overview; Thomas, who A.) runs Thunderbird Recording Studios in Oceanside, B.) plays bass for The Paladins, and C.) is Candye Kane’s ex-husband and father to her children, was walking his long-time companion, the Australian Healer, Swango to the beach, like pretty much every other day. Swango was having a bad week; he had an abscessed tooth, and the swelling was affecting his one good eye (the other he had lost to a cat as a pup). Thomas had been treated the abscess himself, and Swango wasn’t too keen on any of that thank you very much.

So when Swango planted himself on the tracks ahead of an oncoming Freight Train, he wasn’t inclined to come when called. Actually, Swango’s motivation has been wildly speculated on, but it’s certainly not for me to make any guesses. Thomas ran to try to get Swango off the tracks, and both were struck by the train. Swango didn’t make it. Thomas got a deeply gashed and broken leg, and a nasty bump on the head, but amazingly, survived. He was airlifted by helicopter to the hospital, and was very well taken care of. While recovering, he was quoted as saying “I don’t know why they called a helicopter. There was a train right there.”

So, there are bills. Fortunately, Thomas has a lot of friends and fans that care a great deal for him, and have rallied to his side in his time of need, and there is an ongoing series of benefits being held all over Southern California. There is also a website set up that kind of tells Thomas’ story while soliciting donations at http://helpthomas.com/.

On such benefit - a really good one, I think - is happening Sunday night, September 19th, at the Redwood Bar in Los Angeles. The bill is great; Thomas’ own band Exotiki opens at 8PM, followed by a reunion of sorts of the original Blasters line up, with Dave Alvin. Following The Blasters is the Candye Kane Band, and rounding out the evening is Karling Abbeygate. It’s kind of a big deal. I’m even looking forward to going to L.A. for this!

The joint, as they say, should be jumpin’. Hopefully, a ton of money will be made. I know Thomas has talked about his wish to “pay forward” a good chunk of people’s generosity towards him, and has spoken about his gratitude at length.

These are the times when you feel the best about your fellow man, and this community of musicians, that usually are too busy scrambling just to try to get a little something for themselves, much less help one another out.

I’ll be forever grateful for having played even my tiny, itty-bitty role in the epic tale this will become. I shouldn’t mention this, but really, I can’t tell you what a scret thrill it is to be able to write “I’m doing this and this for Thomas, who was HIT BY A TRAIN.” That’s awesome, right? I mean, come on! Total Ninja! You can try this too; just make a donation through helpthomas.com, and you too can say you did it for this guy who got hit by a train. See? Doesn’t that just feel cool?


]]> Sat, 18 Sep 2010 19:28:03 GMT C06B00F0C1132995AA3C0F9BF977BE46 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=410241 So, picture this; it's Monday night in Maumee, Ohio, Maumee being a suburb of Toledo. The local bar has just undergone an ownership change. They're not so sure that live music, especially blues, will sell beer the way Karaoke will, but at least football season is coming up. The idea of a so-called "National Blues Act" coming into town and doing any business on this late addition to the schedule, at a glance, looks like a long shot. Yet here we are, and the room is full. And it's because of one thing; the local Blues Society. In last night's case, The Black Swamp Blues Society. For any touring blues band, the local Blues Societies are the people ho put gas in the tank, and cold drinks in the cooler. At the Cincinnati Blues festival, it was BS - as in "Blues Society" - volunteers who drove the army of gold carts carrying equipment and people from the parking lot, to the hospitality tent, to the backstage. In Edmonton, BS volunteers swarmed the stage between sets and moved...whatever they were told to move, really. They bring the food, run the gate, sell your merchandise, make you tea, and sometimes even do massages. They take pride in spoiling us. And I'm pretty good at getting spoiled. The only thing they want in return is a little access, and that interaction between "Artiste" and "Fan" is what makes the blues A.) special and unique, and B.) a living, breathing art form. I see articles all the time bemoaning the future of the blues, and how the form isn't bringing in younger talent, isn't expanding it's appeal, and the fan base is aging. Well, yeah! Not everyone grows up loving the blues. A lot of fans come to the blues as they get a little older, and the reasons have to do with the "re-invent the wheel" nature of popular music that makes so much of it ring hollow to the ageing fan, and the fact that blues is so fan friendly, through festivals, the cruises, and local Blues Societies. It's not just touring acts; Blues Societies are invaluable resources for local acts, too! They're the one's who come to see you, talk about you, and buy your stuff. If you're a musician, these are the fans who can help your career. Most of the time, they know who needs someone before the musicians do (like Deb Lubin, who I'll owe forever for the heads up on the Candye gig!). What always trips me up, though, is the knowledge you run into with blues fans. It's pretty natural during the course of a conversation to do a little name-dropping. People want to share their stories of hanging out in Memphis with so-and-so, or how when a certain singer came through town they went fishing together, or the dinner party they were at for this great band from wherever. I'll tell you a secret; a lot of time, I've got no idea who they're talking about. I'm not completely ignorant; I know who a lot of people are, and if I've been on the bill with them, I try to learn a little somethin' about them. Some of these guys are friends, and it's a treat to be on the same festival. But I don't have the encyclopedic knowledge that your average Blues Society member displays. So I smile and pretend and tell them how cool I think their stories are. And they are cool, I just don't always know who they're talking about. So, support your local Blues Society, because they support everything! Speaking of which, it's almost time to renew my Golden Gate Blues Society membership!

Yet here we are, and the room is full. And it's because of one thing; the local Blues Society. In last night's case, The Black Swamp Blues Society.


For any touring blues band, the local Blues Societies are the people ho put gas in the tank, and cold drinks in the cooler. At the Cincinnati Blues festival, it was BS - as in "Blues Society" - volunteers who drove the army of gold carts carrying equipment and people from the parking lot, to the hospitality tent, to the backstage. In Edmonton, BS volunteers swarmed the stage between sets and moved...whatever they were told to move, really. They bring the food, run the gate, sell your merchandise, make you tea, and sometimes even do massages. They take pride in spoiling us.


And I'm pretty good at getting spoiled.


The only thing they want in return is a little access, and that interaction between "Artiste" and "Fan" is what makes the blues A.) special and unique, and B.) a living, breathing art form. I see articles all the time bemoaning the future of the blues, and how the form isn't bringing in younger talent, isn't expanding it's appeal, and the fan base is aging.


Well, yeah! Not everyone grows up loving the blues. A lot of fans come to the blues as they get a little older, and the reasons have to do with the "re-invent the wheel" nature of popular music that makes so much of it ring hollow to the ageing fan, and the fact that blues is so fan friendly, through festivals, the cruises, and local Blues Societies.


It's not just touring acts; Blues Societies are invaluable resources for local acts, too! They're the one's who come to see you, talk about you, and buy your stuff. If you're a musician, these are the fans who can help your career. Most of the time, they know who needs someone before the musicians do (like Deb Lubin, who I'll owe forever for the heads up on the Candye gig!).


What always trips me up, though, is the knowledge you run into with blues fans. It's pretty natural during the course of a conversation to do a little name-dropping. People want to share their stories of hanging out in Memphis with so-and-so, or how when a certain singer came through town they went fishing together, or the dinner party they were at for this great band from wherever. I'll tell you a secret; a lot of time, I've got no idea who they're talking about.


I'm not completely ignorant; I know who a lot of people are, and if I've been on the bill with them, I try to learn a little somethin' about them. Some of these guys are friends, and it's a treat to be on the same festival. But I don't have the encyclopedic knowledge that your average Blues Society member displays. So I smile and pretend and tell them how cool I think their stories are. And they are cool, I just don't always know who they're talking about.


So, support your local Blues Society, because they support everything! Speaking of which, it's almost time to renew my Golden Gate Blues Society membership!
]]> Tue, 24 Aug 2010 16:06:08 GMT 1BCCE6DBDE6F016E6C6F064A3EAFA682 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=391521 The Mississippi River rolls straight down from the top of this country to the bottom. It is a storied waterway, a romantic symbol, and a historic avenue of commerce. Songs are sung, stories written, and paintings and photographs depict almost every curve. The same romantic notions will never, ever, ever touch on Highway 80. No one will ever write a cool song about it. No tales of the romance of the long, black ribbon of asphalt will last beyond their creator. Visually, while parts of it wind through beautiful scenery, the majority of it is monotone; scrubby desert, or miles and miles of corn. So I'm not the guy who's going to wax poetic here, as I tell you of my drive from San Jose to Cincinnati. I don't really want to talk about it at all, but this is where the story starts, so here we are; landing at San Jose airport, collecting the van, and heading out for the start of our month long Mid West tour. Google says 36 hours of driving, and with three drivers, that should be easy. *Sigh* First, I'll brighten the mood and tell you about the good part, because there was one. One. Day two, we stopped for dinner in Salt Lake City at The Red Iguana, and met Deanna, Christian, and Baby Emma! That was great; Emma sang all through dinner then danced barefoot on the table. The company was fabulous and the food amazing. The rest of the time was spent driving, and driving, and driving, broken up by dumpy hotels and not-so-good food. Certain things break up the tedium, like the Biblical storm in Nebraska that made the sky look like a scene from "Independence Day." Driving was an exercise in not getting blown away. Another fun part was the fact that somewhere between 10 and 15% of the drive was through slowed down, "Stimulus Dollar" construction projects. And the "Party of No" talking heads keep telling us that there are no jobs coming from the program. Those politicians should take a drive. Far and away, my favorite is the casually racist small talk at the Wyoming Gas/Bait/Ammo shop. I mean, I know I walked into that one, wearing my "Brad Pitt for Mayor" T-shirt. It drew a sneer right away from the proprietor who sells shirt with things like "12 Reasons Handguns are Better Than Women", and "Trust the Government? Sure! Ask Any Taxpayer". The man addressed me as Brad Pitt asking why I had 11 different kids from 11 different countries. "And why" he asked, "do THEY all have black babies now? Ever' one of them has to get themselves a black baby from Africa or somewhere. Don't we have children here, that need help?" What are you gonna do? Argue with the ammo guy, while you fill your van with Cali plates at his pump? You shrug, grin, pay and leave. After all, you're from California, where you're pretty sure we know better, but you know this guy thinks he's the normal one, and that anybody from a coastline, chances are they're nuts. But you know what? I call bullshit on this Mid-Western, "salt-of-the-earth" superior dance. I'll tell you why; all the way across the country, every town has a Starbucks. Hell, even "Granny's Café" next to the Ammo-rama had Lattes and Espressos. And if you check "Yelp!" on your Smart Phone as you plow through those "Flyover States", you'll find Four Star Sushi joints dot the landscape the way herds of Buffalo did a hundred and fifty years ago. The same stupid "Reality" shows people watch in L.A. and N.Y. are on in Smalltown USA, and People Magazine doesn't have different edition based on your proximity to an ocean. So take THAT, America. You've been assimilated, and you like it. I'm even beginning to think that you're just posing as hicks and hayseeds for our benefit. I imagine the Gas&Guns guy waiting until I left, and then he and his friend bursting into peels of laughter; "Did you see his face when I asked about Black Babies? Priceless! He's going to be muttering about rednecks for days. Now be a dear and pop next door for a Soy Vanilla Latte for me, would you Hon?" That's enough 'grumpy' for one night. We drove 600 miles today, and I'm sitting in a very old, elegant hotel room in Des Moines, Iowa (where the Rest Stops have Wi-fi, thank you very much), and watching a thunderstorm. Next time, I'll tell you about the gigs! Which have been very cool. And interesting.
The same romantic notions will never, ever, ever touch on Highway 80. No one will ever write a cool song about it. No tales of the romance of the long, black ribbon of asphalt will last beyond their creator. Visually, while parts of it wind through beautiful scenery, the majority of it is monotone; scrubby desert, or miles and miles of corn.

So I'm not the guy who's going to wax poetic here, as I tell you of my drive from San Jose to Cincinnati. I don't really want to talk about it at all, but this is where the story starts, so here we are; landing at San Jose airport, collecting the van, and heading out for the start of our month long Mid West tour. Google says 36 hours of driving, and with three drivers, that should be easy.

*Sigh*

First, I'll brighten the mood and tell you about the good part, because there was one. One. Day two, we stopped for dinner in Salt Lake City at The Red Iguana, and met Deanna, Christian, and Baby Emma! That was great; Emma sang all through dinner then danced barefoot on the table. The company was fabulous and the food amazing.

The rest of the time was spent driving, and driving, and driving, broken up by dumpy hotels and not-so-good food. Certain things break up the tedium, like the Biblical storm in Nebraska that made the sky look like a scene from "Independence Day." Driving was an exercise in not getting blown away.

Another fun part was the fact that somewhere between 10 and 15% of the drive was through slowed down, "Stimulus Dollar" construction projects. And the "Party of No" talking heads keep telling us that there are no jobs coming from the program. Those politicians should take a drive.

Far and away, my favorite is the casually racist small talk at the Wyoming Gas/Bait/Ammo shop. I mean, I know I walked into that one, wearing my "Brad Pitt for Mayor" T-shirt. It drew a sneer right away from the proprietor who sells shirt with things like "12 Reasons Handguns are Better Than Women", and "Trust the Government? Sure! Ask Any Taxpayer".

The man addressed me as Brad Pitt asking why I had 11 different kids from 11 different countries. "And why" he asked, "do THEY all have black babies now? Ever' one of them has to get themselves a black baby from Africa or somewhere. Don't we have children here, that need help?"

What are you gonna do? Argue with the ammo guy, while you fill your van with Cali plates at his pump? You shrug, grin, pay and leave. After all, you're from California, where you're pretty sure we know better, but you know this guy thinks he's the normal one, and that anybody from a coastline, chances are they're nuts.

But you know what? I call bullshit on this Mid-Western, "salt-of-the-earth" superior dance. I'll tell you why; all the way across the country, every town has a Starbucks. Hell, even "Granny's Café" next to the Ammo-rama had Lattes and Espressos. And if you check "Yelp!" on your Smart Phone as you plow through those "Flyover States", you'll find Four Star Sushi joints dot the landscape the way herds of Buffalo did a hundred and fifty years ago. The same stupid "Reality" shows people watch in L.A. and N.Y. are on in Smalltown USA, and People Magazine doesn't have different edition based on your proximity to an ocean.

So take THAT, America. You've been assimilated, and you like it. I'm even beginning to think that you're just posing as hicks and hayseeds for our benefit. I imagine the Gas&Guns guy waiting until I left, and then he and his friend bursting into peels of laughter; "Did you see his face when I asked about Black Babies? Priceless! He's going to be muttering about rednecks for days. Now be a dear and pop next door for a Soy Vanilla Latte for me, would you Hon?"

That's enough 'grumpy' for one night. We drove 600 miles today, and I'm sitting in a very old, elegant hotel room in Des Moines, Iowa (where the Rest Stops have Wi-fi, thank you very much), and watching a thunderstorm. Next time, I'll tell you about the gigs! Which have been very cool. And interesting.
]]> Wed, 11 Aug 2010 07:48:05 GMT B156921D4092CDE43FEDCA4E37CA6E96 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=378515 I know that a lot of you are my friends on Facebook, so lately you’ve been getting all the weird Status Updates about charities, strippers, churches, giant organs, and…I dunno…Sushi. I realize that maybe, just maybe, not all of you follow my every move, and may be a little unclear about what the hell I’m doing. As if I know! But, I figured I’d take a minute and fill you in on the whole United by Music thing, and tell you some stories. Briefly, United by Music is an organization started some years ago in the Netherlands. The concept is to find talented intellectually disabled people, work with them a while, and put them on the road with a “Real” blues band. Candye’s been involved with the thing since it’s inception, and even came up with the name “United by Music”. We are on the inaugural UBM North American adventure. What we have been doing the last week plus, is present a Showcase, featuring three performers from the program in Holland, and throw in some education, and not just a bit of a sales pitch, to set up bringing UBM to the States. So every night, the band and Candye play a little, listen to some speeches, play some more, listen, play, listen, play…then belly up to the buffet. We’ve got seven shows behind us now, on an eight show tour. We head to Portland tomorrow for the last show, and a big farewell dinner at our favorite Portland pit stop, Starkey’s. The three performers from Holland who we back every night are the best ambassadors the program could have. “Lady Angel” is a singer who first met Candye and got involved a few years ago. Music and performing have brought her out of her shell. She’s a “Diva” now, and displays grace and humor in a crowd. Arthur is a true success story, and a born entertainer, who spent years hearing about how he’d never amount to anything, and gets emotional whenever he thinks about how now he’s on tour in the USA. And finally, the newest UBM performer, Leon. Leon plays guitar, and while his favorites are instrumental rock bands like the Shadows and the Ventures, he’s a walking encyclopedia of music. Every night we - The Candye Kane Band - back these guys up, and every night of the tour, each and every one of them has given it their all, enjoyed every minute, and gotten better. It’s a reminder of the joy that playing music brings, and how lucky we are to get to do this. These showcases last an hour and a half, and generally start early in the evening, typically 5 or 6PM. Nestled around a couple of these we’ve done some Candye gigs, and it can make for a long evening for delicate musicians! Last Friday, we were at Highway 99 Blues Club in Seattle by 4:30 to set up for a showcase, worked that from 6 to 7:30, then at 9:30 started a two set Candye gig. That makes for nine hours at the club. Generally, nine hours in a barroom can’t mean anything but trouble. Touring is hard, remember? The truth is at Highway 99 the owner is the coolest, the food is great (and free), and we had a Burlesque Dancer, “Shanghai Pearl” perform with us on stage. Were we tired? Betcherass. As it fun? Yeah, it was hella fun. Of course, that didn’t stop us from complaining about that 9:30AM Lobby Call the next day for the long drive to an early afternoon Showcase the next day! The United by Music tour comes to an end tomorrow, and the crew from the Netherlands fly home. We head for Cincinnati, and start what Candye calls “The Humidity Tour”, bouncing around the mid-west for the next month or so. We get a lot of compliments for doing this kind of charity work, but it’s easy for us. We show up and play music and people pay us and feed us and tell us they like us. “Rewarding” doesn’t scratch the surface!
As if I know!

But, I figured I’d take a minute and fill you in on the whole United by Music thing, and tell you some stories.

Briefly, United by Music is an organization started some years ago in the Netherlands. The concept is to find talented intellectually disabled people, work with them a while, and put them on the road with a “Real” blues band. Candye’s been involved with the thing since it’s inception, and even came up with the name “United by Music”.

We are on the inaugural UBM North American adventure. What we have been doing the last week plus, is present a Showcase, featuring three performers from the program in Holland, and throw in some education, and not just a bit of a sales pitch, to set up bringing UBM to the States.

So every night, the band and Candye play a little, listen to some speeches, play some more, listen, play, listen, play…then belly up to the buffet. We’ve got seven shows behind us now, on an eight show tour. We head to Portland tomorrow for the last show, and a big farewell dinner at our favorite Portland pit stop, Starkey’s.

The three performers from Holland who we back every night are the best ambassadors the program could have. “Lady Angel” is a singer who first met Candye and got involved a few years ago. Music and performing have brought her out of her shell. She’s a “Diva” now, and displays grace and humor in a crowd. Arthur is a true success story, and a born entertainer, who spent years hearing about how he’d never amount to anything, and gets emotional whenever he thinks about how now he’s on tour in the USA. And finally, the newest UBM performer, Leon. Leon plays guitar, and while his favorites are instrumental rock bands like the Shadows and the Ventures, he’s a walking encyclopedia of music.

Every night we - The Candye Kane Band - back these guys up, and every night of the tour, each and every one of them has given it their all, enjoyed every minute, and gotten better. It’s a reminder of the joy that playing music brings, and how lucky we are to get to do this.

These showcases last an hour and a half, and generally start early in the evening, typically 5 or 6PM. Nestled around a couple of these we’ve done some Candye gigs, and it can make for a long evening for delicate musicians! Last Friday, we were at Highway 99 Blues Club in Seattle by 4:30 to set up for a showcase, worked that from 6 to 7:30, then at 9:30 started a two set Candye gig. That makes for nine hours at the club.

Generally, nine hours in a barroom can’t mean anything but trouble. Touring is hard, remember? The truth is at Highway 99 the owner is the coolest, the food is great (and free), and we had a Burlesque Dancer, “Shanghai Pearl” perform with us on stage.

Were we tired? Betcherass. As it fun? Yeah, it was hella fun. Of course, that didn’t stop us from complaining about that 9:30AM Lobby Call the next day for the long drive to an early afternoon Showcase the next day!

The United by Music tour comes to an end tomorrow, and the crew from the Netherlands fly home. We head for Cincinnati, and start what Candye calls “The Humidity Tour”, bouncing around the mid-west for the next month or so. We get a lot of compliments for doing this kind of charity work, but it’s easy for us. We show up and play music and people pay us and feed us and tell us they like us. “Rewarding” doesn’t scratch the surface!

]]> Mon, 02 Aug 2010 11:04:54 GMT 4FA5C19264F762A40B030E6FF647CB57 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=372497 Dear Canada, Hi, it’s me, Kennan, and once again I’m here in Vancouver! I figured it out; in the last 12 months, I’ve been to Canada for six gigs, on five trips, four of those here in Vancouver. I really like this city. It’s beautiful, clean, has a little of everything from seedy to toney, and also has a lot of good Sushi bars. Remember how much fun we had together during the Olympics? That was so cool! So, listen, it’s because we’re friends that I wanted to have this little chat with you. You’re a great country, but unless you clean a couple of things up, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep coming back so often. We’re friends, right? We live so close, neighbors in fact. We tease each other, but we have more in common than we do differences. Sooo…what’s the deal with the damn border? Why does it always take hours and hours to cross over? I mean, I understand the need for paperwork, and tax forms and such, but why does everything grind to a halt even when it’s all taken care of? C’mon; is Vancouver in danger of being overrun by deadbeat bands from the U.S.? Two or three weeks ago, we landed at the little airport in Thunder Bay, and the girl looked at our Passports, asked us where we lived, and passed us through. Today, same band, and time came to a standstill. Now, I know that the guys on our side of the border don’t make it any easier for your folks either, but somebody has to stand up and be the adult here, and frankly, I think you’re better suited to do that than we are. Take the initiative. I know it will take a little work. You’ll have to upgrade; that ancient DOS system you’re using needs to be replaced. That way, you can call up our names when we show up to cross, and see that we’re in good standing! Then we can just whisk through and instead of rushing around and playing gigs in our “driving clothes”, we can take our time, change into our cool gear, and have a leisurely Sushi dinner! It’s a huge “win” for everyone! Eventually, the guys from U.S. Customs/Homeland Security/Whatever will come around. It may take a little while. We can do this. It will be awesome. I’m here to help. There is one other little thing. I know you like the differences between you and the states in certain things. Health Care, the groovy way you say “about”, and we don’t even have to mention Canadian Football, which is nuts, by the way. Sorry, couldn’t help myself, but what I really wanted to bring up is your Highway 99, the one traffic artery into Vancouver. You cruise along on a two lane road, and suddenly, just as three more lanes merge into it from the East, the whole thing goes down to one lane. ONE LANE!?! From five? How can you possibly think that’s a good idea? I get that you feel the need - supposedly - to allow traffic from the other direction to use the lanes, but I’ve never seen the Vancouver bound direction get the same courtesy, and let me tell you; it gets very, very congested. Here’s what you need; they’re called “Metering Lights”. We use them down on the Bay Bridge at the spot where we have to drop the traffic from about 15 toll booths to four bridge lanes. It stops the traffic, and allows a timed release of the cars, so everybody gets spaced out and merges much easier. C’mon. Everyone benefits on this one. Canada, you’re a cool place. Thanks for everything. These are just little ways you can be even better! I’m leaving tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks for the Edmonton Blues Festival on August 20th. That’s going to be a ton of fun, playing between Canada’s own “Monkey Junk” and Jimmy Vaughan! So, give some thoughts to my suggestions before then, okay? Love you, and see you soon! Kennan
Hi, it’s me, Kennan, and once again I’m here in Vancouver! I figured it out; in the last 12 months, I’ve been to Canada for six gigs, on five trips, four of those here in Vancouver. I really like this city. It’s beautiful, clean, has a little of everything from seedy to toney, and also has a lot of good Sushi bars. Remember how much fun we had together during the Olympics? That was so cool!

So, listen, it’s because we’re friends that I wanted to have this little chat with you. You’re a great country, but unless you clean a couple of things up, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep coming back so often.

We’re friends, right? We live so close, neighbors in fact. We tease each other, but we have more in common than we do differences. Sooo…what’s the deal with the damn border? Why does it always take hours and hours to cross over? I mean, I understand the need for paperwork, and tax forms and such, but why does everything grind to a halt even when it’s all taken care of? C’mon; is Vancouver in danger of being overrun by deadbeat bands from the U.S.?

Two or three weeks ago, we landed at the little airport in Thunder Bay, and the girl looked at our Passports, asked us where we lived, and passed us through. Today, same band, and time came to a standstill.

Now, I know that the guys on our side of the border don’t make it any easier for your folks either, but somebody has to stand up and be the adult here, and frankly, I think you’re better suited to do that than we are. Take the initiative. I know it will take a little work. You’ll have to upgrade; that ancient DOS system you’re using needs to be replaced. That way, you can call up our names when we show up to cross, and see that we’re in good standing! Then we can just whisk through and instead of rushing around and playing gigs in our “driving clothes”, we can take our time, change into our cool gear, and have a leisurely Sushi dinner! It’s a huge “win” for everyone!

Eventually, the guys from U.S. Customs/Homeland Security/Whatever will come around. It may take a little while. We can do this. It will be awesome. I’m here to help.

There is one other little thing. I know you like the differences between you and the states in certain things. Health Care, the groovy way you say “about”, and we don’t even have to mention Canadian Football, which is nuts, by the way. Sorry, couldn’t help myself, but what I really wanted to bring up is your Highway 99, the one traffic artery into Vancouver. You cruise along on a two lane road, and suddenly, just as three more lanes merge into it from the East, the whole thing goes down to one lane. ONE LANE!?! From five? How can you possibly think that’s a good idea? I get that you feel the need - supposedly - to allow traffic from the other direction to use the lanes, but I’ve never seen the Vancouver bound direction get the same courtesy, and let me tell you; it gets very, very congested.

Here’s what you need; they’re called “Metering Lights”. We use them down on the Bay Bridge at the spot where we have to drop the traffic from about 15 toll booths to four bridge lanes. It stops the traffic, and allows a timed release of the cars, so everybody gets spaced out and merges much easier. C’mon. Everyone benefits on this one.

Canada, you’re a cool place. Thanks for everything. These are just little ways you can be even better! I’m leaving tomorrow, but I’ll be back in a couple of weeks for the Edmonton Blues Festival on August 20th. That’s going to be a ton of fun, playing between Canada’s own “Monkey Junk” and Jimmy Vaughan! So, give some thoughts to my suggestions before then, okay? Love you, and see you soon!

Kennan

]]> Wed, 28 Jul 2010 14:13:37 GMT B93017A119D882ED708B3DCA67DD4F11 http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=358627 “When are you playing around here?” I get that question a lot, usually right after I’ve done local dates. We’re headed into our busy season with the Candye Kane band, so the answer is “probably pretty soon.” Saturday, I’m on a plane to Denver. We’re playing the “Blues Under the Bridge” in Colorado Springs, with buddies Charlie Musselwhite. Secret plans have been made to stick the drummers, Evan and June, with the bar tab. Don’t tell! Sunday we’ll hang around Colorado Springs and play at the Gay Pride Festival. I’m not sure what time we’re scheduled, but I know we’ll be on the Heuberger Stage. Monday we’ll fly to Tahoe, meet up with the van, and play at Squaw Valley “Bluesday” at 6:30. Now, for my Bay Area friends, here’s our “local” schedule. It’s a little tricky because we have some big stuff going on. Some gigs are good old, regular Candye Kane gigs with all that brings with it. Some of the dates are United by Music Showcases. United by Music is a charity that was started by Candye and Joris van Wijngaarden. The concept is taking emotionally and mentally challenged people, and get them performing and touring with the band. I personally don’t really know what to expect! Here’s one thing I do know; THESE SHOWCASES ARE FREE! Is there a catch? Well, yeah; you have to reserve your space by signing up at the web site! You need to go there anyway, because it explains the whole concept far better than I can! Go here; http://www.unitedbymusic.org/usa/index.php So here’s how the next couple of weeks will work; Thursday, July 22nd, Candye Kane Band at The Verve, in Aptos. 9PM. Friday, the 23rd, Biscuits and Blues in San Francisco; 5 PM, United by Music Showcase with Candye Kane and Janiva Magness 8 & 10PM, The Candye Kane Band Saturday the 24th; 11AM United by Music Showcase, Redwood City Blues Festival 9 PM Candye Kane Band, Phillipsville, Ca The Riverwood Roadhouse Sunday the 25th,Candye Kane Band, Headfeathers, Napa Tuesday the 27th, The Yale, Vancouver, Canada 5 PM United by Music Showcase 8 PM Candye Kane Band Thursday the 29th, United by Music Showcase, Traditions World Folk Art Café, Olympia, WA. 7PM. Friday the 30th, United by Music Showcase, Highway 99, Seattle WA. 5PM. Saturday, the 31st, United by Music Showcase, The Upstage, Port Townsend, WA. 1PM. Sunday, August 1st, United by Music Showcase, Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Tacoma, WA. 5PM. Monday, the 2nd, United by Music Showcase, Jimmy Mak’s, Portland, OR. 5 PM Portland marks the end of the United by Music Showcase tour, but the Candye Kane band rolls on into summer; 8/6 Cincinnati, Ohio Cincy Blues festival 8/7 Columbus, Ohio/ Rumba Cafe 8/11 Des Moines, IA Blues on Grand 8/12 Omaha, NE New Lift Lounge 8/13 Springfield, MO Archies Lounge 8/14 Kansas City, MO Knuckleheads 8/15 Lincoln, NE Zoo Bar 8/17 Springfield, Illinois Fairgrounds 8/18 Champaign, Ill Clark Bar 8/20 Edmonton, Alberta, Canada Blues Festival 8/21 Chicago. Berwyn, Fitzgeralds 8/22 Kalamazoo, MI/ 411 club 8/24 Tuscarawas, Ohio/ Canal House 8/25 Pittsburgh, PA/ Club Cafe 8/27 Topeka, KS/ Uncle Bos 9/3 Rockford, Illinois Waterfront festival 9/5 Marquette, MI Marquette Mountain Blues Festival So, there’s a mess of gigs, a lot of charity work, and a lot of “local” gigs, not just in the Bay Area. See you soon!
I get that question a lot, usually right after I’ve done local dates. We’re headed into our busy season with the Candye Kane band, so the answer is “probably pretty soon.”

Saturday, I’m on a plane to Denver. We’re playing the “Blues Under the Bridge” in Colorado Springs, with buddies Charlie Musselwhite. Secret plans have been made to stick the drummers, Evan and June, with the bar tab. Don’t tell!

Sunday we’ll hang around Colorado Springs and play at the Gay Pride Festival. I’m not sure what time we’re scheduled, but I know we’ll be on the Heuberger Stage.

Monday we’ll fly to Tahoe, meet up with the van, and play at Squaw Valley “Bluesday” at 6:30.

Now, for my Bay Area friends, here’s our “local” schedule. It’s a little tricky because we have some big stuff going on. Some gigs are good old, regular Candye Kane gigs with all that brings with it. Some of the dates are United by Music Showcases. United by Music is a charity that was started by Candye and Joris van Wijngaarden. The concept is taking emotionally and mentally challenged people, and get them performing and touring with the band. I personally don’t really know what to expect!

Here’s one thing I do know; THESE SHOWCASES ARE FREE! Is there a catch? Well, yeah; you have to reserve your space by signing up at the web site! You need to go there anyway, because it explains the whole concept far better than I can! Go here; http://www.unitedbymusic.org/usa/index.php


So here’s how the next couple of weeks will work;

Thursday, July 22nd, Candye Kane Band at The Verve, in Aptos. 9PM.

Friday, the 23rd, Biscuits and Blues in San Francisco;
5 PM, United by Music Showcase with Candye Kane and Janiva Magness
8 & 10PM, The Candye Kane Band

Saturday the 24th;
11AM United by Music Showcase, Redwood City Blues Festival
9 PM Candye Kane Band, Phillipsville, Ca The Riverwood Roadhouse

Sunday the 25th,Candye Kane Band, Headfeathers, Napa

Tuesday the 27th, The Yale, Vancouver, Canada
5 PM United by Music Showcase
8 PM Candye Kane Band

Thursday the 29th, United by Music Showcase, Traditions World Folk Art Café, Olympia, WA. 7PM.

Friday the 30th, United by Music Showcase, Highway 99, Seattle WA. 5PM.

Saturday, the 31st, United by Music Showcase, The Upstage, Port Townsend, WA. 1PM.

Sunday, August 1st, United by Music Showcase, Immanuel Presbyterian Church, Tacoma, WA. 5PM.

Monday, the 2nd, United by Music Showcase, Jimmy Mak’s, Portland, OR. 5 PM

Portland marks the end of the United by Music Showcase tour, but the Candye Kane band rolls on into summer;


8/6 Cincinnati, Ohio Cincy Blues festival
8/7 Columbus, Ohio/ Rumba Cafe
8/11 Des Moines, IA Blues on Grand
8/12 Omaha, NE New Lift Lounge
8/13 Springfield, MO Archies Lounge
8/14 Kansas City, MO Knuckleheads
8/15 Lincoln, NE Zoo Bar
8/17 Springfield, Illinois Fairgrounds
8/18 Champaign, Ill Clark Bar
8/20 Edmonton, Alberta, Canada Blues Festival
8/21 Chicago. Berwyn, Fitzgeralds
8/22 Kalamazoo, MI/ 411 club
8/24 Tuscarawas, Ohio/ Canal House
8/25 Pittsburgh, PA/ Club Cafe
8/27 Topeka, KS/ Uncle Bos
9/3 Rockford, Illinois Waterfront festival
9/5 Marquette, MI Marquette Mountain Blues Festival

So, there’s a mess of gigs, a lot of charity work, and a lot of “local” gigs, not just in the Bay Area. See you soon!

]]> Fri, 16 Jul 2010 10:52:04 GMT 78613A325782706B69937B4CB545DB0E http://kennanshaw.com/blog20078.cfm?feature=27307&postid=357386 Lake Superior Dance, Part Two Okay, we got that crap out of the way! Let’s have some fun! One of the first things we did when we hit St. Paul was head over to Candye’s friends, Miki and Rob’s. Miki is a veteran of the Music Biz, has in the past managed artists you’ve heard of, and lives on the edge of one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. Miki has a big warm smile, and a lot of good business advice. On to the show at Wilebski’s Blues Saloon, an aged Dance Hall built back in the who-knows-when. The gig fell into the “Better than expected” category, and everybody was really cool. The opener, Annie Mac and the Have Nots were pretty cool folks, and “road friends” were made. Miki assigned Rob with breakfast duty the next day, and we had a bit of a feast lakeside. Rob regaled us with tales of winter, when the lake freezes solid and the temperature can drop to -20 degrees. Minus. As in “below zero by 20 degrees.” So, then we magically appeared in Thunder Bay, Ontario on the shore of Lake Superior, which - surprise! - is really, really big. Debbie ran the festival “motor pool” of Tracy and Wendy, and a ride was just a phone call away! So after a stop at our hotel, and some sushi across the street, we headed to the festival. We got there in time to catch some of Tab Benoit’s set of swampy blues. While we were hanging out backstage and talking to people on a nice warm night, pretty soon a small crew of policemen started gathering. Full uniforms, bullet proof vests, and armed and ready. /backstage at a big festival is kind of a weird place for such a show of force. I was thinking maybe the night’s headliner Blues Traveler had some kind of big entrance planned. Suddenly, they all moved towards the parking lot, and everyone craned their necks to see what kind of action was going down! Suddenly, the band, all the cops, and a bunch of other “security personnel” were headed toward the stage with a large, silver…thing. Candye, who was discussing porn with Tab Benoit at the time, said she thought they had a keg, and boy, it must be a really special one with all that security. When someone told her what she was seeing was the Stanley Cup, she said “What is that? Like, a Golf Trophy?” This is the kind of thing I didn’t think would make a very good “Stage Anecdote.” Those Canadians went nuts for the Cup, and it received a standing ovation that was long and loud. Frankly, I wouldn’t even bring up Candye’s response, but she already had outted herself. No filter! While all this was going on, another reunion was taking place. Candye used to have a piano player named Brad, or “Smedley B.” as he’s known on stage, and he, his wife Annie, and their beautiful three year old daughter Ella are native Thunder Bay residents! Flat out wonderful people and Ella was a lot of fun to play with. We made it somewhat of an early night, due to our 1:15 time slot at the festival the next day. How do you get ready for a show that early? The general feeling within the organization was that the promoters and press didn’t really know who we were, and didn’t expect much. The press focused on other artists, and without putting anyone else on the bill down, we felt our time slot was earlier than perhaps it should have been. We were having a great time, though, so we just rolled along. The festival crew was funny; whenever you’d ask how things were going, you’d hear tales of insanity and thing spinning off the tracks and all hell breaking loose, but from our perspective, everything was smooth as silk! Need a ride? You’ve got it. Deli tray? Here you go. Bottle of whiskey? On it’s way. When we arrived at the festival Sunday, Nick Moss and the FlipTops were playing, our trailer was ready and stocked, the local paper wanted an interview, and it was raining, hard. The stage is a permanent concrete structure on the waterfront, with a huge awning protecting it, so the musicians, techs, and equipment was safe, but the audience members were subjected to all the elements. As we got ready to take the stage, miraculously, the sun came out, and it turned into a beautiful day! We played a great set, and had a lot of fun. Evan wore a sleep mask during his solo, Smedley B. got up and played with us, in front of a large contingent of friends and family, and Candye took the whole thing over the top by playing Smedley’s piano with her boobs! We got a standing ovation! While Candye and Laura were signing autographs - a very long line, by the way - and Mike Zito was playing his set, the sky opened up again, and it poured. Make that POURED. The hearty Thunder Bay-ites simply put on ponchos and raised umbrellas and sat there grooving to Mike. This would establish a pattern for the remainder of the afternoon; rain like hell, then bright, bright sun. We headed for the hotel to change, and have more sushi across the street. After lunch, we wandered down the street to the Bowling Alley, to have a drink and check out the local action. It turns out that the “lounge” had a very strong “You aren’t from around here, eh?” vibe., so we headed in to throw some balls. It turns out, Canadian Bowling is a very different beast indeed. There was regular bowling there, too, but “When in Rome…” So we rented shoes, and signed up for Five Pin. In Five Pin, you have…well, five pins. The ball itself is only about seven inches in diameter, with no finger holes, and you get three balls per frame. I can’t begin to tell you how the scoring works. The first two balls Candye threw were strikes, and she opened up a big lead right off the bat. Everyone developed their own style, and the competition was fierce! Let me set the record straight; I won the first two games, but could not keep up my dominance for the third. I think in light of this, It’s pretty clear who won the tournament. If anyone would like to challenge my crown, we have a couple more Canadian dates in the next month or so. Bring it on, eh? Because we were so far North, the sun didn’t set until around 10PM. A lot of memories that seemed like “Afternoon” memories are actually “Evening” memories. So that evening, while Candye did some hot tubbing and relaxing, Evan, Laura, Brad and I headed back to the festival, arriving about the same time Taj Mahal did. We hung for a while, but it became pretty clear we were all fairly tired., so we hitched a ride back to the hotel in Nick Moss’ van. We had been speculating who’s gigantic tour bus was in the hotel parking lot all day. Couldn’t have been Taj’s, or Curtis Salgado’s, because we were aware of how they arrived. And none of the other acts were really “Tour Bus” level. When we pulled in front of the hotel in Nick’s van, and guy walks up and says, in a thick Scottish brogue, “You guys havta be a band!” “Yeah! We play with Candye Kane. We’re here for the blues festival!” “Fantastic,” says the guy, “We’re Nazareth. Pleased to meet’ya!” Another Scotsman/Nazareth guy joined him and the rest of the conversation was about where it might be possible to get a drink at midnight on a Sunday in Thunder Bay, Canada. They seemed to have extensive knowledge, but I was done for the night and looking forward to the giant King sized bed in my room. The next morning, over “Motel ‘Spresso” (twice brewed hotel coffee), I found the local newspaper’s on-line site, and the front page of the Chronicle Journal was a big headline about the festival, and an article and interview with Candye! And just Candye, too. The actual paper had a big picture of Candye and Laura onstage, right above the fold! On page two, a local columnist gave out his festival “Awards”, and called Candye “Entertainer of the Year”! Everywhere we went; the front of the hotel, coffee shops, and the airport, there’s Candye and Laura’s picture staring at us! People would congratulate Candye on the great article! We left Thunder Bay feeling pretty damned triumphant, and pretty hopeful of being invited back, and most likely with a pretty nice time slot.
Okay, we got that crap out of the way! Let’s have some fun!

One of the first things we did when we hit St. Paul was head over to Candye’s friends, Miki and Rob’s. Miki is a veteran of the Music Biz, has in the past managed artists you’ve heard of, and lives on the edge of one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes. Miki has a big warm smile, and a lot of good business advice.

On to the show at Wilebski’s Blues Saloon, an aged Dance Hall built back in the who-knows-when. The gig fell into the “Better than expected” category, and everybody was really cool. The opener, Annie Mac and the Have Nots were pretty cool folks, and “road friends” were made.

Miki assigned Rob with breakfast duty the next day, and we had a bit of a feast lakeside. Rob regaled us with tales of winter, when the lake freezes solid and the temperature can drop to -20 degrees. Minus. As in “below zero by 20 degrees.”

So, then we magically appeared in Thunder Bay, Ontario on the shore of Lake Superior, which - surprise! - is really, really big. Debbie ran the festival “motor pool” of Tracy and Wendy, and a ride was just a phone call away! So after a stop at our hotel, and some sushi across the street, we headed to the festival. We got there in time to catch some of Tab Benoit’s set of swampy blues.

While we were hanging out backstage and talking to people on a nice warm night, pretty soon a small crew of policemen started gathering. Full uniforms, bullet proof vests, and armed and ready. /backstage at a big festival is kind of a weird place for such a show of force. I was thinking maybe the night’s headliner Blues Traveler had some kind of big entrance planned. Suddenly, they all moved towards the parking lot, and everyone craned their necks to see what kind of action was going down!

Suddenly, the band, all the cops, and a bunch of other “security personnel” were headed toward the stage with a large, silver…thing.

Candye, who was discussing porn with Tab Benoit at the time, said she thought they had a keg, and boy, it must be a really special one with all that security. When someone told her what she was seeing was the Stanley Cup, she said “What is that? Like, a Golf Trophy?”

This is the kind of thing I didn’t think would make a very good “Stage Anecdote.” Those Canadians went nuts for the Cup, and it received a standing ovation that was long and loud. Frankly, I wouldn’t even bring up Candye’s response, but she already had outted herself. No filter!

While all this was going on, another reunion was taking place. Candye used to have a piano player named Brad, or “Smedley B.” as he’s known on stage, and he, his wife Annie, and their beautiful three year old daughter Ella are native Thunder Bay residents! Flat out wonderful people and Ella was a lot of fun to play with.

We made it somewhat of an early night, due to our 1:15 time slot at the festival the next day. How do you get ready for a show that early? The general feeling within the organization was that the promoters and press didn’t really know who we were, and didn’t expect much. The press focused on other artists, and without putting anyone else on the bill down, we felt our time slot was earlier than perhaps it should have been.

We were having a great time, though, so we just rolled along. The festival crew was funny; whenever you’d ask how things were going, you’d hear tales of insanity and thing spinning off the tracks and all hell breaking loose, but from our perspective, everything was smooth as silk! Need a ride? You’ve got it. Deli tray? Here you go. Bottle of whiskey? On it’s way.

When we arrived at the festival Sunday, Nick Moss and the FlipTops were playing, our trailer was ready and stocked, the local paper wanted an interview, and it was raining, hard. The stage is a permanent concrete structure on the waterfront, with a huge awning protecting it, so the musicians, techs, and equipment was safe, but the audience members were subjected to all the elements.

As we got ready to take the stage, miraculously, the sun came out, and it turned into a beautiful day! We played a great set, and had a lot of fun. Evan wore a sleep mask during his solo, Smedley B. got up and played with us, in front of a large contingent of friends and family, and Candye took the whole thing over the top by playing Smedley’s piano with her boobs! We got a standing ovation!

While Candye and Laura were signing autographs - a very long line, by the way - and Mike Zito was playing his set, the sky opened up again, and it poured. Make that POURED. The hearty Thunder Bay-ites simply put on ponchos and raised umbrellas and sat there grooving to Mike. This would establish a pattern for the remainder of the afternoon; rain like hell, then bright, bright sun.

We headed for the hotel to change, and have more sushi across the street. After lunch, we wandered down the street to the Bowling Alley, to have a drink and check out the local action. It turns out that the “lounge” had a very strong “You aren’t from around here, eh?” vibe., so we headed in to throw some balls. It turns out, Canadian Bowling is a very different beast indeed. There was regular bowling there, too, but “When in Rome…” So we rented shoes, and signed up for Five Pin. In Five Pin, you have…well, five pins. The ball itself is only about seven inches in diameter, with no finger holes, and you get three balls per frame.

I can’t begin to tell you how the scoring works. The first two balls Candye threw were strikes, and she opened up a big lead right off the bat. Everyone developed their own style, and the competition was fierce! Let me set the record straight; I won the first two games, but could not keep up my dominance for the third. I think in light of this, It’s pretty clear who won the tournament. If anyone would like to challenge my crown, we have a couple more Canadian dates in the next month or so. Bring it on, eh?

Because we were so far North, the sun didn’t set until around 10PM. A lot of memories that seemed like “Afternoon” memories are actually “Evening” memories. So that evening, while Candye did some hot tubbing and relaxing, Evan, Laura, Brad and I headed back to the festival, arriving about the same time Taj Mahal did. We hung for a while, but it became pretty clear we were all fairly tired., so we hitched a ride back to the hotel in Nick Moss’ van.

We had been speculating who’s gigantic tour bus was in the hotel parking lot all day. Couldn’t have been Taj’s, or Curtis Salgado’s, because we were aware of how they arrived. And none of the other acts were really “Tour Bus” level. When we pulled in front of the hotel in Nick’s van, and guy walks up and says, in a thick Scottish brogue, “You guys havta be a band!”

“Yeah! We play with Candye Kane. We’re here for the blues festival!”

“Fantastic,” says the guy, “We’re Nazareth. Pleased to meet’ya!”

Another Scotsman/Nazareth guy joined him and the rest of the conversation was about where it might be possible to get a drink at midnight on a Sunday in Thunder Bay, Canada. They seemed to have extensive knowledge, but I was done for the night and looking forward to the giant King sized bed in my room.

The next morning, over “Motel ‘Spresso” (twice brewed hotel coffee), I found the local newspaper’s on-line site, and the front page of the Chronicle Journal was a big headline about the festival, and an article and interview with Candye! And just Candye, too. The actual paper had a big picture of Candye and Laura onstage, right above the fold! On page two, a local columnist gave out his festival “Awards”, and called Candye “Entertainer of the Year”!

Everywhere we went; the front of the hotel, coffee shops, and the airport, there’s Candye and Laura’s picture staring at us! People would congratulate Candye on the great article! We left Thunder Bay feeling pretty damned triumphant, and pretty hopeful of being invited back, and most likely with a pretty nice time slot.

]]> Thu, 15 Jul 2010 18:51:02 GMT 82A7DE07B9B6D4E9010502456BF7FFA8