Post by michael on Oct 1, 2005 0:57:52 GMT -5
I have been asked, nay, commanded to relate to thee the tale of one of the most surreal evenings of my existence (so far).
Billy Gibbons.
Yes, The Billy Gibbons. Reverend Willie G. The Texas Home Wrecker and Heartbreaker.
ZZ Top.
In my shop. With my guitar in his hands. Critiquing my old band and our music.
Here it is: in mid 1998 I was playing lead guitar in a group based out of Dallas/Ft. Worth. We called ourselves Another Fine Mess.
Apt name. We couldn’t catch a break.
The evening in question was a practice night for AFM, and we were setting up in my shop/store to rehearse. Stocker, our drummer was late as usual.
The phone rang, and I picked up. The caller was an acquaintance who frequented my establishment, and who had a penchant for name-dropping. I never took him seriously.
He asked me if I still had a certain guitar hanging on the wall for sale. I assured him it was still there.
“Great. I’ve got Billy Gibbons here with me in the car. He wants to take a look at it.”
Sure.
“Uh, no problem. We’re closed right now, but I’m not going to leave for several hours. Come on by.”
I hung up, laughing a little self-righteously to myself. Boy, talk about self-defeating! Dropping Gibbons’ name, and then announcing you’re on the way! Like, you’re really gonna show up! Hilarious!
Ha ha.
A car pulls into the parking lot, and it’s the guy. With another guy. The other guy has a long beard. And an African made hat. It can’t be, I muttered to myself.
Well, it most certainly can and was. Billy Gibbons came walking through my front door! He was introduced to us, and he shook hands all around. Then he went to investigate the guitar. About that time, Stocker arrived and started bringing in his drums. I excitedly asked him if he recognized that fellow with the beard. He squinted in Billy’s direction and non-chalantly said, “Looks like Billy Gibbons”.
“It is!” “Oh, really? How about that?” Then Stocker went back to his drum kit. If he was impressed or excited he didn’t show it.
The guitar we had didn’t meet Billy’s expectations, so I attempted to engage him in conversation. But not about guitars. Most guys in his profession hate talking shop with non-pros. But I knew he was on the Houston Arts council, and since I had just come back from a visit to Washington I asked him if he ever had any dealings with the Smithsonian. His eyes lit up, and he said “oh, yeah! Let me show you!” He went back to the car and he returned directly with a large coffee-table book under his arm.
The book concerned itself with artifacts from around the globe. He had been on a “treasure hunt” to Africa, precisely with the intention of returning with several pieces for the Smithsonian. He quickly turned the pages to those items he wanted to show me. “I brought those back here myself” he said.
Now, I really know nothing of art, but I wanted to keep him around for a while and I knew I would have to talk about something other than guitar.
For the next half hour I asked questions and listened. I tried not to ask too many stupid questions, but everything I wondered about he answered.
Finally, we were all set to rehearse. Billy closed the book and looked over at our gear. “So, you guys have a band? Lets’ hear what you got.” That’s what I wanted to hear! So we played one of our stronger tunes, “Got No Reason.” We finished it up and he said, “Well, that’s an okay tune, but you really need to lose the guitar harmonies. That stuff went out in the 70’s. No one wants to hear it.”
Hmmm. Ok, then.
He advised us to keep our tunes no longer than 3 ½ minutes in length and keep our volume waaaaaaay down. So people could have a conversation without shouting, you know. He also said to watch out for overly complex tunes, because girls don’t like them, and if we wanted to be successful we’d better get lots o’ girls to our gigs.
He turned to me and said, “I really don’t care much for your tone. Do you mind if I tweak it a bit?” I said, “No, I don’t mind. Go ahead.” I handed him my guitar (a Parker Fly Deluxe), which was plugged into an Ibanez Tube Screamer pedal and then into a 1965 Fender Showman amp with a 2x12 speaker cab. He turned knobs while playing until he was satisfied. He sounded just like himself! Kind of neat. He then did the same thing to Jeff’s guitar and amp rig.
He then said, “Hey, let’s write a song. I’ll show you what I mean about volume and simplicity.”
Ok!
He looked around a bit and said, “The song can be about anything. Like those gumball machines you got there.” Uh-huh. Gumball machines. Gumball machines? Oookaaay. We’re writing a song with Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top, and it’s about gumballs. This is just weird. Obviously, we’re dealing with a madman (lol).
We all contributed chords, progressions and rhythm ideas, and we launched into the first verse of our Gibbons/Earhart/Fowler/Benke/Travis collaboration entitled….
…(Drum roll please. Big cymbal crash)
“I Like Chewing Gum”
That’s right. You heard me. I said “I Like Chewing Gum”. That’s the name of our song. It’s better than the song you wrote with Billy.
Anyway, the first verse went something like this:
I like chewing gum
I like chewing gum
The first 2 hours sure were fun
I like chewing gum
I’m not making any of this up. If I was gonna lie about Billy Gibbons I could certainly come up with something better than this!
The truth is just funnier.
So, Billy is directing us, playing guitar and singing, and I’m standing there with my guitar in my hands and a big grin on my face. I couldn’t help but notice how much like ZZ Top we were sounding. He had the tone dialed in perfectly.
The second verse I won’t relate to you in this forum. Suffice it to say that, with Billy’s penchant for waxing sexual and suggestive about anything, he was able to take something as mundane as chewing gum and make a lewd statement out of it. It was funny and embarrassing all at the same time.
He hung out with us for over an hour while we played, offering bits of wisdom and advice as often as something occurred to him. He also spent a fair amount of time on the phone talking to his manager.
Finally, the time came for him to take off. He shook our hands again and wished us luck. Then he was gone.
But wait! There’s more.
After Billy left, Stocker said “hey you know we should call Christopher and tell him about this.” Christopher Amos was our former bass player. With Chris in the band we changed our name from Another Fine Mess to Raven’s Way. Not much better, I know. But the name aside, we were a good band.
Christopher is a big ZZ fan; calling him seemed like such a good idea at the time.
At first we couldn’t get him to believe us. He thought we were playing a joke on him. Finally after he talked to each one of us, he got me back on the phone. He was pissed!
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me! I love ZZ Top! You know that! Did you at least get autographs and pictures?”
Oops.
That didn’t occur to me at the time. How embarrassing! I’m sure if any of us had asked, Billy would have given us autographs at least. No one asked for it, though.
I have no physical evidence whatsoever to prove these events occurred.
In retrospect I should have kept my mouth shut about it, but I stupidly admitted the truth. Christopher went into a stuttering, ballistic conniption fit.
“You...I...how...YOU JERK! You couldn’t even get an autograph?!? Why didn’t you call me?!? I could have shown up in time!! I could’ve worshipped him! I could have gotten an autograph and photograph! AAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHH! I’m never gonna forgive you guys for this!”
Actually, he did forgive us. But it took a while to get there.
So that’s my story.
By the way, we kept the guitar harmonies and the long songs. We had to do what was right for us, and the songs just called for it.
I enjoy re-living those days. I have very few bad memories related to my music career. It’s been mostly wonderful, upbeat and with the wind at my back.
And I’m making more memories every day. I’m not finished yet!
Whenever I think of the people I’ve run into, jammed with, and ended up on a first name basis with, well it just makes me smile. I’ve had wonderful opportunities to meet some of my childhood and boyhood heroes. John Nitzinger. Lee Pickens. Phil Keaggy. John Sferra. Dan Pecchio. Billy Gibbons. Ed Grundy. Nick Taylor. Rick Derringer. Howard Scott. Buddy Miles. The telling of these tales is part of the joy.
I hope you enjoyed my story, too. Someday I’ll tell you my The Blues Brothers story. Or would you rather hear my Richard Nixon story?
Now. Go practice your guitars!
Billy Gibbons.
Yes, The Billy Gibbons. Reverend Willie G. The Texas Home Wrecker and Heartbreaker.
ZZ Top.
In my shop. With my guitar in his hands. Critiquing my old band and our music.
Here it is: in mid 1998 I was playing lead guitar in a group based out of Dallas/Ft. Worth. We called ourselves Another Fine Mess.
Apt name. We couldn’t catch a break.
The evening in question was a practice night for AFM, and we were setting up in my shop/store to rehearse. Stocker, our drummer was late as usual.
The phone rang, and I picked up. The caller was an acquaintance who frequented my establishment, and who had a penchant for name-dropping. I never took him seriously.
He asked me if I still had a certain guitar hanging on the wall for sale. I assured him it was still there.
“Great. I’ve got Billy Gibbons here with me in the car. He wants to take a look at it.”
Sure.
“Uh, no problem. We’re closed right now, but I’m not going to leave for several hours. Come on by.”
I hung up, laughing a little self-righteously to myself. Boy, talk about self-defeating! Dropping Gibbons’ name, and then announcing you’re on the way! Like, you’re really gonna show up! Hilarious!
Ha ha.
A car pulls into the parking lot, and it’s the guy. With another guy. The other guy has a long beard. And an African made hat. It can’t be, I muttered to myself.
Well, it most certainly can and was. Billy Gibbons came walking through my front door! He was introduced to us, and he shook hands all around. Then he went to investigate the guitar. About that time, Stocker arrived and started bringing in his drums. I excitedly asked him if he recognized that fellow with the beard. He squinted in Billy’s direction and non-chalantly said, “Looks like Billy Gibbons”.
“It is!” “Oh, really? How about that?” Then Stocker went back to his drum kit. If he was impressed or excited he didn’t show it.
The guitar we had didn’t meet Billy’s expectations, so I attempted to engage him in conversation. But not about guitars. Most guys in his profession hate talking shop with non-pros. But I knew he was on the Houston Arts council, and since I had just come back from a visit to Washington I asked him if he ever had any dealings with the Smithsonian. His eyes lit up, and he said “oh, yeah! Let me show you!” He went back to the car and he returned directly with a large coffee-table book under his arm.
The book concerned itself with artifacts from around the globe. He had been on a “treasure hunt” to Africa, precisely with the intention of returning with several pieces for the Smithsonian. He quickly turned the pages to those items he wanted to show me. “I brought those back here myself” he said.
Now, I really know nothing of art, but I wanted to keep him around for a while and I knew I would have to talk about something other than guitar.
For the next half hour I asked questions and listened. I tried not to ask too many stupid questions, but everything I wondered about he answered.
Finally, we were all set to rehearse. Billy closed the book and looked over at our gear. “So, you guys have a band? Lets’ hear what you got.” That’s what I wanted to hear! So we played one of our stronger tunes, “Got No Reason.” We finished it up and he said, “Well, that’s an okay tune, but you really need to lose the guitar harmonies. That stuff went out in the 70’s. No one wants to hear it.”
Hmmm. Ok, then.
He advised us to keep our tunes no longer than 3 ½ minutes in length and keep our volume waaaaaaay down. So people could have a conversation without shouting, you know. He also said to watch out for overly complex tunes, because girls don’t like them, and if we wanted to be successful we’d better get lots o’ girls to our gigs.
He turned to me and said, “I really don’t care much for your tone. Do you mind if I tweak it a bit?” I said, “No, I don’t mind. Go ahead.” I handed him my guitar (a Parker Fly Deluxe), which was plugged into an Ibanez Tube Screamer pedal and then into a 1965 Fender Showman amp with a 2x12 speaker cab. He turned knobs while playing until he was satisfied. He sounded just like himself! Kind of neat. He then did the same thing to Jeff’s guitar and amp rig.
He then said, “Hey, let’s write a song. I’ll show you what I mean about volume and simplicity.”
Ok!
He looked around a bit and said, “The song can be about anything. Like those gumball machines you got there.” Uh-huh. Gumball machines. Gumball machines? Oookaaay. We’re writing a song with Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top, and it’s about gumballs. This is just weird. Obviously, we’re dealing with a madman (lol).
We all contributed chords, progressions and rhythm ideas, and we launched into the first verse of our Gibbons/Earhart/Fowler/Benke/Travis collaboration entitled….
…(Drum roll please. Big cymbal crash)
“I Like Chewing Gum”
That’s right. You heard me. I said “I Like Chewing Gum”. That’s the name of our song. It’s better than the song you wrote with Billy.
Anyway, the first verse went something like this:
I like chewing gum
I like chewing gum
The first 2 hours sure were fun
I like chewing gum
I’m not making any of this up. If I was gonna lie about Billy Gibbons I could certainly come up with something better than this!
The truth is just funnier.
So, Billy is directing us, playing guitar and singing, and I’m standing there with my guitar in my hands and a big grin on my face. I couldn’t help but notice how much like ZZ Top we were sounding. He had the tone dialed in perfectly.
The second verse I won’t relate to you in this forum. Suffice it to say that, with Billy’s penchant for waxing sexual and suggestive about anything, he was able to take something as mundane as chewing gum and make a lewd statement out of it. It was funny and embarrassing all at the same time.
He hung out with us for over an hour while we played, offering bits of wisdom and advice as often as something occurred to him. He also spent a fair amount of time on the phone talking to his manager.
Finally, the time came for him to take off. He shook our hands again and wished us luck. Then he was gone.
But wait! There’s more.
After Billy left, Stocker said “hey you know we should call Christopher and tell him about this.” Christopher Amos was our former bass player. With Chris in the band we changed our name from Another Fine Mess to Raven’s Way. Not much better, I know. But the name aside, we were a good band.
Christopher is a big ZZ fan; calling him seemed like such a good idea at the time.
At first we couldn’t get him to believe us. He thought we were playing a joke on him. Finally after he talked to each one of us, he got me back on the phone. He was pissed!
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me! I love ZZ Top! You know that! Did you at least get autographs and pictures?”
Oops.
That didn’t occur to me at the time. How embarrassing! I’m sure if any of us had asked, Billy would have given us autographs at least. No one asked for it, though.
I have no physical evidence whatsoever to prove these events occurred.
In retrospect I should have kept my mouth shut about it, but I stupidly admitted the truth. Christopher went into a stuttering, ballistic conniption fit.
“You...I...how...YOU JERK! You couldn’t even get an autograph?!? Why didn’t you call me?!? I could have shown up in time!! I could’ve worshipped him! I could have gotten an autograph and photograph! AAAAARRRRRRGHHHHHH! I’m never gonna forgive you guys for this!”
Actually, he did forgive us. But it took a while to get there.
So that’s my story.
By the way, we kept the guitar harmonies and the long songs. We had to do what was right for us, and the songs just called for it.
I enjoy re-living those days. I have very few bad memories related to my music career. It’s been mostly wonderful, upbeat and with the wind at my back.
And I’m making more memories every day. I’m not finished yet!
Whenever I think of the people I’ve run into, jammed with, and ended up on a first name basis with, well it just makes me smile. I’ve had wonderful opportunities to meet some of my childhood and boyhood heroes. John Nitzinger. Lee Pickens. Phil Keaggy. John Sferra. Dan Pecchio. Billy Gibbons. Ed Grundy. Nick Taylor. Rick Derringer. Howard Scott. Buddy Miles. The telling of these tales is part of the joy.
I hope you enjoyed my story, too. Someday I’ll tell you my The Blues Brothers story. Or would you rather hear my Richard Nixon story?
Now. Go practice your guitars!