|
I'm a little vague on this next period of
time. As I recall, I was in a group called The Detours. It
had evolved out of the old Viscounts group, but had mostly
new members. A saxophone player named Larry Smith, and a
drummer that I'm still trying to remember his name. A fun
guy who had a great yellow hot rod with a hydromatic
transmission in it, then Norman Fletcher and me.
We
once had a gig at an old deserted church house on Carver
road in Modesto. It had a stage where the preacher conducted
services. We were playing there one night and I was up front
singing and playing guitar. Do you remember the scene from
the movie "Blues Brothers" with the chicken wire in front of
the bandstand and the drunks? Well, this one was close. As
we played some incredibly awful song, two drunks slowly made
their way out in front of me, to a completely empty dance
floor. They were just about 15 feet straight out, right in
front of me and they each had a beer in their hands. Even I
could tell trouble was coming. All of a sudden they reared
back like a baseball pitcher winding up to throw. I was
ready to jump to the side. Then they let 'em fly, beer
bottles at the bandstand, or so I thought. Straight above my
head was big clock mounted on the front of the stage.
Kabloosh! Both bottles hit the clock and it shattered,
spewing glass and beer down on the floor right in front of
me. Guess what? Dance over. Good night. See ya!
We
started doing private parties and even printed posters for
dances that we would throw. This was a promotional technique
that Kent Whitt and Al Ward had used and the Viscounts had
tried it a few times, too. Once, we played at the War
Memorial Auditorium in Turlock and did our own promoting.
Oh, we were going to make a bundle that night. Right? Wrong!
We'd go around and place our posters in barber shop windows,
with permission of the owner, and any shops where teenagers
were likely to go. At one point, we had a manager of sorts.
He was Gary Ball, the older brother of Frank Ball, who went
to school with me and John Palombi in grade school. One
time, Gary booked us up in Sonora, California. This was an
out of town gig. Ooooooo. Now we were cookin'. I must give
Gary credit, the boy did have a good rap. He use to lie his
ass off just to get us a gig. He'd say anything. Of course,
we knew that and when it came time to split up the money
after the gig, we always gave Gary so much crap, due to his
lack of credibility in negotiations. We figured, if he can
b.s. other people that good, then he certainly is capable of
doing it to us, too. It was probably way unfair of us. Gary
was just out to have a good time and was a young man trying
out his "street skills" on the business community. He just
hadn't honed his craft yet, just like us. Still in the raw,
so to speak. Nyuk, nyuk.
I began hanging out with a guy named Earl
Knight (Kissling). Earl played bass and had a unique gift of
gab that translated well to the bandstand. On occasion, I
would hang out outside of a club on 10th street in Modesto
called The Playhouse. I could listen to Earl play along with
a guy named Floyd Julian. Floyd was a really fine, advanced
guitarist. In fact, he was making his own guitars at the
time. He had an idea for a guitar that involved making each
fret on the guitar be a "trigger" for a very basic (what we
would call now) tone generator. I believe it was from a
console organ of some type. So he had this working model of
it, but it never got off the ground. He was pretty
innovative and way ahead of his time. I was too young to get
in this bar to see them, so I had to settle for just leaning
up against the wall outside.
There
was another killer country guitar player around named Leon
Richardson that was sheer hell on us youngsters. Leon was so
fluid and fast. A sweetheart guy and a monster musician. He
intimidated the hell out of the young players, and had a
smile on his face while doing it. A great guy. A country
music hall of famer, as a matter of fact.
"The
Detours" had a group of black singers for a very short time
called "The Velvets." We played a pizza parlor gig once on
Yosemite avenue in Modesto. I remember saying to my mother,
"Mom, I wish I was black." She asked me what in the world
for? I went on to give her the "born with natural rhythm"
schpiel and so on and so forth. I was lookin' for every edge
I could get in the music world. It just seemed to me that
black people were instinctively better at it. Over the
years, my opinion has softened somewhat, but only slightly.
Black artists, in general, had something else going on that
most white people came up considerably short on. Not all,
but most. Just what that is, I'll leave to your own
descriptive vocabulary.
In
"The Detours," we had gigs at a place east of Empire called
"The Red Vest" (now a titty bar, or so I've heard. I
couldn't verify it myself, of course), We'd advertise with a
few commercial spots on KFIV radio. It was great excitement
for us. We put out posters, etc... It was owned by a fellow
named Carl Durbin. He changed the name of it to "The Pussy
Cat A Go Go." He ran an after hours, too. All the clubs in
town would close at 2:00, so everyone would drive out there
and keep it going from 2:30 to 4:30 a.m. They served food
there, as well. Many a night, I would play 5 sets (either
there or in town) and then play the after hours set, as
well, at the PK a Go Go. Those were great times; I loved it.
Play anywhere, anytime, for as long as you can. Hang out at
Sambo's or Denny's late at night, drinking coffee when you
were too young to really like it. Talkin' music talk,
dreamin' on it, and making it happen. When I see young,
talented local guitar players like Johnny Valdez, Nick Ruiz
and Shawn Farris just going for it with everything they've
got, it does my heart good. I know that kind of fever. I
understand that crazed devotion to it. There's nothing like
it, really. My son Jesse has it pretty bad himself. A fool
for it, if you will. And to make things worse, he's got the
talent. I didn't give it to him, per se, it's just in him.
It's his own talent and his own love of it. What's a dad
suppose to do, not be proud? Excuse me. You won't find that
here. I'm so proud of him that I get ignorant about it
sometimes. Like, right now for instance. I have nephews,
Mike and Russ Allsup, that are into music, too. They just
completed a CD with their group, "DAM." If "getting
ignorant" about the music is the defining thing, then this
family is a shoe-in.
We
have a guy in Modesto that, on any given day, you can find
him pan handling with his guitar on a street corner around
town. He's locally infamous and goes by the name "Kid
Guitar." Some people pick on him, but I have respect for him
and what he does. It's a tough gig, having people drive up
next to you in their car while you're playing, and having to
put up with them pretending they don't hear or see you. Not
all people do that, mind you, but it's not infrequent
either. Say what you will, but Kid Guitar is dedicated and a
good player, too. The music has kept him from not getting
bitter over it, the hard gig he does. He may be locked into
dealing with only himself, preferring that over dealing with
others. It's not such a bad thing. He is thankful for his
talent and that it supports him. Oh, he carries his own
podium all right, it goes with the territory. So do I, if
you haven't noticed. He is the master of day to day success
and surviving. A medicine show of the modern era? Nah, a
MUSIC MAN. I mean that as a compliment, not as a derogatory
statement. The "KID" has found his niche and would have it
no other way ... 'cept ... maybe make a little more money.
Although money is a necessity, it is not a prerequisite to
him. You can't say that for many people. I wish him
continued success and more. He's got a wonderful heart. From
time to time I stop and hang with him; to chit chat and
enjoy the music. Check him out.
All the
best to you, Kid.
|
