The Gig of Induction and Indoctrination
As the bar patrons and the local restaurant crowd passed in front of me, I gripped my microphone and sang with all the gusto I could muster. I was 9 or 10 years old and I was determined to become a professional musician.
These unsuspecting,Friday night fish fry seeking, midwesterners had no idea what was about to be thrown down. Mostly because they were an ancient crowd who wouldn’t understand the music I was into, but mainly because I was in my upstairs bedroom window looking down upon the crowd as they rounded the street corner in their beautiful automobiles, on their way to the busiest and best restaurant of it’s time.
Sky Line was her name and in her hay day she was majestic. A chalet style bar with her points settin way up high… (ok a little Bob Seger reference there)… the tall windows in the gable end that faced the East, framed out the most beautiful picturesque view of the Sky Line Ski Area ski hill. Two chair lifts, one in each of the far outsides of the huge window frames, transported skiers up the hillside in the silent snowfall while patrons sipped on brandy old fashioned sweets, mint grasshoppers, and Pabst Blue Ribbon.
The bar area had an inviting aroma of salty wet concrete, kiddy cocktails, with a slight boozy waft of old fashioneds and a hint of fresh French fries. The bartenders were always friendly, an atmosphere of family prevailed, and a good time was had by all.
The restaurant side was supperclub-esque but too well lit during the daylight hours to be a Midwest roadside supper club destination. It was a clean bright bustling restaurant with the best fish dinner in the state. I can still taste the coleslaw and beer-battered fillets.
The main attraction, however, was Bernice. Bernice looked like she retired straight from Mel’s Diner, a career waitress, and a damn good one. From my early life perspective she looked like she was about 100lbs and presumably about as old. The old gal had style and spunk… and humor. If a dinner roll happened to fall on the floor from the wicker basket as they were being delivered, she was not opposed to picking it up placing it back in the basket all while looking you dead in the eye and saying something in the realm of “waste not want not”. Bernice was my particular favorite at that age because she made sure my Shirley Temple was always full and had an extra cherry.
Each table was adorned with a flickering flame burning inside a red, multifaceted,pear shaped glass candle. I remember being bummed out if we got a table where the candle was not lit or had burned out. If Bernice was on duty she could read the disappointment on your face and would make sure the table was in full ruby red glow before the dinner rolls were served. And if you happened to arrive a little later in the evening the lights would be dimmed down making the candle lit tables feel cozy, inviting, and the food instantly became better.
From as early on as I can remember I’ve always wanted to sing in front of people.And learn how to make records. Sometime around 10 years old I pulled apart an old boombox so I could see what they used for a microphone. I pulled the left side little condenser mic out of the boom box and attached a phone line to the leads with black electrical tape to make a lengthy cord. I then frantically search for a body to mount the little condenser mic in. Found it! A cardboard tube from a toilet paper roll. With some masking tape, a marker and a little creative magic I had a mic. A magic mic. Not that kind of magic Mike, settle down ladies.
I also used this same boom box, in conjunction with another one that was very similar, to make multitrack recordings of my self singing songs. When I was in 6th grade Weird Al was big, Motley Crue had recently released Shout At The Devil, and Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf” was playing in every roller rink around the States. I wanted to be all of them. In order to “multitrack” with two boom boxes you have to start by placing them on a raised surface, facing each other, about two feet apart.
I would put a cassette tape of my favorite song in the first boom box and a blank tape in the second boom box, cued up pass the leader tape so I didn’t cut off any of the recording. Punch the record button on the number 2 box and then it was time to hit play on the first ghetto blaster, and turn up the volume.
As my favorite song played on the first box I would sing along with it while recording on the second box. I repeated this process to double track the vocal because it sounded crazy cool and then I would do it one more time for harmonies and ad lib vocals. I didn’t know the terminology at the time, I just knew it sounded cool.
My freshman year of high school I knew I wanted to go to Berklee School of Music in Boston, so when they had the meet your guidance counselor day, I went in and asked what I needed to do in High school in order to go to Berklee. I can still smell the fresh wax on the hall floor mixed with the scent of old books as I anxiously waited for my turn to receive the secret code that was going to catapult me into the stratosphere of music nirvana… no not that Nirvana… they weren’t quite discovered yet… anyway. I was anxiously waiting when the old geezer called me into his office for a chat about my future.
Keep in mind, I wasn’t asking how to be a rock star, I was asking what it was I needed to do during my 4 years in high school to prep me for Berklee in order to become a professional musician, producer, (and top on my list) sound designer for TV and Film… Think Hans Zimmer, Jan Hammer, Mike Post…
So after preparing and presenting my “student body frequently asked questions” about getting into the music school of my dreams… My guidance counselor said, “you should become a welder. The area we live in doesn’t need musicians and dreamers, they need welders. You can have a steady career welding ya know”
It was at that point that I understood that my public institutionalized learning facility was a farce, a sham, and only benefited those that fit the preconceived mold or had the right last name. From that moment forward I treated it with the same amount of concern and interest as it showed me.
