The Ricki C. Interview - by the Pencilstorm Editorial Board

Ricki C. will be opening for Brian Clash & the Coffee House Rebels this Saturday night, January 14th, in the friendly environs of  Kafe Kerouac, 2250 N. High Street, 614-299-2672.  Music at 9 pm.  (kafekerouac.com)

E/B - You’re the only rocker of my acquaintance that will be eligible for Medicare this year: Why do you still do this?  And can you remember your first gig? 

Ricki - My first gig was in 1968, at my classmate Ermogene Delewese’s birthday party, in her parents’ basement rec room.  It went great.  The first song I ever sang in public was Steppenwolf’s “Magic Carpet Ride.”  That’s not a bad beginning.  I’m seriously thinking of trying to find out Ermogene’s birthday, booking a gig on that day in 2018, and quitting the music biz forever exactly 50 years after I started.  (I haven’t seen or spoken to Ermogene since graduation in 1970, so that birthday bit might be tough.)

And why do I still do this?  What else am I gonna do, become a brain surgeon?  
 

E/B - After almost half a century in rock & roll, after seeing literally hundreds of bands, can you name your top three performers/songwriters off the top of your head?

Ricki - Absolutely!  Those three are The Who, Bruce Springsteen and Elliott Murphy.  It’s not even close.  Lou Reed would be fourth and he trails by a wide margin.  No, maybe Ian Hunter (originally of Mott The Hoople) would be fourth, because he’s still alive and putting out great records.  Anyway, after the Top Three, things get kinda sketchy, due to Rock & Roll Alzheimer’s.

Plus, The Who comes with a caveat: it’s The Who from 1965 to 1972, from “I Can’t Explain” to the Who’s Next album.  After that, from Quadrophenia on, there’s a big drop-off in quality.  And I won’t even consider the notion of any band not containing Keith Moon to actually BE The Who.  There might be a band calling itself The Who, but without Keith, it don’t count.  

Bruce Springsteen and Elliott Murphy – on quite the other hand – are still fucking brilliant.  They’re both only three years older than me, but I fear that someday I might inhabit a planet that does not contain them, and I don’t know if I wanna live on that planet.

“The smart people won’t listen
And the stupid people don’t wanna know
After love, hope & dreams
All that’s left is a Trump presidency and classic rock radio”

-    Ricki C. / 2016

E/B - There’s a fair amount of politics in your rock & roll, given the demise of The MC5, do you think that’s wise?

Ricki - Yeah, I do.  Plus I think my political songs focus more on people than they do politics. When I first stumbled on the solo acoustic rock & roll act in 1990, my idea was that I would be the Billy Bragg of Columbus, Ohio.  I’ve lost a lot of the agit-prop aspects of the Ricki C. show, I think now it’s more focused on individuals than causes.  That being said, I will never set foot in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame again EVER in my life after they inducted Journey this year OVER The MC5.  Some sins can never be forgiven.

E/B - Nowadays, you’re almost better known as a roadie than as a performer, how did that happen?

Ricki - When Hamell On Trial hired me as his road manager after I opened a show for him at Little Brothers in the late 1990’s, it put a real crimp into the amount of gigs I played.  Then I joined the Watershed road crew in 2005 and that cut even further into my playing time.  Make no mistake, I wouldn’t trade one minute of those tours: Hamell & I criss-crossed America five or six times in the first decade of the 21st century, I got to see 44 of the 48 contiguous United States; and the good times (and beach vacations) in the Watershed van are irreplaceable.  Plus, truthfully, I’m probably a better roadie than I am a rocker.  I’m too OCD to be a rock & roll star.  I want everything to run on time and the wires never to be crossed.  

Also, I’m really, really lazy.  I never seek out gigs anymore.  They just fall in my lap.  Somebody asks me to open, and I open.  Otherwise I just stay home, feel sorry for myself and write Pencilstorm columns about The Dictators and The Neighborhoods.

E/B - Tell us about the gig this weekend.

Ricki - I’m opening up at 9 pm at Kafe Kerouac, just north of campus, for Brian Clash & the Coffee House Rebels.  The Rebels are a scrappy little rock & roll collective, kinda like The Velvet Underground if they grew up in Columbus, Ohio, rather than the grubby environs of New York City.  I’ve known Brian (Griffin/Clash) since my days working at Ace In The Hole Music, that guy is one righteous rock & roller.  

There’s much worse things you could do with your Saturday night (like binge-watching some crap T.V. on Netflix or Hulu), you should come out.    

For more music musings from Ricki C., check out Growing Old With Rock & Roll.

For some songs, check out If All My Heroes Are Losers

Strummer's In Heaven

TV Party Tonight! Part One: A George Michael Rehearsal with Queen - by Colin Gawel

My phone says it's 7 degrees outside right now. The perfect weather to get warm inside a youtube rabbit hole. Following last night's League Bowlers show and many Four String Brews, the staff of Pencilstorm decided we should start a winter series featuring some of our favorite video finds to help get your personal hole started. I'll go first.

TV Party Tonight! Part One: A George Michael Rehearsal with Queen - Colin Gawel

It's funny how one performance can change your entire perception of an artist, but that's exactly what happened to me when George Michael fronted Queen for a single song at the Freddie Mercury tribute in 1992. Sadly, the untimely death of Michael led me to stumble onto footage of George rehearsing with Queen before the mega-show at Wembley. I grabbed my 13 year old son Owen and showed him the clip. I could tell he dug it, but all he said was, "Yeah, so that rocked. Queen rocks. What's the big deal?" I tried to explain the context. "Dude, George Michael crushing with Queen would be like Justin Bieber coming out and crushing with Green Day at the Billie Joe Tribute show." I had his attention now. "Dad, what do you mean?" "Check this shit out little man.."  (I didn't really say it that way. Owen and I pretend we don't swear in each other's company)

Wham!'s official music video for 'Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go'. Click to listen to Wham! on Spotify: http://smarturl.it/WhamSpotify?IQid=WhamWMU As featured on The Final. Click to buy the track or album via iTunes: http://smarturl.it/WhamTFiTunes?IQid=WhamWMU Google Play: http://smarturl.it/WhamWMEGPlay?IQid=WhamWMU Amazon: http://smarturl.it/WhamTFAmazon?IQid=WhamWMU Stream more music from Wham! here: http://smarturl.it/WhamMStream?IQid=WhamWMU More from Wham!

I was about the same age as Owen when I first saw this Wham! video on the MTV. His reaction upon this initial screening was about how I remembered mine. His mouth hung open wide and a look of abject horror creeped over his face. "That's the same guy? Wow."

When I first saw Wham! my brain just couldn't compute...confused.... there is no other word ...it was just too.... gay. I'm not trying to use the word "Gay" in a derogatory manner. I was a kid who didn't even know what that word meant. It's just that being a fourteen year old boy growing up in the white bread suburb of Worthington, Ohio, my frame of reference was very limited. My idea of diversity was Earle Bruce embracing the forward pass more than Woody Hayes. Being progressive meant liking RUSH more than Molly Hatchet. Judas Priest were Hell Bent for Leather. That shit rocked. I liked loud electric guitars. Sure, I knew something was off with Billy Squier's "Rock Me Tonight" video, but Billy got a pass from me (if not the world) because "In the Dark" ROCKED. Wham! were many things, but they were decidedly NOT rock n roll. In fact, they were a frontal attack on rock. I couldn't make sense of it. 

To a kid who hadn't hit puberty, I suppose"Gay" meant something my little sister liked. And she liked Wham! A lot. UGH.

George had dug himself a deep hole in my personal musical rankings. Somewhere between Tiffany and King Kobra. That's a tough spot. Fast forward to the Freddie Mercury Tribute show in Wembley Stadium. I can't remember the details, but I was watching the show with the Watershed guys in a hotel room somewhere when George was announced to come out. We all kind of moaned..."Ugh.. George Michael....lame... Let's watch just a little to see how bad it is.." Then this happened..

"i don't have the words. This year has cruelly taken so many fine people way too young. And George? That gentle boy? All that beautiful talent? Can't begin to compute this. RIP George. Sing with Freddie. And the Angels."

Mouths dropping in wonder, at the end of the song, we spontaneously piled on the bed hugging, high-fiving and screaming, "George Michael needs to join Queen and tour. RIGHT NOW!!" 

I think almost everybody in the stadium and on Earth instantly had the same opinion. This is no easy feat when considering we were all talking about replacing the irreplaceable Freddie Mercury. At his own memorial show no less. I think everybody also wondered why it never happened. I mean just look at them? It's amazing. It had to be depressing for Queen to downshift to Paul Rodgers and that Adam guy from The Voice or whatever.

Anyway, just last week, I bumped into this clip of George rehearsing "Somebody to Love" with Queen and it's almost more fun than the stadium show. Just the guys rocking. No audience. Oh, other than David Bowie watching from the wings. Under Pressure much? Not George. He KILLS. My mouth was saying, "That roadie looks just like David Bowie" at the exact same time my brain was registering, "Holy shit.. that IS David Bowie."

RIP George Michael. What a bad ass. "I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger" - Ron Wood

http://www.georgemichael-thevoice.com

Bonus clip. As good as the previous clips were, Freddie is still.... Freddie. Also, I've always loved the cups of cheap-looking draft beer that are invariably on his piano. To me, that visual perfectly sums up what makes Queen so unique among its peers. A broadway bar band. 

Queen - somebody to love live in Montreal

Colin Gawel plays in the band Watershed and The League Bowlers. Read about him in the book Hitless Wonder or visit him at Colin's Coffee. Visit the Pencilstorm music page for more cool stuff.

Bava Choco - by Ricki C.

This is a blog about Bava Choco that Ricki C. wrote back in October, 2016 that the Pencilstorm editorial board decided we couldn't improve upon, so we're re-running it today.

Bava Choco's release party for their maiden CD - Death Ride - will take place at Ace of Cups this Friday night, January 6th.  Doors at 8 pm, opening set by The League Bowlers at 9 pm, followed by Bava Choco.  Admission is FREE.  Details at Aceofcupsbar.com.

The first thing you’ve gotta know about Bava Choco is that they’re HIGH CONCEPT.  By that I mean that lead singer Patrick Baracus has made sure that ALL ASPECTS of the band have been thought through and considered: the way the band dresses, the way the songs cohere, the stage presentation, etc.  And In these 21st century days of bands having TOTALLY ZERO ideas, creativity or – God forbid – originality of thought or word, Bava Choco really stands out.  (By this I mean, if I see ONE MORE BAND on Seth Myers – my choice of late-night viewing – with ABSOLUTELY NOT ONE REASON TO EXIST, done up in some mish-mash of thrift-store clothes, mismatched haircuts & not one iota of a notion of presentation I'm gonna put a bullet through my head, or more likely through my TV.)  (Just like Elvis.)

Plus, Bava Choco is named after one of the “brands” of dope that Eric Stoltz is peddling to John Travolta in Pulp Fiction.  And if naming your band after a heroin blend in a 22 year old Tarantino flick isn’t HIGH CONCEPT, I don’t know what is.

But really, screw all my HIGH CONCEPT guff: if THE MUSIC doesn’t deliver, why am I bothering to write about the band, and it’s THE MUSIC where Bava Choco really fries my synapses.  I’ve seen Baracus in his previous bands – the mighty MC5-influenced squall of B.A. Baracus, some intermediate band whose name I can’t remember that opened for Colin’s Lonely Bones at the Rumba or Woodlands one Christmas show – and I have to say that Bava Choco is Patrick’s best venture yet.   

Patrick told me one time when the band was still in rehearsals that he was just gonna say, “Fuck it, and unleash all of his Deep Purple and Black Sabbath fantasies” in his new band and – I’ve gotta say – I wasn’t particularly heartened by that pronouncement.  I lived through heavy metal when it was first invented and my rocker brethren KNOW it’s not one of my Top Three rock & roll genres.  But Bava Choco bring such a passion and fresh approach to quasi-metal it really took me back to those days of 1968 & 1969 when bands like Deep Purple were still really INVENTIVE and Tony Iommi actually incorporated some pretty jazzy chord voicings into the melee that was early Black Sabbath.  It really wasn’t until the 1970’s that those bands collapsed into the terminal, plodding, drug-ridden/ravaged sludge-pit morass of metal that rock history is riddled with.  (Are you listening Uriah Heep?)       

Anyway, this is sliding out of hand, I’m about to start mumbling about the ‘60’s & ‘70’s when Bava Choco is a thoroughly MODERN rock & roll band: guitarist Eric French’s riffs & guitar stylings are a joy to watch & listen to and drummer Corey Gillen is a MONSTER of invention.  So just go see ‘em this Saturday night: drink a few beers (then Uber home so you don’t kill anybody), support CD-102.5 and their Big Room Bar and dig The Kyle Sowashes and Earwig while you’re at it.  It’s a Saturday night of rock & roll, what could you POSSIBLY have better to do with your time than that?  - Ricki C. / October 13th, 2016.

ps. Since I’m supposed to be such a hotshot rock critic, two (easily correctable) criticisms of Bava Choco: 1) The first time I saw the band, Mike Lovins – who, by the way, happens to be a KILLER bass player – wore shorts onstage.  Admittedly, it WAS high summer then (I stopped to watch a coupla softball games at Berliner on my way to the gig at CD 102.5), but NO self-respecting rocker should EVER WEAR SHORTS ONSTAGE.  2) Patrick was drinking beer during that set when this is obviously a band that should be swigging cognac straight from the bottle while lurching around onstage.  Beer drinking is for league bowlers, Bava Choco is HIGH CONCEPT.  If Baracus has to go so far as pouring beer INTO a cognac bottle before going onstage, he should take that step and project/protect the illusion.      

For a little preview of the tunes, check out Bava Choco on Bandcamp 

English Pub-Rock and The League Bowlers - by Ricki C.

The League Bowlers will open for Bava Choco at Ace of Cups this Friday evening, January 6th.  Doors at 8 pm, League Bowlers at 9 pm, Bava Choco at 10:30 pm.  Admission is FREE, info at Aceofcupsbar.com.    

Pub-rock in England was an early to mid-1970’s phenomenon/trend that never really translated to America.  Spearheaded by bands like Brinsley Schwarz (which featured a pre-Stiff Records Nick Lowe as co-lead vocalist & songwriter) and Ducks Deluxe, pub-rock was a reaction to the prog-rock and glam-rock trends that dominated English music from 1972 on.  Playing tiny bar venues with small Fender amps and a decidedly low-key but ROCKING return-to-three-minute-songs attitude, pub-rock offered an up-close & personal style of rock & roll for music fans sick to death of 17-minute Yes orchestral suites or the glam-rock stylings of David Bowie, Sweet and Slade.*  Lipstick 'n' lace just didn’t cut it with your workaday rocker soccer fan.  

(* All of whom I loved, by the way, but that's an entirely different blog for a whole 'nother day.)

Pub-rock was the immediate precursor to punk-rock in England and, very likely, punk-rock would never have happened without its musical cousin.  One of the nascent Sex Pistols’ first gigs was an opening slot for Joe Strummer’s pub-rock outfit The 101-ers at stalwart pub-rock venue the Nashville Club (see vintage 1976 review below).  That was the night Strummer glimpsed the musical future spread out before him, leading to his defection to The Clash, and likely sounding the death knell for pub-rock as a music movement.  (Pub-rock also spawned Ian Dury – from Kilburn & the High Roads – and Elvis Costello, who used to open shows and occasionally haul amps for Brinsley Schwarz, fostering his later artist/producer relationship with Nick Lowe.)  

Anyway, I often think of The League Bowlers as a 21st-century incarnation of an English pub-rock band: a repertoire consisting of a handful of catchy, feel-good originals (Kids Down South, Half Of Me, Pretty In A Slutty Way) interspersed with a rockin’ dose of their favorite cover tunes (from The Mavericks to Dwight Yoakam to The Georgia Satellites to Elvis Presley, just to name a few).  Formed from the remnants/ashes of several previous bands bearing the name, the current Bowler line-up is comprised of Colin Gawel (on leave from Watershed and The Lonely Bones) and Mike Parks (who traces his rock & roll lineage all the way back to West Side garage bands of the 1960’s, I first saw him play at a Lazarus teen fashion show, through The Godz and The True Soul Rockers) on lead & rhythm guitars;  Dan Cochran – late of Big Back 40 and Feversmile – now the owner of the Four String Brewery on bass; and drummer-extraordinaire Jim Johnson, a mainstay of Willie Phoenix’s` bands for decades.  

It's an old Italian proverb that what you do the first week in January is what you'll do all the rest of the year.  So why not come out on this First Friday Night in January, catch some quality rock & roll from The League Bowlers and Bava Choco and improve your chances for a fun 2017?  See ya at Ace of Cups, 9 pm sharp.  - Ricki C. / January 3rd, 2017 

                                                 Nick Lowe wrote it in 1974, Elvis Costello made it a hit in 1978.......

Ducks Deluxe - in time-honored rock & roll fashion - cop the riff to The Velvet Underground's "Sweet Jane" to power their own truck-drivin' rocker.  It's a long way from the Mean Streets of New York City to the Nashville in Kensington.......

The League Bowlers, 2008.......

from the Ricki C. archives: New Musical Express, April 17th, 1976, live review section (I used to make the trek every week from the West Side to the Little Professor Bookstore in the Lane Avenue shopping center, from 1975 to sometime in early '79, when I lost interest in English post-punk.  Does anybody else miss Little Professor Bookstore as much as I do?) 

Thank Your Lucky Stars - by James A. Baumann

You don't know what you've got until it's gone.

Each time the calendar flips to December, one can count on a parade of year-in-review stories; filling pages and websites with a balance of best-of and in memoriam pieces. With 2016 — the spectacular clustercuss of a year that it was — nearly in our rearview mirror one can expect an uptick in the wistfulness and mourning those stories will hold. Between assorted illnesses and accidents, plus the inevitable passing of time (spoiler alert: more gut punches will be coming sooner rather than later) this year took more than its pound of flesh. 

Bowie. Prince. Cohen. Haggard. Phife Dawg. George Michael. It didn’t matter what musical camp you preferred, these last 12 months have had something to disappoint everyone. But in the midst of those losses there were those others who left behind magical musical moments even if their departure wasn’t accompanied by banner headlines.

In the 1990s, thanks to publicists being willing to send stuff to anyone with a URL, I was inundated with music. Some of it was garbage. Most of it was forgettable. But some of it — those glorious gems sparkling in the mud alongside the information superhighway — was stellar. Two of those brightest lights were Kevin Junior and Ross Shapiro. Odds are you have never heard of them and, even if you did, you wouldn’t have heard that those lights have gone out. Which is what brings me to the keyboard today. 

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Kevin Junior publicity photo.

I knew Kevin Junior as the frontman of the Chicago-based Chamber Strings. He had previously played with the Mystery Girls and the Rosehips before The Chamber Strings released two albums of melancholy, orchestral-pop beauty. With his Ron Wood hairstyle and suave style he oozed rockstar, but also maintained a Midwest approachability. 

I first met Junior in person at Columbus’s Little Brothers when they headlined a show curated by the club’s doorman for his birthday. Many of the details of that night are fuzzy, but I do remember a roving magician doing some amazing sleight-of-hand tricks and what may have been home movies being shown on the wall. I also remember things running late, which could have led to grated nerves. But Junior and his band relaxed, alternately at the bar and backstage, smoking cigarette and buying their time before taking the stage. Once they did, for all you knew, they could have been playing the Fillmore, a basement, or a stadium. It was effortless, it was glamorous, and it was beautiful.

Not much later I travelled up to Cleveland to see The Chamber Strings open for the Pernice Brothers at the Beachland Tavern. Again looking every part the glam rock star with a velvet suit and flowing scarf — and yet somehow still fitting in with the wood paneling on the walls and the Blatz beer sign with one burned-out letter — he nursed his drink and juggled one conversation after another. He was the first person I ever saw woo a woman by stating that George Harrison was his favorite Beatle and actually mean it. Then, again, when it was time he and the band took the stage — which was only a half-step higher than the rest of the floor — and delivered another effortless, glamorous, and beautiful set.

The Chamber Strings were one of those bands that sounded like dozens of others, yet didn't feel derivative. They were fueled by the pop of The Kinks, Beatles, and Big Star as well as the soul and swagger of The Faces, with a dose of Johnny Thunders and David Bowie glam for good measure. Sadly, about the only place today to hear gems like “Cold, Cold Meltdown,” “Make It Through the Summer,” “Telegram,” and “Let Me Live My Own Life” now is on fan-posted YouTube videos.

Also, unfortunately, almost as quickly as The Chamber Strings came into my world, they would also leave it. Junior, shortly after the 2002 release of the second record, fell into drugs. This isn’t the place to recount that part of his story. Besides, it has been fully-covered in a gut-wrenching account by Bob Mehr in the Chicago Reader as well as a separate short video documentary. 

As fans waited to hear something from Junior — alternating between hoping for new music and  fearing news of an overdose — he eventually would come back to his native Akron (rumor says Chrissie Hynde was once his babysitter) to live with his mother. There he put together a new Chamber Strings line up. I would occasionally see a Facebook post that they were playing an Akron club and it was always on my to-do list to make it back to one of his shows. But I didn’t. And now I can’t. And that is what brings me to the keyboard today.

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Ross Shapiro of The Glands (photo credit: Athens Banner Herald Online)

Ross Shapiro had much in common with Junior. They shared the reputation as a musician’s musician, indie-label disappointments, and a musical career under the radar. In other ways, though, Shapiro lived at the other end of the indie-rock spectrum. While Junior gravitated to the spotlight, Shapiro kept in the shadows. Many of the accounts of his life written after he passed painted him as Athens, Georgia’s, curmudgeonly hermit; a perfectionist who put together his bands and recordings in secret and a record store clerk who quietly judged each customer for their Schoolkids Records purchase. He had t-shirts printed that read “I Love (What Used to Be) Athens.”

This depiction surprised me because I don’t hear any of that cynicism in his songs. It’s not there on the first record, Double Thriller, (named so because it was recorded using the same mixing board as Michael Jackson’s smash). It was a local hit and harbinger of what was to come. 

Their second record was self-titled and was released in 2000. Well, “released” may be a bit of an overstatement as (depending on what source you look at) either Capricorn Records or the short-lived Velocette Records stumbled out of the gate, meaning few heard it. But those who did hear it fell in love with it. Due to geography and at least some shared musical attitude, it benefitted from the excitement around the Elephant 6 musical collective, but certainly earned its own accolades. SPIN magazine, if my memory serves, gave it a 9 out of 10. NPR heralded it as one of their “Songs We Love.” Through its 14 tracks, the album alternated between dreamy, jazzy, poppy, rocky, funky, and folky. Some were driven by electric guitar riffs. Other by chunky keyboard chords. The constant was Shapiro’s slightly nasally drawl, delivering seemingly free-associative lyrics. As I listened to it again this week, over and over again, I would be hard-pressed to find a single wasted note.

The tour for that record brought The Glands to Athens, Ohio, and I excitedly made my way to The Union bar to see the show and interview Shapiro. While the opening act prepared the stage (again, memories are fuzzy, but I remember a line of musicians standing in boxes to produce a “Dorf On Golf” effect while playing songs like David Seville’s “Witch Doctor”), we chatted easily as he smoked and drank cup after cup of coffee. There was none of the reticence I would later read about. He seemed to love talking about music. The exchange I still remember was when I asked him how he balanced the jangly, off-kilter nature of many of the songs (think Pavement, Neutral Milk Hotel, and fellow Athenians REM) with the blistering guitar solos in the middle of songs like “When I Laugh” or “Work It Out.” He just smiled, took a draw on his cigarette and said, “Well, we all wanted to be in Aerosmith when we were growing up.”

In the following years, when other bands from the Georgia area came through Columbus, our talk would inevitably work their away around to mutual admiration for The Glands. Rumors of a new record would come and go with each conversation, but nothing materialized.

Then, in 2004 Shapiro was lured back out on the road by his friends in The Shins. This time the tour came to Columbus and they played to a full Newport Music Hall. While the band lineup had changed, Shapiro and the songs were still there. As they finished their all-too-short set, Shapiro smiled and waved. He looked happy. They had played some new songs. “They will be back,” I optimistically believed. Then they virtually disappeared for a decade before briefly popping up to play some gigs in Athens or spot shows with other bands. But now that chance is gone as well. Which brings me to my keyboard today.

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There is nothing I can add to what will be written about Bowie, Prince, et al. They were more monument than mortal, which is what made their passing such a shock. They were something for us all to look up to. But let’s not forget those that we could see across a bar or a record counter. Those that shared their art on stages that are six-inches high, rather than coliseum alters. Those that were more lightning-in-a-bottle than legend.  

The truth of the matter is that, in this century, I am sure that I have spent more time with Kevin Junior’s and Ross Shapiro’s records than I have with Bowie and Prince. That’s not said as some sort of ranking or judgement, but merely an observation that hit me with each obit. 

So, as we move into a new year, let’s hold close to our heroes and all that they have brought us. But let’s also resolve to keep our eyes, ears, hearts, and souls open to those new (at least to us) voices and their contributions. Buy a shirt. Bend the ear of a friend. Make a convert or two. Head to your keyboard today. Because nobody knows how many more tomorrows there will be.

"Rise" and the Beginnings of Watershed - by Ricki C.

By now many Pencilstorm readers have received their copies of the new Watershed Single Series Volume 4 CD containing – among 8 other tracks – the early Watershed tune “Rise.”  I consider “Rise” the first truly great Watershed song (and in fact, sometimes consider it the very first WATERSHED – as opposed to The Wires – song).  Following is a reworking of an e-mail I posted to somebody in 2014 about the first time I heard “Rise.”  

In 1990 I was a roadie for Willie Phoenix & The True Soul Rockers.  Willie had a once-a-month Saturday night residency at a really popular local club called Ruby Tuesday's (no relation AT ALL to the lame family-restaurant chain of the same name).  One month this kid band called The Wires started opening the shows.  They were nice kids, exceptionally friendly but basically hopelessly clueless.  They played originals, but it seemed like they could never quite decide who or what they wanted to be: it was like a weird mash-up of U2, The Police, The Alarm and – problematically – Rush.  (Oddly, knowing what I know now, there was not one glimmer of KISS or Cheap Trick in The Wires' sound.)  All the songs were too long, they never really went anywhere and The Wires wouldn't have known a hook if it fucked them in a closet.  But they were cute, they were compliant and they had a lot of energy, so they kept opening.

The second or third month they became Watershed.  (I remember saying to Colin one time when they were setting up: "You know there's an English post-punk band called Wire, right?"  "Yeah, that's what people have been telling us," he mumbled back.  Colin was so shy back then I don't think we made eye contact the first three or four months we knew each other.)

So one Saturday night about three or four months into the residency I'm upstairs at Ruby's tuning guitars for Willie's set.  (Willie & Mike Parks, the 2nd lead guitarist, brought 10 or 11 guitars to every show and Mike had some weird open tunings on his, so it generally took me most of Watershed's set to get everything ready.) 

Watershed took the stage, blasted into a brand-new tune – “Rise” – and Jesus Christ, they were fucking PHENOMENAL!   They had almost an entire new set, two or three other new songs, a couple of the old ones had been pared-down and rearranged/tightened, Colin had started employing his now-patented Angus Young/Pete Townshend hybrid stage presence when Joe sang lead and I really couldn't believe my eyes or ears.  I had never – and now have never, 26 years later – seen a growth spurt like that in a band from one month to the next.  It was like seeing an entirely different group.

I knew Willie had been producing an e.p. for the guys.  I figured that had to have a positive effect, Willie had been a rocker of the first order for over a decade even back then, but NOTHING Willie could have taught them in a month could have prepared me for how good Watershed were that night.  

They blasted through a 60-minute set, never let up, and left me speechless, gaping with my mouth open.  It really was quite mesmerizing.  I entirely forgot to tune the True Soul Rocker's guitars; I couldn't take my eyes off the stage. 

The Ruby's dressing rooms were down in the basement of the club, hell & gone from the main room, you couldn't really hear the onstage band clearly down there and I started to wonder if Willie knew about the transformation that had taken place in Watershed since the month before. 

I was scrambling to get the guitars tuned and put in order as Biggie and the guys broke down their gear, all I got to say to them was, "Jesus, that was INCREDIBLE!"  They just looked at me all embarrassed and mumbled, "Yeah, thanks, I guess it was okay," in their little self-deprecating Watershed manner (that continues to this day). 

Of course – almost inevitably – Willie & the True Soul Rockers (who were a truly fearsome live unit in their own right when they put their minds to it) picked that night to come out and just saunter through their first set.  I got a queasy feeling in my stomach the first two or three songs: Willie & the guys weren't even trying and they looked and sounded old & tired next to the rock & roll tour de force Watershed had just deployed.  (We were all in our late 30's then, Watershed were 19 & 20.) 

It was a bloodbath.  By the fifth song, people in the audience were starting to yell for Willie to get off the stage and put Watershed back on.  I saw it coming but I still didn't quite believe it.  Willie was REALLY BIG in Columbus back then, his audiences rarely less than enthusiastic, bordering on worshipful.  At a guitar change, Willie whispered to me, "What's going on?"  I said, "Watershed KILLED tonight, you better step it up, maybe go to third-set mode."

The True Soul Rockers never really got back on track that night and I wondered if Willie realized just how completely he had gotten blown off the stage.  The next month at Ruby's, Watershed was gone and we had a new – and decidedly WEAK – opening band.  Never let it be said that Willie Phoenix does not recognize when he’s been bested, even if only for one night.  Willie did not just fall off a turnip truck into this rock & roll game.  From that night in 1990 to this day in 2016 Watershed has never opened for Willie again.  That guy is a rock & roll genius. - Ricki C. / 2014 (updated July, 2016)

ps. I have long lobbied (in vain) for “Rise” to be reintroduced to the Watershed live set - even if only ONCE in a great while - just for old time’s sake, to acknowledge/honor their first GREAT tune, but definitely MINUS that wankified wah-wah pedal figure in the intro and during the choruses (which was NEVER a part of the tune when Watershed played it live, anyway).  I suspect that was one of Willie’s production touches which be believed would add sparkle to the tune.  Willie and I both did the better part of our useful rock & roll growing-up in the 1960’s, the heyday of the wah-wah pedal.  They were not a good idea in 1968 and they were even less of a good idea in 1990.