By 1965, I had a band, and we were getting paid to play high school dances and county fairs. At twelve years old, I was oldest member of my little band. I played the organ, and I had a great drummer, Carey Barrett. Interestingly, he remains one of the best drummers with whom I ever played music. However, the rest of the fellows in my band, really couldn't play. I taught a couple a few bass lines, and we got by.
But by 1967 all had changed. Our little top forty band, was now doing material by Steppenwolf and the Beatles. However, the Beatles songs we learned were from Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. And Carey the drummer had moved on. In fact, to my knowledge he never played drums again. A tragedy, though he went on to have a great career doing video, for ESPN at one time.
Our new drummer had just returned from San Francisco, to Missouri. And Alan Palmer remained a friend throughout life. In fact he still lives just a hundred miles away in Santa Rosa, California. Well, Alan introduced me to his friend, Riley Dawson,who I credit with teaching me to be a professional musician;. And I'll digress from this subject for a moment to pay homage to Riley.
To butcher for my own purpose a Beatles quote, it is difficult to believe that it was nearly fifty years ago today, Riley Dawson taught this boy to play. Though I entered 1967 as a keyboard player, I emerged a guitarist. Riley had talked me into purchasing an Epiphone 12 string guitar, and taught me to play it. Now, I'd been playing guitar a bit for a couple of years, but never very much. Riley changed all that. At first by the simple suggestion that if I was going to complain constantly about having to haul a keyboard around, that I should just play guitar. That sounded great because those old keyboards seemingly weighed a ton.
It wasn't playing the guitar that Riley taught me, but rather he taught me it's proper use. This was the best thing I've ever learned about being a musician. He said, " you don't play an instrument, you use it to play the audience." In other words, you don't have to be a great guitarist, to make folks think you are. You simply have to feed them what they want. But first you must be able to read your audience very quickly. If you lose them on the first few songs, you won't get them back that night.
So you play the audience. You are a social engineer, and it's your job to make them happy. And you can play all the Led Zepplin you want, and do it with excellence, but they will hate you if they want country music, or old time rhythm and blues. And though you may be very satisfied with your rendering of difficult music to play, it won't matter. Riley said, "you see, it is never about the musician, or even his selection of songs. It is about the audience, and the selection that you must play to turn their frowns upside down." You must sacrifice any desire you may have, and play directly to theirs. And you must quickly judge their desires.
If you do this correctly, you can be a below average technician on any instrument, but get standing ovations if you offer up the correct prescription to cure their blues. Sometimes that is a Beatles song, other times something from Merle Haggard or some bubble gum group is required. So Riley said to play your three most differing songs for your first three. From that, you can judge their best response and determine your best material for the room.
So it doesn't matter the instrument, a professional musician knows how to play the audience, and that is the only thing that matters. It is the difference between sitting at home playing what you want to play, or working. If you want to make money playing, play what they want. And if you don't know enough music to do that, don't go play, and wait until you do.
So I was fifteen years old, Alan Palmer was a few years older, and Riley was thirty six. We picked up a friend of Riley's, a bass player and vocalist who was also in his thirties. And we played honky tonks that would make Porky's from the movie of the same name, seem sophisticated. We played some real dives. But soon, our gigs got better and better, and when we emerged from those backwoods venues, we were a decent band, and worked plenty. The bass player would say we were going to do some song I'd never heard, in the key of A, and off we'd go. Riley and the bass player sailing along, while I am scrambling furiously to learn a song while performing it in public. We never practiced with the bass player, but would just meet him at gigs, so we literally learned on the job! And thankfully we learned quickly, which brings me back to the subject at hand.
Alan Palmer has a keepsake that is to die for. I will never forget when he showed me his prize possession. Two unused tickets to see a famous band. In fact two unused tickets to this band's last gig. Yes, because he couldn't go to the concert that night, those two tickets to Candlestick Park in San Francisco, were to see the Beatles.
I have no idea what those tickets are worth to a collector. I have to imagine Alan could really cash in, but it won't happen. I have seen Alan have very difficult financial times in his life but have never seen him, even for one moment, consider selling those tickets. I am unsure whether I would ever sell them also. I mean, it can't be pleasant to know you could have been at the last Beatles concert. But in the same respect, do you suppose there are any other unused tickets to see the Beatles last gig? Those Beatles tickets were worth their weight in gold, even then. I can't imagine what they might sell for today.
In fact, when considering Alan's wonderful keepsake, I often think that if I'd purchased them intending to go to that concert, I wouldn't want them. It must play on his mind, even today. So I've wondered if they've actually been a burden to him. I think were I in his place, they would burden me with one of the most torturous questions ever, "what if?"
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