Sep
15

Some things

ghjOkay. So here are some things I’ve decided I could never live without in no particular order. And really just for my own sake, in case I ever lose my memory. Andy Gibb -

I don’t care what anyone says -he is my favorite little secret. Just try and stop me from loving him. He was hot and foxy and dated women. I approved of like Olivia Newton-John and Victoria Principal. He was the younger, cuter Bee Gee brother, even hotter than Barry Gibb if you ask me. Oh, when I listen to his songs like “I Just Wanna Be Your Everything” and “(Our Love) Don’t Throw It All Away,” read more

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Sep
15

Savannah

My fascination with the south really only started in the last 5 years or so. There are two reasons for this. The first comes from my absolute love of Lucinda Williams songs. Besides the fact that she really gets the whole broken hearted, sweet and low, I just wanna drink some whiskey in a small town bar thing, I find her language intoxicating. Her song “Greenville” brings me to tears every time. “Crescent City” makes me nostalgic for a place I’ve never been. I wish I’d been born in a Lucinda Williams song sometimes. Actually, sometimes I think I’m living in one! In the land of Lucinda I could speed across 5 county lines and never outrun my tears. And it would feel really good in the best kind of bad way. I’d spend my nights pining for the taste of joy, and would have to settle for rain. Which is actually one of my favorite tastes anyway.

When I was a little girl I didn’t like country music. It was “dad’s music.” All it seemed to talk about was how bad things were, how mamas were always right and daddys always went away. People were poor and the only recreational activity of any kind was drinking. I figured if things were so bad in these songs then the south must really be a bad place to live. “Come on up to Minnesota,” I’d think. We’ve got whiskey and rivers and bars and heartache, too. But stick around for awhile. Things get too hot just wait ‘til late October comes around. Nothing takes the edge off like chilly 5 o’clock sunsets and the smell of Saturday night bonfires. The only thing you’re liable to want to cut up is a pumpkin. This is all before the first snowflake falls of course. After that, we make no guarantees.

Anyway, my feelings about country music changed when a former manager sent me a CD of songs and artists he thought I needed to hear. On the CD were songs by Roseanne Cash, Iris DeMent, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Lucinda Williams among others. It was a discovery that helped pave the way for me artistically. I have always loved melody, and find it to be my first attraction to a song. But here, locked inside great melodies, were lyrics so rich and vibrant that they got me to rethink my process. Poetry without being too clever. Such stark truth. Deceptively simple. Lyrics that made me laugh, think, cry and want.

Dugan says the best country songs are by rock musicians anyway. I know what he’s saying. To some degree I think he’s right. I think the truth in his statement is that it comes more from an attitude than geographical location. What I love about country music is the honesty in the lyric. The everyday details that, as Leonard Cohen says, “allow us to share a life.” And the fact that country music is really all about the song.

The second reason for my southern fixation is because I read “The Prince Of Tides” and “Beach Music” by Pat Conroy. I can’t even explain how much I love these books, especially “Beach Music” which to this day is my favorite book. I can read and re-read almost any paragraph by Mr. Conroy and get such a thrill. His writing is so lyrical. I don’t even know what else to say.

I wrote on the liner notes for “Nightingale” about how my dad lent me all of his old pop and country albums from the late 60’s and early 70’s. And I was so blown away by these great songs and artists that I wanted to try and write something in the spirit of “Wichita Lineman” or “Galveston”- both written by the great Jimmy Webb. I went to my piano, set my hands down and immediately the title “Savannah” came into my head. I’ve never been to Savannah, but I felt an instant connection to this beautiful city. I did my research on the internet and learned as much as one can over the internet. For those of you from Savannah, I tried to get The Waving Girl into my song, but she seemed perfectly content to stand on her shore.

Sometimes I have this little daydream of my band and I performing in a beautiful theater in Savannah. Maybe if I’m lucky, one day it will really happen. Until then I’ve got Lucinda’s excellent new CD “West” and some vodka lemonades to help get me through.

Check these out sometime:

CD’s
Tom Petty - “Wildflowers”
Lucinda Williams - “Car Wheels On a Gravel Road”
Ryan Adams - “Heartbreaker”
Roseanne Cash - “Black Cadillac”
Shelby Lynne - “I Am Shelby Lynne”

Songs
“Sunday Morning Coming Down” Johnny Cash
“Mama Tried “ Merle Haggard

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Sep
15

Opening Act

I can remember vividly my first opening act experience. I was a fresh-faced 16 year old ready to change the world. The lead guitarist in my band was a student at Winona State University. Through his connections at the school he had secured us this primo gig at the university. We were to open up for “The Suburbs.”

“The Suburbs” were one of the coolest bands to ever come out of Minnesota. They were a new wave band. They had a real record deal! They were on the radio and their posters were everywhere.

So, off to the store I went - to Maurices, the only somewhat trendy store in my little town- and promptly purchased one black and silver sparkly dress. It was so pretty. I knew it would look great under the lights.

The big day arrived and my band mates and I gathered at our guitarist’s apartment for some pre-gig bonding. We went down to the University together for sound check. The concert was to be held in the big sports arena. The Suburbs were just about to sound check when we arrived.

I don’t know what it is, but to this day I still get a shiver of excitement when I see a big tour bus. I guess it’s a symbol of success in this business. It means that you’ve reached a certain level. That people will actually show up for your concerts and that you will get paid enough to make a living.

The Suburbs were backstage passing a football around to each other in the arena, completely engrossed in their improvised game. Not aware of how cool they were. Or maybe they were. Too busy to concern themselves with mundane tasks like sound checks. They had no idea that there was a young rocker girl staring with wide eyes from behind the stage. “So that’s what it’s like to be a rock star,” I thought.

Soon it was time to go to the show for real. A friend of ours, Eric, picked us up in his very cool limo. Actually it was a hearse limo, which was so much more appropriate and rock and roll. He even wore his chauffeur’s uniform for us. And then we were on our way.

It was all over in a flash. I think we played for 20 minutes. What I do remember is staring out into a sea of faces all smiling and ready to party. I was really nervous. And I think we kicked ass. Well, that’s what I’d like to think anyway!

But we made it through and literally walked on air for the rest of the evening. We celebrated that night in the manner that became the norm after each gig, with pizza and Monty Python movies.

Since then I’ve had the privilege to open for many acts. Some have been career highlights such as sharing the stage with Etta James at The O’Shaugnessy Auditorium in St. Paul or a particularly amazing concert with the Little River Band in downtown Minneapolis.

Others have been, oh… interesting to say the least.

One example would be Jim Dandy from Black Oak Arkansas. Don’t get the wrong idea now! Yes, I did see his bedroom in the back of his tour bus, complete with a wall size mirror and waterbed, but I didn’t stay long enough to notice anything else! (Remember, I have a thing for tour buses.) Actually, he was a very nice man and quite a gentleman. And I only met him for a brief second.

The real reason I brought that gig up is because it reminded me how every once in awhile some small town bar manages to squeeze 300 people into its tiny room - (Dan’s Bar in New Trier, MN in this case) – that can really only maybe fit 95 legally. And you’re on ground level with the audience, their beers spilling over, dangerously close to your new black leather boots. And your monitors. And even though technically your monitors suck, you need every little drop of sound that you can get to help override the drums that are pumping out of the speakers that are aimed directly at your head. All of this for little or no money.

Ahh! The good old days.

Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

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He was my hero. He was in Senior High and I was in elementary school. I had such a crush on him. He started on the baseball, football and basketball teams. He excelled at all sports but basketball was the big one! On Friday and Saturday nights I would either be at his games or listening in my room to KWNO, the local radio station that would broadcast all the local High School games. I couldn’t wait to get to the end of the game when the scoreboard was announced to hear how many points he had scored. “Whetstone had 18 points, Whetstone with 22points,” and on and on. He was my cousin, Michael Whetstone. My mom is his Dad’s sister. I had 4 amazing cousins. Michael (the oldest), Patty, Darlene and Dawn. Yep, he was the only boy in a very female dominated family. We spent every holiday, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Thanksgiving, New Years Day, Easter, 4th of July, etc with them. It was just the way things were. It was perfect as far as I was concerned.

His senior year in High School, he was a big reason that Winona Senior High went to STATE for basketball! Now, those of you who didn’t grow up in a smaller town probably don’t understand what it means to “go to State.” Basically the whole town shuts down for a few days and you are issued your orange and black wardrobe (our high school colors) so that you may be assimilated properly into the fold. Churches pray for the team, lunch specials are concocted in honor of players, and everyone knows of someone who is going to be playing in the game at STATE. Carloads of people stream out of town- one after the other filled to the brim with stickers and flags, and pom-poms and pillowcases. The joke is
that the last one out of town is in charge of shutting off the lights.

Even though they lost their first game in the State Tournament, they came back to a town parade as heroes. They were among the best. They had made us proud.

After High School he was recruited by a few NFL football scouts and tried out for the Denver Broncos. He didn’t make the team, but just to get to try out was very impressive. He played football for NDSU from 1980-1983. Three year starter at offensive tackle and offensive guard. He earned All-NCC honors in 1982 and 1983 and was named to both the 1983 Kodak and Associated Press All-America first teams. He was first team All-America offensive guard for the team when they won the 1983 NCAA Division II national championship. I still remember watching that game on national TV and seeing his smiling face and stats come up on the screen. I was so proud of him. He’d really made it.

When his college career was over he served as a student assistant and volunteer coach for the football program at NDSU.

After my graduation from high school, I went out on the road with a band. I came back for my cousin Patty’s wedding in the summer. Michael was there, of course. Before the wedding we got to talking and I told him about my new gig as a backing vocalist for Lamont Cranston. I had been “discovered” singing with a cover band in the Twin Cities by someone from the band and they’d asked me to join on the spot. I’ll never forget the look on his face. “Lamont Cranston?” he said. “I know THEM! They’re huge! Wow! I’m proud of you. You’ve really made it!” And in that moment, looking up into his beaming face, with the sunlight raining through the trees, on that little church lot in Minnesota City, amidst a sea of tuxedos and chiffon, I felt for sure that I had.

Shortly after that I moved to London, England.

In March of 1988 he was diagnosed with cancer. It seemed impossible: this big strong young man, so full of life and energy, who seemed capable of achieving anything he set his mind on, suddenly had cancer? Surely someone had made a mistake. But it was no mistake. They found a tumor the “size of a football” (that’s how they put it) in his chest. I read and re-read the letter from my mom in disbelief. I felt so far away and completely helpless. During that summer I stopped off in Minnesota on my way back to England after playing a concert in Tokyo. My family and all of my cousins got together at The Mississippi Queen, the BIG bar in Winona. I was talking with Michael, who had been going through chemotherapy and we were playing pool. All of a sudden, some locals started harassing him, making fun of him because he was bald (from the chemo treatments)! I wanted to go over and knock ‘em down I was so enraged. But Mike just looked at me and said, ”Don’t worry about them. Those kinds of things really don’t matter. Just let it go.” He had a big smile on his face and a peaceful calm look in his eyes. Still my hero.

In the fall of that year I wrote him a letter. In it I told him how much I’d looked up to him all my life and how when I was in elementary school I’d had such a crush on him. I can’t remember much of the details of the letter, but I know it was heartfelt and I was very sad writing it. Still, I was so far away and unable to get to spend any time with him. He was living in North Dakota then and had been assisting the football team up to that point. I was in London wishing I were back home. In December my mom called me to tell me that Michael didn’t have much time left. I called him from London the first week of December. This is what I remember from that conversation. He was watching “Rudolph” on TV. He thanked me for the letter that I’d sent him and said it was really sweet. He thought it was cute that I’d had a crush on him when I was 11 and reassured me that it wasn’t weird! I told him that I was coming home to see him and he said, “You don’t have to do that!” To which I replied, “Well I really want to so I am.” We talked for quite awhile and then he told me that he wasn’t afraid to die. He said he was ready and he wasn’t scared. Those were the bravest words I’d ever heard out of anyone’s mouth my entire life. Still my hero. Saying goodbye was hard but I was confident that I’d be seeing him very soon.

He had taped an inspirational message for the NDSU Bison football team prior to their 1988 National Championship game with Portland State that December. During the game, which Michael watched on TV, they dedicated the game to him. The whole team wore armbands in honor of him. The taped message was played for the team before the game. They won!

Three days later he passed away.

My mom called to tell me. She said that my cousin Dawn (herself a great singer) had sung “Freebird” (his favorite song) to him at his bedside as he was fading away. I took some comfort in that.

Even all these years later I still miss him and think about him. And I wonder if he knows what an important influence he had on my life. And when things get too rough I think back to that phone call and his voice telling me that he was ready to go. I can’t imagine what strength and courage that must have taken. Still my hero. Always. One good angel…

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Sep
15

Child

For the “2 Sides” album I wrote the songs over the 4th of July weekend in 1999. I was truly inspired. It was an exciting if not exhausting 8 weeks - from the birth of the project to writing, recording, mixing, mastering and having the CD replicated. I still can’t believe we pulled it off! The project got picked up by the national United Way and my band and I toured the country in support of the CD. 100% of the proceeds from the CD sales went to the United Way for 3 years. We ended up selling 10,000 copies.

If I remember correctly, “Child” was the first song I wrote for the project. I remember being surprised at how easily the words came. Maybe it was a sense of release or some form of closure for me. I had had a miscarriage in March of that year and for months was so depressed. I wasn’t a mother, but I’d certainly felt a powerful bond for the short time that I’d been allowed that privilege.

Revisiting this song now has been an emotional process. It has an entirely new meaning to me. While we don’t have kids, we did have the most amazing dog that ever ran around the face of the earth! She really
was our child. And we had a powerful bond with her. Call it a sign of the times, but I know there are many people out there who consider their pets to be family members, if not their own kids. With that in mind, I’d like to include a previous blog from my myspace.

Peace,
Pamela

Monday, November 13, 2006

Saying Goodbye…

2 weeks ago, on my birthday, our dear sweet little baby dog, Mattie, passed away. We think she was 13. We were with her when she died, surrounded by the terrible emotions of telling her it’s okay - to let go - that we’ll see her again - and at the same time struggling with the voice that screams inside your head, ” Don’t leave, I love you, this isn’t fair!” I’ve been through this quite a few times in my life…it never gets easier. For those who would say that she was “just a dog”- I have no use.

We adopted Mattie when she was probably 1 year old. We never knew for sure because she was a stray. She’d been shot by a BB gun, was missing many teeth, had been skunked and was just a mess. But she was the sweetest girl you’d ever met. On the day we brought her home, she slept in my arms for the whole 1 hour drive home. She must have been exhausted from whatever ordeal she had been through. She didn’t even know how to play. But we taught her how over a period of months. She was a Border Collie and anyone who knows that breed knows that they are incredible athletes and among the most intelligent dogs. She was both of these. And she would just stare for minutes into your eyes. When one of us was sad…she was there. When I was so sick it’s like she knew and would stay by me almost as if her being there was a way to heal me. And it worked. She was a great studio dog and loved music. She’d lie under the console by Dugan whenever he was working in the studio. And she’d always be by my side whenever I wrote my favorite songs. I used to tell her that she “wrote a great song today. Thanks for the ideas!” She had so much personality…a great sense of humor and she was very sensitive. She liked being an “only dog” - she didn’t see the sense in hanging out with other dogs. She was happiest with her pack - the 3 of us going for car rides, to grandma’s house, to the store, or home. She was very picky when it came to food, but she LOVED shrimp tails especially. When we had parties, everyone would save the shrimp tails for Mattie. She could eat over 50 of them a night and never get sick!

3 weeks before she died, we came home and she could hardly breathe. We took her to the vet and after an x-ray were told that she had heart disease. Her heart was huge. We tried everything we could and they told us we did everything possible. Still it’s hard to accept that. Could we have done better? It’s a big, sad burden. To watch our little girl go from so much life to not even being able to stand was heart breaking. But even on the night she died we had hope. We were going to take her to the U (of Minnesota) on the next day. Hoping for some miracle. But she must have decided that this was no way to live. We’re glad we were there with her in the end - but wish we could do anything to change the outcome.

So now we have a sweet little black and white angel looking over us.
Running through forever fields…
Chasing squirrels and bunnies…
Charming grandma and grandpa angels…
And dining on chicken dinners and endless bowls of shrimp tails…

Rest in peace, little sweet Mattie…

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She’s 16 years old. She’s wearing a black mini skirt, red spandex shirt with a matching black vinyl belt. Her hair is frozen solid from half a bottle of Aqua Net hairspray. Her legs are bathed in black tights that go perfectly with shiny black high heels. She recently learned how to apply lots of heavy eyeliner and mascara. She came in through the side entrance. A thick layer of smoke hangs in the air. If the sun is shining outside, and you open the door wide, you’ll see it spilling out like a room full of ghosts trying hard to escape. There’s a jukebox in the corner. It’s always playing either Patsy Cline or Lynyrd Skynyrd or Eric Clapton. It’s just before supper, so only the regulars are there. Three old timers whose names are probably Mac or Eddie or Clem. They’ve got their Pabst Blue Ribbon coasters laid out in front of them, each one keeping their small glass of yellow beer from sweating up the long shiny oak bar. This is Wisconsin, so you can bet they won’t be drinking any of that Coors stuff. They don’t say much. They sit together - exactly one bar stool apart from the other – and smoke their cigarettes. They don’t even care if the cigarette ash gets all the way to the end before it falls off naturally. This is their bar. This is their real living room. Pretty soon they’ll have one more and call it a day. They’ll go on home to TV trays and up-dos and try their best to get along. The girl listens to Patsy Cline singing “I Fall To Pieces” and wonders if she was nervous before her first gig. Probably. She’s nervous but even more excited. This is it! This is what she’s dreamt of for so long. She’s certainly as prepared as she can be. Her and the boys in the band have spent months rehearsing in the local college auditorium. She loves the guys in the band. They are her brothers now. They tell her she’s great and she tells them they’re great and they laugh constantly. They have more inside jokes than songs. They can recite every line from Monty Python’s “The Meaning of Life.” They understand that Cheap Trick are The Beatles of the Midwest. They can sing any Rush bass line or drum part together in unison. And the girl knows that there is more to this rock and roll dream for her than just Joni Mitchell or Linda Rondstandt. Oh, she likes them well enough. But she’s a rock singer. There’s a difference. She can still remember the moment when it all changed. It was as if instinct took over, a primitive, thrilling emotion, triggered one summer afternoon down in the basement of her best friend’s house. Her best friend’s brother was playing a record so loudly downstairs that his mom yelled at him to “Turn down that racket! Who is that animal?” It was “Treat Me Right” from “Crimes of Passion.” Pat Benatar. The girl was frozen. Finally. She heard her calling. She went right out and bought “Crimes of Passion.” She practiced every second she could, singing along to each song including the really weird but really cool “Wuthering Heights.” “I’m going to join a band,” she decided. Fast forward a few years later and here she was. She stood back by the soundboard and looked at the stage. The band she was in had a small system. 2 light trees with 8 lights in all. Speakers, 2 power amps, a small mixer, a few monitors (not very good ones!) and some cables and of course amps and instruments. She watched as the light man tested the lights. Flashes of blue, red, yellow and green. Beautiful. This was her moment. At nine o’clock they took the stage. There were only 5 people in the house. But they were watching. And listening. She could hardly hear herself the band was so loud, but it didn’t matter. She was a real singer now! At midnight the band started their third set. And then, suddenly a miracle occurred. People began to pour in, one after the other, each one happier than the next. Soon the place was packed.

The bars had closed in Minnesota and every patron from every bar across the river had descended upon this little club like thirsty angels waiting at the gates of beer-heaven for last call. It was pure rock and roll magic! The band had a crowd and the tipsy attention of a hundred or more.

The crowd, happy to still have a drink in their hands, cheered the band on and even demanded an encore. And then it was over. The girl was high from the rush of adrenaline. Her eyeliner was smudged and her voice was almost gone. She was still smiling days later from the guy in the audience who came up to her afterwards and said that she did Pat Benatar even better than Pat Benatar herself! It wasn’t the first time she would hear that. Seems after every gig there was always some guy with that line. Still, the first time she heard those words was the sweetest.

She went home that night with 25 dollars in her little pleather purse, a ringing in her ears and a song in her heart.

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