San Francisco, California

The Hollywood experience; guests onstage and backstage; Take it easy, Tigers

Home is in sight

 

The Peas killing time at OutsideLands while having their studios redecorated.

I was glancing through the L.A. Times before our show in Hollywood a few days ago. The cover of the “Home” section featured will.i.am posing with the expensive interior decorator he’d hired to make his multi-million dollar house look ‘elegantly pimped out’. Will.I.am, the Black Eyed Peas and their subsidiary interests get more love from the mainstream American media in one day than Groundation has had in the ten years of its existence, and this was no exception: there was a second article in the business section about how the Peas are now doing exclusive concerts on airplane flights.

L.A. Is the hometown of the Peas, which is appropriate, because they’re a Hollywood entity through and through: Non-confrontational, mild, and mainstream as they come. Plato would have loved them, because he believed all music should serve the needs of the state. In his day, he advocated banning everything but military marches so the common people would have war constantly on their minds and be ready to strap on their shields when the king told them to. He couldn’t have foreseen the rise of the American capitalist consumer state (some would call it a kleptocracy, but who’s counting?), but he would have praised the way the Peas’ music vaunts the careless, narcissistic, acquisitive values that our corporate masters want us to adopt these days.

Trying to make it in L.A., the hard way.

Despite the mind-boggling success of corporate-backed enterprises like the Peas, LA is home to more struggling bands than any city in the world, I’ll bet, specializing in rock, heavy metal, punk and rap. Many of the bands are really good, and they work their asses off to get signed by big record labels. Meanwhile, they play shows for free (preferably for crowds consisting of benevolent entertainment lawyers and A&R reps) and camp out in front of office buildings with their demos. The ones that work their way up through the clubs (like Ozomatli or the Red Hot Chili Peppers) are the lucky exceptions. Beautiful, hungry people are thick on the streets here, hustling their looks and talent, looking to break in, trade up, sell out. I saw a famous actor followed by his fawning assistant in Book Soup, the nationally famous bookstore on Sunset Boulevard. “This is the real American heartland,” said Kelsey as we were walking* back up the Strip. On our left was the Viper Room and to our right was the Whiskey a Go Go. “Welcome to the American dream,” he said, and I had to agree.

Ryan and Marcus, making music the (relatively) old fashioned way.

Northern Californians like myself are indoctrinated from a young age to poop on our southern neighbors, but I’m happy to give credit where it’s due. The fact is, Los Angeles a great city, an indivisible facet of contemporary America. The drama of its troubles, its people, and its extraordinary creative powers are equal to those of any city you care to mention. Still, the lifestyle of the people who coined the term ‘lifestyle’ deserves a certain amount of criticism. I don’t think that Hollywood is the heart and soul of the Babylon system, but it’s a part of it.

At the risk of sounding like Mickey Spillane, LA feels like an old love affair these days, a rocky one, an amour fou. Now when I’m in town I try to keep our relationship on a formal footing; a light business brunch conducted by phone from a sunny table at a Melrose cafe (one with good sightlines, please, waiter). There’s always a bigger fish than you out here (if not, one will be along in under five minutes, I promise), and they’re not gonna let you forget it, so just enjoy the sunshine, have your picture taken next to Paula Abdul’s star on the Walk of Fame, and get out of town before rush hour**.

Ironically, Groundation got the star treatment at our show in Hollywood. A series of coincidences resulted in our taking a stretch limousine to the show. Rich, our uberroadie, worked out an under-the-table deal with the driver, who hadn’t cleaned up the champagne glasses and ashtrays from his previous clients. I wonder what our fans waiting behind the velvet rope in front of the Key Club must have thought when Harrison and the rest of us stepped out of a stretch limousine packed with empty champagne bottles . I really hope no one got the wrong idea. The tabloids probably could care less, but just in case, let me set the record straight: Groundation and Hollywood? We’re just friends.

Are you kidding? Purple goes with anything!

Back on our home turf, Groundation had lots of friends backstage. Some folks from Spearhead were at the Hollywood show, they’re a NorCal band like us. Rufus’ friend Keli Ross Ma’u contributed mesmerizing music on the steel drums during our set at The Belly Up in Solano Beach. Though steel drums are a Caribbean instrument, you don’t often hear them in reggae. Superfan Frank brought some pro athlete friends to that show as well, who immediately started talking to me excitedly about the prospects of fourth-ranked Louisiana State University’s contest with number one Florida the coming Saturday. I asked for it, I was wearing an LSU baseball cap. I considered my possible responses:

“Well, if they’re gonna win it, they’ll have to focus on putting points on the board…” This is what I always say when I find myself in a conversation about sports. ___ gave me a squinty look, so I tried a different track.

“Ok, Ok. I admit it. I’m not a real LSU fan. I just happen to have this hat,” I said.

There's only one color on game day in Athens, Georgia.

He nodded his head, but that squint never went completely away. The fact is, it was hot as hell in Lafeyette, Louisiana where I bought this thing, and I needed a hat, and since I’m a fan of Louisiana in general (my dad’s from there), I bought it as a souvenir, and it was only $5.99 and it was the only kind of hat they sold at that gas station. Little did I know it would cause people to wish me dead in places like Athens, Georgia and Orlando, Florida where football is a way of life. I think if our band had sucked, I would have been lynched wearing this hat. Come to think of it, the people down in Tiger country were just as unimpressed. Years ago I played in a Santa Rosa sports bar where the band never knew if people were clapping for our impassioned improvisations or a touchdown by the 49ers. I guess music and football don’t mix that well. Maybe that’s why they still haven’t called us back about playing this year’s Super Bowl halftime.

Palm trees and my beautiful wife, two sure signs I'm home.

The tour finally wound its way back up to Northern California. The last night of the tour was on the campus of Sonoma State University, which was appropriate, because that’s where half the band received their musical education. I had the honor of lighting an indeterminate number of candles on the birthday cake of Mr. Nick Harris, who’s been our tour manager this last six weeks. He looked a bit tired, a bit of the cynic coiled discreetly in his warm smile. Another wild ride, and the journey’s just beginning, but it sure is good to be home.

 

“Diesel” Dave Chachere

Groundation

 *Just a bit of anthropological trivia for those of you who live in LA. Walking is the principal mode of locomotion for primitive bipedal hominids that don’t have cars. I once asked the clerk in a West Hollywood gas station if there was a public telephone within walking distance. She said, “What’s walking distance?” That story’s getting old, I realize. If it happened today she would have asked, “What’s a public telephone?” ; )

**If you’re inclined, you can also find Bob Marley’s star in front of #7080 Hollywood Boulevard. It’s just that Paula would probably be flattered, and Bob would probably think you were wasting your time. He’s the only reggae artist I could find among nearly 2,400 on the Walk of Fame.

Even my wife's grandma has a star. Sorry, Jimmy Cliff.

 

Flagstaff, Arizona

The art of playing high; Hugs for everybody; Eyes wide shut; New Mexico.

Five straight shows at Rocky Mountain altitudes should be good training for the Cali run that starts tonight. Some high-altitude clubs, like The Belly Up in Aspen, Colorado have oxygen tanks right by the stage. I’m not sure what John Denver was referring to when he sang about a “Rocky Mountain High”, but speaking as someone who essentially breathes for a living, I’ve found that one symptom of depriving the brain of air by playing the trumpet at higher altitudes is a mild euphoria caused by brain cells merrily dying off. This can also cause headaches, fainting, nosebleeds, brain damage, and eventually, death*, but it only gets really hard to play brass instruments at around three thousand meters or so, which I discovered playing a wedding at a ski resort. There’s just not enough air up there for the horn to do its thing.

Kim warming up before a show in the high country.

Groundation’s Rockies run was great. Many thanks to all those who came out. Not every show on this coast to coast tour was phenomenal (I won’t name any names), but what makes a good show good? Is it a matter of cheap drinks? A sick light show? Good sound is important, of course, but usually it comes down to the chemistry between the band and the audience. When we perceive that fire in the crowd we play better, which makes the crowd more excited and so on. It’s nothing less than an emotional feedback loop. It spreads like fire; it spreads like love.

 Live music affects people in different ways. Some dance or sing along, others stand in the back and nod their heads. Some folks apparently like to talk on their phones. For some reason many couples think the front row at concerts is a good place to snog. Why is that? I’d love to hear from our fans on this. Because of where I stand on stage I have a lot of interaction with the people in the first few rows. Usually, they’re complete strangers. Some of them might shout out requests or ask for set lists, drumsticks or guitar picks. Sometimes, people (who are almost always drunk) pick up our percussion instruments and play them. This is not appreciated, thank you. A young woman once beckoned me over during a song and asked if I had a first aid kit: “Probably not a bad idea to keep one handy, miss, but…Unless you’re in imminent danger, perhaps I should finish this song.”

Front row, stage left, and the people who hang out there.

The real challenge is to get someone who’s standing there frowning with their arms crossed to dance and smile with the power of the music. If you can do that, you know you’re doing something right.

When people are into it it’s obvious. At the end of one song in Milwaukee, a guy from the audience hopped on stage and gave me and Kelsey big hugs, then jumped back down and stood there waiting for the next song. The next time I looked down that same cat was right there, hugging our monitor speaker.

Blissful ignorance.

Once, at a festival near Sacramento, I opened my eyes to see a naked guy dancing around in front of me. I took a discrete step backwards and didn’t open my eyes again for the rest of the show. Nowadays, I usually keep my eyes closed when I play because it’s easier to concentrate. Down in Charleston last month I was playing a difficult solo part when I felt someone putting their hands on my belt. Kim? Stephanie? Harrison? I tried to stay focused on the music as I felt long hair lashing against my neck. Turns out an excited fan was dancing around me like I was the pole at a cheap strip club. At some point, Nicodemus, our multi-tasking tour manager, escorted the woman offstage without a bit of fuss. I never once opened my eyes: I’ve learned my lesson. I never even saw that fan’s face until later that night when she plowed her car into the side of our bus in the parking lot of The Pour House. Just another show.

 

Taos Peublo in New Mexico

After Colorado we played at KTAO, the solar-powered radio station in Taos, New Mexico. Not only is it in a beautiful location, the folks there show us great hospitality. We slept late the next morning, and on our way out of town, we drove by Taos Pueblo, the cultural and spiritual center for the Pueblo people. The Pueblos effected the most successful resistance movement in the history of the Westward expansion in North America, and Taos Pueblo is a symbol for Native American pride across the country. It reminded me of who Groundation’s biggest fans have always been: people around the world who have invited reggae music to coexist with their own culture, because the music speaks of love and the hunger for justice. We’ve learned a lot on this tour.

 As I write this, nearly the whole band is sleeping. The RV flying down Route 66 through the pine forests of northern Arizona. Just after dawn, a rainbow came along the starboard side of our weathered vehicle, beckoning us westward for the better part of an hour. The sun at our backs now will be in our eyes before we finally see the Pacific Coast at Redondo Beach. Thanks for tuning in, see you in Cali.

Please feel free to leave comments here, and let me know how you like the new format.

“Diesel” Dave Chachere

Groundation

*I’m just kidding about all that death stuff, it just sounded exciting. I did hear a story, however, about the trumpet player in the Ringling Brothers’ Circus who died of a massive brain hemorrhage while playing his part. The musicians’ union made the circus hire a backup trumpeter to help with those lethal high notes.