How It Happened: A Biker Band Elvis Tribute CD
Since recording the CD Going Back To Memphis: A Biker Band Tribute To Elvis, a lot of music industry people have contacted us to wish us good luck with the project and congratulate us on such an original and unique concept. Many friends, relatives, talent buyers, musicians, music journalists and radio DJs have all asked me the same question: “How in the hell did you come up with a idea like that?” Well friends, here’s how it happened:
Earlier this year, the band and I were talking about doing a novelty project on the side under another band name just for the fun of it.
Since all members of the band had a background in country-western music, we considered playing some old country honky-tonks under a country-western band name. We even considered recording a CD of country songs I’ve written through the years that are stashed in a drawer collecting dust.
What about a side project doing another 50’s or 60’s show? We knew a lot of 50’s and 60’s rock ‘n roll, and a lot of songs referred to as “Elvis songs”. Many I have performed for years - others were learned during my stint at Elvis Presley’s Club in Memphis in 2003. More recently, we added even more “Elvis songs” to our song list with a series of Elvis Tribute shows that featured Houston’s own Monica Marie as our female Elvis. That meant that a lot of practice sessions went into learning a hell of alot of Elvis songs that were all going to waste if we did not figure out a way to use them.
Tribute Bands?
During our discussion of a side project, we talked about the current rash of tribute bands doing tributes to KISS, ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd and others. We have been the opening act for a few. Since we played a lot of biker rallies, and knew a lot of Elvis songs, we joked about doing some side jobs as an “Elvis Tribute Biker Band”. That way, we wouldn’t have to dress or sound exactly like Elvis Impersonators but we could still get away with doing his songs – our way.
We even came up with a new band name for our imaginary Elvis Tribute Band: “The Roustabouts”, which was a name of one of Elvis’ movies in the early 60’s where he played a guitar and rode a motorcycle. Sound familiar? With our imaginations running wild and the Starbucks extra strength expresso buzzing our brains, we laughed about wearing those trademark Elvis sunglasses, dressing in black leather (ala Elvis’ ‘68 Comeback Special) and doing a whole show of southern-rock versions of Elvis songs.
An Elvis Biker Tribute Band? You gotta be kiddin’!
Suddenly, the laughter stopped! Reality slapped us in the face as we realized that we were already labeled a “biker band”, already wearing black leather and sunglasses, and already performing over a dozen southern-rock versions of “Elvis songs”. Why then should we use another band name (“Roustabouts”), to promote this concept? Thus the idea was born: in conjunction with the 30th anniversary of Elvis’ death, we could produce a show and maybe even a new CD called “Mean Gene Kelton & The Die Hard’s Biker Band Tribute To Elvis”.
Haunted by Elvis
Over the next few days, the “Biker Band Tribute To Elvis” idea would not leave me alone. It haunted me. It tormented me. I couldn’t sleep. I would wake up before daylight and write down the songs we could do then tell myself “naaawww!”… and throw the list in the trash. Next day… same thing over again.
Finally I thought, “oh, what the hell, let’s give it a shot!”
Calling Graceland
I knew that In order to use the name “Elvis” in the title of a show or CD, we had to get special permission from the Elvis Presley organization. I called Graceland and pitched them my idea. We emailed and voicemailed back and forth for several weeks to no avail. After about a month, Graceland directed me to the Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc., (EPE) Licensing Office in Los Angeles, California and again, emails and voicemails back and forth for several weeks.
Shortly after the idea was conceived, our drummer unexpectedly quit the band, leaving us in a tailspin. After auditioning several drummers without finding the right one I stopped booking new gigs. I was very discouraged and ready to give up on the idea, because I felt that we no longer had a marketable product. In the music business, it’s better to sit home and starve - than to show up and suck. It really blows your image and momentum.
Around the first week of June, I received a phone call from super-drummer Bobby Struwe, who had been performing with local country western singer Kelly Schoppa for the past twenty years. He was ready to make a change in his career. I had known Bobby for many years, and immediately hired him over the phone. We had our drummer! By then, it was already the first week of June and I wanted to release our “Biker Band Tribute To Elvis” CD by August 1st, in time for the 30th Anniversary Commemoration Events during Elvis Week in August in Memphis. But time was running out and still had not heard a word from EPE. I figured it was too late and did not give it another thought.
Elvis Presley Enterprises
A few more days passed, and on June 11th, the phone rang. It was Gary Hovey, Executive Vice President of Elvis Presley Enterprises, Inc., in Los Angeles, California, returning my call(s).
After explaining my idea and giving him my sales pitch, Mr. Hovey asked, “exactly what kind of music do you play?” When I responded with, “southern rock and Texas Blues like Stevie Ray Vaughan ZZ Top, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and so on”, Mr. Hovey, exclaimed, “I love that stuff!” He immediately and enthusiastically gave me the go ahead to start the project and said he would draw up the necessary papers and to make everything legal. Mean Gene Kelton became officially licensed by Elvis Presley Enterprises!
Sun Studio – Memphis
A mere twelve days later, June 23, 2007, we rolled into Memphis and recorded our Biker Band Tribute To Elvis at the legendary Sun Studio in Memphis, Tennessee! What an amazing experience! That story will have to be told later.
We recorded all 13 songs in one long all night marathon recording session! I told the engineer to hit the record button and let it roll because we were gonna blow through all 13 songs just like we play them at a gig! I refused to use scratch tracks and click tracks. Over-dubbing was kept to a minimum. I insisted that all songs be recorded “live”. I wanted to capture the live, raw, unpolished feeling of the band’s unbridled enthusiasm for this project. I want our fans to feel what we were feeling and hear the songs as we play them at our shows. What it is - is what it is!
Joni and I have been overwhelmed by the positive response and fantastic reviews from people from around the globe and from all walks of life who have listened to the samples on our website and purchased advance copies of our Elvis Tribute CD. We have been blown away by the show of support shown from all of our friends personally and professionally who have enthusiastically given us their seal of approval.
The first Elvis Tribute CD Release Party will take place at Coyote Ugly on Beale Street in Memphis on Friday, August 17. Check out Coytote Ugly at http://www.coyoteugly.com/memphis . Download the flyer here: http://www.genekelton.com/pdfs/elviscoyote.pdf
The second Elvis Tribute CD Release Party will be in Houston at the Howling Coyote on Sunday, August 19 at 3pm. http://www.thehowlingcoyote.net . Other shows are pending.
We are donating a portion of the proceeds form the sale of Going Back To Memphis: A Biker Band Tribute To Elvis to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital in Memphis, and to B.A.C.A. (Bikers Against Child Abuse) http://www.bacausa.com/internet/news/aspx.
Our press releases have been sent to and read by hundreds of thousands of music industry professions and music fans worldwide on various music and Biker sites. Our website at MeanGeneRocks.com hits have doubled to over 10,000 hits per day!
Calls are coming in every day for magazine interviews, radio interviews and personal appearances!
Moral of the Story: Dream Big Dreams!
Our Biker Band Tribute To Elvis project started with the band joking around about Tribute Bands. One thing led to another and in no time, mental visualization led to physical manifestation. What began as mere thoughts is now a reality affecting people all over the world. If you’re gonna dream, dream BIG! Let your imagination run wild with no limitations. Remember, ancient wisdom says: “Whatever the mind can conceive and believe, it can achieve.”
Thanks,
Mean Gene Kelton
“Gigs From Hell” Sneak Peek: I Ain’t No Damn Elvis Impersonator
“I Ain’t No Damn Elvis Impersonator!”
By August 1987, my 2nd wife and I had moved from Nashville, Tennessee to her hometown of Center, Texas to tend to her elderly parents. I learned very quickly that East Texas is not conducive to the career of a full time musician.
Booking Friday and Saturday nights at the Lake Country Inn in Center and a few other little small establishments in the area did not seem to be problem. Being fresh from Nashville impressed the East Texas club owners and almost always guaranteed me a gig. Finding weeknight gigs proved to be much more difficult. In East Texas, the main industries are chicken farming and logging and people went to bed at the crack ‘o dark so they did not go out much on weeknights.
I scoured the countryside from Center to Marshall, Longview and Lufkin/Nacogdoches, Texas to Shreveport, Louisiana hitting every little beer joint along the way trying to get a week night gig. Wherever I saw a sign that looked like a place where people could eat or drink, I made my sales pitch and offered to do a FREE audition. I learned that if I could do an audition, and give them a “live” look at what I do, I had a 99% chance of getting the gig.
I stopped in a club in Lufkin called Dudes. It was inside a hotel next door to a 24-hour truck stop located where the Lufkin Loop meets Highway 59 North.
The bar manager was a big, burley guy from New York City. He had a serious Joe Pesci New York accent and an obnoxious, holier-than-thou Yankee attitude to match. I started to give him my sales pitch about being a professional musician from Nashville and before I finished, he butted in and said, “you’re hired! Yous kin play next Tersday night? Seven to eleven.”
“Just like that?” I said, “No audition?”
“Yeah! Juss like dat. Look, I ain’t got no time to hear your speil or sit through an audition. You said you’s from Nashville so I figgars ya must be pretty good else you wouldn’t be askin’ me for a job. Nashville is where all dem cowboy singers is from, right? Dat’s all we got ‘round here is deese cowboy country bumpkin’ fucks. If yous kin sing that hillbilly bullshit, you’re hired. If yous ain’t wert a fuck, I’ll fire you on da spot. Understand?”
I knew I could handle most anything so I agreed. I did not want to audition anyway.
As I walked away he said, “Hey, one utter ting, you do any Elvis songs?” “Sure do”, I yelled back.
I arrived at 5pm on the following Thursday to set up. To my surprise, Dude’s Club was packed. When I walked in the door with my guitar in hand, a cheer went up from the crowd like the Beatles had just walked in the door!
Dumbfounded, I returned to my van to bring in more equipment and happened to look up at the big marquee that stood mounted next to the highway twenty feet in the air. What I saw took my breath and pissed me off all at the same time! There in big, black letters, seen by some hundred thousand vehicles that passed everyday going from Houston to Texarkana and vice-versa was a statement that stopped me dead in my tracks. It said, “Tonight Only! Gene Kelton, Elvis Impersonator”.
WHAT!! ELVIS IMPERSONATOR???!!!
I slammed my van door and ran inside the building and found that damn Yankee bar manager. I yelled, “What the hell is that bullshit on the marquee? I ain’t no goddamn Elvis Impersonator!
He said, “Hey, take it easy. Didn’t you say you could do some Elvis songs?
“Yeah, but I ain’t no damned Elvis Impersonator! Those people out there are expecting a big, Las Vegas production! I’m just a one-man-band!”
He was cool as cucumber with his patronizing reply, “Hey, wassa big fuckin’ deal? Juss sing’em some fuckin’ Elvis songs! Deese country fucks dunno da fuckin’ difference. Forgettaboutit! Just go out there and sing ya ass off.”
“I want the sign taken down NOW!” I shouted.
He said, “hey, tough shit Buddy, the maintenance guy is gone for da day and my fat ass ain’t climbing that sign.”
“Where’s a ladder?” I demanded, “I’ll climb up there myself!”
“The ladder is locked in the maintenance building and I ain’t got time to fuck with it. Like I said, tough shit! The sign stays! Now, shut up and play or get-da-fuck-outa-here cuz I don’t giva-shit!”
Fuming, I stormed back outside ready to get in my van and drive off. I checked out the marquee. It was a big sign mounted on two steel I-beams standing about twenty feet in the air with a small catwalk on each side. I had been an iron worker back in the late 70’s and knew how to scale an I-beam. I just hated to do it in a pair of snake-skin boots and my good clothes. In my pissed off state of mind, I scaled the I-beam with no problem. I ripped off the letters “ELVIS IMPERSONATOR” , threw them to the ground and slid down the beam, just like back in my construction worker days.
I walked in the Yankee’s office and wizzed the stack of plastic letters at him across his desk. They caught air and flew around the room like a handful of frisbees bouncing off the walls and file cabinets. He seemed amused at my irritation. “Lotta good dat’ll do ya,” he smirked tossing me a copy of the Lufkin Daily News. I choked as I read the half page ad that said: “Appearing Thursday Night at Dudes Club – Live From Nashville, Tennessee – Gene Kelton – ELVIS IMPERSONATOR!”
“Dat paper goes to a dozen counties around here,” he said with a big sarcastic grin. “I don’t tink yous gonna be able to go all ovah da country and tear ’em all up.”
I was freakin’ out! The club was packed with an audience expecting to see a full fledged Las Vegas style Elvis Show complete with a full orchestra, background singers and rhinestone jumpsuits. And here I was, just a one-man-band in faded jeans and a drum machine.
I had two choices: (1) walk away or (2) risk the fury of a disappointed East Texas crowd. Never one to run from a challenge, I decided to do my one-man-band show and hope for the best. Besides, I really needed the measly hundred bucks I the Yankee was paying me.
As I finished setting up and started tuning my guitar, the heckling from the East Texans started.
I ignored their comments like, ”hey, you! Guitar Man! Where the hells yer band?”
“Hey! Where’s all them colored girl sangers at?”
A lady yelled, “let’s see ya shake that ass ya hunka, hunksa love!” (Laughter all around).
Finally, I was ready. I stood there, all alone, facing a packed house of about 200 rowdy, beer guzzling East Texans who were all fired up and ready to hear (and see) an authentic Elvis Impersonation explode!
The room fell silent as the crowd suddenly realized that there was no big orchestra. No big band. No rhinestone suit. No background singers. No Las Vegas style light show. No massive tons of sound equipment with dozens of stagehands scurrying back and forth. No photographers with flash bulbs exploding. No thundering 2001 Space Odyssey to intro the show! And definitely no silk scarves and rhinestone suits! Just me… all alone, in my sweaty western shirt, blue jeans and my trusty, old, Fender Telecaster guitar.
My hands were shaking as I held the mic and said, “Good evening folks, my name is Gene Kelton. There has been a major misunderstanding here tonight. I am NOT an Elvis Impersonator! Never have been! Never will be! As you can see, I am a single act. Nobody here but me, this guitar and my drum machine. If anyone has a problem with that or the false advertising, please see the management. The room fell as quiet as a tomb.
About that time some cowboy yelled, “aw hell, we’re already drunk, just do whut ’cha do ‘n git on with it!” The crowd cheered to his comments.
With that, I turned my little 4-channel Peavey PA up as loud as it would go and stomped the drum machine pedal and blasted off into a fast version of “The South’s Gonna Do It” by Charlie Daniels Band. My two little 12” speakers were doing all they could do to impress this crowd. With my harmonica mounted on a rack around my neck, I closed my eyes and started blowing like a freight train. I heard the crowd start screaming. I opened my eyes and lo and behold, they were actually dancing! In fact, they danced to every song I played! I purposely did not do any Elvis songs that night.
On break, I met a lot of nice folks from the area who were very complimentary about my music.
The gig turned out great and I ended up playing there every Thursday night for the next three months. And for as long as I performed there, nobody ever asked me to play an Elvis song.
Musicians Commandeer Funeral And Send Preacher Packin’!
All contents of the following article are the personal opinions and observations of the author, Mean Gene Kelton
On Monday, March 12, 2007, we laid to rest our very dear friend and fellow Texas Blues musician Tony Lee, 55, of Houston, Texas, after losing his battle with colon cancer.
Tony Lee and his wife Monica Marie along with their band The Blues Cruizers were a driving force in the Houston music scene, winning many awards and performing over 200 shows a year nearly twenty years. I will write more about Tony and Monica in another issue. But for now, you are not going to believe what you are about to read about Tony’s funeral service.
The Chapel of Angels at Forest Park Funeral Home on Lawndale in Houston, Texas was filled to capacity with Tony and Monica’s family, life long friends, music industry people and people from all walks of life that had been touched in one way or another by Tony’s music, wit and charm. I was honored to be one of seven musicians who served as a Pallbearer.
At 2:30pm we, the Pallbearers, were led to our seats at the front of the chapel as “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd played through the sound system. For the next 45 minutes the audience suffered through what I consider in my opinion to be the worst eulogy and worst funeral sermon ever preached, by the worst preacher I have ever heard in my life!
In my opinion the preacher, Reverend Paul G. Whitlatch of Epworth Parker United Methodist Church in Houston, performed the “one-size-fits-all” generic eulogy where all you have to do is fill in the blanks with the name of the current deceased, and pick up your check as you leave. The sermon lacked conviction! There was no passion! The Reverend seemed preoccupied, uninterested, unprepared and completely unqualified to speak about my friend Tony Lee Zeisemer! The Reverend rambled, mumbled, stammered, and lost his train of thought more than once. He seemed to forget what point, if any, he was trying to make in his sermon.
Instead of talking about Tony Lee, the Reverend babbled on and on about his own personal life: his wife, his kids, about being in the military and other subjects that had nothing to do with Tony Lee. When he seemed to realize that he was lost, he would pull out a scripture like a gambler pulls an Ace from his sleeve, and toss it into the crowd that ached for comforting words and praises of Tony Lee. Praises that never came. Only hot air! Smoke and mirrors!
The only thing worse than listening to the preacher’s drivel was the sound of hammering coming from behind the wall of the Chapel. The only chance the audience had to reflect on Tony’s life was the music that Monica and Tony both had specially chosen to be played intermittently during the service: “The Guitar Man” by Bread, one song by Elvis, one country song and a couple of others. All very appropriate for a musician’s funeral.
Suddenly, without warning, the service came to an abrupt halt! The Reverend announced, “Thank you all for coming. For those of you going to the graveyard, please return to your cars and get in line.” There was no invitation for anyone to step forward to say a few words about Tony. The service was finished!
The music started. It was “Voodoo Chile” by Jimi Hendrix. The crowd filed out the front door looking as surprised as we were by the sudden ending to the service. The Pallbearers were led out the back door, where we silently loaded the casket into the hearse under the whispered instructions of the funeral directors.
I felt empty inside. Unfulfilled by the Reverend’s words, I felt robbed of the opportunity to stand up and say a few words about Tony. I felt guilty for not having taken the initiative and done so anyway. Now that Tony was in the hearse, my chance to speak about him was lost forever!
I said to the two Pallbearers standing closest to me, “I don’t know about ya’ll, but I think that preacher is full of shit!”
Galen Medlenka, a life-long friend of Tony’s since they were 15 years old and former bass player for the Blues Cruizers spoke up and said, “Yeah Man, you’re right! All he talked about was his wife and kids, nothing about Tony! I wanted to get up and say something about Tony, but nobody ever asked us!
Bucky Bishop, who had been studying guitar under Tony, agreed with us and said, “Man, that just ain’t right! He never said nothing ’bout Tony! He shoulda let other people get up and talk!”
No longer able to contain my anger, I spouted off, “I wanted to walk up there and take the mic away from that preacher and send his ass down the road!”
Galen replied, “I wish you hadda! I’d-a had your back, Man!”
“Believe me, I wanted to”, I said, “but I did not want it to look like I was trying to turn Tony’s funeral into the Mean Gene Kelton Show. I already get accused of being too much of a shamless-self promoter as it is!”
Both guys said that it would not have been taken like that, and that I should have gone up anyway. We all agreed that any one of us could have preached a better funeral service for Tony than Reverend “what’s-his name”.
I said, “we still have a chance to make this right! When we get to the gravesite, WE ARE TAKING OVER! We, the musicians, are taking over the funeral service and sending that preacher’s ass down the road! We’re gonna say our piece about Tony and nobody is gonna stop us!”
Both guys heartily agreed! “Just give us a signal,” Galen said, “we are with you all the way!”
AT THE GRAVESITE
Arriving at the gravesite, Galen suggested that we get Monica’s blessing before turning Tony’s funeral into a rumble. He asked Monica if we could all say a few words about Tony. Monica seemed very agitated, but we figured it was all a part of the stress she was going through. She agreed, but had no idea that we had already planned a coup.
As the got family seated under the tent and the crowd gathered around, Galen and Bucky kept their eyes on me waiting for my signal. I suddenly felt like we were three courageous swashbucklers about to draw our swords to save the day to defend the honor of our friend Tony Lee.
As the Reverend opened his Bible and called the gathering to order, I walked up, placed a firm grip on his shoulder, pulled him up close where he could smell my breakfast in his face. I looked dead into his eyes, and in my very best Godfather/biker attitude growled, “Hey Buddy! Me and the boys here got a few things we wanna say ’bout Tony. You just step aside! We’ll take it from here!”
I am sure the good Reverend is not used to being told what to do by somebody wearing black leather at a funeral who is not impressed by his bullshit! His deer in the headlights expression told me that he was caught off guard by my comments. His tone of voice completely changed, and he meekly replied, “oh, sure, sure, but I have to say a few words of official business… I have to be somewhere… I have to go… I don’t have time, I can’t stay… I really have to…”
I cut him off in mid-sentence. “Say wha’cha gotta say there, Preacher! Then get outta the way, cause me and the boys are takin’ over!”
The Reverend made the fastest little graveside speech I ever heard! He went through the motions of expressing his artificial condolences to each of the family members, and then he hauled ass! We never saw him again!
I stepped forward and gave my humble speech about what Tony’s friendship had meant to me. The audience honored Tony the way every musician should be honored: with a standing ovation!
Following me, Galen, Bucky, Dennis Ray (owner of the Double R Club) and Mary Eddins, Monica’s Mom all took their turn speaking. Overall, about a dozen people came forward and spoke great things about Tony. Monica was last to speak. Her words were beautiful as she tearfully quoted lines from a song, and talked about their life together.
As we left the graveyard, Bucky, Galen and I were proud of our little coup d’etat. However small it may have seemed to the universe, it was a big deal to us. We felt like conquering heroes! It was fulfilling, cleansing to the soul, and we all hoped that somehow Tony could feel the love in the words that were spoken by all that day.
Monica told us how proud she was that we had taken the initiative to stand up and speak.
PRIOR TO THE SERVICE:
MONICA GOES HEAD-TO-HEAD WITH THE REVEREND
What we did not know was that Monica had already suffered a verbal confrontation with the Reverend prior to the service. As we were leaving the gravesite, Monica began to tell us what happened. Immediately before the service in the chapel, she had asked the Reverend about letting some of Tony’s friends get up and say a few words about Tony. Her request was denied! DENIED!
The Reverend said “NO! That makes for a long, drawn out situation, and tends to get out of hand!” He eluded to the fact that he had somewhere else to go and said, “I’ve only got twenty minutes.”
Monica, hurt and infuriated replied, “You mean to tell me that my husband was on this earth for 55 years and you’re gonna sum his life up in twenty minutes? And not even let his friends to get up and speak?”
“Unfortunately, that’s the way things are!” the Reverend arrogantly replied. He continued by saying, “you need to get a grip on reality and live in the real world!”
Instead of being a compassionate “Man of God” and trying to honor the requests of a grieving widow, the Reverend dismissed Monica like a she was a school girl. He actually told her “now go sit down, relax, and enjoy the funeral that we’ve prepared for you. It’s in our hands now!”
– In other words, Monica was told: your little musician friends will not be allowed to speak, sit down, shut up and mind your own business!
To top it off, according to Monica, the Reverend had gone behind her back and changed the sequence of the songs to suit himself. Before the hearse left for the gravesite, Monica asked the funeral director why the songs had been changed. The funeral director told Monica that Reverend Whitlatch said that “he was the only one who approved all music!”
Not only was Monica suffering the great loss of her husband, but now she was pissed off, offended and disrespected by Reverend Whitlatch, who is supposed to lead all through his example of exemplary Christian conduct. Yeah right!
We did not know all this had happened when we decided to take the services away from the Reverend.
FOREST PARK OWES MONICA FORMAL APOLOGY & REFUND?
Though Forest Park Funeral Home is not to blame for Reverend Whitlatch’s conduct, I must charge them with disrespect in the form of the sound of hammering that echoed through the Chapel during the entire service! The constant BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!… sounded as if a carpenter crew was working in the room behind the Chapel. It was distracting, offensive and in my opinion, disrespectful to Monica and her family.
It is my shared opinion with others who were at the service that Forest Park Funeral Home owes Monica a formal, public apology and compensation for the added stress, public embarrassment and indignity heaped upon her during one of the most traumatic experiences of her life.
In regards to Reverend Paul G. Whitlatch, I might suggest he consider becoming a truck driver and try talking to truckers the way he talked to Monica. You folks can do what you want, but after what I have seen I personally would never seek out Reverend Whitlatch for counsel or guidance.
I hope the good Reverend can sleep at night.
HOUSTON BLUES SOCIETY
In 2002, Monica Marie and the Blues Cruizers, featuring Tony Lee on Lead Guitar, won the Houston Blues Society installment of the Blues Foundation’s International Blues Talent Competition and earned the title #1 Blues Band in Houston.
The Houston Blues Society sent the band to Memphis, Tennessee to represent Houston and compete against other blues bands from all over the world. Although they did not win in Memphis, Monica Marie and the Blues Cruizers made us all here at home very proud.
Maybe I am just being picky. After all that Monica Marie and The Blues Cruizers have done for Blues music worldwide over the past twenty years, and especially for the Houston Blues Society here at home, I personally was very disappointed that not one single person representing the HBS showed up to Tony’s funeral! If there was a rep from the HBS there, my apologies. If not… guess what I’m thinking! After checking the HBS website today, there’s not one mention of Tony’s death or news of arrangements that were held.
Our prayers go out for Monica. Please stop by the Houston Chronicle website and sign Tony’s Guest Book. If this link does not work please go to www.chron.com and search obits for Ziesemer. http://www.legacy.com/houstonchronicle/GB/GuestbookView.aspx?PersonId=86769288
God Bless Tony Lee.
AMEN.
In Defense of American Idol
This past week, my wife and I made it a point to sit down and watch the popular TV show, American Idol for the very first time ever! I know the show is in it’s sixth season but prior to this year, I had absolutely no interest in it and refused to watch it! Why? (1) Because I hate talent contests and (2) because I had seen the outtakes of previous seasons where aspiring singers had their lifelong dreams crushed in a matter of seconds by the heartbreaking comments of a panel heartless judges.
I felt that the judges had attained their super-star status at the expense of someone else’s pain. They presided over the contest like a group of Roman Emperors at a Gladiator tournament giving the thumbs up or thumbs down as to whether or not each contestant would be promoted to the next level or be sentenced to die a thousand deaths for the rest of their lives. I felt that a simple thumbs up or a thumbs down would have been kinder than the soul-crushing, double-edged remarks of the judges.
As a professional singer/entertainer myself, my heart went out to the “singing wannabes” and I truly felt sorry for them. Every time the outtakes and previews showed them running from the audition wailing and sobbing, it would remind me of a day back in the second grade when I was dragged to the school’s ice cold music room and forced to audition for our school choir. I was positioned in front of the class and told to sing a line from a song that I had never heard. The aloof, pointed nosed music teacher played a melody line for me on an old, upright, out-of-tune piano. I stood there, terrified and frozen with fear. Finally she cackled in a loud screech that sounded like the wicked witch from the Wizard Of Oz, “SING”! she demanded. It’s a damn wonder I didn’t pee in my pants. I sang the line and she squawked at me like a old, mad hen, “you can’t sing, go back to your class, you are wasting my time!” The other kids in the music class roared with laughter as I ran humiliated down the hall! I silently swore to never open my mouth again! (Never say never).
Years ago, I was a big fan of Chuck Barris’ famous Gong Show, but the contestants knew that they were were probably going to get “gonged” and it was all in fun. But American Idol, in my opinion, was dangling the Golden Carrot in front of the star-struck masses who were karaoke kings, shower singers and stars of their family reunions who had no idea how cruel the music business could really be.
I held American Idol, it’s judges and all that it stood for in great contempt – until – I sat through the two-night debut of American Idol 2007. We would not have watched the show even then except that Sundance Head, the son of our good friend and rock ‘n roll legend Roy Head (”Treat Her Right”) is supposed to be one of the contestants.
We popped a big bowl of popcorn and settled into our big chair in the living room for the two hour debut. I was prepared to be unimpressed by the show and ready to be infuriated by the judges comments. As the contestants started to compete one by one, Joni and I found ourselves rolling in the floor, tears streaming down our faces and spewing popcorn chucks all over the room as we roared with laughter at what we saw… and heard! I have never believed in laughing at someone else’s lack of ability (especially since my own second grade experience) but some of these people were unbelievable! Bottom line, people who enter this contest get exactly what they deserve in regards to what the producers are looking (or not looking) for.
I completely changed my mind about the show and the judges. The judges are the real victims here for having to sit through the torture of being bombarded with what seemed to be a never ending volley of wails, hollers, screeches, squawks, and off key, out of time, tone deaf, flat singing and lackluster performances! I have heard better singing at a hog calling contest at a county fair. I kept expecting Chuck Barris to come running out and smash the big gong at any second!
I could not help but feel sorry for the judges who seemed to be anxious for a great singer to walk through the door and blow them away. When I saw them telling the contestants “no”, I could relate, especially when the contestants would retort with their own foul-mouthed comments. Been there! Numerous times in my own career, I have been in that same uncomfortable position of being the one to say “yea or nay” to someone’s musical performance. In the mid-1980’s, I hosted a radio show that featured the recordings of unknown singers trying to make it in the music business. I received tons of packages each week containing 45 rpm records that I would have to listen to in order to find songs suitable for our radio station’s airplay standards. Just like the American Idol judges, I heard tons and tons of crap! Fortunately for me, I could just throw the records in the trash and forget about it.
But occasionally, I would get calls for people who insisted that I play their record. When I would tell them “no”, I would often get cussed out, threatened, and called every filthy, dirty name imaginable.
After the two-night, 2007 debut, the American Idol judges have came under fire for their brutally honest comments. It has been all over the news about how “mean” the judges are this season.
In defense of American Idol, I think American Idol is a great show and the judges are doing a great job. I stand behind the judges comments, critiques and decisions 100% in regards to the way the people sing and present themselves as a potential music business professionals. Some people need to be raked over the coals to wake them up from the dream world the are living in. My only objection is that I feel that the judges should keep their personal opinions to themselves in regards to contestants physical abnormalities such as the the Bush Baby “eyes” statement by Simon Cowell.
In my opinion: If a person purposefully and consciously decides to make a public spectacle of themselves either positive or negative, then that person deserves all the positive and/or negative reviews, feedback and responses from those that they are directly trying to affect by their actions. “If you play in a freeway, don’t bitch if you to get hit by a car”!
As the show played out and various contestants were invited to Hollywood, we reveled in their victory and cheered for them!
In regards to our young friend Sundance Head, he aced the auditions in Memphis (the second week) with a powerful version of “Stormy Monday Blues” and is going to Hollywood! Check your local listings and keep an eye on this kid.
Don’t Bitch At The Band
It amazes me how there are always people who come to our shows and for some reason, feel that they have the right to act like spoiled brats and constantly bitch at our band and our crew when they don’t like something about the venue or feel that they are not getting their ass kissed properly by owners and/or wait staff.
Regardless of the legitimacy of their complaints, I would like to remind everyone that we are just the band! We are traveling minstrels, conveyors of rhyme and verse set to melody and rhythm accompanied by our humble instruments. We are not in charge of a damn thing except the music we play. If you have a complaint, please see the people who are taking your money! That would be: the owner/manager or event producers.
My wife Even Meaner Joni,is usually stationed at the front door of a venue or at our merchandise booth at a festival. She is there to assist our fans with the purchase of CDs, Tshirts and info about the band. But for some reason, people always come to her to vent their discontent when they get a turd turned sideways. She is not a complaint department. She does not have time to listen to trivial BS.
Recently at an outdoor blues festival, Joni was swamped with buyers at our booth when a psychotic redneck picked up one of our Tshirts, looked at the “Panties logo” on the back and then sarcastically read out loud the slogan that reads: “MY BABY DON’T WEAR NO PANTIES”. He glared at Joni and yelled, “That’s GOD-DAMNED UN-CHRISTIAN”! Joni could hardly keep from laughing in his face at the obvious ridiculousness of his comment! He kept saying it over and over, and Joni said she got a little nervous when they guy started taking on a serial killer look until she got Buddy between her and the wierdo.
A number of people disrepectfully interupted Joni while she was helping other paying customers, and indignantly complained to her that the “parking lot was too far away from the stage, it was too far to walk to the porta-cans, etc., etc… People, the band is not in charge of the “schitters”! We are not in charge of ticket prices, drink prices, beer brands, hot beer, cold pizza, watered down drinks, parking, how far you walked from the parking lot, seating (or lack of), rude waitresses, room temperature, juke box selections, toilet paper, soap or tampons in the women’s room, etc…
If you have a complaint… by all means, please bitch at the owners and/or the management. If that doesn’t work, say a prayer, write your Congressman, take a pill, do a shot, count to ten, but don’t tell us. I repeat: we are just the band.
We would like to say a “SPECIAL THANKS” all our DIE HARDS out there who continue to support us in all kinds of “questionable” situations and never complain. There are Die Hards out there who have followed us all the way across the country, showed up at the most unlikely places, and stayed in some seedy hotels and laughed about it later. Others have stood in the mud and danced in the rain. Ya’ll rock! Some of our Biker friends have rode (not trailered), but rode their bikes as far as 700 miles (Texas to Indiana) to see us and then slept in a tent… and never uttered a single bad word. Now that’s the real Die Hard spirit! All for the sake of a Die Hard adventure.
Look at it this way: Any inconvenience is all in a day’s work that we musicians deal with every day. We call it “payin’ yer dues to play the blues”. Savor every moment, every inconvenience, every weird and crazy situation and mark it up to this adventure we call “life”. It gives you something interesting to talk about around the water cooler. But please, don’t bitch at the band… any band.
One’s person’s trouble is another person’s adventure.
Keep On Bluzin’,
Thanks,
Mean Gene Kelton
http://www.genekelton.com