| Join the email list! |
Click here to view the most recently added journal entries.
July, 2005: In January, the band that had begun in 2001 Big Game reformed. Individually, we had listened to our four-song demo in the 18 months we were disbanded, and each of us unbeknownst to the others reached the same conclusion: We really should give the band another go... the music is great! We meet at my apartment and discuss possibilities, expectations and scheduling and agree to record a couple songs to see what develops. Using my new ProTools HD mobile recording studio and our friends' artistically-conducive basement, we lay basic tracks to add to our first album, The Great Unconformity. Working together again is thrilling and productive and we agree to seriously attack the challenge of creating an original, unique rock band. After weeks of considering probably a thousand different possibilities, Clever Bastards is our new name. As I'm leaving for Europe for the month of June, our goal is to have the finished album in-hand by May 27th. This band is a democratic outfit. Each of us has our particular forte. I act as engineer and director. The album is mixed with all our input and everyone's agreement, which takes a while, but by the time of my departure, we've accomplished our goal. My wife, Eva and I, and four-year-old son, Roger, land in Vienna May 30th. Two hours' drive north is Petrovice, Czech Republic, where Dasa and Jarek, my mother and father-in-law have an absolutely wonderful existence. In typical Czech fashion, we are treated to delicious home cooking and generous hospitality, which is unsurpassed. I have been visiting Czech at least once a year since 2001, and have very dear friends there. When we get together, WE PARTY! Two of our best friends are Moj Mir (pronounced moy meer), and Andrea. Eva and I have reserved our timeshare this year in Cannes. Traveling in a BMW X-5 with GPS (with a German-speaking, female voice), we travel south through Austria, then Italy and on to France, where we're greeted with warmth and sunlight. To say our place of residence in Cannes is romantic would be an understatement. Wow! What an incredible place! Typical in Europe, we see red tile roofs amongst lush, semi-tropical foliage growing artistically, as if painted perfectly into place. We are half way up a hill, the top of which is a village that puts one centuries back in time. Romantic, artsy, and magical, it remains very real. This is a good place for lovers. After becoming familiar with our surroundings, we head to the beach. The sun is intense, the water is clean and inviting, and much to the delight of these American eyes, the beach-goers include many women patiently tanning their breasts. After several days of swimming, visiting St. Tropez, sightseeing and making great dinners, we visit Monte Carlo. I realize I need an ocean-going yacht with onboard recording studio. The four of us enjoy a fulfilling stay in France and then it's back to Czech, where I enjoy a few days before picking up three of my kids Dylan, Michaela and Lily, in Vienna. Having them visit us is such a fun experience for me, because I see them marvil at the differences between American and European cultures, much the way I did when Heart first toured Europe in 1976. Two years previous, Lily had joined me and tasted the flavor of European living, but Dyl and Michaela hadn't yet been off the North American continent. In June, Lily is 14, Michaela 15, and Dylan 17 - perfect ages for discovery. In Czech, there are many freedoms Americans don't enjoy. Among them are relaxed rules on the use of alcoholic beverages. I enjoy drinking and partying with my kids and seeing them enjoy our friends and their kids, and the Czech way of life. These people know how to live. A combination of surviving the oppression of Communism and knowing how to do a lot with a little as a result of not having much has created a populace that is creatively self sufficient; non-affected; strong; and clever. Eva and I have shipped our 2005 Hyundai Tiburon to Germany, and my brother-in-law, Jarek and I have to drive across that country to the coast to retrieve it, then drive it back to Petrovice, which we accomplish in two days. Then Dylan, Michaela, Lily and I leave Prague for Oslo, Norway. Our cousin Gunnar, who had found his cousin Rog online months before, meets us at the airport. When we meet each other for the first time, there is immediate recognition of family, and we're giving each other a hard time and joking and being silly. Wow... finally meeting our Norwegian relatives. I've dreamed of this moment for many years.
In June, Norway's latitude dictates loooooong days. There we are at 1 in the morning, learning Freestyle Frisbee moves from Adrian, who runs Hønefoss Discsport Klubb. No problem with darkness here. Next day we head north riding in Gunnar's new Audi. We're in for a five-hour drive through some of the most beautiful countryside in the world. Destination: Åndalsnes, where both my mother and father's mothers are from. Our first night is spent in Gunnar and brother Steinar's mountain cabin in Broste Dalen, which translates to Breast Valley.
Steinar tells me they've had electricity up here since the 1920's. Next day, we're off to the big, white house built in the 1800's, which ended up housing 16 kids, the first of which was our mother's mother, Nanna Ora. On the way there, we stop at Trollstigen a breathtakingly beautiful steep-walled canyon with hundreds of waterfalls.
My background as an entertainer comes into play as I cheerfully and energetically break the ice of otherwise potentially awkward first words. We all gather on the historic front steps of the house on the Ora farm for photos.
Then we receive an opening speech in Norwegian. Everyone is seated in anticipation of the meal whose fragrance generously announces its self. The speech climaxes with my introduction, and I realize I'm expected to say something. By now aware that every Norwegian younger than 50 speaks English, I introduce my kids and bravely predict that from this moment on, the shackles of distance and busy-ness will no longer keep our family apart - next year they can expect another visit from me, joined by brother Mike and sister Kay. "Now let's eat!" After a delicious soup and many different homemade cakes, pies, pastries and tea and coffee, a crowd surrounds my Apple laptop. Pictures of grandma Nanna, book-ended by her twin daughters, Sylvia and Katherine; as well as more current familial scenes, draw great interest. Soon, though, we are summoned to the barn. At the entry to the two-level, large building, also from the 1800's, are old, large aluminum milk pails filled with flowers. Our considerate cousins, with much help, have created a wonderful stage area inside, with borrowed and rented amps and P.A. system.
The rest of our time there is exhilarating and we leave Norway very glad to have met our family and very appreciative of being treated so well. August 11, 2006: I'm about to board a flight that had been targeted for destruction. While I have faith that's not going to happen, it does make one think about, what if? It would be very sad for a lot of people! So sad, in fact, that to even think about it is unacceptable. So I'll wander around, have a snack, read books in the magazine shop - I can't carry a book on, or anything else, for that matter, except personal necessities. Mildly entertained by the security, clad with pistols, handcuffs and machine guns, I choose to update the journal, wishing some Scandinavian goddess would walk by to uplift my travel-trodden energy. August 12, 2006: All 300 of us proceeded out onto the tarmac in the belly of a 747-400 and waited what seemed like about three days. It was actually over an hour. I was happy to be sitting and relaxing, exchanging conversation with Marsheena, my lovely Scottish traveling companion. Sleeping was not a problem on the 9-hour flight. I did a lot of that, when not eating the airplane food and indulging in pleasant conversation with my 64-year-old (she looked not a day older than 50) neighbor. Arriving in Seattle, the first non cloudy place I'd seen, five armed policemen greeted us at the door of the plane, asking to see passports. Before we got to the customs area, I saw thirteen police in all. I hurried through as much as possible because my sister was waiting to pick me up. The fact that all our luggage was carefully x-rayed and thoroughly hand-checked hadn't occurred to me as I stood waiting for an hour and a half before finally seeing my beloved guitar and suitcase. I was supposed to stop in at Alan White's wife, Gigi's birthday party on the way home, but by that time I felt like just getting to my bed. So I missed out on what I heard was quite an extravaganza! So now it's back to finishing the Clever Bastards album as well as recording the new songs for my four-album package, which I intend to finish soon. All in all it was the most fun trip I've ever taken, especially because of spending so much time with my brother and sister. If you have relatives in another country it sure is worthwhile to go say hi! Europe is WONDERFUL! September 6, 2006: Yesterday I got up at 3 AM after four hours' sleep. The goal was to write a poem worthy of one of Kocab's incredible compositions. Having scored soundtracks for more than 300 movies, he's very good at writing music that creates specific moods, invoking strong emotions. The one piece - I heard many - I had chosen to work with has a majesty and grandeur that attracted my creativity. On this particular morning it was not to be. I got one line and a title and felt more like exploring guitar playing. Sometimes I think it's better to simply move on when inspiration isn't flowing. A typical morning in our flat in Prague consists of having coffee with that wonderful-tasting European milk or cream. Why doesn't milk taste like that in America? Once the coffee has kicked in, it's across the street to Petrin Hill, Prague's largest park. There are many trails that lead through woods; past statues; by playgrounds; through orchards; past a waterfall; next to 600-year-old walls and up to the top to a tower that boasts Prague's best views. Upon return from the run, I stretch thoroughly; shower and go to possibly the best coffee shop in the world - Café Savoy. I don't know how old the actual building is. The ceiling is about 25 feet from the floor and begs to be seen. Its face is an absolutely beautiful painting and typifies the standard of construction, interior design and sense of culture so prevalent in Europe. The waiters have that slightly sophisticated kind of condescension that makes you feel like you're in a very high-class restaurant. I haven't had better café au lait. The food is good, too. Try the English breakfast. The ceiling is truly extraordinary and possibly only exists because of the wisdom of one of the previous owners. Just before German occupation he installed a false ceiling. That room became the place for enlisting Czechs into the German army! The Nazis never knew what was just over their heads! On this particular morning I was to be at Michael Kocab's Shoebox Studio at 7 AM, so no Café Savoy for me. Michael had been up all night, as is his norm, and played me the mix he had made of Petra. I was standing behind him, listening to the big Tannoy monitors, so he didn't see me crying. This man, Czech's most respected musician - Vaclav Havel's helper in ousting Communism from then-Czechoslovakia - had seen something in me and had helped a little song written to my Norwegian cousin's mother become a magnificent statement of human compassion!
This didn't really take very long so I sat down and wrote a song, Tik Tok. Took about 15 minutes. It's odd creating art, because you do it in a spirit of unthinking, uncaring fun and one never knows how people will react to it. This trip to Czech Republic was necessitated by an invitation from Kocab to perform live on TV with him. This show was special because the bulk of it was spent with conversations between Kocab, Bolek Polivka and Vaclav and Dagmar Havel. Dagmar - Dasha to many - and Bolek attended acting school at the same time in Brno and went on to become respectively the most respected and popular actress and actor/TV personality in the country. Kocab had been in politics for ten years and had been very close to Havel, an international hero. Quite a lineup for a Czech TV show! We set up in the public part of the restaurant in the hotel on Polivka's horse ranch, a grand affair not far from Brno. Regarded as king of the area where the ranch resides, Bolek's manner validates that popular assessment.
An invitation-only crowd of about eighty filled the restaurant, along with all the cameras and crew. A small stage had been brought in upon which the subjects of all this focus would reside. Michael had recorded backing tracks for our accompaniment during the show. We did a sound check, got all the levels balanced and were satisfied the performances would run hitch-free. Just before show time, all the talent was gathered in the private restaurant and we talked, had drinks and did the little things performers do just prior to a performance. For me, that is stretch out, concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply and keep a very focused mental point. After warming up the audience for about five minutes, Bolek introduced us one by one, "From Seattle, Roger Fisher! Michael Kocab! Dagmar Havel!" And then some preliminary buildup, "Vaclav Havel!" It was very obvious the intense adoration and respect for this international hero! The audience response was lovingly enthusiastic. I took a seat just off stage. The others sat around a table and began conversations that included many never-heard-before stories of personal occurrences between Michael and Vaclav during their tenure as Communism-ousters. It was an odd situation for me. Not knowing what they were saying, I felt it necessary to laugh when everybody else laughed, smile at the appropriate times. Then the moment came for me to perform Petra. I wasn't nervous. I've been in this business a long time and know how to keep focus and not go to that dangerous place where adrenalin builds up and creates an "anything can happen" feeling. The pressure was intense. The song started and I jump in right after, as expected. The playing and singing are going along just fine...the cd stops playing! I smile at the audience and shrug, knowing we can retake it. It starts again...same place, it quits. I give a gentle shout back to the engineer, "Vlasy on disc!" Vlasy means hair. Whatever he did, the third time was charming and I felt good about the performance. Then we did one of Kocab's songs and I got to enjoy myself simply playing guitar. That felt real good! September 7, 2006: The performance with Michael Kocab was only the second time I had sung live on TV. The first was in 1969, when a simulcast was done from a Seattle TV station whereby the viewer would dial in a certain radio station to get the third and fourth channels of a quadraphonic feed. Our group, The Army, had been chosen to be one of few honored Seattle bands to perform. The one song I sang seemed to go off fine at the TV studio. I was happy with how it felt. When we got home and talked to friends and family, I learned that I had sung horribly off pitch. That was the first of many events destined to be doubt-demons sitting on my shoulder whenever singing in public. So here it is, 2006. I think I did well, but as of today I still haven't heard the performance. I'm tempted to return to Czech Republic to see the national airing on September 26th.
A pretty blonde who had caught my attention earlier was sitting nearby so I introduced myself. I was glad she spoke English. We enjoyed each other's company immediately. Turns out she is a popular actress in Czech Republic. Later, when I introduced my wife, Eva spoke with a smile, "Jitka, I've been watching you since I was a little girl!" I had met Vaclav Havel earlier, but now he comes up and exclaims how much he enjoyed my performance! Quite a step from 1970...great validation from a former president! I enjoy speaking with his wife, Dagmar - or Dasha to those less formal with her. Upon learning she too plays guitar, I teach her the guitar player's handshake, which I invented out of the necessity initiated by the fact that guitarists usually have a drink, smoke or pick in their right hand. Without relinquishing grip on mentioned, one can simply extend the little finger and lock with another's little finger. It's actually endearing in a way, like knowing a secret code. By the time we all say our goodnights we are pleasantly imbibed. Bolek takes me aside and speaks intensely endearing words. I'm left with strong feelings for him. September 8, 2006:
Now it's off to Seattle to finish Clever Bastard's second album, DumbItDown. The goal is to finish it this month. This will require a lot of work on my part. I want to return to Czech Republic end of September. The TV show airs September 26th. It would be fun to be there for that. I'd like to go see Paul Rodgers October 3rd at Royal Albert Hall. Hope to do an acoustic show in Hønefoss, Norway October 6th. October 9th is the John Lennon Tribute in Stockholm with friends Jack Mittleman and Alan White. October 4, 2006: Upon return to Seattle a couple weeks ago... I arrive at SeaTac airport, get picked up by Eva and Rogie and head straight to the ocean for a Fisher family weekend. We've been going to the Ocean City area of the Washington coast since the mid '50's and these have always been fun-filled, cherished trips, especially for kids. The last time we were all here together something happened I will never forget. Brother Mike's kids, Colie, Nick, Tyler and Josh are playing out in the surf about 100 feet from water's edge. Daughters Michaela, Lily and myself have joined them and we are having a great time body surfing. It's sunny and our intense activity make the really cold water not so cold. After about a half hour I notice Tyler, Nick and Josh looking troubled and heading for shore. I suddenly have a strange feeling in my belly and quickly head out further toward Michaela, Colie and Lily. Where we had just been standing is suddenly over our heads as a large swell - not a wave - takes control of us. Even though we were following my rule of only swimming on the incoming tide, now we are being taken out to sea! I yell out to the girls, 'Just head to shore and keep swimming!' Now I notice the sky is dark grey, and as I work hard to get to shore I realize the truth. The shore looks shockingly distant and I am getting very tired. Lily is out farther than me, Michaela a little closer to shore, And Colie closest. I hear Michaela call out, 'Daddy, I can't do this!' I swim to her and let her hang on to me. I swim even harder, though soon I realize, head coming back up from under water, this isn't going to work. I yell out to Michaela, 'You have to help!' At that moment I feel heartbroken. I believe at least one of us is going to die. Knowing that Lily is a stronger swimmer, I focus on Michaela, honestly feeling that I may never see Lily alive again. We swim together for what seems like a dark-grey, God-present, doomed eternity when I realize there is sand under my feet! I turn around and Lily is coming to us, also touching bottom! Colie is already near shore.
Fortunately, back here in October, the most intense thing that happens is a family awards meeting, which we've been doing for several years now. Sister Kay, having no children of her own, is the best intentioned Auntie in the world. Years ago she initiated a system by which the 'cherubs,' as she calls them, are financially rewarded for good grades and extraordinary behavior. This meeting sees the evolution of two ongoing awards - 'Persistence And Determination,' and 'Caring And Helpfulness,' which is voted on by the kids. The adults elect the winner - if there is one - of the P&D award. As I watch the discussion and voting process I marvel at how fortunate these kids are to be in such an unusual family. Sister Kay has been a nose-to-the-grindstone conqueror of college degrees; dominant, never-say-can't figure in business at Boeing, and star model of familial support for everyone around her. In her office, on desk and walls, one sees pictures of winning teams...all talented, cream of the crop men - and Kay. 12 top-of-their-field movers and shakers - and Kay. Brother Mike was co-architect of one of the biggest rock groups of the '70's. I've watched over the years as he has, with precise prescience, talked about many various things which didn't exist until 10; 20; even 40 years later. The inventions he is working on are brilliant. Time will tell how they're received in the marketplace. Being the father of 11, he consistently models what it is to be a gentleman who shows great insight, tact and patience. ----- Upon returning to Woodinville in September, I madly dove into the task of finishing the Clever Bastards album. In addition, I wanted to return to Europe with a finished music video for Petra. To make recording more practical, I buy a DW drum kit, set it up in the living room, mic it up and the Clever ones bang out two new songs, Hello; and Here You Come, both great pieces of work. I make rough mixes, have them duped, and am ready for whatever opportunities may avail themselves. Mike Curley and I then venture to the ice caves near Granite Falls, Washington to shoot some HD video of mountain scenery. The Big Four are four mountain peaks in one, separate and quite different than the Cascades, which begin in the north in southern British Columbia, and run over 700 miles south all the way to Northern California. The Big Four are thousands of years older than the Cascades, making the area we shoot in a magical, prehistoric-seeming wonderland. Mike has a natural knack with the camera, be it still or motion picture. We end up with stunning results, and after intensive editing with input from director Bill Winship, I have a good music video to accompany a good song. Armed thus, I set out for London October 3rd. I'm fortunate to be able to stay with Mike Curley's sister in law, Christine, a lovely lady and hostess.
The public can only imagine what goes on in dressing rooms prior to and after shows. To say we have fun would be a gross understatement. Albert Hall is one of the most beautiful venues in the world. From the outside, it is an elegant, red, round building just off the Kensington side of Hyde Park. Being there again brings back memories of Mike Fisher and I catching a Kiki Dee/Elton John show in 1976. I watch Paul's show from stage left. As Paul is held in high regard in London, the show is sold out. People in attendance include Brian May, Roger Taylor, Jimmy Page, Gary Moore and Micky Munoz, original guitarist of Whitesnake. Paul's performance on this night is stellar! Having completed his incredibly successful tour with Queen months before, this seasoned performer walks on stage and commands the enthusiastic audience with unrivaled strength, grace and subtle precision. The band is tight, and after only four rehearsals with new guitarist, Curtis, and new drummer Ryan, rocks the house! Gary Moore points out the sound absorbent baffles on the ceiling that improve acoustics in the round room built in the late 1800's. He then strolls onstage, sits in on a few songs, and shows everybody how powerful the blues can be, deftly wielded by the lightning fast fingers and inspired soul of a British musician's musician. It's nice to say hi to Brian May again. We had pleasant conversation after the Queen show in Seattle in April '06. At that time he reminded me of how he and Roger Taylor would always come visit my brother Mike, Ann and Nance and myself whenever Queen had a show in Seattle. Brian is one of the most gentle, charismatic people I've met. I climb into bed at five in the morning after partying with Howie, Lynn and Ryan. Howie and I bond like never before. We share a lot of enlightening conversation and I'm proud to refer to him as a dearly loved friend. Awaken just after noon realizing, "Whoa, I've got to get to Heathrow!" Make it on the plane with two minutes to spare. After a wonderful roast duck at Prague's La Bastille, I retire to our flat for the evening. Wearily to bed at 10:30 anticipating next morning's jog in the park. Wake up feeling energized and refreshed. Look at the clock: 1:23 AM! Get up, make coffee and decide to write a song to present to Paul Rodgers, something I've intended to do since I was offered an audition to be in his band six years ago. At that time my reply was, "I perceive myself an active member, vital in songwriting and co-architect of the band's direction." Those were not the words Paul wanted to hear. This project was his baby and he would have complete control. I understand and agree with that stance. My question remains, "Where is Paul Rodgers' hit album?" It seems to me he should be big in today's market. That would only be just, given his talent and preparedness. I always believed I could be a catalyst in making that happen. It's not a crime to have high self-esteem if there are no delusions of grandeur. So I stay up the rest of the night composing a song, The Time Has Come, in which the concept of "GLUE" is born. GLUE is an acronym for the Global Loving United Expedition. Simply put, we create an album of strong songs, get many of the world's most popular musicians to contribute, give all the money generated to its namesake foundation, whose intention is to prepare to aid the victims of global catastrophe caused by global warming and the synergistic effects of simultaneous epidemics, violent weather, natural disasters and terrorism. Yes, I predict hard times. I believe every person on this planet will be impacted and inspired to, in some way, HELP! October 5, 2006: It's now 7 AM, and I'm going for a jog! Now 4 PM. Vaclav just spoke for about 10 minutes and I understood about 10 words, but applauded anyway. Now we're listening to Zygmunt Baumann speak in English. He's referred to in the program as the great humanist of our time. He is a professor and doctor honoris causa of the Charles University in Prague. He has just been presented the Havel's Foundation Vision 97 annual award "for individuals having contributed in an outstanding manner to the development of mankind and humanistic cognizance." Zygmunt is emphasizing the importance and necessity of hope, talking about the need of mankind to keep climbing steps, "As long as we keep trying, the steps will still be there!" Directly behind me sits Glenn Proudfoot from Melbourne, Australia, a guitarist with a style similar to Steve Vai and Joe Satriani. He is the guitarist in Kocab's band, Prazky Vyber. I'll be attending their rehearsal later tonight. Later, Glenn and I enjoy the after-event hors d' ouevres and we both agree it was the best food we had ever tasted. Around 10 PM.
I can't stay out too late. I have to catch the 8 o'clock morning train to Ostrava where I'll be lending a helping hand to Kiwanis of Ostrava.
I arrive at our flat at 1 AM...now to sleep. October 6, 2006: Inner alarm awakens me at 4:30 AM. Plenty of time to make coffee, shower, shave and think about what to say to the press in Ostrava. In a way, I'm an American diplomat. I intend to represent us with humility, honesty, urgency and above all, discreet humor. I make the 40-minute walk from our flat to Wenceslas Square and to the subway that gets me to the train station. Waiting outside in the brisk 7:30 AM Prague air, a steam engine whizzes by, old time whistle blowing, white puffs of just-used steam glowing pink in the morning light. I give the fellow standing next to me a thumb up and we exchange smiles. Life is good.
During the tour, five of the prisoners perform two songs for me in a 20 by 20 foot concrete room with 14-foot ceiling. Armed with my white Strat, I request a jam with them. I quickly teach them Cherry by Neil Diamond. The song goes not without fault, but fun nonetheless. I then launch into Hey Jude, figuring everyone will know that. I'm obliged with bewildered looks of mild panic. I tell them, "Next year!" they agree and ask me to perform it solo. Afterward, the band, foundation members and security guards all applaud and I notice little sparks of light in several prisoners' eyes. My day is made. After an adequate lunch at a nearby restaurant, we arrive at a building which, from the outside, appears to be composed solely of rough-hewn stone, slopped mortar and cedar shake roof. There is also a 4-story tower, giving the whole affair a medieval, castle-like look. We enter the premises via a stone walkway, which defines the word "rough." We enter a room - immediately stepping backward six centuries, the smell of wood smoke seducing nostrils; whole chickens turning on skewers over open fire. It is dark in here! There are several invisible gentlemen clad in shining armor, standing guard around the 14th-century room, gazing at the coats-of-arms and shields of the families they protect. We talk to the owner, a friend of Eva - my guide, comrade and soon to be accomplice in party crime. Eva is the president of Kiwanis of Ostrava, and a wonderfully bright, cheery, lovable lady. The owner shows us to my room. Everything about this place defines the word, "rustic." The floor tiles are rustic; furniture? Rusticest! The ceiling is an elegant, simply elaborate celebration of Roman arches, curving lines and quadrangles and triangles sculpted with mortar, covered with soft white paint. Fireplace? Rustic. Ceiling lantern? Rustic, with the most realistic looking electric flame I've seen. Soft satin lavender sheets and pillowcases? Comfy! One hour later we arrive at a children's hospital. As we visit one room after another, bestowing gifts of candy to the kids ranging in age from 8 months to 15 years, I am more and more moved. Some of these kids are so sad to be here, they can't handle this goofy American joining them with warm heart and best wishes. I struggle to hold back my tears. Others have the light of life sparkling bright in their eyes and tell me how excited they are. Each one has expressed a unique personality through the art displayed in how they've painted their dolls with colored pens. During our crusade of joy-spreading, gift-giving, gloom-exorcising hospital trotting, Eva bequeaths me with my own honorary membership to Kiwanis! I'm totally surprised and honored. "Well," I think, "I can get into this whole helping thing!" Thanks to people like Eva and all the people who helped us in and near Ostrava, there is an important ingredient added to the mix of mayhem that is humanity...HOPE
I'm now asked to decorate my own doll, to be sold at an auction. I do a fine job and we depart, me far more enriched and wealthy for the experience. Back to the hotel, or penzion as they're called over here. I laugh because my room key weighs nearly a pound. Exhausted, I climb into possibly the most comfortable bed I've experienced. After an hour or so, some sort of loud fracas in the restaurant below awakens me. Good timing...I'm wide-awake and playing guitar when Eva arrives to take me out. After a fine dinner we drive to a bunker and walk down steps to a nightclub about 50 feet underground. This was built around 1930 as a shelter for children in case of war. We are entertained by one of Czech's most popular groups, Monkey Business. They are very good at working the crowd and It's enjoyable watching professional show business at work. I'm happy to be in this profession. After an hour or so, I'm led away, hand in hand by Kate, a fine-skinned, dark-haired attractive lady. She introduces me to her husband who is bass player of the band she manages. It's time for Slivovice! Great fun is had by all. Back to the hotel at 1 AM. Take a refreshing shower and climb into this heavenly bed. October 7, 2006: Awake before light, no idea what time it is- I didn't set my European cell phone's time- I study the room and marvel at these Czechs. Where walls meet ceiling there are three arches per wall. The fireplace is in the corner and the sole source of heat. [I later learn there is in-floor heating] It's construction, as is all of the hotel, is simple and rugged. I'm sure this could all be in fine service 300 or more years from now. Perfectly placed kindling sits stacked over paper with a small amount of wax on it. I open the damper and one attempt produces a lovely fire. Neatly stacked, foot-long split oak soon joins its brethren in providing this gratefully happy soul the warmth and inspiration to write these words. If you have an inkling to know about Czech mentality, read The Good Soldier Svejk. Bolek Polivka described the Czechs to me as "Barbaric genius." I love and respect the Czechs! Now it's getting light. Time to play my Strat. 2 PM This morning after breakfast we visit two homes for children who, for various reasons can't live with their parents. The state has donated these homes but there seems to be little or no budget to sustain the care giving. There are excellent and much-adored ladies managing and everyone seems healthy and happy. Having never done anything like this before, I really don't know what to do upon entering a spacious room with 18 expectant children aged 4 to 17. Spotting an upright piano, I uninvitedly dive right into Let It Be, breaking the ice. Applause. There is no translator here yet, so with the few Czech words I know, and gestures, I ask if any of them play a musical instrument. A brave young lady plays a nice song on the upright. Applause. Then beautiful Gizela, age 6 or 7 produces a violin and plays a piece, a fellow inhabitant holding the sheet music. Someone plays a Czech song I've heard before on recorder. 3 girls sing a song together. A guy does a brake dance to a cd. Two guys rap, creating all the sound effects. 3 girls do a nicely choreographed dance to a cd. There may have been another performance...I'm very tired while writing this. These kids are talented! A translator, Camila has shown up and I learn they have an acoustic guitar. My Strat has proven its relative uselessness without an amplifier. The guitar enters and I immediately realize anything I play will be compromised by this challenged instrument. Hey Jude gets the nod as I'm in hope everyone will chime in on the end. I hear a few voices. I ask Camila if we can go to a music store and buy a better guitar. "No, the store closes in 20 minutes." "Can we make it there in 20 minutes?" "Yes." We tell the kids we'll be right back and I find a lovely, inexpensive acoustic guitar, egg shaker, tambourine and small dumbeck, make the purchase and off we go. "Who wants to play the egg shaker?" At first if appears no one is brave. Soon, they're clamoring to see who gets to play. "Who wants to play tambourine? Who wants dumbeck?" We sit together as a band and launch into a Rog-penned Shades Of Blue. I gift them with all the instruments and everyone is happy. We visit the other house and I'm amazed at the artistic talents of some of these wonderful people. Soon I'm the recipient of some of this fine work. We sit down to coffee and desserts. There is very little money involved here. The 8 kids who live here with one adult take care of all the cooking, clothes washing and everyday duties themselves. I'm asked to write something in their guestbook. I oblige by penning the following, which will be copied, translated and printed in their newspaper. (Written on the train from Prague to Ostrava, October 6th, 2006) When adults see children, with their unbridled, uninhibited energy, we smile. We see in them something pure, reminding us of that same quality. Humanity is like a child. Its unbridled enthusiasm sometimes makes mistakes, threatening its very existence. Our wisdom and caring are the adult who needs to gently remind humanity it cannot continue errant behavior. Our children will inherit the rewards of our triumphs. They will inherit the spoils of our mistakes. One person can do big things in this tiny world. Let us care for all our children. In the challenging years we face, we will need that one person like never before! At breakfast in our hotel's medieval restaurant, we noticed a skewered pig turning on the rotisserie. Now at dinner, we order it. I also get garlic soup, best I've had. Also over the open coals are apples, corn on the cob and other meats. If you ever find yourself traveling in Europe you may enjoy this delightful Penzion Hrad near Ostrava, Czech Republic as you experience an authentic recreation of 14th-century living. The owner gives us a tour of his remarkable hotel. Each room is different, with something unique to offer. We end up by walking up 90 steps to an additional restaurant with a lovely view in four directions of Ostrava and surrounding countryside, and the Lisa Hora Mountains, where someday I intend to do some snowboarding. I say ahoj to Don Quixote, slightly greater than life-size, seated at a table by the entry door. Each time the door opens, his left hand raises a welcome or goodbye. If money enters the cup in his right hand, the cup is raised in salute. The money will go toward the procurement of a home for children. Now it's goodbye to Ostrava as I take the Pendolino train to Prague. October 8, 2006: Had three hours' sleep last night. The couple sitting next to me ask, "How do you do it - all that travel?" "I practice what is the cure for jet lag. I've become accustomed to waking up very quickly after little sleep and being productive. Then, during the day, grabbing a nap whenever possible. This works the same, no matter what time zone." George Peckham, my first and favorite vocal teacher had a recording studio in Seattle's Paramount Theatre in the '40's. He saw many performers on the Paramount's stage, one of which was Bob Hope. George noticed Bob awhile before Bob's performance sitting in a chair sound asleep. Later, upon George's queries, Bob said being able to catch naps like that is the only way he could maintain his travel/performance style. Written on the plane from London to Stockholm I arrive in downtown Stockholm via the Flygbuss, call Jack Mittleman...he's a block away having a bagel. I join and soon we're on the bus headed toward he and his wife Terez's apartment. We're enjoying pleasant conversation when we see Alan White, wife Gigi, daughter Cass with her boyfriend, Adam and Terez with 2.5 year-old Sean, boarding the bus. We sneak up on them and have a laugh. On the walk from ending bus stop to apartment we talk about Alan's involvement with John Lennon. I had thought Alan played drums on Love Me Do, when the Beatles began their first commercial recording with George Martin. Alan dispels this rumor. It was actually Andy White. Alan talks about what a regular guy John was, just like anyone else. He tells us some of the behind-the-scenes of the Plastic Ono Band concert in 1969 with Eric Clapton on guitar. There was no rehearsal for this concert that became a multi million selling album. John showed Alan the drum parts - drumming on the plane seats - on the plane en route. Jack Mittleman and I met in Vancouver, Canada in 1985. The band I was in at the time, 10 Bulls, had just finished our set in some nightclub, and as I came off the stage, a friendly guy came up, introduced himself and went on to say he knew all my guitar parts and could probably even teach them to me! Of course I invited him up to the dressing room where he proved himself to be not only encyclopedic in memory, but able to capture the spirit - the essence of my and others' musical delivery. We've been good friends ever since. I produced a record for him, Fight A Little Harder in Vancouver, and he did a lot of recording at Mars Studios - my place - in Woodinville, Washington.
Besides knowing every Beatles song and most classic rock songs, he is a popular professional comedian in Stockholm. A mutual friend, Sven Peterson, one of the few directors of the Beatles catalog, told me Jack is one of the most talented musicians he has met. Sven is a personal friend of Paul McCartney, David Gilmour, and on and on. High accolades from an industry veteran! In Jack's apartment we spend about an hour figuring out where to have dinner. "20 people? No, I'm sorry - that's too many people." We finally settle on the Hard Rock Café, a 15-minute walk. We're told we can only order from four different items. This isn't America! Alan, Jack and I are talking about the memorabilia in the various Hard Rock Cafes. Alan says they have one of his snare drums in New York City. We begin a quest around the restaurant to see if there are any Yes items in Stockholm. We travel the entire room, stopping to comment on John Lennon's vest; Europe's drummer who, in the photo is longhaired - now bald, like Jack. We've finished the entire room, a little disappointed when suddenly, on the post next to our table we spot a gold 45 RPM single, Crazy On You, presented to Ann Wilson. Gigi wants a picture of me standing next to it. I forget to tell everyone Eminem used a substantial amount of the song on his Crazy In Love from the album Encore. As soon as I've finished eating I announce, "I'm heading back to the hotel...Ciao, everybody...I'm exhausted!" Walking the sidewalks of Stockholm, I realize everything I said earlier about having the cure for jet lag is complete rubbish. October 9, 2006: This morning of what would have been Lennon's 66th birthday I rise at 6 AM and run over Hey Bulldog and Cold Turkey, the two numbers I'll be performing with the entourage of fine musicians Jack has assembled for tonight's John Lennon Tribute at the historic Nalen in Stockholm. Two hours later - time for a jog. Carefully noting landmarks as I run, I'm confident I'll retrace my steps on return and end up at the Hotel Arcadia. Wrong! After awhile I realize I'm hopelessly lost, feeling extremely ignorant! "I'm going to get a thorough workout this morning," I think to myself. "Ah, finally!" Recognizing familiar streets, I make it to room 118 and shower. Then it's up to Jack's apartment where Terez makes a wonderful breakfast of bacon, eggs, toast, cereal with yogurt and orange juice. It's a beautifully sunny day in Stockholm! Arriving at the Nalen at 3:45 PM, I'm stunned by the exquisiteness of the room. 50 foot ceiling; 7 - 30-foot Roman arches on each side wall, with gilded gothic arches above each; gilded, decorated posts between each archway. A plethora of pars and various lights mounted 35 feet from floor around periphery. 2, 6-feet-in-diameter simple chandeliers hang 20 feet from floor. One by one, meeting all the musicians has been enriching, wonderful reassurance the best players aren't egomaniacs. Everyone here is here because of appreciation of John Lennon. The first song at soundcheck is Tomorrow Never Knows, complete with all the sound effects. It sounds stunningly good, really amazingly good! After soundchecking Hey Bulldog, I realize this is going to be a great show! After the show... Ok, ok, ok...I'm lying in my hotel room bed thinking, "That was the most fun, rewarding, moving, enlightening evening I've had!" It's very difficult to write right now because I've just returned from splendid conversation and partying with Alan, Gigi, Cass, Adam, Jack and Terez, and as one may imagine READY FOR SLEEP. No matter what words I write tomorrow, they won't do justice to the history that was made here tonight. Everyone in that room was elevated. October 10, 2006: Next morning, after checking out of the hotel, I've walked up the hill to Jack and Terez's apartment. Once again great hospitality! Check my email: my travel agent, wife Eva, did her best to get me back to Prague today, but with such late notice, I'll leave tomorrow, October 11th. Alan's telling the story of when Yes were spending 3 months in Paris recording an album. They were half way through, with $700,000 already spent, when one night Alan and Richard Branson were out on the town with two bottles of wine. They found a place to roller skate at 2 AM that had only one pair of skates. Alan insists on going first. He travels six feet and breaks his ankle. Not thinking it's serious, Alan says he's twisted his ankle, "Go ahead, Richard." Richard promptly falls and slips a disc. When Alan gets back to the hotel he has difficulty removing his boot so he sleeps with it on. Next morning, upon finding it impossible to remove the boot and barely able to walk, he visits a doctor who puts a cast on which nearly reaches his knee. Arriving at the studio, the band thinks Alan is playing a joke. They find it very difficult to believe Alan's words, "Guys, I can't play!" The album is never released. October 11, 2006: Morning... The core band is Jack Mittleman, guitars and lead vocals; Dave Nystrom, keyboards; Mats Oberg, keyboards; Mats Persson, percussion and drums; Jerker Odelholm, bass guitar; Ole Gustafsson, guitar and Alan on drums. Tomorrow Never Knows is the first song to caress the ears of this audience about to be extremely moved. It makes the statement, "Yes, this is going to be a great night!" The set list flows up and down in energy and back and forth between topics and sensitivity, making one realize the depth, ingeniousness and humanitarianism of John Lennon. The level of musicianship and the care taken to perform on a high level speaks well for these dedicated artists, especially the bald, Jewish, control freak, lovable and hilarious Jack Mittleman. Each of the guest artists have their unique qualities to offer, but when Ryan Roxy - Alice Cooper's guitarist of ten years and I start rocking out to Cold Turkey, it is clear the Americans have arrived with their uninhibited, explosive, infectious energy. Coming off stage after our rock-out Roxy says, "Sometimes it takes the Americans to come in and kick some ass!" Ryan is warm and engaging from the moment we meet. His appearance and manner typify the term "rock star," with large rose-tinted sunglasses, red leather jacket and attitude with a capitol A. I had heard some first-hand behind-the-scenes stories about Alice from when Lynn Sorensen was touring with Paul Rodgers in Australia. I ask Ryan what it's like working with Alice. "He's the best boss I ever had. He told me from day one he's a straight shooter who will always be straight with me." And so Lynn's words are validated. After the show all the artists and friends meet downstairs in the Nalen bar - reserved for this occasion. Beer, wine and catered food is provided and we all have a great time.
I arrive at Arlanda airport in Stockholm with barely enough time to catch the plane to Copenhagen. Upon arriving there, I learn the flight to Prague has been canceled. My rock and roll heritage tells me, "Oh well, go with the flow, let's see what adventure this reveals." After paying the penance in queue, I learn we'll be flying to Dόsseldorf and then Prague, arriving over two hours later than previously scheduled. "Hell, I don't care!" I'm looking forward to being in my flat with a bottle of Chilean merlot and the incredible melodies floating in my head from today. The interesting plague is, and I've noticed this in American music throughout the 20th century, the current reigning viable music gets most the attention and most the bucks. No matter what caliber of musicians or songs, the popular form gets the "success." What some pop successes don't realize is, musical success is defined by personal evolution...not dollars. October 12, 2006: Awake at 3 AM October 12th, I unpack my Strat and soon realize I'm simply not going to find those very unusual and delicious melodies which had flirted with my "plane brain" the day before. "They'll come again," I tell myself. Over the past several months I've been investing a substantial amount of thought to the concept of beauty and the beast, specifically pertinent to the male gender. Men, God bless our souls, have a natural propensity to think things like, "Wow! Look at that butt," as an attractive lady walks by. My endeavor is to become a gentleman that I respect. So I ask myself, "Are these kinds of thoughts merely the lowly beast in myself that needs to be captured, chained and imprisoned in a cell of discretion?" Or is this the healthy banter of a creature designed to heroically further the existence of humankind? As an artist, I monitor all my thoughts carefully, noting tidbits which may be useful in my craft. To judge one's thoughts is to destroy the creative process. Judgment is not my desire. The hope is to find a middle ground between what could be labeled "bestial thoughts," and thoughts embracing compassion, caring and selflessness. When I've been away from my wife for two weeks I simply can't help but think, "Wow! Look at that butt," and laugh at myself. As long as the beast is cognizant and appreciative of some kind of beauty, is he not elevated, and thus forgiven? And so the thoughts continue... Let's embrace another topic of recent perusal: travel. Americans need to get out and experience other cultures! What is culture? When an oyster spends its life constantly applying layer after layer of nacre to an irritating parasite inside its shell, the result is a thing of beauty. When a human devotes his/her life to the mastering of a craft; the dedication to a specific service; the providing of a good upbringing to children, that person is, in his or her own way, beautifully cultured. When an ethnicity or community of people, over the span of centuries, have created within their daily fabric, a way of being that works harmoniously with humanity and the earth, that is culture. Americans need to shed the societally-brainwashed mentality of "spend big bucks so I can have the big house, nice cars, good medical, dental, home, auto and health insurance," and all the other material trappings which accompany consumerism. Why? Because things don't matter as much as experiences. Because learning and practice are the vehicles of personal evolution - not the basking in the "comforts" of one's acquisitions. My dad used to say, "Who belongs to that?" Obviously implying the possessed is also the possessor. As major torch-bearers in today's world, isn't it America's obligation and duty to enrich itself with the wisdom, insight and culture of its global neighbors? To simply bask in comfort with the illusion of, "Yeah, we've got the big stick," is disgusting. In my travels I encounter many people who agree that, in the context of the peoples from most other cultures, Americans seem a little strange - either too loud and arrogant, too cold and unfriendly, or so overweight and self-absorbed they ignore everyone else. Everywhere I have been in my life I've always encountered good people. The size, shape, color or garb makes little difference. The fact - to this truth-seeking soul - is, humans are basically wonderful creatures! As each of us Americans travel the world, let us increase global warming - the warming of kind relations with all other humans. It is now 8:12 AM on a beautifully clear Prague morning. I've just taken a hot bath and will return now to that wonderfully magical playground - sleep. Now 10 AM, the muse has awakened me from a dream in which brother Mike and myself are industriously engaged in some project. I really miss my brother! A short stroll from our flat and I'm happily devouring an English Breakfast at Café Savoy. The main dish of one egg, bacon, sausage and beans is accompanied by four different kinds of bread; exquisite apricot and strawberry jams; butter of perfect spreadable consistency; English breakfast tea; green and purple grapes and fresh squeezed orange juice. I've added the unrivaled café au lait. Isn't it disgusting when people leave their table with a large amount of waste? I do my best not to leave that impression. This incredible breakfast costs $11. My best friend, Eva, doubling as personal dresser, councilor and wife, has tried to book me a flight to Glasgow to be part of Paul Rodgers' last-show-of-tour festivities. Due to the cost, resultant of the extremely late notice, the Czech pragmatist in her elects to send me straight home. I don't need to spend 700 dollars to go party right now. Besides, I really miss my son Rogie and he misses me. Today, in my never-ending quest for truth, justice and the Clever Bastards, I call Sony Records of Prague and go on and on with the receptionist until he finally gives me the cell phone number of Petr Cap, A&R rep. I call Petr and offer to take him out to dinner. He says, "I'm sorry, It's Natalia Kocab's album release party to night. Come and I'll put you on the guest list." "That's Michael's daughter!" I exclaim. I begin to describe what I look like to Petr, but he interjects, "Oh, I know what you look like. I saw you on television. I'll spot you immediately." As luck would have it, I'm about to attend a function with several friends while getting to know Petr. The taxi driver drops me off at the Retro Music Hall on Francounska Street. I go down the steps to a crowd of about 200 people and many, many cameras, including some obvious media high-dollar video rigs. This is Sony/BMG's party. All drinks are free, with catering to follow. Excited to see Glenn and Michael in the room, I sneak up on Michael and pretend a gentle attack. He's pleasantly surprised and introduces me to his mother, father, wife, nieces and...Petr Cap. From the stage, Natalia is introduced to the audience by Mathew, lead singer of Monkey Business, who we saw the other night in the bunker in Ostrava. When I meet him later I bellow out a few lines of O Sole Mio to let him know I appreciate his bit of operatic soloing the other night. He smiles and reciprocates, turning heads in the nightclub. Natalia sings 5 or 6 songs with an accompanying track. Her manner is appealing: reserved, confident, genuine and unruffable. Her lyrics are spiritual and bravely candid. This music will not be a pop success. To many Czechs, pop success is a "sell out" to the Establishment. After Natalia's performance she is joined by several people who have helped her with this project, plus dear 'ol dad. Mathew pours champagne, "baptizing" the cd and the launch ceremony is complete. Now Michael, Petr and I engage in intense conversation regarding the Czech music industry. I learn it will not be easy to break my band in the Czech Republic. Merely having radio airplay will not guarantee cd sales or live performance turnout. "The key," Michael says, "is you need to perform for large audiences. The Czechs are very smart. They see right through to your underpants." I come back with, "They must have liked my TV appearance then...I wasn't wearing any!" Laughter from Michael and Petr. I tell them both, "The Czechs will love our band because we're as real as real gets."
October 13, 2006:
Arrive at Prague Airport two hours early to enjoy breakfast and write this nonsense. To my limited knowledge, the Prague airport is only rivaled by Seattle's SeaTac Airport for cleanliness; efficient layout, and artistic architecture and decoration. There was a specific reason Hitler chose not to bomb Prague. The Czechs are ingeniously clever and very artistic. I'm reading the top 101 guitar solos of all time, as voted by the staff of Guitar One magazine, with Dale Turner and Bob Gulla. The order of the top 50 follows: 1. Machine Gun - Jimi Hendrix March 13, 2007: It's humorous now to look back at my writings of September and October, 2006, actually thinking we would finish our second Clever Bastards album then. It was the writing of Mr. President that proved to be the catalyst and direction for a flurry of songs that came to be at the end of 2006. I'm sitting here at the Giraffe restaurant at Heathrow airport. If you're a proponent of healthful food and beverages, you may enjoy this refreshing alternative dining spot. I'm traveling again because Alan White and myself were invited to perform on Czech's Andel Awards show - their equivalent of the American Grammy Awards. We've thrown together a four-piece for the event - Steve Fossen, Heart's former bass guitarist and my friend since 1963; Mike Curley, the Bastards' lead singer, Alan and myself. It has been requested we close the awards show with John Lennon's Imagine, on which Alan played the original drums. I'm very thankful as a guitarist to have played with some great drummers: Matt Abst from Gov't Mule; Pearl Jam's drummer on their debut album, ____________; _______ Taylor of The Ventures; Rick Spano, a Seattle drummer; Steve Smith, a Seattle drummer; Ben Smith, Lovemongers, Heart and many others. Two of my favorite drummers are Mike Derosier, with whom I've been playing since 1976 and Alan. What an interesting contrast between the styles and perspectives of the two! I was telling Alan that a musician's ability on their instrument is no more important to their career than the quality of their character. It is the attitude, temperament and integrity of a person which dictates their effectiveness of interaction with other musicians and the audience. March 21, 2007: I'm very excited today because after the experience we've just had playing five different times with the Alan White Quintet Minus One, Eva, Rogie and I have decided to move to Central Europe!
It began innocently enough as a pick-up band to generate funds for Kiwanis of Ostrava. After four rehearsals in Steve Fossen's basement in Kenmore, USA, we have an arsenal of eight songs we figure will get us through this trip.
Which Way To Go is a nice little ditty penned by Curley. Love Alive is one of the first songs Nancy Wilson and I wrote together. I was trepidatious as we wrote it because I was sure the main descending lick was something Jimmy Page had played sometime, somewhere. Nance and I couldn't think of where, so with Ann's inclusion of lyrical and melodic insight, we had a lovely song. A funny little aside regarding this era of working with Nance: we had very little money and our income was meager, but we had just been given a hundred dollar bill as payment for recent gigs. This was huge to us and we were happy to feel so wealthy. We had just left the parking lot where Nance's Toyota Corolla had been parked when we realized neither of us had the note. In panic we drove back and scoured the parking lot. We had for some reason -- possibly in some altered state of mind -- placed the bill on the roof of the car. Some lucky person no doubt discovered it roadside in disbelief. Another song our new lineup learns is Heart's Crazy On You, which contains, in my opinion, some of the best lyrics in rock and roll: I was a willow last night in my dream That bit of genius, to the best of my knowledge, belongs to Ann. Another inclusion to the set list is a favorite discovered one night after a Bastards performance at Seattle's Triple Door. The Triple Door is a fabulous place to take in excellent food and entertainment if you find yourself in the northwestern United States. We had just finished our show and were hanging around the dressing room when someone broke into What Goes On, from the Beatles' Rubber Soul album. The instantaneous blend of spot-on harmony was a precursor of things to come. One of the first collaborations between Curley and I is Hangin', a song I initially wrote to Mike Cox, a great seattle bassist whom I'd heard had attempted suicide (he later succeeded). This song is a perfect marriage of Rogness and Curleyism. A valuable strength for any group of musicians is the ability to make up a song on the spot. Curley has some brilliant rap lyrics he co-wrote with some British bloke. We choose the key of E, Curley counts out the tempo and we jam a rousing dance/rock tune, getting everyone energized. We affectionately refer to it as the Spunk Jam. Another song Alan played the original drums on is Lennon's Instant Karma, one of the best songs in rock. Our arrangements of this and Imagine are succinct, high-energy and strictly guitar-based. This song always wins the audience. If you're a musician, you know the challenge of stepping out of the comfort zone of the repertoire of your lifelong combined knowledge. It's one thing to be hailed as proficient in your chosen style, which you can perform mindlessly as second nature, but when you're asked to cover another person's style, it can sometimes seem like you're a beginner. Such was the case when I tried to learn the deceptively simple Owner Of A Lonely Heart, by Yes. To me, this is one of the most cleverly produced songs in rock. I never knew how great Alan's influence was in the group until he told of his contributions. Trevor Rabin's playing is so foreign to my style, I spent several days working to commit these beautifully-crafted licks to muscle memory. Still, in front of a live audience who all know what it's supposed to sound like, the pressure is on. That, combined with the fact that Jon Anderson's voice is as similar to Curley's as sandpaper to silk, creates an apprehension that is only dispelled by the enthusiastic response we're gratefully given by this appreciative Ostravan audience. We come back for an encore and invite Petr Siska, Libor, Izzy and ___________ from the opening band to jam with us. All hell breaks loose as we do the Ostrava Blues. I enjoy making up lyrics on the spot in response to whatever context I find myself in. The strength of the blues is it communicates globally on all levels...it being the simplest, most predictable of all canvases on which to paint the brilliance of spontaneity. We leave the stage this time knowing we have no more to give. After ten minutes of determined chanting, clapping and banging on tables, tonight's audience is left wanting more. We kicked ass!
March 22, 2007: Here at my Czech family's home, I'm comfortable and creative. All my life I've had a vision of walking along roads with very little traffic - the song of birds dominating the foundational soundscape of relative silence. There is a feeling of old country, old world in this vision. For many years I felt a sadness living in the Seattle area, believing I would never live this dream. Here in Central Europe the vision comes alive with the promise I'm where I belong. The day after the birth of a new band - our serendipitous first gig in Ostrava - we rise early to be on morning television. The host is regarded as the country's top television journalist, Lubos Ross. Alan and I field a few provocative questions. I'm asked about the importance of guitar playing in today's music industry in comparison to years past...a very good question. My reply addresses the strong presence of computer-aided and generated music, easily manipulated by the hands of non-musical novices, making the point: today, guitar playing is extremely important, as it demonstrates musical expression won only by years of dedicated focus by the practitioner. I go on to say it is an honor to play with Alan, who has played for years with the publicly acclaimed best rock guitarist in the world, and while I may lack his level of proficiency, I bring to the table a unique brand of energy and spirit. Alan interrupts and interjects, "I think Roger is a great guitarist!" From what I've seen, Alan is an uplifting spirit to all who have the good fortune to meet him. The radio station is a short walk away and the next stage upon which the wacky humor and innuendo wit of the Alan White Quintet Minus One gets to dance. Alan and I were born eight months to the day apart, he on June 14th 1949, me on February 14th, 1950. Steve was born on November 15th, 1950 and Curley on March 8th, 1970. The chemistry of this unlikely combination of dogs provides a combination more dangerous than plutonium; more witty than a courting lover and more outrageous than a masturbating mannequin. The radio interview goes well, somewhat due to the fact we spend forty five minutes in casual conversation with station manager _______. This kind of one-on-one personal involvement could be taken for granted if not for the observation I've never seen it before. I'm getting the feeling Alan hasn't had this much fun with other musicians in a long time. The lunacy is nonstop, as Alan's wife, Gigi observes. Its only saving grace is a silver lining somewhat resembling intelligence, albeit rather indiscreet at times.
Arriving at the event, something soon becomes clear for which the Czechs are world famous - the beauty of their women. Much to the dismay of my wife, I tend to act like a puppy at a party, eagerly going from guest to guest, madly humping their legs. Well, maybe I'm not that bad, but disguising one's appreciation for the opposite sex can be challenging in this country!
The remainder of the day is spent in and out of the dining room and dressing room, meeting many quality people en route, including many of this country's most revered musical artists.
I prove to be the biggest challenge to the makeup artists. Shortly after arriving in Prague, I visited a dentist for a cleaning and bleaching. I seem to have had a reaction to the chemicals, producing a slightly swollen, red nose! Perfect...instant karma...the flirtatious Fisher looks like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer.
After taking in as many Czech groups as we can, it's time for us to perform.
Finally we agree we should go downtown Ostrava to the nightclub where many of the artists are expected to jam. For whatever reason - I'm guessing someone got too drunk - we find ourselves without transportation. Now we have an entourage of about ten people roadside with guitars and luggage waiting for cabs...waiting...waiting. By the time we finally get to the club - there are 70 nightclubs on the main street in Ostrava - almost everyone has left. I ask Curley if he'd like to jam. His reply is affirmative and I talk to the guys in charge of the P.A. system who agree to set the mics and monitors back up for us. Our second song is the Everly Brothers' Bye Bye Love. Half way through, a young man and woman join us on the stage. They both grab microphones - while we're singing - and start spitting out some dark rap rubbish. I endure it for about 30 seconds before tapping them on the shoulders yelling, "Get the fuck off the stage, NOW!!!" Their looks of utter disbelief are the result of their context: they were Andel winners! I didn't know this, but no matter who they are, their actions are unacceptable. Well, I guess I wouldn't kick Paul McCartney off the stage, but he wouldn't be rapping crap, either. Soon Alan joins us on Djembe, and once again we have great fun singing and playing as the club fills. We finish our set to appreciative applause and it's time for more drinks. On this particular night I feel I'm the eye of the hurricane as I watch almost everyone around me get plastered. Tonight is the culmination of months of hard work for many. Curley in particular has entered another dimension. Upon return to Penzion Hrad - the recreated 14th century castle where we're staying - Alan notices Curley in mid-fall and saves him from head injury on the castle rock wall. En route to our rooms - Eva and I enjoy our 38 steps up the tower - Eva asks me for the tower key. Mystified, I tell her, I don't have any tower key!" With a look of "How could you be so stupid," she says we'll have to sleep with Steve and Mike, as there are no hotel personnel here to let us in.
En route to Trecin, today's mission (March 18th) is a drive to a mountainous area to a hospital in need of financial help. The head of the facility greets us and shows us to several rooms where we gift a variety of children packets of candy and treats. Television cameras follow from room to room as we spread joy and our contagious silliness. Alan appreciates Curley's British wit and contributes a fair amount of his own. Hearing Alan's stories is truly amazing. He intends to write a book...it won't be soon enough for me...except I think we can add an entertaining chapter.
This evening, special activities have been planned for us at our medieval castle home. As we take our places at the large table allocated for rock royalty, we are treated to large steaming plates of incredible-tasting dishes, some of which are mysteries to me, but delicious. After dinner, a charismatic, theatric lady appears in medieval costume speaking, in a very practiced and engaging manner I don't know what, but soon a woman and five men are introduced, each equally dated in appearance.
The couple is challenged to perform a game in which three hoops like the one adorning Gigi's head are thrown from one to the other, the recipient attempting to skewer the airborne object with sword.
Gigi is asked to drop a knife onto the belly of the seemingly invulnerable, bare-chested, broken glass-laying chap. She is visibly bothered by the task!
After prolonged goodbyes to all the staff, to which we have endearingly bonded, we hit the road for the two-hour drive to Petrovice, home of Jarek, Jarek and Dasha - Eva's father, brother and mother, respectively. This is a big moment for me, as I know how excited Eva's father is to have Alan White as a guest in his house. Gigi has spent time visiting here before and knows the wonderful, unsurpassed hospitality all will be bestowed.
After a few drinks, we produce an Andel trophy, given to us by Petr Siska while we were at the hospital in Trinec. After Alan has proposed the idea, we gift Jarek with the coveted gold angel, Jarek politely resisting. Several hours of inspired conversation ensue and finally...off to dreamland. The following day is March 19th. En route to the castle in Moravsky Krumlov - Eva's hometown and home to the fabulous Alfons Mucha exhibit - we stop at Eva's grandmother and grandfather's house, where she spent the predominance of her childhood. More wonderful food, pivo and conversation ensue, and we're soon standing in the castle, which has been opened specially for us, as this is off-season. The 20-foot canvases express the history of the Slavs and are an impressive and enlightening feat of this great artist which portray the feelings of various snapshots of time. Mucha's art is the foundation and inspiration for the Bohemian-style art predominant in the '60's "flower power" era. We then conduct a brief tour of Moravsky Krumlov, and it's back to Petrovice, where a party is about to happen! Most of our Krumlov friends show up, and when I say friends, I mean people who do almost anything for you. They bear all manner of beverages in preparation for what will be the usual Czech gathering's fun! Our friend Gabi's father has requested to cook tonight. Armed with propane tank and homemade-looking cooking apparatus, Daja prepares two main dishes which could adorn the table of any restaurant, anywhere. Moc dobre! Alan has discovered the piano in Eva's parents' bedroom. Soon we're singing Imagine, as Alan creatively explores this instrument to which he is no stranger. Someone suggests we move it to the living room. Minutes later we're all singing around the piano, reminding Alan of his younger days at home in England. We carry on for hours and another new classic is born, Way Back When, sung to the tune, Chopsticks. Finally the party car has run out of gas as we anticipate tomorrow's drive to Prague. At three in the morning, I'm wide-awake with a runaway mind, it being six in the evening in our home time zone. I hear a scuffling in the kitchen and there's Curley, getting water. I get up and join in the refreshment and we agree we should go for a walk. The chosen route is about 3 miles, and shortly after leaving, snow begins to fall in the deep darkness. Before long we're both more cold than we'd like to be, but this doesn't chill the warm conversation. The more I know this guy, the more I respect him. Petr Janda lives a bit south of the artsy city and has invited us to stop in for a visit. Petr is very accommodating, as our first stop is the bar in his home. Great stories ensue and we tour his two recording studios. Leaving with warm feelings for this fine musician, I'm reminded of the silent bond, which exists between entertainers and artists. Arriving in Prague we waste no time getting to a restaurant, and La Bastille, beneath our flat, is chosen. Then it's off to visit Michael Kocab at his Shoebox Studio. Michael and Alan are soon playing their music for each other and I realize both these men are on a very high level of musical awareness. Klauda, Michael's drummer, is like a little boy, he's so pleased to be in the presence of one of his childhood idols. All the Czechs I've experienced are generous, caring hosts. Michael, with the help of Zlatka is no different. After an absolutely wonderful visit, we go downtown Prague to the Harley Club to play one of the weirdest gigs any of us have ever played. Petr Siska's band is playing, much to the delight of the audience. With no guitar amp, I run my Strat direct into the P.A., along with Curley. Alan plays a box with a microphone inside! We perform our set and include several songs we wing at the moment, inviting various people up from the audience. Petr Janda and Zlatka do a fine job, as well as the lady I kicked off the stage in Ostrava. All in all, it's good fun, but we're happy to wrap it up and enter party mode, for which we're becoming so well rehearsed. This is our last night together, as Alan, Gigi, Mike and Steve leave for America the following day. Steve, Mike and I stay out almost all night wandering the streets of Prague discovering many watering holes and keeping ourselves laughing with our infinitely clever wacky wit. At one point I intervene in a discussion Steve is having with a lady in Wenceslas Square - just in time to prevent him from losing his wallet, which she has half removed from the inner pocket of his jacket. Skilled hands indeed! April 2, 2007:
I'm surrounded by trees exploding like fireworks their blossoms of radiant colors, on a canvas of red clay rooftops of buildings centuries old built and maintained by a culture of genuineness.
I remember summer nights on the back porch, dad having beers with friends, mom supplying snacks. One friends' dog's name was Tippy and dad loved to shine a flashlight on the fence, just beyond Tippy's snapping teeth. The German Shepherd would run and run and dad would laugh and laugh.
Today is not a dark day. April 3, 2007:
If, having lived your life, you could go back in time and tell your younger self something, what would you say? October 10, 2007: This is my first journal entry since April. It hasn't been writer's block, it's been a self-inflicted writer's quarantine, imposed because of the realization that I should tend more toward reporting, rather than philosophizing. Now that I've re-installed Bach's rule number one for writing, "Don't think; don't care; have fun," I'm writing again, hopefully to the satisfaction of the many people who have requested that I do so. Eva's and my current European adventure began when, in March of 2007, we both spontaneously combus...no, no, no...agreed we wanted to live in Czech Republic. By May all our possessions were gone, out of our control. Out of five bids for the move, I chose the one seeming most realistic. North American Van Lines gave us an estimate of $6,000 to make the intercontinental transport in a 20-foot container. Thinking that was a little high, I gave away, threw away and sold a lot of stuff. When we received our possessions in July, the bill was around $10,000!!! There was much damage and at least two boxes were missing. Beware, intercontinentally relocating adventurers! While waiting for our burden of acquisitions, we partied with friends a lot, and looked for a house to buy. Eva wanted to rent a flat and leave most our possessions in storage in the states, but my mind was set on having a house with a very nice studio, as my desire and vision was to focus as an artist, undistracted by my usual very busy American routine. We ended up choosing the first house we looked at, and began the arduous, stressful, frustrating and seemingly never-ending task of getting a mortgage and buying the damn thing. In the interim we felt a strong need for a vacation, so Eva, Rogie and I hopped on a jet to the largest and southernmost island (except tiny Gavdos) of Greece, Crete. Eva purchased a package deal: 7 nights for three people, all meals, drinks and entertainment included, for $2,000. Our hotel was about 7 miles east of Rethymno...one of those scenarios where you're surrounded by retired people whose main goal is getting drunk and tan. There were a few younger couples like us too. We were the ones on the beach getting the most swimming in. The absolute, unrivaled highlight of the trip for me was a drive across the island to Agios Pavlos, birthplace of the myth of Icarus. As you may remember, Icarus' father, Daedalus and he were in prison under King Minos. Daedalus created wings made of wax and feathers with which to escape. Daedalus warned his son not to fly too close to the sun, as the wax would melt. In the thrill and joy of flying, Icarus forgot the warning, got too close to the sun and, with melted wings, fell into the sea. Some interpret this myth as describing artists and their need to be free to fly. We all know the stories of artists who went a little too close to the sun. We also made a day trip -- a two-hour boat ride to the island of Santorini and spent several hours sampling the foods, scouring shops and marveling at the beauty of views won by the looooong stairway ascension from sea level. One doesn't have to walk these stairs in the intense heat. An option is to ride one of the fifty-or-so donkeys supplied by the locals. As one can imagine, fifty-or-so donkeys going up and down rock steps in the sweltering heat produces a stench-filled mess of dung and urine -- your welcome greeting to Santorini. They should really rethink this use of animal transportation. It's a disgusting example of a victory by greed over common sense and human compassion. All in all, the trip to Crete is a much-needed escape and we return to Czech tan and revived. October 24th, 2007: Last July I turned down a free round-trip ticket to Seattle to attend my brother's wedding. It was to be a grand affair, involving all our family in the Pacific Northwest -- nearly 20 people -- for a 5-day stay at a fantastic resort east of the Cascade Mountains. The reason I turned down such a generous gesture from sister Kay? I had just been to a meeting with Prazsky Vber II's manager, Honza, who offered the following: I was to record audio and video from several of the band's upcoming shows, give all the footage and audio data to Honza's production company and prepare a solo set to perform at major shows, beginning in September. The footage would be used to create 150,000 promo DVDs to be given away -- included in two of Czech's most popular magazines. In the DVD there was to be a two-minute spotlight on me, the opening act. "What a fantastic opportunity," I thought, although I felt miserably torn apart, disappointed I wouldn't be able to be with my kids and family for this once-in-a-lifetime event. For my solo show, I envisioned putting together video accompaniment for each song...no small task, as well as much rehearsal. Add to that all the help I needed to be doing around our house and a trip to America just wouldn't work. So there I was, traveling around the country recording A/V at rock festivals and sitting in as a singer on one song a night. Finally, it was time to hand the footage over. "What? The sponsorship has pulled out? There will be no DVD?" Shocked, I wondered when or if they were planning on letting me know. I was given this news in the context of just having become aware that we'd been duped by the builder/seller of our home. He hadn't adequately finished the house, and much of the finishing work, as well as some structural was not acceptable. Not only that...I was suffering fairly severe pain which kept moving to different locations in my ankles and knees. Add to this a mysterious psychological battle that kept recurring, where I had to struggle against depression, as the load on wife Eva was huge, trying to manage the remodel of the house (yes, we're trying to remodel as we're moving in) and day-to-day goings on -- much of which was dealing with negative issues. Since my ability to speak Czech is minimal, I was of little help to her. "So Rog...how do you like living in the Czech Republic?" I roll my eyes and smile. The evening of October 23, at 21:03, I board a train from our home town, Brno, bound for Kosice, a fairly big city in Slovakia. The ticket-selling lady has assured me I can pay for a sleeping car room once I'm on the train. Upon boarding, I'm told, "Ne, ne...reservacion! Reservacion!" So I trudge off to the normal, non-sleeping room cars. "I don't give a shit! I can sleep anywhere!" My eyes scour the car and I soon find myself sitting adjacent to a very lovely young Czech lady. After awhile a pigeon conversation ensues, which is soon joined by Jarek, who speaks excellent English. It quickly becomes apparent Jarek is making moves on charming Hanka. I ask, "Where are you going, Hanka?" "I'm going to visit my boyfriend." I watch the sparkle dwindle in Jarek's eyes as we exchange knowing smiles. I love travel by train and am thinking I'm grateful this is a straight shot to Kosice when we hear an announcement. Jarek informs me we're to get off the train in Bohumin, at the Czech-Slovakia border and wait nearly two hours for the next train to Kosice. All I can do is smile to myself and think, "You wanted an adventure, Rog!" As the remaining people get off upon arrival at Bohumin, I notice a kind of gnarly guy who had been sitting across the car from me. We had exchanged glances a few times during the hours previous. I watch him take up residence on an outdoor bench in what most of you would consider a somewhat threatening-looking place. There are some very shady characters lurking around this dark, dingy midnight scene in the bowels of Central Europe. I go to the station, looking for the toilet. In front of the closed ticket counter is a homeless-looking gentleman, passed out in a pool of piss on the floor. There are others of the same ilk nosing about. I'm standing there with my $3,000 Apple Mac Book Pro in my backpack; $2,000 Taylor guitar in soft case over my shoulder while carrying a $9,000 video camera in an unassuming case in my other hand. The other people hanging around look like escapees from a mental prison. I decide to find a place to pee outside. That task accomplished, I go to the platform outside where the Kosice-bound train is due to arrive in about 90 minutes. It is not warm here in any manner of speaking, readers. After a bit, I see the gnarly-looking guy approaching, carrying his two light bags and two cups of coffee. Surprisingly, he comes right up to me and offers me one. I think, "Wow! This guy went to all the trouble to buy this and walk quite a distance to share it with me?!?" I don't really want it, but one simply can't refuse such a thoughtful, generous offer. "It's laced," I think. "He's going to drug me to sleep and then he'll have all my stuff!" I drink very slowly, waiting for any ill effect. Another pigeon conversation. Before long, I realize my new friend, Petr, is a great guy! He then asks me something which sounds like "room." "What...he wants to get a room with me?" I realize he's saying rum and I agree, "Ano, ano...drinky!" He motions for me to watch his stuff and he's off to get "drinky." Feeling much more at ease now, I pull out my beloved Canon XL H1 HD video camera and start capturing this fascinating scene. After quite awhile, am rejoined by Petr, who doesn't want to be digitally captured. In hand is a bottle of vodka and a container of orange juice. I immediately think, "Howie should be here." He pours the vodka -- one large shot each into small plastic cups, then the OJ into larger plastic cups. My inclination is to pour the vodka into the OJ, producing a screwdriver, but I wait, desirous of mimicking his form of function. He downs the shot and chases it with OJ. I follow suit. After two of these, he beckons for me to play. Without hesitation, I remove my beloved Taylor from its snug, brown case and sing a couple songs in the 4-degree, mostly abandoned railway station in Bohumin, Czech Republic. At 1 in the morning, we're soon joined by two other guys, one of whom plays guitar. He starts singing Czech folk songs and we're all happy, saying, "Zivot je dobre!" Yes, LIFE IS GOOD. The arrangement was, Ales, Prazsky Vber II's road manager (and now my Czech manager) was to pick me up from the Kosice train station. What he didn't know was that I'd be arriving at 7 AM. Following a 30-minute cab ride -- sans Ales -- I'm at a wonderful ski resort lodge where sleeping in an actual bed is most welcome. After a night of catching |
