BLUE WOW EXCERPTS
These are snippets of the stories collected in David Khan Johnson's book BLUE WOW.
Bad Brains
In 1982 I went to see Bad Brains play at Irving Plaza, an old union hall just off of Union Square in NYC. I climbed the stairs to the upper balcony and looked down over the rail at about five hundred young men dressed in black shorts, black T-Shirts, and black lace up Doc Marten combat boots. They were milling around checking each other out, showing little interest in the night's performance.
Four black men walked onstage. The amps started to hum and the drummer made his rounds. The announcer shouted “BAD BRAINS!” The men launched into action, attacking their instruments. The audience leapt up in a fury, pointing at the singer and shouting his lyrics back at him. People climbed on stage and did short, spastic dances before diving head first into the crowd. The band seemed unfazed by the traffic through their workspace. I had never seen anything like it.
The members of Bad Brains were masters of their instruments. Their music was not a blunt beating; it was a skilled dissection. Dr. Know, the lead guitarist, played brutal riffs peppered with fast, fast, fast solos that bent towards the sonic jazz savagery of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. Drummer Earl Hudson kept the rhythm steady but cracked through with intense rolls like lightening across a dark sky. Bassist Darryl Jenifer was both the sonic bottom and another guitarist, pushing and pulling against the beat. Singer H.R.’s voice wound from a whisper to a nasal whine to a roaring wail. When he performed, he struggled to push the air down and himself higher. Where did these guys come from? What did they want?
Suddenly, they broke into a loping reggae groove. I couldn’t believe it. Earl played a roll and Darryl and Doc locked it down. H.R. began to tell us that he loved Jah (the Rastafarian name of God). The Bad Brains had gone from hurricane to gentle breeze in seconds. The audience showed their respect for the Bad Brains’ religious bent by slowing down their head banging slightly.
Two days later I was walking in Central Park. I saw Dr. Know coming my way. I introduced myself and told him how much I enjoyed their show at Irving Plaza. He said to me that after the show, someone stole their van with all of their equipment.
In 2008, I was surprised to see the Bad Brains listed in the Chicago House of Blues schedule as the opening act for N.E.R.D., the rock/rap fusion band fronted by super producer Pharrell Williams. Although most of the young crowd had no idea who the Bad Brains were, there was a small contingent of head bangers, myself included, who were thrilled to be able to see the legends performing on a big stage through a huge PA system.
After Doc, Earl and Darryl came out and laid the musical foundation, H.R. strolled onstage in a white bathrobe and a motorcycle helmet. A guitar hung high around his neck. They sounded great. The audience seemed confused and responded meekly.
When N.E.R.D. came on, the crowd went nuts. Pharrell is a modern star; working, performing, and appearing with Snoop Dogg, Madonna, Kelis, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani, Justin Timberlake, Kanye West, Jay-Z and Nelly. He’s young, hip, stylish and talented.
Halfway through the show, Pharrell asked the audience how they liked the Bad Brains. The crowd responded weakly. Pharrell said that when he was a kid in Virginia Beach, he listened to the Bad Brains while he skateboarded and that he was thrilled and honored to have them open his show. He started another song, and then he stopped it.
“I can’t believe I am looking up and seeing Bad Brains watch me do a show. I have so much respect for these guys.” He paused for a moment and stared at the VIP booth from where the Bad Brains were watching. “Bad Brains! I can’t believe it. Please come down here and play with us. Please. It would be an honor.”
H.R. and Doc walked onto the stage. Pharrell had them set up with guitars. Before starting, Pharrell looked at the audience. He waited; savoring the moment, then smiled and said, “THIS ….. is my dream come true!”
Jaco Pastorius
In 1977, we traveled north from Key West to see a Weather Report concert at the beautiful Gusman Theater in Miami. We were in love with their latest record, “Heavy Weather,” and we were excited to see them perform.
At that time, Weather Report was at the top of their game. There was Wayne Shorter, the American master of the saxophone; Joe Zawinul, the European keyboardist and composer; Alex Acuna, the Peruvian drummer representing the ancient stoic original South Americans; Manolo Badrena, the Puerto Rican percussionist whose carnival leanings came from his Spanish heritage; and Jaco Pastorius; the rock star bassist whose long hair hung in his face as his fingers kneaded the fat strings of his fretless Fender Jazz Bass.
Weather Report had been together for several years, but it was the recent addition of Mr. Pastorius to the lineup that elevated the band to crossover status. He not only brought a unique aggressive undercurrent to the worldly rhythms of the band, but he enhanced the group’s presentation by prowling the stage, genuflecting, mugging, and adding rock action to the otherwise visually staid proceedings.
It was a different Jaco Pastorius who stumbled into our dressing room at the Lone Star Café in the mid 1980s. By then his problems with drugs and alcohol had become well known. His face was puffy, pasty and dirty. His stringy hair was held back by a filthy headband. His Fender bass hung under his arm. He knew we knew who he was, so no introductions were made. He pointed at the beers on our backstage courtesy table. We nodded affirmatively and he took four. We helped him get situated on a folding chair. Someone opened a beer for him. He seemed to relax.
“Jaco, play something.”
“Yep. Yeah, sure.” He looked around the room, taking each of us in.
He gulped down a beer, tossed the empty, and pulled up the bass. We held our breath as he stared at the neck. First came a couple of warm up slides followed by some tuning. A look of determination came onto his face. He plucked at the strings and that unmistakable sound came out of the unplugged electric instrument. No one spoke. After a long silence, he began a song. It was The Star Spangled Banner.
We were disappointed by the selection, but he played it with heart and soul as only he could; peppered with harmonics, octaves, slides, chords and lightening clusters of notes. His hands were huge and they easily manipulated the giant neck. At the last note, he let go of the instrument and grabbed a beer. We all jumped forward to grab the bass before it fell to the floor.
“That was beautiful, man. Thanks.”
He held up his right hand. “Here’s the secret.” His thumb became shaped like an “L” as it bent back at the first joint. It formed a hardened tool that could attack the strings with a wide, flat surface. It was impressive.
He drank another beer.
“Jaco, play another one.”
“Sure, sure, sure….” He pulled up the bass and launched again into The Star Spangled Banner.
The stage manager stuck his head in the door. “Show time.”
He looked around and took note of what was going on. “Hi, Jaco.”
Jaco looked down. “Hey.”
The stage manager looked at us. “Is everything OK in here?” We assured him that all was well.
Our bass player, Steve “Face” Fuchs, later told me that as we were leaving to go onstage, Jaco grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the dressing room. “So you're the bass player, right?” Jaco asked. “I’m a drunk, junkie motherfucker but I know one thing, I know how to play and I want you to take a minute or two before you go on stage and really think about what you're going to do out there.” Steve was duly impressed.
When we returned to the dressing room after our show, Jaco was gone, as was our beer.
Johnny Cash and George Harrison at the Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Concert~
In October of 1992 Columbia Records held a commemorative concert at Madison Square Garden to celebrate thirty years of Bob Dylan’s career. This event, on which I’ll risk the use of a tired phrase, was star studded. Eric Clapton, George Harrison, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Tom Petty, John Mellencamp, Lou Reed, and Eddie Vedder were a few of the many artists who paid homage to Mr. Dylan that night.
Because so many artists were appearing, there was no room backstage for entourages. Only performers were allowed, which made for a wonderful atmosphere in which artists could relax and talk with their peers. Unexpected couplings were everywhere, such as Lou Reed and Booker T. Jones or Kris Kristofferson and Sinead O’Connor.
I worked for Brockum, the company who handled Bob Dylan’s merchandise. As the idea of giving free merchandise to every performing artist was an expensive one, the decision was made to have a backstage stand that would sell the event merchandise at cost to the performers.
I took a break from working at the stand and walked through the surreal crowd. As I came around a cinderblock corner I almost ran into Johnny Cash. I believe that he thought, for a moment, that he knew me. As he was about to speak, George Harrison came up. I believe that Mr. Harrison thought that Mr. Cash and I were having a conversation, which he joined.
Mr. Cash and Mr. Harrison spoke while I held up my end by smiling and nodding.
Mr. Cash insisted that Mr. Harrison visit him on his farm, which my nods suggested was a very good idea. Mr. Harrison was very excited about playing such a great event as this, and Mr. Cash and I agreed. Mr. Cash said that he was looking forward to seeing Mr. Harrison play, as it had been a long time. Mr. Harrison said that it had been a long time and that he could not pass up performing at this event. Mr. Cash inquired if anyone had seen Bob today, and Mr. Harrison and I said that we had not.
Hearing these two voices I had heard most of my life in great musical circumstances then engaged in warm conversation was too much.
Soon Mr. Harrison had to go, and he gave Mr. Cash a hug before extending me a smile and a short bow. I said that it was nice to meet him.
Mr. Cash gave me a smile and said, “I gotta get going, too. Have a good show.”
“You, too, Johnny,” I said. “Nice to see you.”
That was fun, I thought to myself.
Janis Joplin ~
In the opposite corner of the pavilion stood the members of Big Brother and the Holding Company. I’d seen pictures of San Francisco hippies in Life magazine and on the evening news, but I’d never seen any in the flesh. Here they were. Their long, long hair was floating in the breeze. They wore beads, vests, moccasins, bells, feathers, bracelets, hats, velvet pants, boots, headbands, leather, and other gypsy adornments. They laughed together and put their arms around each other.
I suddenly felt very square in my cuffed pants and button-down shirt. I lit a cigarette in a desperate attempt to look a tiny bit cool. As I looked up from my lighter, I was stunned to see Janis Joplin heading in my direction. I froze.
“You got an extra cigarette?”
Billie Joe Armstrong (of Green Day) ~
Several months later, Green Day returned to New York, performing at the Academy on 43rd Street at Broadway. I went early and found Billie Joe hanging around waiting to do a sound check. I said hello and we talked about music and how the band was doing. I asked him if he wanted to walk around. I took him down 43rd Street toward Eighth Avenue and up into Sally’s II, a notorious drag bar. As soon as we walked in, the crowd started to hum. Statuesque queens, made even taller by six-inch heels and expansive wigs, swarmed onto Billie Joe like jackals onto a fallen antelope. I saw his arm reach up out of the mountain of glittery polyester, waving in the desperate gesture of a drowning man. I reached in, grabbed him, and pulled him out through the front door onto the street.
Russell Simmons, Larry Smith and Run-DMC ~
We met at Jay’s bedroom above his grand parents’ home in Queens. Run, DMC, Jay, and Larry sat on the bed. I set up my cassette recorder and stood, asking the questions. They talked about hip-hop history, writing rhymes, scratching records, and all things Queens. I wrote the interview up and submitted it. It was a good article. My editor called and said that they were going to make it the cover story for the April 1984 issue. I called Russell, who got very excited. This would be Run-DMC’s first cover.
Ted Nugent ~
I climbed down from the stage (at Sloppy Joe’s in Key West, FL) for our break and walked over.
“Are you Ted Nugent?”
“Yes sir,” he replied.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, I’m down here in the Keys hunting sharks with a bow and arrow.”
“Wow. Would you like to jam with us?”
“Yes I would.” He flashed that canine grin.
Trent Reznor ~
I took a cab to nothing studios on Magazine Street. Trent had converted a funeral home into a recording complex with studios, a reception area, several offices, production rooms, a kitchen, and a television room. Although the tall banks of high tech electronic gear were very impressive, he seemed most proud of the long corridor upstairs filled with historic video games such as Pac Man, Asteroids, and Frogger.
Bad Brains
In 1982 I went to see Bad Brains play at Irving Plaza, an old union hall just off of Union Square in NYC. I climbed the stairs to the upper balcony and looked down over the rail at about five hundred young men dressed in black shorts, black T-Shirts, and black lace up Doc Marten combat boots. They were milling around checking each other out, showing little interest in the night's performance.
Four black men walked onstage. The amps started to hum and the drummer made his rounds. The announcer shouted “BAD BRAINS!” The men launched into action, attacking their instruments. The audience leapt up in a fury, pointing at the singer and shouting his lyrics back at him. People climbed on stage and did short, spastic dances before diving head first into the crowd. The band seemed unfazed by the traffic through their workspace. I had never seen anything like it.
The members of Bad Brains were masters of their instruments. Their music was not a blunt beating; it was a skilled dissection. Dr. Know, the lead guitarist, played brutal riffs peppered with fast, fast, fast solos that bent towards the sonic jazz savagery of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. Drummer Earl Hudson kept the rhythm steady but cracked through with intense rolls like lightening across a dark sky. Bassist Darryl Jenifer was both the sonic bottom and another guitarist, pushing and pulling against the beat. Singer H.R.’s voice wound from a whisper to a nasal whine to a roaring wail. When he performed, he struggled to push the air down and himself higher. Where did these guys come from? What did they want?
Suddenly, they broke into a loping reggae groove. I couldn’t believe it. Earl played a roll and Darryl and Doc locked it down. H.R. began to tell us that he loved Jah (the Rastafarian name of God). The Bad Brains had gone from hurricane to gentle breeze in seconds. The audience showed their respect for the Bad Brains’ religious bent by slowing down their head banging slightly.
Two days later I was walking in Central Park. I saw Dr. Know coming my way. I introduced myself and told him how much I enjoyed their show at Irving Plaza. He said to me that after the show, someone stole their van with all of their equipment.
In 2008, I was surprised to see the Bad Brains listed in the Chicago House of Blues schedule as the opening act for N.E.R.D., the rock/rap fusion band fronted by super producer Pharrell Williams. Although most of the young crowd had no idea who the Bad Brains were, there was a small contingent of head bangers, myself included, who were thrilled to be able to see the legends performing on a big stage through a huge PA system.
After Doc, Earl and Darryl came out and laid the musical foundation, H.R. strolled onstage in a white bathrobe and a motorcycle helmet. A guitar hung high around his neck. They sounded great. The audience seemed confused and responded meekly.
When N.E.R.D. came on, the crowd went nuts. Pharrell is a modern star; working, performing, and appearing with Snoop Dogg, Madonna, Kelis, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, Britney Spears, Gwen Stefani, Justin Timberlake, Kanye West, Jay-Z and Nelly. He’s young, hip, stylish and talented.
Halfway through the show, Pharrell asked the audience how they liked the Bad Brains. The crowd responded weakly. Pharrell said that when he was a kid in Virginia Beach, he listened to the Bad Brains while he skateboarded and that he was thrilled and honored to have them open his show. He started another song, and then he stopped it.
“I can’t believe I am looking up and seeing Bad Brains watch me do a show. I have so much respect for these guys.” He paused for a moment and stared at the VIP booth from where the Bad Brains were watching. “Bad Brains! I can’t believe it. Please come down here and play with us. Please. It would be an honor.”
H.R. and Doc walked onto the stage. Pharrell had them set up with guitars. Before starting, Pharrell looked at the audience. He waited; savoring the moment, then smiled and said, “THIS ….. is my dream come true!”
Jaco Pastorius
In 1977, we traveled north from Key West to see a Weather Report concert at the beautiful Gusman Theater in Miami. We were in love with their latest record, “Heavy Weather,” and we were excited to see them perform.
At that time, Weather Report was at the top of their game. There was Wayne Shorter, the American master of the saxophone; Joe Zawinul, the European keyboardist and composer; Alex Acuna, the Peruvian drummer representing the ancient stoic original South Americans; Manolo Badrena, the Puerto Rican percussionist whose carnival leanings came from his Spanish heritage; and Jaco Pastorius; the rock star bassist whose long hair hung in his face as his fingers kneaded the fat strings of his fretless Fender Jazz Bass.
Weather Report had been together for several years, but it was the recent addition of Mr. Pastorius to the lineup that elevated the band to crossover status. He not only brought a unique aggressive undercurrent to the worldly rhythms of the band, but he enhanced the group’s presentation by prowling the stage, genuflecting, mugging, and adding rock action to the otherwise visually staid proceedings.
It was a different Jaco Pastorius who stumbled into our dressing room at the Lone Star Café in the mid 1980s. By then his problems with drugs and alcohol had become well known. His face was puffy, pasty and dirty. His stringy hair was held back by a filthy headband. His Fender bass hung under his arm. He knew we knew who he was, so no introductions were made. He pointed at the beers on our backstage courtesy table. We nodded affirmatively and he took four. We helped him get situated on a folding chair. Someone opened a beer for him. He seemed to relax.
“Jaco, play something.”
“Yep. Yeah, sure.” He looked around the room, taking each of us in.
He gulped down a beer, tossed the empty, and pulled up the bass. We held our breath as he stared at the neck. First came a couple of warm up slides followed by some tuning. A look of determination came onto his face. He plucked at the strings and that unmistakable sound came out of the unplugged electric instrument. No one spoke. After a long silence, he began a song. It was The Star Spangled Banner.
We were disappointed by the selection, but he played it with heart and soul as only he could; peppered with harmonics, octaves, slides, chords and lightening clusters of notes. His hands were huge and they easily manipulated the giant neck. At the last note, he let go of the instrument and grabbed a beer. We all jumped forward to grab the bass before it fell to the floor.
“That was beautiful, man. Thanks.”
He held up his right hand. “Here’s the secret.” His thumb became shaped like an “L” as it bent back at the first joint. It formed a hardened tool that could attack the strings with a wide, flat surface. It was impressive.
He drank another beer.
“Jaco, play another one.”
“Sure, sure, sure….” He pulled up the bass and launched again into The Star Spangled Banner.
The stage manager stuck his head in the door. “Show time.”
He looked around and took note of what was going on. “Hi, Jaco.”
Jaco looked down. “Hey.”
The stage manager looked at us. “Is everything OK in here?” We assured him that all was well.
Our bass player, Steve “Face” Fuchs, later told me that as we were leaving to go onstage, Jaco grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the dressing room. “So you're the bass player, right?” Jaco asked. “I’m a drunk, junkie motherfucker but I know one thing, I know how to play and I want you to take a minute or two before you go on stage and really think about what you're going to do out there.” Steve was duly impressed.
When we returned to the dressing room after our show, Jaco was gone, as was our beer.
Johnny Cash and George Harrison at the Bob Dylan 30th Anniversary Concert~
In October of 1992 Columbia Records held a commemorative concert at Madison Square Garden to celebrate thirty years of Bob Dylan’s career. This event, on which I’ll risk the use of a tired phrase, was star studded. Eric Clapton, George Harrison, Neil Young, Stevie Wonder, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Tom Petty, John Mellencamp, Lou Reed, and Eddie Vedder were a few of the many artists who paid homage to Mr. Dylan that night.
Because so many artists were appearing, there was no room backstage for entourages. Only performers were allowed, which made for a wonderful atmosphere in which artists could relax and talk with their peers. Unexpected couplings were everywhere, such as Lou Reed and Booker T. Jones or Kris Kristofferson and Sinead O’Connor.
I worked for Brockum, the company who handled Bob Dylan’s merchandise. As the idea of giving free merchandise to every performing artist was an expensive one, the decision was made to have a backstage stand that would sell the event merchandise at cost to the performers.
I took a break from working at the stand and walked through the surreal crowd. As I came around a cinderblock corner I almost ran into Johnny Cash. I believe that he thought, for a moment, that he knew me. As he was about to speak, George Harrison came up. I believe that Mr. Harrison thought that Mr. Cash and I were having a conversation, which he joined.
Mr. Cash and Mr. Harrison spoke while I held up my end by smiling and nodding.
Mr. Cash insisted that Mr. Harrison visit him on his farm, which my nods suggested was a very good idea. Mr. Harrison was very excited about playing such a great event as this, and Mr. Cash and I agreed. Mr. Cash said that he was looking forward to seeing Mr. Harrison play, as it had been a long time. Mr. Harrison said that it had been a long time and that he could not pass up performing at this event. Mr. Cash inquired if anyone had seen Bob today, and Mr. Harrison and I said that we had not.
Hearing these two voices I had heard most of my life in great musical circumstances then engaged in warm conversation was too much.
Soon Mr. Harrison had to go, and he gave Mr. Cash a hug before extending me a smile and a short bow. I said that it was nice to meet him.
Mr. Cash gave me a smile and said, “I gotta get going, too. Have a good show.”
“You, too, Johnny,” I said. “Nice to see you.”
That was fun, I thought to myself.
Janis Joplin ~
In the opposite corner of the pavilion stood the members of Big Brother and the Holding Company. I’d seen pictures of San Francisco hippies in Life magazine and on the evening news, but I’d never seen any in the flesh. Here they were. Their long, long hair was floating in the breeze. They wore beads, vests, moccasins, bells, feathers, bracelets, hats, velvet pants, boots, headbands, leather, and other gypsy adornments. They laughed together and put their arms around each other.
I suddenly felt very square in my cuffed pants and button-down shirt. I lit a cigarette in a desperate attempt to look a tiny bit cool. As I looked up from my lighter, I was stunned to see Janis Joplin heading in my direction. I froze.
“You got an extra cigarette?”
Billie Joe Armstrong (of Green Day) ~
Several months later, Green Day returned to New York, performing at the Academy on 43rd Street at Broadway. I went early and found Billie Joe hanging around waiting to do a sound check. I said hello and we talked about music and how the band was doing. I asked him if he wanted to walk around. I took him down 43rd Street toward Eighth Avenue and up into Sally’s II, a notorious drag bar. As soon as we walked in, the crowd started to hum. Statuesque queens, made even taller by six-inch heels and expansive wigs, swarmed onto Billie Joe like jackals onto a fallen antelope. I saw his arm reach up out of the mountain of glittery polyester, waving in the desperate gesture of a drowning man. I reached in, grabbed him, and pulled him out through the front door onto the street.
Russell Simmons, Larry Smith and Run-DMC ~
We met at Jay’s bedroom above his grand parents’ home in Queens. Run, DMC, Jay, and Larry sat on the bed. I set up my cassette recorder and stood, asking the questions. They talked about hip-hop history, writing rhymes, scratching records, and all things Queens. I wrote the interview up and submitted it. It was a good article. My editor called and said that they were going to make it the cover story for the April 1984 issue. I called Russell, who got very excited. This would be Run-DMC’s first cover.
Ted Nugent ~
I climbed down from the stage (at Sloppy Joe’s in Key West, FL) for our break and walked over.
“Are you Ted Nugent?”
“Yes sir,” he replied.
“What’s going on?”
“Well, I’m down here in the Keys hunting sharks with a bow and arrow.”
“Wow. Would you like to jam with us?”
“Yes I would.” He flashed that canine grin.
Trent Reznor ~
I took a cab to nothing studios on Magazine Street. Trent had converted a funeral home into a recording complex with studios, a reception area, several offices, production rooms, a kitchen, and a television room. Although the tall banks of high tech electronic gear were very impressive, he seemed most proud of the long corridor upstairs filled with historic video games such as Pac Man, Asteroids, and Frogger.
BLUE WOW. Copyright © 2012 by David Khan Johnson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Scratch Enterprises LTD, PO Box 415, Bensenville, IL 60106 or visit:
www.scratchenterprisesltd.com