New Bob

As we wrapped up our regular weekly rehearsal on a Tuesday night last April, Bob Greaves leaned back in his chair and told us in a cool, matter-of-fact manner that he would be leaving the band as of July 31st. I felt as though we had been struck by a bomb - no fiery explosion, but the smoky aftermath where I'm left to look around and think what the hell just happened? It had to be a joke. Or I had somehow misunderstood. Could he really be willing to walk away after all the work we had put into this project over the past three years? We had been more than a band. We were a family. This was as if dad had waited until the dinner plates were scraped clean to tell us that he was leaving home to live with a girlfriend who we didn’t know existed. During the next few months Phil, Mike and I went through the normal stages of grieving: denial (especially Phil, who had several subsequent conversations with Bob and who just couldn’t seem to let go) and anger (especially me, I was pissed) followed by acceptance (me again - I tend to get things off my chest and move on).

Unsure whether we should go on or break up, I put the word out that we were looking for a new lead guitarist. The response was underwhelming. However, after a couple of auditions, we found someone with potential to be a good fit for the group, - over 50, familiar with 60s music, competent player, acceptable personality. So we asked him to join. After our second rehearsal, he e-mailed me to say he was leaving. Too much stress, too much new material to learn, too many outside distractions. We re-opened auditions. A week or two later, I received another e-mail from this guy. “Have you found anyone yet?” He was interested again, so we brought him back for the next rehearsal. A few days later, a third e-mail announcing another change of mind - he was out. Again. (He would write once more to ask if I would consider having him back for round three, but I politely refused).

Two more auditions would follow. In the meantime I had to find someone to cover for an upcoming performance at the Chris Thater Memorial, a nationally recognized bike race and DWI awareness benefit held each year at Binghamton's Rec Park. I called my former guitar teacher, Bob Becker, and he agreed to sit in for the event. After our first couple of practice sessions with him, we knew we had found the right match. We asked Bob Becker to join the band but we could not convince him to commit.

After the Rec Park job was over, he surprised me (pleasantly) by agreeing to take over as Reprise 60s' new lead guitarist. We’ve been rehearsing for several weeks now and Phil, Mike and I are extremely happy with our new sound.

But there's bonus we hadn't anticipated when we began our search. We can slip up and call "new" Bob by our former guitarist's name and he won't even notice.

"Beatles" Make the Grade at Elementary School

The audience would be made up of five- to ten-year-olds. The Beatles had been broken up for more than four decades. What could these kids know about the sixties and the music that continues to have such a significant influence on my life?

An office worker buzzed us in at the door and directed us to the auditorium. As we began loading in our gear, a teacher pointed out colorful drawings that lined the walls on each side of the stage. The common theme shared by the handmade images and letters stood as evidence that the young students at this school had been introduced to the legacy of John, Paul, George and Ringo, and, judging by the artwork on display, the response was enthusiastic.

The entire student body had been studying a different country each week during the school year. We had been invited on the final day of “England Week” to perform an hour-long all-Beatles concert.

After we were set up, with instruments tuned and sound check completed, an egress door opened with a metallic clunk that echoed through the empty hall. They entered silently and in a practiced formation, like miniature foot soldiers. Led by the smallest, and presumably the youngest, they filed along the back of the room. Left turn, down the middle aisle. Another left and along the first row, where they began dropping into their seats like falling dominoes. The rows fill up from front to back, left to right, then right to left, until everyone was settled.

They watched us patiently as their principal stepped up to the mic and welcomed us. We broke into our first song, "Thank You Girl." They were quiet, attentive, and when the song ended, they applauded politely, like adults obligated to sit through an elementary school play. The irony was unsettling.

I introduced our “Ed Sullivan Set," consisting of the first three songs that the Beatles performed during their earliest live US television appearance in 1964. “The kids in the audience were screaming and cheering and going wild,” I said. No reaction from our audience. So I repeated myself, this time with just a bit more force: “I said, ‘the kids were screaming and cheering and going wild.’”

And the auditorium erupted, as if our students had been waiting for permission to cut loose and have a good time.

Permission granted.

For the next 50 minutes, they whooped and squealed and danced in their seats. During the slower numbers, a group of eight to ten stood up, raised their arms in the air and swayed back and forth in unison.

Between songs, I mixed in brief Beatles history lessons, but I soon realized that they had already covered much of this material in the classroom. I held up a vinyl record. “Does anyone recognize this?”

“A 45,” someone shouted.

Right.

“Before iPods and mp3s we used to put one of these on a turntable, drop a special needle into grooves on the 45 and we would hear one three minute song. Then we would have to flip the 45 in over to play a second song. The A-side, and..."

“The B-side!” someone else yelled out as I turned the vintage black disc over in my hand.

So much for my lessons.

After the concert ended, we slipped out the stage door and waited in the hallway. As the students exited the auditorium and headed back to the classroom, they each slapped our outstretched hands. After 80 or more smacks, my hand was stinging. But my spirits were soaring.

Even though these young music fans were born about 30 years too late to have experienced Beatlemania for themselves, they were outwardly appreciative of our efforts, and we were grateful for the opportunity to provide just a small sample of what they missed.

"Old Songs, New Life"

Last September, our name - Reprise 60s - showed up on Alexander Bumsted’s T-shirt in the syndicated comic strip, Blondie. Now we’re going to be featured in a forthcoming book in the bestselling Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

My essay, “Old Songs, New Life”, describes how starting a rock band saved me during a difficult time in my life. I had just lost my job of nearly two decades. I was old - very old - by hiring standards, yet a long way from a comfortable retirement. A documentary film and video producer, my job skills were specialized and not in very high demand with most employers. My wife was working, but my salary had made up the majority of our household income. We were facing hard times, and we still are. I had begun to lose all sense of self-worth and hope for the future.

The band changed all that. Making music with my friends, entertaining an audience, providing the energy source in a roomful of happy people as they dance, tap their feet, sing along - these accomplishments made me feel productive again, like I could still part of something meaningful. So I decided to write about my circumstances, and to maybe offer some encouragement to others who are experiencing similar difficulties during these particularly hard times. This is not my first Chicken Soup story - a few years ago my essay titled “After Dooley” was published in Chicken Soup for the Dog Lover’s Soul. I enjoy the books, I was familiar with what publishers are looking for in a story, and I had a positive history with the editorial staff. So I submitted “Old Songs, New Life” and it was accepted. The book - Chicken Soup for the Soul: Young at Heart - will be out in September, 2011.

Although we relish the national exposure for the Reprise 60s name, what we really need now is local publicity. A writer for the Binghamton Press and Sun-Bulletin, our local daily newspaper, did a feature story when “After Dooley” was published, including a nice photo of my wife, me, and our two dogs. I’m hoping the same writer will be willing to do a piece on the band and “Old Songs, New Life” as the publication date draws near.

Back to My Roots

This week I'm completing a full circle that started almost a half-century ago. Back in seventh grade, I made my first appearance on stage as a musician. I played drums. Dave Bohush was on harmonica and vocals. Louis Bertoni played keyboards. Dave went on to a professional music career before he was killed in an auto accident; Louis went into law. We performed two Beatles' numbers: "I'm a Loser" and "This Boy". That night we were competing in a talent show at Maine-Endwell High School in Endwell, New York. For the record, we were not the winners. I don't know what the judges were thinking (or drinking). This Wednesday night I'll return the same stage as Reprise 60s provides back up music for a student idol competition, modeled after the American Idol television series. I can't wait to re-live the dawning of my musical avocation. This is going to be fun.

The Phones Are Ringing Again

I got a call last Friday from one of our favorite venues, John Barleycorn, in Owego, NY. They want us to appear there in February. Later the same day, I got a call from Bob. Number 5 Restaurant (a former firehouse, now one of the classiest restaurants and hottest nightspots in the Binghamton area) contacted him that morning to ask if we were available for New Years' Eve. We are. They are looking for ideas on creating a Sixties theme for the night, to complement our music.

The word is getting out there. Reprise 60s is definitely worthy of a look - and a listen.

Our name is not exactly in lights here, but I still get a real kick out of seeing it on this sign when I'm driving down the road a couple of miles from my house.

Song for Kayla

We're always trying to stay focused and improve as a band. That's why, early on, we made a pact to get together at least once per week to perfect the songs we already know and to continually add new ones to our repertoire. Just about one year ago, a local restaurant owner kindly agreed to allow us to rehearse in one of his unoccupied banquet rooms on Tuesday nights. This past summer we had a very busy schedule, playing at least once, and sometimes twice, every weekend. But now that fall has arrived, our good fortunes are cooling off along with the weather. Now that are bookings have been reduced to one per month for the remainder of the year, rehearsals are that much more important since we have fewer live performances to keep us sharp. Today is Tuesday and I'm really looking forward to getting together with the guys in a couple of hours and making music again.

Tonight is an especially big deal because we're going to be unveiling our first original song. Reprise 60s is primarily a cover band and, at least for now, we plan to keep it that way. However, several months ago the regular Tuesday night waitress jokingly asked us to write a song for her. Week after week I promised her that we were making progress on her song, and that it would be finished "any day now." Truth is, there was no song for Kayla.

Then, one day a couple of weeks ago, I was sitting around strumming my guitar when I thought, why not? I grabbed a pen and paper, came up with a chord progression, and started writing down the words. Within a couple of hours (with a beer break or two in between) I had come up with Kayla's Song. Over the next few weeks, I tweaked the words and the chords and recorded a rough demo version for Bob, our lead guitarist. Between the two of us, we arranged the song and taught it to Phil (our rhythm guitarist) and Mike (drummer).

We still have a few kinks to work out in the arrangement, but I think we'll be ready tonight to play it for Kayla and the crew at Brothers Two. I hope they'll be pleased.

Could this be the start of a new direction for the band?

Blondie Tribute

Last Tuesday morning I opened an e-mail and read the following:

"Hi Gary, Check out Alexander's t-shirt in tomorrow's strip!"

The succinct and curious message was from my friend, John Marshall. I knew the strip he was referring to because John is the artist for the long-running, syndicated "Blondie" comic. As anyone who follows the funny pages knows, Alexander is the forever teenage son of the titular character and her husband, Dagwood Bumstead.

John's artwork will occasionally include some sly reference to his hometown, Endicott, NY -- usually a long-gone local landmark, such as Elk's Bakery, E-J Shoe Factory, or Woody's Record Shop. I couldn't wait to find out what he had come up with for the next day's publication, and why John believed that it would be of particular interest to me.

The following morning I was up with the dogs, as usual, at 6 a.m. (Here, I will digress to offer one of my critical tips to a successful marriage: if you are the partner who insisted on having one or more dogs, don't, under any circumstances, expect your spouse to get up at dawn to let them out to relieve themselves, and always patrol the yard each day for those little brown bombs that have a habit of hiding out wherever your wife or husband is going to step next.) I don't know what time our paper is normally delivered -- I just know it's always there in the tube below our mailbox when I mosey out to get it sometime around mid-morning. But on last Wednesday, September 15, the sun had barely broken the horizon when I checked to see if it had arrived. It had. I came back into the house and opened to page 10B. I had to find my glasses and hold the paper up to the light to make it out, printed there on front of Alexander's shirt in all three panels, a familiar word followed by my favorite number -- Reprise 60s.

Our band's name there for the world (or at least a big chunk of it) to see.

Wow, how cool is that? Not the way we might have planned for national recognition, but a wonderful surprise and a thoughtful tribute from a great guy, a respected artist and a true friend.

See the strip on-line at www.Blondie.com.

The phone rang ...

... yesterday afternoon. "Hi, Gary? This is Justin from Cool 100. Are you guys available tomorrow night?"

Justin is one of the DJs at the oldies radio station. We had played Cans and Clams Night at Traditions at the Glen just two weeks ago, and he was asking us to appear again because the scheduled entertainment had canceled at the last minute. I'd been itching for another gig and we had nothing booked for this weekend.

I told Justin that we'd be there. Before hanging up, I thanked him for thinking of us.

"You were the first ones I thought of," he said.

I love it!

The Beatles are Coming! The Beatles are Coming!

The following is from my Reprise 60s Journal, entry dated July 30, 2009:

The Beatles are playing Sunday at a small winery near Binghamton, New York. That is, if the ad that appeared this morning in the local newspaper is to be believed. Getting the world's greatest band to show up will be quite an accomplishment, since two of the members are dead and a third is filling stadiums with exhilarated fans on his current U.S. tour. Perhaps instead of a live performance, the Beatles will be represented via their recordings. But there is another possibility. A couple of weeks ago, I went to the winery on a Sunday to catch a group named the Beatles Band. My guess is that the Beatles Band is going to be there this week and the Beatles are not.

I also drove out to the winery that day for another reason. The owners hire entertainment for Sunday afternoon performances on the outdoor deck. I had previously phoned to inquire about opportunities for our band, Reprise 60s. When I told the woman on the phone that we play sixties music exclusively, she said that she did not usually hire oldies bands, but that she would “listen with an open mind” if I dropped off a demo CD. In fact, the Beatles Band plays sixties music exclusively, since, as their name implies, they cover only Beatles songs. The real Beatles released their first hit in 1963 and broke up forever in 1969 - the ultimate sixties band. So, I was encouraged when I handed over our CD, including covers of two Beatles songs and three others that are typical examples of the same era, and my optimism was not diminished as I listened to the Beatles Band. They were competent, but certainly not overwhelmingly superior to our band, Reprise 60s. Not, at least, in my completely unbiased opinion.

I sent a follow-up e-mail about a week later. Within an hour I received a reply: “We enjoyed your CD,” the woman from the winery wrote. “We feel you’re music is not the right match for our business.” Hmm, I wondered - you mean the music of the Beatles?

Geeze, talk about rejection. It’s like asking Stephen King’s Carrie to the prom and getting turned down.

Oh, by the way, it took three days and two loaves of bread with peanut butter to kill the aftertaste from whatever it was the proprietors were serving out of wine bottles.

Our Place in the (Very Hot) Sun

“Nobody does the Sixties better.” - Julie from Syracuse
“If you like the Beatles & the Stones, you’ll love Reprise 60s.”


“These guys are awesome … their harmonies are dead on!”
- Scott from Endwell

“Finally, music I know the words to.” - Terry from Endicott

“This was the most fun I’ve ever had listening to a live band.”
- a fan at McGirk’s

“Better every time I hear them … they’ve got swagger.”
- Dale from Endicott

“This band is welcome back here … anytime.” – Cosmo, owner Cosmo's Tiki Bar, Johnson City


After two straight weekends of back-to-back shows, reality is finally beginning to gnaw its way through my nearly impenetrable skull. This is a young man’s game. Lugging heavy equipment around, setting up and tearing down, standing on our feet and forcing ourselves to remain upbeat for up to four hours at a stretch, with one or two fifteen minute breaks to rest our weary backs and fingers and throats. These past two weeks were especially brutal, not just because of our busy schedule, but because all four of our gigs took place outdoors during one of the hottest late June/early Julys on record. Two of them - a two-hour performance at the annual Strawberry Festival in Owego and a Fourth of July show at Highland Park in Endwell – had us performing under a ferocious mid-day sun. I slept through most of July 5th and 6th.

Yet later that week I began to develop a longing that reminded me of the time I gave up cigarettes for good. How could we have no gigs scheduled for the coming weekend? Or the one after that? I am officially addicted, not to smoke or drink or drugs, but to the stage. Physical challenges and emotional disappointments aside, I cannot wait to get back it, to put myself in a position to succeed or fail in front of a roomful of strangers who couldn't care less about my fragile psyche.

The band is doing well right now. We have had our ups and lots of downs, and we’re still having trouble drawing and holding a crowd on a consistent basis. But we’re getting booked regularly now, and nearly everyone who hears us has something good to say about us.

I’ve collected some quotes over the past few weeks and put them on a poster (see above). A local DJ talked us up recently on his Sunday morning radio program. He says we're "going places." We’re starting to get calls from people who are interested in booking us. Things are looking up for Reprise 60s. But how much longer, I wonder, will we be able to keep up, or possibly increase, the pace?

The answer always comes back to me as the next gig draws near: As long as the rewards outweigh the demands. In other words, for a long time … I hope.

Sent out the following message to our electronic newsletter list, accessable from our Website (Reprise60s.com).

Important notice from Reprise 60s:

The competition is fierce. Local rock bands far outnumber the entertainment venues and, in today’s brutal economy, club owners are looking for acts with the potential to draw the largest crowds. Reprise 60s is the only Binghamton area group that brings you the songs of the Sixties and only the Sixties, performed as they were originally recorded by artists including the Rolling Stones, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Herman’s Hermits, the Grass Roots, and of course, the group that started it all - the Beatles. If you haven’t seen us yet, now is the time to find out what all the buzz is about. And if you have enjoyed our shows in the past, please continue to support us and insure that we will be able to go on performing the music we all love to hear again and again.

Reprise 60s will be at Jonathan’s in Endwell this Friday, October 9, at 9 p.m. Following this appearance, we will be taking some time off to work on a new demo recording, so, although we will be accepting new bookings as opportunities arise, this is currently our final scheduled show of 2009. DON’T MISS IT! And don’t forget to tell your friends to be there, too.

Playing for the Door

Last Saturday, Reprise 60s had a gig at a popular bar in Binghamton. The arrangement we had with the manager was that we would be working for “the door”. This meant that incoming customers would pay a cover charge – five dollars in this case - and the money collected would be ours. Also as part of the agreement, we were to provide the door personnel. Our wives agreed to handle the job. However, when we arrived to set up, we were told not to “worry about it” and that the bar bouncers would be collecting the cover charge.

Throughout the night we watched as one of the bouncers celebrated his birthday at the bar while several new customers arrived and walked in without paying. We worked hard, playing from 10 p.m. till 2 a.m., per our original agreement, with just two 15-minute breaks between sets. As we packed our gear at the end of the night, the birthday-bouncer walked up to Kevin, our sound man, and handed him a cup filled with a few bills. We were shocked to discover that our total take was $175. Apparently, only 35 customers had paid to get in that night, though we could count many more bodies in the room at any given time during our four-hour performance.

Musicians beware! If you’re playing for the door, make sure collection of the cover charge is being overseen by someone who will watch out for your interests.

The Meeting

The woman at the front counter took our names and disappeared into the back. Minutes later, a man with thick white hair and wearing neat blue jeans, leather boots and open-collared shirt walked into the lobby, introduced himself and shook our hands. As we followed him down a long, narrow hallway, we passed three brightly lighted offices with doors propped wide. Inside one of the rooms we saw a man sitting at his desk with a phone receiver pressed to his ear. Another man nodded as he scooted past us in the opposite direction. Everyone we came into contact with, other than our host, wore pressed slacks and ties or business suits.

At the end of the hall, we entered what looked and felt to be another world. The room was cool and dark. A small table lamp provided just enough illumination for us to find our seats without tripping over them. We settled into matching, overstuffed chairs that faced an expensive looking dark wood desk. Except for a computer monitor, a phone, and the aforementioned lamp, the desktop was clear. When the door was closed, the hustle and bustle outside was silenced. Here, we heard only the sound of 50s and 60s music playing softly from speakers hidden somewhere in the room. Not surprising, since Bob and I were here to meet with the general manager of our local oldies radio station. He also books entertainment for "Cans and Clams," a summertime event that is held each week at a high-end spa and conference center called Traditions at the Glen.

As my eyes began to adjust to the change in light, I noticed several framed posters that hung side by side on each of the walls. Behind me was an enlarged photo from the cover of the first LP I ever purchased, Dion DiMucci’s Lovers Who Wander. The year was 1962 and I was 12-years-old. I probably chose the album for the striking photo of the sleepy-eyed, wavy-haired singer holding the blonde guitar and looking like a cock-sure lady’s man. Lucky for me the music on the inside of the record sleeve was even more impressive than the artist’s good looks.

The other poster that caught my attention featured the Beatles in their notorious “Butcher Boys” pose. (end part 1)

The Meeting Part 2

In the photograph, the four Beatles are wearing white, button-down smocks. In their laps and on their shoulders are decapitated baby dolls and slabs of raw meet. George, looking particularly sinister, is flashing an evil mad-scientist grin at the camera. The picture made it onto the cover of the 1966 LP release, Yesterday …and Today. But only briefly. Capital Record executives were not amused, and the albums were pulled from distribution after only a few thousand were released. (wikipedia.org.wiki/Yesterday_and_Today)

One day around that time, the station manager, Tom, was walking into HiFi Records and Tapes, one of the Binghamton area’s two great record stores (the other was a place called Woody’s, where I spent countless Saturday afternoons thumbing through stacks of 45s and LPs and where I bought every Beatle album released in the U.S. between ’64 and ‘70). As Tom was entering the store, a rep from Capital Records was leaving. While they chatted, the man explained that his record company was recalling all publicity items that featured the controversial photo. Under the rep’s arm were a few rolled up posters. He gave one of them to Tom.

“That must be worth a few bucks,” I said as I admired the beautifully preserved relic of rock and roll history. .

“I’ve never had it appraised,” Tom said.

Tom’s poster story was the perfect ice-breaker, and we spent the next 50 minutes discussing music past and present, local bands, and big-time acts. An hour had passed when we began to notice increased activity and voices coming from outside the door. Tom steered the conversation to business. “How much?” he said as he pulled out his calendar. We gave him a figure, he countered, and we accepted without further haggling. He booked our band for two Cans and Clams nights that season.

Bob and I left the office and high-fived in the parking lot.

Our most loyal and supportive fans, Diane, Lisa, Patricia, and Karen

The Beatles Party

A few weeks ago, my wife and I were invited to a party at the home of a couple who had been in the audience for two or three of my band’s gigs. I had never met the hosts and was about to decline the invitation (which came, not from the homeowners themselves, but second-hand through mutual friends) until I learned that the party would have a "Beatles" theme. Guests were being asked to bring along their Beatles memorabilia and musicians were encouraged to bring their acoustic instruments for a Beatles sing-along. They had even invented a Beatles trivia game for the occasion. Except for the fact that ten minutes after I arrived I managed to spill half a bottle of beer on the carpet that belonged to two extremely nice (and forgiving) people, we had a great time. As a Paul McCartney concert DVD played on the television, one woman was getting more and more excited about her plans to see the former Beatle on the following Tuesday at Citi Field in Queens — the new home of the New York Mets. “Wish I could go,” I must have said, because the woman’s husband told me that good seats were available via on-line distributors for $275.

For a few minutes, I almost forgot that I had just lost my job of 19 years at Cornell University, and that my wife and I were now wondering what was going to happen to us when the savings ran out. Then, reality set in and I knew that, even though this might be my last opportunity to see the great one in concert, it wasn’t going to happen for me this time. When we got home from the party, I fired up the computer out of curiosity, and sure enough, I located great seats available on the field, not far from the stage. With the added fee for the ticket vendor, the cost was $290 each. My wife came into the room and stood behind me. “Do it,” she said, like the little devil who sometimes sits on my shoulder and forces me to do things I know I’ll later regret. “This is one in a lifetime,” she said. “You deserve it.”

A few clicks later, I printed out my ticket to see Paul McCartney.

TV Blues

“We’re going to be on TV!”

I phoned my wife at her office as soon as I listened to the message on our answering machine. A representative of one of our hometown television stations had called to ask if my band would be interested in performing on air during an upcoming evening news program. Each weekday the 5 p.m. broadcast closed with an entertainment segment featuring local talent appearing live from the Oakdale Shopping Mall. Recent performers had included a yoga instructor, an acoustic guitar duo, a piano player, a lounge-style singer, and a belly dancer.

Our debut was scheduled for the following week. I sent emails or made phone calls to everyone I thought might be interested. If they lived outside of our viewing area, I explained, they could see us online at the station’s Web site.

When we arrived at the designated spot only 90 minutes before our air time, we sensed trouble right away. No one from the station was there to greet us or to let us know exactly where to set up. A half hour later the video crew swooped in on us with cameras, microphones and an audio mixing board. Once equipment was assembled and tested, our sound man, Kevin, went over instructions with the station’s audio engineer. They agreed that Kevin would listen to the broadcast feed on headsets, and that he would operate the audio board faders. We were unsettled at being rushed to prepare, but we were confident that our audio mix was in good hands.

I was nervous when we got the cue to start playing, but I felt that we did okay. Certainly we had no major blunders. We covered the Beatles song, “I’ll Be Back.” The three-part harmony sounded good in our fold-back monitors, and our instruments were tight. When we finished the live portion of the show, we recorded a second song that the producers planned to air at a later date.

When I got home that night, I played our performance back on our DVR. I was thrilled with the way we looked on camera. However, I did notice some problems with the vocal mix. My voice was dominant, while Phil, who was singing the lead part, was way lower in volume. Bob’s harmony part was inaudible – we would not have known that he was singing at all except that his lips were moving.

Six days later, at our regular Tuesday night rehearsal, Bob dropped the bomb. He teaches music at a community college, and he had an opportunity to speak with students as well as professional musicians. The conclusion was unanimous: we were a bust. Some of the comments he received were difficult to listen to, and were directed toward Phil and I. Phil’s vocals were flat, I was often sharp, and when the two errors happened simultaneously, we sounded particularly "sour". Bob was spared the harsh criticism because, as he explained, his vocal was missing from the mix. (Later, we concluded that Kevin’s headset had been plugged into the audio feed that was going to the room, and not the critical mix that was going out over the air, so he was unaware of the problem.)

The next day, I turned to the 5 o’clock news. Instead, I saw Judge Judy as she humiliated some poor schmucks who had been dumb enough to air their petty dispute on national television. A story in the morning newspaper explained. The station’s news show had been canceled, and the news team, including the anchor whose face and voice had been seen and heard in local homes for as long as I can remember, had been let go.

I couldn’t help but feel that we were somehow responsible for the shut down. Were we becoming a curse to anyone who came into contact with us? We were all discouraged. I was close to giving up, and I sensed that Bob felt the same. But we pushed on.

We had made the right decision. Our television fiasco became a turning point for us. From here, things were about to improve.

The Other Side of the Tracks

We met at the Newark Valley Railroad Station at 3 o’clock. Ours were the only cars parked on the open grass field across the tracks. The trains have not traveled along these worn and rusty rails for many years. The building that once housed a ticket office and passenger waiting area is now a threadbare museum, with a long glass case holding wooden tools and other artifacts, along with old maps and several black and white photographs of people wearing stern expressions and outdated clothes. We introduced ourselves to a man in coveralls who was setting up folding chairs. Otherwise, we were alone.

Bob had arranged this job for us, and we did not know what to expect. Newark Valley (pronounced Nerk Valley, as we would learn before the night was over) is a rural community that is located nearly 20 miles from the closest mall, movie theater, or McDonald’s. To date, we had played only clubs and bars. This place served popcorn, hotdogs and soda, no alcohol. There was also no dance floor, just row after row of chairs facing the front of the room where we were setting up our gear. These people would not be here just to listen to music. They would be expecting a show. If they came out at all.

We learned that the local Historical Society sponsors an entertainment event at the station every Friday night from late June till September, that we were the first performers of the 2009 season, and that they could not anticipate whether or not anyone would actually show up to hear us. Performing musicians feed off of audience energy – the stronger that energy, the easier it is to perform at a high level. After three jobs in a row playing to no more than a handful of listeners, I was working hard to keep my enthusiasm from waning.

Once our soundcheck was completed, we went to the only restaurant in town, a pizza and pasta place just a couple of blocks away. At about 15 minutes before our start time, we gulped down the last few bites of food, paid our checks, and hustled back to the station, When we pulled into the grass lot, there were only a couple of spaces left. Inside the open doors of the building, we could see people, lots of people. A few more were milling around outside. This is just what had always wanted – a full house. Then our sound man, Kevin, pulled me aside and said, “We might be in trouble. These people will probably be expecting country music.” And suddenly I visualized the scene from The Blues Brothers movie, where the band rocks in front of a hostile crowd in a country and western bar.

Unlike Jake and Elwood, we did not have to duck any flying beer bottles as we played. Once we were into our first number, we realized that this was going to be a good night. They tapped and clapped and sang along. When we took a short break, they hung around and ordered (soft)drinks and dogs, and when we started up again they were all back in their seats. When we thanked them and said goodnight at the end of the show, the applause rose higher, and the woman in charge of the event spoke up from the refreshment counter and said, “That means they want an encore, you know.” Yes, I knew. But I was in no rush to start up again. I wanted to savor this moment for as long as possible.

I Hate (Nearly) Empty Houses

The afternoon before a performance is spent relaxing, watching a couple of concert DVDs, drinking lots of water, and warming up the singing voice. Sometime around 3 o’clock, I’ll pack my gear into my car, including the clothes I will wear on stage – three or four white cotton shirts, black dress pants, black vest and shoes. The band members and sound man arrive at the venue around three hours early, so we’ll meet at 6 for a 9 o'clock start. We haul speakers, string cables, tune our guitars, and complete a sound check, usually playing one or two warm up songs to make sure our levels and our mix are set properly for the room acoustics. Then, I find a quiet place to sit and calm my nerves.

Set up and tear down take nearly three hours, sometimes longer. We generally play from three to four hours per night. Add in travel time and expense, plus countless rehearsal hours, and it becomes obvious that we’re not in this for the few dollars we might take home at the end of the night.

We are doing this for the shear pleasure of making music we love and sharing that music with an appreciative audience. When we’re not attracting patrons and filling chairs or barstools, club owners are unhappy because they’re not making money, and we’re unhappy because we are denied the one thing that drives us as performers.

The lounge in the Number 5 Restaurant is the place to be on Friday and Saturday nights for young professionals. I have never been in there as a customer when the bar and the dance floor were not packed with people. As many as four bartenders are usually kept hustling all night. Yet for our first appearance there, we played for our wives and a handful of strangers scattered around a few tables and along the bar. Thankfully, I did not see the owner all night. We were scheduled to play until 1:30 a.m., but the manager stopped us a half hour early because the bar was deserted and the lights had been turned up. As my band mates were packing up, I approached one of the bartenders and apologized for the slow business. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “You guys are good. It’s the weather. It’s always slow on the first nice Saturday of the year.”

There might have been some truth to what she was saying, but I had a feeling that the weather would not be blamed when liquor sales were tallied the next morning.

Our next job was to have taken place the following week, but it was postponed due to a communication breakdown. I had stopped into the Wine Cellar Tavern a few weeks earlier to see the owner, a long-time friend. “There’s someone here who wants to meet you,” she said as soon as I walked in the door. She led me to one of the men sitting at the bar and introduced him as the manager of a local American Legion Post. He told me that he was interested in hiring my band, so I referred him to Bob, our lead guitarist who also acts as our booking agent, and within days we were confirmed for a Friday night gig.

Three weeks later – just four days before we were scheduled to appear – Bob called the American Legion and asked for the manager. A woman’s voice said, “I’m the manager.” She was surprised to learn that our band was planning to perform there that weekend. She explained that the man who had hired us had stepped down as manager, and that she knew nothing about our arrangement with him. It was too late to stock up on food and liquor to cover the extra business our band would generate, she said. We agreed to postpone our appearance for two weeks.

As it turned out, the extra food and alcohol were not necessary.

The Letter

Now that we had two gigs to our credit, I was certain that the time had come to begin a full-out assault on the local club circuit. Surely the word had spread about this fabulous new band that could perfectly recreate the sounds of the sixties groups from England, but just to be safe, I decided to provide the spark that would get us some attention. I contacted a friend of mine who owns a small neighborhood tavern. We’ll come in and put on a free show for your customers, I offered, if you will allow us to use the place for an audition. She agreed (she had actually allowed us to set up and play there once before, as a tune-up for our first job, so she was a little less reluctant this time around since we were no longer an unknown). Next, I composed a letter and mailed it out to several club owners and radio station reps:

Reprise 60s
The band that brings back the fabulous sounds of a fab era

Feb. 18, 2009

Xxxx
Main Street
Binghamton, NY

This performance is for you …

Dear Xxxx,

Please come by the Wine Cellar, 100 Rano Blvd., Vestal, on Saturday, February 28, between 8 and 10 pm, to see and hear one of the hottest new musical groups in the area and enjoy a drink of your choice on the members of the band. We are four established musicians who have been performing in various local bands for several decades. We got together in 2007 and began rehearsing weekly, perfecting our sound for over 18 months before making our first public appearance as Reprise 60s in November 2008.

You are receiving this notice because we believe that our show — a tribute to the music of The Beatles and other 1960’s groups — would be a perfect fit for your establishment, and we’re staging this event because we think you’ll agree.

If you cannot make it on the 28th, please visit our Web site at: www.Reprise60s.com. Click on the word “media” and check out song samples and photos from our recent gigs. We will be contacting you to follow up within the next few weeks. In the meantime, call Bob Greaves (xxx-xxx-xxxx) or Gary Ingraham (xxx-xxx-xxxx) to arrange a booking.

Thank you and we’ll look forward to seeing you soon.
(end of letter)



We had lots of fun that night, and the regular patrons were clearly enjoying the music. Just one letter recipient accepted our invitation. We were well into our second, and final, set when I recognized the tall man in the dark dress coat standing at the bar. Jim owns one of the finest restaurants in the area, a former firehouse on the south side of the city. Number 5 Restaurant is the first place I’ll take out-of-town guests when my aim is to impress. I got nervous when I saw him, and I felt my voice shaking as I sang. I thought playing at his place would be a major coup for the band, and a guarantee of our future success.

As we ended our set, I noticed he was getting ready to leave. I rushed over to catch up with him. “Hi Jim,” I said. “Thanks for coming. Whadja’ think?”

“Pretty good,” he said. “You nailed some of the songs. Others were okay.”

Well, fair enough, I thought. Better than a knee to the groin.

“The band I had last night pissed me off, and they pissed off my waitress, too. So they’re out,” he said, pointing a thick, imposing finger at my chest, “And you’re in!”

He turned and started toward the door.

“I guess we’ll get in touch?” I said to his backside.

“I’m out of town next week, but back the following week,” he said over his shoulder. “Call me.”

And then he was gone.