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.