Bill King: Where’s The Traction?

More than any moment in history a steady diet of information and misinformation is being served up in inexorable dosages – a rare portion nutritional. Through cutting cable nearly six years ago I assumed I’d devised a path to limit the damage. At the very least I was able to deny CNN and FOX News and their talking parrots precious time to mess with my general upbeat nature. We’ve endured enough bad April weather to expose the mind to another winter recession without the portent drumbeat of twenty-four hour “Donald Drumpf” sonic soul-shellacking about the ears.

Monday morning I awaken to the big reward (the gift) – three world-beat scandals of monumental proportion – The Panama Papers – that private one percent club of offshore tax havens where dictators, politicians, drug lords, and soccer stars stash illicit proceeds - compliments tenacious hackers and diligent journalists who exposed 11 million insider documents – The Unaoil scandal – oh where o where did those middle eastern petro “war” dollars go – and the D.C. Madam Deborah Palfrey story, the queen of a high price exclusive escort service who died from what is signified a suicide hanging in 2008 after threatening to release call logs of former political and celebrity clients - some 10,000 phone numbers. Those logs are about to see daylight and further crazy-up an already bizarre news cycle and presidential race and together with other scandals heighten the call to take action against imparity between the leisure and working class.  This is delicious stuff!

Monday night I’m back in class as ‘artist in residence’ at The Harris Institute and always curious what millennials are up to – you know, where do they get information or misinformation. Every time I hear the word “millennial” I begin to imagine some alien entity packing mysterious codes meant to unlock the mystery surrounding the demise of the music industry – the universe or just that fraternity where money used to cling.

No such luck! This generation are just as confused and broke as we are. In fact, they are looking to us for answers. Just south of us, Democratic presidential hopeful and ascetic Vermont senator Bernie Sanders is already a rock star – a favoured bearer of hope and readjustment among the twenty-somethings.

In music circles there’s this ongoing debate – is it Spotify, blogs, playlists, YouTube, archivist – where and how is music getting traction – how does a band or artist get rolling in a fractured climate as such? Here’s my take – who the fuck knows? It’s a free for all! We are all connected and disconnected and that’s pretty much what I’m getting from the next up and running generation. The answer is the same as it always was – this shit is a hard slog. Hop the band bus and get rolling.

Probing for clarity, one of Canada’s well-known and beloved jazz singers called in desperation the other day– you see, he used to sell music – folks bought his recordings – and now, he’s left housing a garage cramped with worthless jazz plastic. Prior to Juno’s big night there’s singer Alex Pangman on CTV news recalling how she sold at least a 100 CDs per performance and now she’s lugging a full bag of dead weight around and trying to figure out how to survive in a diminishing business.
This political season could be a determining factor. Keep in mind there is a suspected 31 trillion stashed offshore of which a portion of those unaccounted tax dollars could surely restore a bit of world confidence and heath.

This appears to be a make or break season – probably the most pivotal year in the past fifty. Politics is evenly divided between the raging crazies and the good earth people. Canada got a head start electing a vibrant, connected and astute young leader in Justin Trudeau. There’s a sense we can relax a bit.

The U.S. election is monumental in terms of direction. The next president will in all likelihood nominate four Supreme Court justices setting the tone for the next half century. The viability of earning a living in the arts could hinge on a number of copyright rulings. Who pays the creator – the artist – and how much or just general wage - workplace enhancements and protections? This may be the forum that favourably settles a number of technical disputes.

As far as my six year absence from that 500 channel universe – my mental health has been restored. Now, let’s pause for some soothing Ray Donovan!

Billy Paul – “Me and Mrs. Jones”

It was late June 1969 while stationed at Ft. Campbell, Kentucky, home of the 82^nd Airborne Division that I took leave to get married and headed north to Indiana.

 Musicologist/entrepreneur Jamey Aebersold was playing a series of park concerts around Louisville, Kentucky and employing singer Billy Paul’s rhythm section. Aebersold had been both educator and mentor to me the latter part of my teens and I had nothing but utmost respect and admiration for the way he conducted his life and concentrated on the music.

During conversation we learned Paul was playing the weekend at a local jazz spot, 118 Washington Street, a warehouse district near the edge of the fast moving Ohio River. This was a section of frontier like structures along the waterfront and Main Street preserved to keep the community in tune with its past.

Me and my bride exchanged vows and rings early afternoon the 30th and by evening were ready to celebrate. The riverfront always had that bohemian vibe to it; a mix of bars, artsy import shops, a bookstore and a few longhairs standing in the shadows – the kind of place a half-dozen local beatniks a decade earlier would have logged late hours in a coffee house snapping fingers and digging obtuse poetry.

Anticipating the jazz explosion we settle in a side corner. Pianist Eddie Green was “to the bone,” a Philadelphia legend – a player connected to Bud Powell, actually - a student of Powell’s brother Ritchie in the ‘50s and disciple of the thriving bebop movement. Drummer Sherman Ferguson was both affable and well versed in Max Roach/ Philly Jo Jones tradition - lots of dancing cymbal work and hearty swing. Seven years later Ferguson and I would be members of the Pointer Sisters backing trio.

While on break Kristine and I connect with Ferguson and Paul and confess this was our wedding night and we were out for good celebratory time. The duo invite us to the basement, a catacomb of bricks shaped like a wood burning pizza oven; medieval looking alcoves and proceed to light up a bowl of hashish. Can’t say it was anything like we would one day blow in Toronto but it must have had a euphoric effect. The mood was quite high.

We return to our seats and a song or two in Paul saunters on stage and looks around the room - sports a big smile – lifts the microphone and belts – “Me and Mrs. King” – holy shit – did he really say that – “we got a thing going on.” The song’s about an extramarital affair with this “Mrs. Jones” – not the newlywed, Mrs. King! The room went crazy. Paul looked over at Kristine and wailed. We looked at each other, startled and humbled. That was the capper to an evening never to be forgot – one we talk about forty-seven years later.

While the world was fixated on the untimely passing of Prince – Mr. Paul passed away from cancer at the age of 81 – four days after Prince.

There is no way to compare the two other than the power of a song. “Me and Mr. Jones” is a once in a lifetime recording – a song so universally loved and imitated it transcends all pop ditties and riff splatter. This is a song born in a jazz singer’s heart in a city where jazz and soul were willing accomplices.

Paul was a student of the grand women of jazz song – Ella Fitzgerald, Dinah Washington, Nina Simone, Sarah Vaughan, soaking up everything he could as an eleven year old who set out to become an original – to sound like him – to sing like a jazz saxophonist caught in a profound improvised statement.

Paul played the clubs, campuses alongside Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, even idols Dinah Washington and Nina Simone and became a hot item in the impactful Philadelphia jazz scene long before the “big bang.”

“Me and Mrs. Jones” was written by Cary 'Hippy' Gilbert, Kenny Gamble, and Leon Huff and released on CBS – 360 Degrees of Billy Paul. This would be Paul’s one and only #1 hit – a freak of logic and timing.

A song of this magnitude will underwrite the future and keep you employed as long as people remember – and no one ever forgot the opening lines, “Me and Mrs. Jones, we got a thing going on we both know that it's wrong, but it's much too strong to let it go now.”

Paul remained in the shadows working as much and as long as he cared then retired in 1989 – yet, no one singing or playing an instrument really ever retires. You may be usurped by a younger generation, a Bobby McFerrin, “Get Happy,” but never totally forgotten.

Along comes year 2000 the Olympics and athlete Marion Jones who would win five track and field gold medals. Nike – the world’s biggest maker of athletic shoes airs a commercial featuring the track star in a campaign entitled “Mrs. Jones” using without permission Paul’s iconic recording. Paul contacted an attorney and sued for $1,000,000 for lost licensing fees. They bad, he good.

The history of the recording business is ripe with accounting errors, oversights, delayed or never to be gotten royalty payments. Such was the case in 2003 for Paul who sued Assorted Music, its owners Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff, and Sony Music Entertainment for nearly a half a million dollars. Paul hadn’t received a statement of royalties in nearly 27 years from Philadelphia International Records. Paul’s attorney asserted, “There is no question that Billy Paul’s royalties had been improperly calculated for many years.” The jury agreed and awarded Paul $12,000 beyond the suit and opened the door for suits from other aggrieved artists – The O’Jays, Archie Bell & the Drells etc.

Paul shined bright and long and did what he always loved – sang jazz, some with an “in your face message” – others from the jazz standards playbook, and “Me and Mrs. Jones” allowed him the resources to be the jazz singer he wanted to be!

Levon Helm Music from Big Pink

Back in 1968, Greenwich Village was a hotbed of sounds and new faces. Blood Sweat and Tears was a quartet, Stevie Winwood sported a fashionable Afghan jacket, Donovan strolled in and out of saw dusty folk retreats, and Jimi Hendrix was rumored to be the best village sleepover. Meanwhile, the Cream blew the roof off at the Café au Go Go, Todd Rundgren was holed up at the Café Wha and Neil Diamond, at the Bitter End. As for Miles Davis, he proclaimed the Electric Flag to be the best band in the world. During this golden age, rock music had a distinctive voice- no band played or sounded the same.

I was sharing a flat with bassist Stu Woods and an enormous stack of pop and jazz recordings. Eric Mercury was a mainstay; so were Miles Davis, Chick Corea, Santana and a lot of classic soul.

While digging through piles of brand-new releases at a vinyl shop on 8th Avenue, I came across something called Music from Big Pink. It wasn't the title that caught my attention but the colorful sketch on the cover. I liked the song titles, too: "Tears of Rage," written by Bob Dylan and keyboardist Richard Manuel; "The Weight" by Robbie Robertson; "Chest Fever" and the classic "Long Black Veil." There was also a version of Dylan's "I Shall Be Released." Talk about a drop the needle experience! Rarely does a recording spin my head as much as it did.

When I was growing up, mountain music was all around us. Trips with our parents through Tennessee and lower Kentucky put us in the heart of twang country. Flatbeds filled with pickers and fiddlers. Grand Ole Opry. And roadside juke boxes, their next of kin, conveying a sound born of sorrow and lifted by the glory of redemption. That lush countryside was still scarred by long-ago wars; beneath its dirt hid ancient arrowheads and bodies in unmarked graves, hundreds of years after the last kill.

I also loved real church music. Not the stuff imported from England that made Jesus sound like a stiff in a wooden box, though. Instead, I went for the tunes that evoked blessed light shining through tall Georgia pines, instructing angels to carry out their earthly duties.

Once I placed the stylus in the first groove of Big Pink, the drums of Levon Helm came snapping at my knees. The percussion had a laid back pulse, one that kicked the band in all the right places.

It sounded like the rhythm of a hundred raggedy children, falling about on the ground in some kind of slump dance.

And oh, that amazing singing! Delicious harmonies, flowing past one another, bending and tailing away, leaving behind a mournful scrap of rust and bitterness to savor. Phrasing like this comes from hanging outside Pentecostal Sundays, humming the big jam to yourself. As a unit, the band's voices rose and raged with community emotion and immediacy. And that was the name by which they eventually were called: The Band.

At first, I thought all of the vocals came from Robbie Robertson and Richard Manuel. On closer inspection I got the message: it was the drummer, too: Levon Helm.

In music circles, it's well known that drummers rarely sing this well or with this urgency. I once knew an exception, an Illinois drummer and gospel singer named Kent Sprague. We worked together in the mid-60s in Los Angeles. He had a positively divine mastery of soul music. Later, he put together the Boone's Farm band. When I watched Kent sing and play, I couldn't put it all together. Instead, I looked on enviously at someone who could make such a powerful relevant tone while pounding a beautiful groove.

When I first arrived in Canada, we shared accommodations on Hallam Street with Ronnie Hawkin's former pianist Scott Cushnie and bassist Rick Birkett.  Guitarist Bob Yeomens and drummer Frank DiFelice were always around as well. They were working on the second edition of a band called Jericho, and rehearsed 20 hours a day, giving us a heavy dose of those Band songs. At times, we longed to change the playlist--yet it made us appreciate the craftsmanship that went into producing and writing those epic laments.

For the Band, Canadian keyboardist Garth Hudson was the resident genius who knew how to take the basic tracks and color to perfection. His keyboard work comes from a place where originals originate.

Drummer and vocalist Levon Helm, who became the heartbeat of The Band, was a big southern landscape. That aura traveled with him wherever he went. Later, in 1980, I remember seeing him and Sissy Spacek in Coal Miner's Daughter. I had no idea what his acting chops would be, but did he ever nail the part. Levon came across as authentic as every particle of red earth that he sprang from, growing up in the cotton field countryside of Arkansas.

Whenever I watch The Last Waltz--quite possibly the best concert documentary ever -Levon is the glue. Not every player is consistent. Not every performance redeems itself. Levon, however, is positively masterful. His quirky drumming rides the concert from beginning to end. By the final bar you know its collective history, and you realize you've been on a glorious journey few with ever travel.

With Levon's passing in April of 2012, a unique beat goes with him; one that cracked perfect time and made the planet dance on his own terms.

Rick James - Toronto, the Bands, the Law and the Lawyer!

 

 Heaven & Earth with Toronto R&B legend Ricky James Matthews, later to become known simply as Rick James, flanked by Denny Gerrard on the left and Stan Endersby on the right

 

The front door swung wide open leaving ample room for larger than life Rick James to clear space for his sprawling white fur coat, hands crowned in raw silver and neck draped in turquoise rocks. I’d credit the necklace as being jewelry but in the state he wore – some refinishing was in order. Along with James a fellow wearing a Brooks Brothers suit packing an attaché case – let’s expound on that, a traveling jewellery store.

“Bill, check this out – all the way from Arizona, turquoise, turquoise, turquoise. Put this rock on your finger.” While Rick’s making a sales pitch his partner is arranging all of the shiny objects on the dining table as if a roving Tiffany store. “Rick, I don’t wear this shit – I’m from Indiana, I’d settle for a ball cap.” Rick pauses, “Man, you don’t know what kind of deal I have for you, there’s thousands of dollars to be made. Why not buy something for your woman?” Seriously? “Wearing that rack of beads would hobble her for life.” Such was the usual stopover with James; charismatic, the ultimate salesman, funny as shit and full of life. I really liked this version of James.

James wore many faces. I never really knew his back story until inviting his former financial backer and career repairman – retired lawyer Stan Weisman in for a chat Thursday past on the Bill King Show. The five or six years we hung out; shooting hoops, playing a bit of music, mostly concealed Jame’s bitter side – and man, was that a side I’m glad I never witnessed.

In 1973 I pulled together a fine band with Rick on conga drums, Ian Guenther violin, Danny Marks guitar, Chris Vickery bass, Bill Usher congas, and we performed an hour long special for City TV – these are the early days and a show hosted by jazz fan Larry Green called Music Friends. That March we play Bathurst Street Theatre, a fundraiser to save our beloved west-end streets from demolition and high rise infestation – the Gothic/Quebec avenue. The Gothic Rock-it, as billed, also featured Billy Bryans, songwriter Bruce Miller and illusionist Doug Henning. My band wasn’t comfortable with James showboating yet I’d backed musicians that played both sides of the stage – that of artist and that of entertainer -and wasn’t at all bothered by the antics. Somewhere in the early eighties I tried to retrieve a video copy of that show and was informed back in the early days video tape was used over and over and shows erased. Yet, one lone photo survives of our encounter.

Stan would negotiate my contract with HP & Bell, paving the way for my early recordings with Capitol Records.
                                                                     Stan’s Story

There was a young girl I met in Yorkville who said there was this guy who needed my help. He was in the recording studio at the time and we should go see him. He wasn’t called Rick James then – he wore various names. Through these connections I learned a lot about the underside of Yorkville, not at all a happy scene. There was a lot going on with the drug trade. I was suddenly in a mix with people who had drugs labs and made MDA – blotter acid and other various types. I would go to clubs with them and listen to this music – rock and roll and really got into it. From my criminal practice I knew the plainclothes drug detectives in the clubs and I knew I was amongst dealers and was very uncomfortable knowing the cops knew me as well from dealing with them in the courts on a daily basis.

I began to defend these guys who came up from the states escaping the Vietnam War. There was a whole culture here. They had their own newspaper, they couldn’t work.

I went down to the recording studio to meet Rick and what I heard wasn’t rock but I loved the music. I loved the musicians he had around him and the band was called Heaven and Earth. I paid for the studio time. I saw a future in this guy and thought he was tremendous.

Going back a bit you’ve got to know who Rick James was. Back in Buffalo where he came from his mother ran some sort of numbers racket. Rick would collect money at drop places. He was charged as a juvenile many times and put in juvenile homes when he was thirteen and fourteen years of age. He was into gang warfare – all kinds of wild stuff. The father left when he was three or four years old and he was tough and continued to be tough all through.

Rick came to Canada; then ran several times back and forth. James was in the U.S. Naval reserve when he was a teenager. They often put him in the brig for insubordination, he then breaks out and comes to Toronto. Now they are looking for him – this is his first coming to Toronto. James then forms the Mynah Byrds, named after the Mynah Byrd club in Yorkville. There were at least three versions of the group. The most famous one is the one with Neil Young. They were good enough to go to Motown and have Smokey Robinson supervise a recording session – these are collector items. They recorded a few things. Some are still in Motown’s vault.

Berry Gordy said at the time they couldn’t promote the record while James was AWOL from the Navy. One of the earliest versions of Ricky’s bands was called the “Sailor Boys’ – even though he was AWOL he wore a sailor’s uniform while singing in that group. They persuade James to return to Buffalo and surrender. He lands back in jail and then there was a call-up – Rick was ordered onto an aircraft carrier bound for Vietnam and again he came back to Canada. This is a pattern – he’s hiding, then comes back to Canada and forms a band.

Neil Young comes to the Yorkville scene with bassist Bruce Palmer. Palmer was playing with John Kay and the Sparrow, which went on to become Steppenwolf. The Mynah Byrds weren’t happy with their bass player so the two clubs across the street from each other trade bass players. When the Mynah Byrds broke up Rick was in jail and that’s when Bruce hooked up with Neil, bought a hearse and drove to California. By luck they met Stephen Stills who they knew from Yorkville. Then Rickie Furay jammed and they formed Buffalo Springfield.

Now, the reason Ricky needed legal help was, he was given deportation orders just days before. He was in Canada illegally, had a record of crime – small thefts in Canada, previously deported and now under a second deportation order. What I did for him after hearing him in the studio, I appealed that deportation order. It took two years for that to come up and a lot happened in those two years.

Those two years Rick is creating a lot of different bands. He recorded a lot of music he intended for L.A. to play for various people. I decided to pay for the creation of these tapes for that purpose.

He was a very astute manager and bandleader. He would persuade wonderful Canadian musicians to participate in his various bands taken from fantastic bands I thought were equals to any in the States. He lured musicians from Milestone, Edward Bear, Luke & The Apostles, The Paupers, Rhinoceros; these kind of bands.

Like a lot of musicians at that time he would sign with managers, get an advance, then discover he didn’t like them – move on and form another band. I’m running around doing legal work. These musicians need partnership agreements between themselves – songwriter agreements, manager agreements, and then getting them out of the previous ones. All the time James is under two deportation orders from Canada - my money is at risk. I had faith in the guy. Despite all the crime I liked the guy’s character. He really appreciated me. He’d buy presents for my kids at Christmas, never forgot their birthdays.

With all of these bands that kept breaking up, Rick and I went to Los Angeles. I doubted the guy – he told me he knew everybody in L.A. He dropped big names – the Allman Brothers etc.. I traveled with him at my expense and he says we are going to Geffen/Roberts; David Geffen/Elliot Roberts. They know me and will listen to the tapes. I thought he was kidding me, so we went there and as we are going in the door, David Crosby is coming out. David grab’s Rick and hugs him and says, “I miss you, where have you been?” I’m thinking maybe this guy told me the truth all of these years. Next up we go into Elliot Robert’s office and he says, “Rick, where have you been, I’ve got your tapes from last time here and they are terrific. We’ve got to do something. Leave the new tapes with me and we’ll see what we can do.”  Nothing came of that. Rick then introduces me to Taj Mahal, all kinds of people he did know.

Now we come down to White Cane. Again Rick forms a horn band, eight pieces – Denny Gerrard, a monster bass player. This is a much different band than he assembled before; driving horns, giving him room to be like a Mick Jagger. I pay for rental of instruments, the whole band go down to LA. I’m back doing litigation in Toronto and they are telling me there was a lot of interest, which there was. They eventually sign with MGM. They make an album – the White Cane recording. They are now dealing with big time managers and I’m supposed to come down and see if those guys are for real. The manager was looking out for Three Dog Night, Steppenwolf, Five Man Electrical Band – totally legit. They sign with him. Now we have people coming around wanting to invest in these ragamuffins from money they are going to make and they ask me to check out these guys, are we going to make a lot of money, what are they going to do with our money.? I ask the guys who were all Canadian except for Rick, what they knew about Canadian tax laws? They admitted they knew nothing and decided not to go with those guys.

The album is printed up, ready to ship and MGM and manager arrange for an across the U.S. tour, twenty-seven cities. They head off, second billing to B.B. King of which Rick was jealous. The ladies were throwing their panties at King, not at Rick. Rick stops the audience and wants to get them to clap along with him and the band wasn’t rehearsed when to come back in with him. Keyboardist Ed Roth has a different interpretation than I do. I try to make peace and get them to carry on. When they eventually hit New York City, Rick announces he’s leaving, and leaves the band for good. The records were never shipped and that was supposed to be the way I’d get my money back. I saw them in delete bins in L.A. They are now collectors items.

I stop my financial involvement with Rick at this time and Tony Nolasco of McKenna, Mendelson Mainline picks up the ball, borrows a bunch of money to invest in him. Much more money than I ever put into it. In 1977 he took him into a studio in Buffalo (Cross-Eyed Bear Studios), brought in session musicians, The Brecker Brothers, Gene Mascardelli - did the arranging and horn parts, Motown released Come Get It in 1978 with James and his Stone City Band and this would become the Rick James everybody knows.

I sued Rick to get my money back and hire very expensive L.A. attorneys. James countered with top L.A. attorneys. A couple years pass and Rick phones me and says this is terrible I don’t want to be in litigation with you, you’ve done so much for me. He then says he’s flying me down so we can talk. He said someone would call me and they did. They said go to the airport, a ticket is there.

It’s 1982 and I arrive in L.A. and someone is holding a sign with my name on it and I get into the biggest limousine I’ve ever seen. It’s got a television set and a bar where I’m sitting and Rick’s brother Leroy takes me to the Sunset Marquee Hotel and tells me not to leave the hotel because when Rick gets free he’s going to come and see me. I was there four days, not leaving, hanging around and not hearing from anybody so I phone Leroy and ask where is Rick? He says Rick is at the Chateau Marmont and he’s really tied up. I say, “I really want to be where he is, get me out of here.” They drive me over to the chateau where all of the Hollywood stars stay. I would learn they stay in the hotel part. Rick is in a luxury bungalow on the grounds in the back and there’s another cottage. I move in next to him and find out John Belushi died in this cottage a month before.

Another couple days pass and I tell Leroy I’ve got to go back to Toronto and he says Rick is really tied up. I hear all kinds of music next door and approach a guard there and tell him I’ve got to see Rick. He opens the door and Rick is sitting with a movie star I can’t name on either side of a small table with a mountain of coke between them and whacked out of their minds. Music blares away as I announce I’m returning to Toronto.

Rick later phones and says he needs me back in L.A. – “I need you to come to the American Music Awards with me.” I fly back and he sends about ten of us for tuxedos and we are driven to the American Music Awards. I still haven’t seen Rick. He’s a presenter. I’m sitting with all of the big stars – Stevie Wonder, Diana Ross in the Motown section. We attend all kinds of post parties all over the place and one was at Diana Ross’s house. It was there Rick says to me, “we got to settle this, but I’m busy.”

I fly back to Toronto, continue litigation and the lawyers eventually settle. Now Rick phones me and he’s my best friend and wants me to come down to Buffalo – he’s having a showcase. I surface with trepidation because of the litigation and there’s a big crowd in his living room and this handsome guy with a doo-rag on his head asks who am I and I tell him I’m Stan Weisman and he says, “You’re Stan Weisman, we’ve been hearing about you for years from Rick – you saved his life in Toronto.” I expected the worst. I push through the crowd then Rick comes over and gives me a big hug and I look over his shoulder and notice there’s a big portrait of me and him on the wall. All through this litigation it was there amongst all kinds of awards.

A couple shorts:

Rochdale – Rick wanted to go there – it was a place of all kinds of drugs flying and Rick takes me to the head biker. The bikers won’t let you in the building. They were hired security watching undercover cops. We go into the head biker’s room and sit on the couch and the biker goes in a room and returns with an attack dog on a chain. He’s holding back the dog then gives the command word and the dog goes into attack mode, lunges about two inches from our faces while the biker laughs.

Prince was a young terminus and Rick was filling giant stadiums; Madison Square Gardens. Prince had the Purple Rain movie, Rick tried and tried through his connections to get into a movie and couldn’t. Prince during one of Rick’s concerts had himself carried in on a litter like a potentate – six guys carried into the stadium causing a whole disruption in the fans. They are all looking at Prince who they now knew from this movie that had just come out and Rick was furious. It was the beginning of their rivalry.

Prince and Soul Killing Isolation

At this juncture it is difficult getting a read of what caused music pioneer Prince’s untimely passing at 57. Did he stay up 154 straight days – was he addicted to hard core opiates – I suspect we’ll get answers to this and more about the reclusive artist’s other life soon. 

Much has been said about Prince’s stage fright and uneasiness around people. I’ve thought about this being a musician who has played a side role in many bands – some front line, others just common neighborhood gigs. There is a strange bubble that slowly wraps itself around those who climb up the tower of success. One top-ten recording can quickly elevate and suddenly all eyes point your way.

I remember interviewing Diana Krall in 1998 and her expressing how intimidated she felt playing in front of a large audience there to see her – a far different setting than hiding behind a piano in a hotel lounge. Suddenly, all eyes on are on you. In fact, examining your every move, the cut of your hair, the fit of your clothes, your mannerisms and possible gaffes.

Barbara Streisand waited 27 years before performing live fearful of forgetting lyrics – Sinatra dealt with the same anxiety. Cher had well placed large screen monitors for lyric security during her last world tour – I saw words scribbled all over the stage when Phil Collins played Toronto a few decades backs – this stuff is unnerving.

Truly, isolation is probably the most destructive and soul killing self-induced affliction. Human beings need contact and not just the contact they choose – we need to be energized by the world outside our self-imposed world. We need to participate – see that person across the aisle and be curious enough to speak to them or stand aside as they exit a bus or streetcar.

I was a shy kid absent people skills. I could laugh and comedy my way out of uncomfortable situations but it was my late Italian grandmother who in her actions changed me. Everyone was her friend wherever she traveled. Nellie had no fear. In a meat store, she had to know the person behind the counter – the family history and “how goes their day.” On the subway she’d leave her seat and sit by another woman of or near her age and strike a conversation, then return and tell me all about that person. I was astonished. Nellie was comfortable anywhere on the planet and the planet was at ease with her.

I get the isolation thing, the fear people want too much of you. The narrative has always been – people just want a piece of you, your money, your connections, and your winning lottery numbers.

The history of the creative class is one of struggle, seclusion, adoration and addiction. You can’t write, woodshed, compose or think in a crowd – it’s a private affair. You have to go inward for days and weeks at a time – for some, years.

I always admired the great writers that paused in their day and inhabited a café and participated in conversation. Renewed membership in the world outside and engaged others.

I remember nights with Janis Joplin when bassist Brad Campbell and I along with Janis hit a few pool halls around San Francisco. Janis walked in ready to kick our asses. She was loud and full of cheer. Nobody beat Brad – a Canadian boy bred on snooker – corner pockets the size of walnut shells now popping balls in half-size eight ball tables, pockets like small doorways. We’d take time about and goad each other, trash talk and get down home human. I saw in Janis a people side the same I saw in my late Grandmother yet an artist trapped by  success craving normalcy and willing to step beyond the oppressive demands of celebrity and just be that person in or outside.

I saw Ronnie Hawkins reach out and pull in anyone who would listen to his cornpone humor and sit there for hours rolling in laughter. I saw Craig Russell wrestle with life beyond his hotel room – rarely witness daylight – struggle with chemical dependency.

Truly, it’s how you handle fame. It will devour or it can motivate.

Love is a powerful thing. To sing about and crave is one thing. To fully embrace takes action and willingness to trust.

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Bill King On Drake, Basketball And A Changed Toronto

Drizzy cheers for his home team Raptors

 

Welcome to the 6!

In all honesty, I haven’t a clue if Drake is the second coming of Marvin Gaye or whoever. I do know Marvin Gaye was a voice endowed with grace, power, and agility - gifted by the Gods of all Gods. Drake is the voice of our times as defined by cult millennials.

Once we were protective of our innermost insecurities, too affected and pressured to cry a river over being “dissed” by an appealing female and too proud to admit we didn’t have five coins in our pockets to take the young woman out for a round of put-away golf.  We are living in the big “reveal.”  Lay it out there and they will sob!

What really makes me smile is how much we have changed as a city and Drake bears a hint of responsibility. It’s all about inner city and the suburbs – it’s all about sports – one sport, basketball.

We have lost our hockey pride – that love affair with losing season after season. We actually have teams that win without looking over a shoulder and back at the ‘60s. Say it loud, basketball is the new hockey, and baseball keeps chugging along and cramming bodies into stands as long as there are wins.

Why the big shift?

 Let me explain. After recently riding the subway just a few stops between Christie and Sherbourne, a straight line across the city, two schools of kids boarded. The first group ranged in age between 10 – 12 years old. This was the United Nations car. So much of what happened in front of me could fill the pages of a novella. A young white boy wearing thick lens glasses looks admiringly at a young black girl with beautifully twisted corn rolls circling her head. They were friends. The boy was more than smitten; he was near paralyzed, lost in dream infatuation. To the right of me a young black girl rests her head on the shoulder of a Chinese boy her age. The act seemed so natural and human it would send legions of howling Trump supporters chanting –“let’s Make America Great Again – look what happened to Toronto.” At least twenty-five kids of every face and color milled about laughing and hanging on each other. Verdict – this is Drake’s Toronto.

This is the world born of immigrants – that rainbow of color now here to stay. Few will ever know who Marvin Gaye is - if so, will discover mid-life and marvel at the polished artistry then push the reset button and summon familiarity.

The second group of young people were in their latter teens, under control and underwhelmed yet nearly as diverse as the ten year olds. They are the ones promised the good life yet facing near impossible obstacles. Who can afford a down payment on a million dollar home in Toronto and why? This is not going to be a win, win situation for those soon to enter the family market.

Toronto has made tremendous strides shedding the ultra un-cool image of “Hogtown.” I always loathed that reference then one day the abattoirs were banished and the air cleared. The stink lifted and developers went condo crazy. I have no idea what the finishing touch will be yet I’m sure it’s not going to be a Renoir; something more akin to a Jackson Pollock.

As summer approaches and life returns above ground, Toronto will endure street closures as we repair hundred year old water mains, cyclists will hug hundreds of miles of curb space, cafes will become loitering areas and we will complain about the intense 80 degree heat. Every weekend will be swallowed by a festival, a savory retreat on Toronto Islands, the sound of grass murder, the sawing of oblong planks and the crack of a nail's head. The streets will not roll over and play dead as once was the case; they will thrive and socialize well until early morning.

Our greatest fear – the world will wake up and want a piece of us – perhaps the whole pie. We endured the insults, the oversights and now cautiously welcome the accolades. Welcome to Toronto CMW - We are North!

Working Social Media with Gavin McGarry - JumpWire Media

Obviously, there is a process at work here and most will need smelling salts to revive themselves after following what once was the biblical critical path to success in the music industry. That world is forever gone –except for terrestrial radio, whose influence and ongoing stamp of approval is paramount.

If you are tech driven, curious and not at all overwhelmed by today’s digital world, even adapting quickly doesn’t  guarantee you’ll get a handle on evolution or see the light at the end of this optic transformation.

I doesn’t matter which end of the new platform you stand, you’re being moved and that shift will keep occurring until you’re driven to the limit. That limit extends past one frontier to the next and beyond since we first witnessed those stunning images transmitted through space back to earth from the Hubble telescope. The original question was, “What’s out there?” At present,  the bigger question, “What’s in here?”

This is why it was imperative to sit in on Gavin McGarry of Jump Wire Media’s seminar on managing social media as part of CMW. It’s takes a company to unravel the mystery and help devise an optimum social media plan.

“Here's the process when you work with us:

1) We listen and learn about your community.
2) We analyze your social media data. All of it.
3) We build a strategy from the data analysis.
4) We create content from the data. You approve all of it.
5) We poll your community. We ask questions. We test ideas. We create influencer groups. We respond to everything your community says.
6) We look at the data. Again.
7) We tweak, adjust, and develop new content based on the data.
8) We present insights from the data regularly to you and your team.
9) We slowly build trust with you, your team, and your community.
10) We both feel great and you feel comfortable enough to say, "Can you guys go ahead and never use the word 'data' in a meeting again? Thanks."

We no longer communicate through letter writing – that long form essay recalling events in one’s life. We are immediate, keyboard efficient and demanding.

Just a few months back there were doomsayer’s who prophesized the demise of Facebook – it’s influence and hold on people. “It’s where old people go to share obituaries.” Not the case, according to McGarry – Facebook is the #1 social hub and by all accounts kids have not abandoned it – they frequently visit but post elsewhere – Snapchat etc. The same for radio!

Radio is still a powerful medium – it’s still about validation. On demand streaming is the new entry point and it’s all in the stats. Build an audience and terrestrial radio will listen in.

ESPN stats man Nate Silver (FiveThirtyEight) predicted Obama’s current four year term, the Oakland A’s play Billy Ball – a system now adopted through-out baseball all based on detailed performance stats. Athletes document every action, motion and delivery, every cut and acceleration mapped and recorded and analyzed to improve performance – the same applies to music. The hit makers are doing much the same at this moment. They work in teams dissecting every scribbled line, every peak, every corner for a potential emotional response and craft accordingly. They want you jumping up and down in your car seat repeating slogans after them. They are incite, fish and sell.

McGarry plays social media like a science. Twitter belongs to journalism – not to art. News comes fast and circles the planet in 140 characters with links. Facebook is common ground, the place where we communicate and share – not where we sell. Ask yourself, when was the last gig posting seen? Bands have all but given up. Nobody showed for your gig because nobody cares. There are only so many hours in a day and they are sectioned off. You access quickly then move on much like a breaking news cycle.

“At Jump Wire we specialize in building and managing social media communities over 100,000 fans. If you have 100,000 fans we work with you generally – most of our clients have over 1,000,000 fans. We have a long radio history and legacy. We did Virgin Radio in Canada. We currently work with only one radio station but it’s the greatest radio station in the world – MVY Radio on Martha’s Vineyard where I guess a lot of the big bands were broken. We did CBC Music and the other two you should probably check out – and we don’t work with them anymore, Q 107 and Boom. Troy and Blair are really, really experts in the radio place.

I’m based in Los Angeles – I am Canadian. We have offices in New York and a large team here in Toronto. This is my big thing I’m telling my teams and telling a lot of our clients – we are moving away from the interruption economy to the conversation economy. What this means is – all of us who are old school are used to our broadcast being interrupted. We are just going to commercials and then come back. The narrative has always been that way. But now millennials and GenZ don’t want ads. I hate them. I’ve moved away from Instagram and now on Snapchat all the time – and that’s mostly because it has no ads on it.

We doubled down at Jump Wire and don’t do marketing – we don’t think social media should be used for marketing. We believe in community and conversation.

We are in an ocean of content and only have so much time. I’ve actually limited my own screen time. I could binge on tons of things on Netflix but I only have an hour to watch and I chose not to – I have to limit my time wallet. In the U.S. we say the riches are in the niches. The more niches you are the better and you are going to have to monetize that.

If you can post from a mobile device – Facebook wants you to act like a twenty-two year old, they want to know things are original – it has an ip address and can be located and they know it’s coming from a mobile. When you take a picture from a mobile device it actually has an imprint in it and Facebook knows that it’s come from there. We’ve seen if you put up a Facebook post from your desktop with a photo and seven or eight words you’ll get 12.6% through the algorithm. What that means is if you have a thousand fans 126 will see each post you put up.  However, if you post from a mobile device it jumps from  5 – 9%. It’s huge. We’ve done lots of tests where we’ve taken the same thing and post once from our desk top and what that means is Facebook is thinking if it comes from desktop it’s probably being posted by a social media person, not a real person. We’ve started using iPads and mobile phones when we want to get a ton of reach for free.”

McGarry’s thirty minute sell was exhilarating, informative and necessary - the kind of seminar you plan for at these events. Kudos to CMW and do visit - in fact you can hear the presentation in its entirety it’s at bit.ly/cmwradiosocial2016.
gavin.mcgarry@jumpwiremedia.com