There’s something in our primal need to turn life into stories, that inclines us to frame those stories (and the lives behind them) as ‘happy’, or ‘sad’. But I can’t do that with Dave’s story about his friend. I want to see the joy of a consummate artist, or I want to mourn the tragic loss of his dreams. But Ric’s life was both of these, and whether this was Dave’s intention or not, he captured BOTH aspects vividly and profoundly.
Decades ago, before I became an old-timer, I was in a music store talking to the old-timer behind the counter. He was telling me how things had been as a young musician in the fifties. He told me how back then, there was nothing BUT live music; if you wanted to hear it, you had no choice but to hear it being played live. There was plenty of work for anyone who was willing to be well prepared and to work hard. No lightning necessary.
If there’s any tragedy in Dave’s story about Ric’s life, it’s this: we have created a society where the door is either swung wide open, or it’s slammed shut and locked tight. For some reason, opening the door just enough to get through, and lead a dignified life – a life where your passion and your commitment to excellence can be appreciated and honoured by the people in your community – seems out of date, almost ridiculous. Too bad for us.
I often say from stage that 'fame & fortune' are very recent add-ons to musical performance. Only since recording enabled the multiplying of a given rendition into a limitless number which could all be sold. That was the turning point, as motion pictures were for theater. I posit that a good troubadour ought to have about the same status in the tribe as the guy who can thatch the fuck out of a roof. And probably a fair bit less status than the best hunters.
It seems to me that a guy like Ric, or myself ought to be able to make a decent living, like any skilled tradesperson. But the radio is now owned by the same people who control the big concert venues, and it is not in their interest to have the entertainment dollar spread evenly across the populace. I refuse to pay hundreds of dollars to see a concert. Or in any other way, heap outsized glory on people who already have the best job in the world, and would be doing it for free if they'd been less fortunate.
Which is not to say that I resent their success. Only that I won't support the profiteers who've created and maintain the 'superstar' system that is so blatantly exclusionary.
I used to talk with Ric at Kulak’s and was very moved and impressed the several times he took the mic early enough for me to still be there. And I know you as much from MC’ing (honestly and well) as from hearing you perform, Dave. You picked a great song, and you play and sing it beautifully here. Thanks. I’ll be at Tarzana Sunday if it’s not pouring.
Condolences to you and all of Ric's friends. FWIW, Taylor Swift likely wouldn't have hit pay dirt either if her wealthy father hadn't dropped $1 million on artist development consultants when she was a teenager.
"I know that Ric never made the big impression that he wanted to make. But he surely made a big impression on those of us who knew and loved him."
These words struck me. I think a lot of us have In mind that kind of big impression we want to make but fail to realize that maybe we aren't meant to do it alone.
If we just make a big impression on those around us, they will carry that impression and a little part of us to others who will carry it to others until it spreads over the world. So, really, we have made that big impression after all.
I miss Ric daily. Thank you for your beautiful words, Dave. ❤️
I am not a musician or a songwriter, and know myself well enough to never take a stab at it. But the themes of fame and frustration are revealing. I am not a "native speaker" of cyberspace -- too old and suspicious. (No one knows you are a dog on the internet.) I don't trust the experience of apparent intimacy and recognition/appreciation. As a professor who teaches almost 100% of the time online, I miss the face to face connection with students; I almost never recognize them when I meet them. I believe that the hunger for fame is usually a twisted form of the desire to have your gift received, as Dave said so eloquently, by all those who could benefit from it. The lovely synergy of seeing someone's eyes light up, or being the one whose view of the world expanded or whose experience of life suddenly deepened. The way my mind works, I have been thinking since I read this about how we could all do this better -- facilitate the connection between those who have a creative gift and those who need it. No immediate answers yet but I'll let you know if I have a brainstorm!
There’s something in our primal need to turn life into stories, that inclines us to frame those stories (and the lives behind them) as ‘happy’, or ‘sad’. But I can’t do that with Dave’s story about his friend. I want to see the joy of a consummate artist, or I want to mourn the tragic loss of his dreams. But Ric’s life was both of these, and whether this was Dave’s intention or not, he captured BOTH aspects vividly and profoundly.
Decades ago, before I became an old-timer, I was in a music store talking to the old-timer behind the counter. He was telling me how things had been as a young musician in the fifties. He told me how back then, there was nothing BUT live music; if you wanted to hear it, you had no choice but to hear it being played live. There was plenty of work for anyone who was willing to be well prepared and to work hard. No lightning necessary.
If there’s any tragedy in Dave’s story about Ric’s life, it’s this: we have created a society where the door is either swung wide open, or it’s slammed shut and locked tight. For some reason, opening the door just enough to get through, and lead a dignified life – a life where your passion and your commitment to excellence can be appreciated and honoured by the people in your community – seems out of date, almost ridiculous. Too bad for us.
I often say from stage that 'fame & fortune' are very recent add-ons to musical performance. Only since recording enabled the multiplying of a given rendition into a limitless number which could all be sold. That was the turning point, as motion pictures were for theater. I posit that a good troubadour ought to have about the same status in the tribe as the guy who can thatch the fuck out of a roof. And probably a fair bit less status than the best hunters.
It seems to me that a guy like Ric, or myself ought to be able to make a decent living, like any skilled tradesperson. But the radio is now owned by the same people who control the big concert venues, and it is not in their interest to have the entertainment dollar spread evenly across the populace. I refuse to pay hundreds of dollars to see a concert. Or in any other way, heap outsized glory on people who already have the best job in the world, and would be doing it for free if they'd been less fortunate.
Which is not to say that I resent their success. Only that I won't support the profiteers who've created and maintain the 'superstar' system that is so blatantly exclusionary.
Thanks for the comment David.
Glad things are OK, Dave.
Sorry about your friend.
Been watching you on YouTube for a while.
Peace to you Dave
I used to talk with Ric at Kulak’s and was very moved and impressed the several times he took the mic early enough for me to still be there. And I know you as much from MC’ing (honestly and well) as from hearing you perform, Dave. You picked a great song, and you play and sing it beautifully here. Thanks. I’ll be at Tarzana Sunday if it’s not pouring.
Yeah, the weather is not playing nice. When I go, I'll be sure to do it in the spring.
Condolences to you and all of Ric's friends. FWIW, Taylor Swift likely wouldn't have hit pay dirt either if her wealthy father hadn't dropped $1 million on artist development consultants when she was a teenager.
"I know that Ric never made the big impression that he wanted to make. But he surely made a big impression on those of us who knew and loved him."
These words struck me. I think a lot of us have In mind that kind of big impression we want to make but fail to realize that maybe we aren't meant to do it alone.
If we just make a big impression on those around us, they will carry that impression and a little part of us to others who will carry it to others until it spreads over the world. So, really, we have made that big impression after all.
I miss Ric daily. Thank you for your beautiful words, Dave. ❤️
Nicely said, Erica. Keep writing.
I don't know your music well, and I'm nowhere near you with me in Sac County, but you sure can write! Thanks as always.
Thanks, Greg. I appreciate it.
I am not a musician or a songwriter, and know myself well enough to never take a stab at it. But the themes of fame and frustration are revealing. I am not a "native speaker" of cyberspace -- too old and suspicious. (No one knows you are a dog on the internet.) I don't trust the experience of apparent intimacy and recognition/appreciation. As a professor who teaches almost 100% of the time online, I miss the face to face connection with students; I almost never recognize them when I meet them. I believe that the hunger for fame is usually a twisted form of the desire to have your gift received, as Dave said so eloquently, by all those who could benefit from it. The lovely synergy of seeing someone's eyes light up, or being the one whose view of the world expanded or whose experience of life suddenly deepened. The way my mind works, I have been thinking since I read this about how we could all do this better -- facilitate the connection between those who have a creative gift and those who need it. No immediate answers yet but I'll let you know if I have a brainstorm!