As The Silos crumbled, I started playing some live shows with Freedy Johnston. It was a great time to live in the Hoboken, N.J. area. There were gigs at Maxwell’s and The Beaten Path. There were recording sessions at Water Music on Grand Street and rehearsals on 2nd Street. To this day, I can smell steaks broiling from Arthur’s kitchen downtown. Maxwell House had a coffee factory uptown on 11th Street and River Road. The smell of roasted coffee beans permeated every inch of the mile square town. You couldn’t walk down the main drag, Washington Street, without bumping into someone from bands such as The Bongos, the db’s, Bob Mould, and Television. Speaking of Television, my initial gigs with Freedy would be with Television’s bassist, Fred Smith. The other characters would be Mark Zoltak, Bob Rupe, Kevin Salem, Marshall Crenshaw, Jimmy Lee, Jared Nickerson and Graham Maby. Freedy’s project couldn’t have come at a better time. I was jumping from the burning ship that was The Silos to a more promising Freedy Johnston. To boot, I was still working with the “crew.” Once again, I was lucky. It wouldn’t be long before this situation fell apart.

Get Your Feet Off of My Dashboard

I met Freedy Johnston when he was the opening act on The Silos Bird tour. He opened for us on a handful of dates in the Northeast, promoting his first record, The Trouble Tree. He was a wiry, awkward guy from Kansas. His music was a blend of Country, Indie and Redneck. More than singing, he had a loony bin vocal style of screeching through his songs. He consciously tamed this vocal style by the time Bad Reputation was recorded. In my opinion this “improvement” was a mistake and not representative of the Freedy I once knew. “Get your feet off of my dashboard. What do you think the damn thing’s for? At least try and look pretty. Tonight we’re goin’ into Tucumcari,” he sang at the Iron Horse in Northampton, MA. The combination that was Freedy Johnston was brilliant. I was instantly taken by him.

The Silos’ manager, Mark Zoltak recognized Freedy’s talent and pounced. Within days they had a working arrangement and were already planning a new recording (Can You Fly). Graham Maby and I were the bass player and drummer in The Silos. So it was a no-brainer for Freedy to hire us to play on his sessions. In the interim there was hard work to be done. The new songs needed to be shaped and sharpened. Rehearsals were in a stiflingly hot studio on 2nd Street in Hoboken. In the period leading up to the sessions, all Freedy could offer us was the promise of playing some good songs. Otherwise it was unpaid rehearsals, gear schlepping and club gigs. A cross between a musical workshop and an internship. There were some good gigs opening for more established acts like The Connells and Pere Ubu, but they were few and far between. With Freedy and Jimmy Lee on guitars, yours truly on drums, and Television’s Fred Smith on bass, we forged ahead playing club gigs and shaping the songs for the upcoming sessions for Can You Fly.

Holland

In the summer of 1991, Freedy enjoyed some good fortune, lining up gigs in The Netherlands where The Trouble Tree was well received. In true singer/songwriter form, with each step forward, he shed those that helped him along the way. Before the Holland Tour Fred Smith and Jimmy Lee were fired. They were replaced by Jared Nickerson and Kevin Salem respectively. Bassist Jared Nickerson always was, and always will be the epitome of cool, in addition to being a damn good bass player. Kevin Salem was a great guitarist, but had other ambitions clouding his mind. Our first gig in Holland was a music festival headlined by Golden Earing and Modern English. Unlike our gigs in New York, we were jazzed because there were plenty of fans who knew the songs. We played many shows in Holland including festivals with Dinosaur Jr. and Nirvana. We enjoyed leisurely dinners and plenty of fresh Heineken. Life was good! At times Freedy would act like a temperamental “artiste.” He and I had a few arguments right on the stage between songs.

The Making of Can You Fly

Can You Fly was the album that put Freedy Johnston on the map and it set the tone for his future recordings. It was well received and made several critics “Best Of” list that year. Robert Christgau of The Village Voice called it a “perfect record.” In a way, I think Freedy attempted to return to the quality and mood of Can You Fly on his subsequent works, while trying to demonstrate his independence from it.

Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The Curtain!

I sung Mark Zoltak’s praises in a previous blog about The Silos. In short, he was the man with a plan. He saw the big picture and had extensive musical knowledge. When listening to a demo, he’d hear its final mix instead. He preached Freedy’s work like Billy Graham cited scripture. Mark talked at a heart palpitating, mile-a-minute pace with motivational energy. His mind was five steps ahead of yours in a conversation. When we were airborne en route to Holland, he remembered that he left his car double parked, flashers blinking on a busy Hoboken street. That was just like him, as his passions sometimes rendered him absent-minded. He had an absolute panic attack on board the plane! Mark was consumed by Freedy’s career and was the perfect manager. In the not too distant future, Freedy would fire Mark.

Here’s The Real Deal. Mark was the kind of guy that, on first glance, few took seriously. Soon, however, he demonstrated qualities that few can only aspire to. He spoke his mind freely and often. He was politically incorrect. He’d say things with serious intent, but in a way that would generate laughter instead. The bottom line is that Mark knew his stuff and knew it better than anyone. The problem with Mark wasn’t his problem, but it was one of outside perception. It’s that he just said and did things in a manner that often did not command authority. He didn’t have much of a track record in the music business, nor did he play any instrument. At times he was personally volatile and unprofessional. So, it’s important you know this because Mark was not properly credited on the first edition of Can You Fly. This was ironic because Mark had been the behind the scenes Executive Producer, Producer, Arranger, Manager and Caterer. In truth, Mark was the one who had a clear vision of Freedy’s songs and single-handedly made this recording come to life. Yes, others (including Freedy of course) played an important role in the success of the project, but Mark laid out Freedy’s career, handing it to him. I believe that this realization may have tortured Freedy over time. How can the artist freely admit that someone else is responsible for realizing his work, perhaps better than he can, while solely accepting the credit for it’s brilliance? Later on, Mark had to kick and scream to get an Executive Producer credit, for which he duly deserved. I discussed my theories about this narcissistic “artist” syndrome in an earlier posting titled Don’t Blame The Drummer.

Rehearsals and Sessions/Round 1

The recording of the basic tracks for Can You Fly took place in two chunks, each separated by a year. We began in the fall of 1990 at the old Water Music in Hoboken on Grand Street. I have fond memories of this studio as I recorded there quite a bit including Helen Hooke’s Versability, The Silos’ Hasta La Victoria, Kevin Salem’s Unreleased and Madderose’s Bring It Down. I also produced Ms. Lum’s Airport Love Song there. The first batch of songs included Responsible, California Thing, Tearing Down This Place and Wheels. The band line-up was me on drums, Freedy, Jared Nickerson on bass and Jimmy Lee. Graham Maby produced this batch of tunes and played some guitar too. These sessions were fun, easy and light-hearted. The overall mood was fine and Freedy’s songs were so good that they seemed to play themselves. I remember feeling immense satisfaction after these sessions, and knew that we created something special. I listened to the basic tracks of Responsible and some other out takes endlessly in my car and at home for months afterward. I would have been a fan even if I hadn’t worked on these songs. Freedy was the most unique and original artist I had worked with. I was sure he’d be as notorious as Neil Young, Leonard Cohen, Wilco or the like.

Rehearsals and Sessions/Round 2

The next round occurred a year later, around Thanksgiving of 1991 under the direction of Mark Zoltak and producer Knut Bohn. There was a big difference in Knut’s approach to recording. He had specific ideas about kick drum patterns and muted my cymbals with tape. You can really hear the dry cymbals all over the recording and especially at the end of Tryin’ To Tell You I Don’t Know. Overall, it seemed he wanted to minimize the role of the drummer in the band and didn’t want parts to stand out, whereas Graham had a “go-for-it” approach.

I worked with (or around) Knut by relying on the nuances and subtleties of my performances. For example, In The New Sunshine has fewer fills but a more intricate groove. The fact that The Lucky One has absolutely no fills actually highlights the groove and the song. Because my drum fills with Knut were more sparse and less active, it was a challenge to keep them interesting and effective. Admittedly, some of my drum fills ended up sounding a bit Charley Watts-esque, which (I believe) secretly drove Freedy and Knut crazy. Although they never confronted me about it, they would communicate with not-so-subtle glances or expressions during the playback of the drum tracks. However, in spite of their disrespect and attempts to minimize my contributions, the musical choices I made and performed for Can You Fly were unparalleled.

Here’s The Real Deal. This was no small task. I had to work within Knut’s confines while executing what Freedy was hearing. He wasn’t the greatest musical communicator. To compound matters, Freedy insisted on bringing in his old drummer, Alan Bezozi, to play percussion on the record. By Freedy’s design, the guy had to shake a tambourine or hit a bell over every god-damned drum track. Freedy was taken by Bezozi’s percussion playing as if he had just witnessed pure musical genius. The subtext was, “Now, if that guy (instead of Brian Doherty) had played drums on my record, then we’d have a masterpiece on our hands!” Trust me, I’m not a sensitive “victim” making this shit up. It really happened, and it was laughable. It was passive aggressive behavior for reasons unknown to me. Alan Bezozi was Freedy’s drummer before me and played drums on The Trouble Tree. As a drummer, Alan was a groove-buster and had trouble getting to the heart of the musical matter. It didn’t go unnoticed by others, but Freedy would still rely on Bezozi as his go-to guy. Bezozi had approached me once saying, “No offense, but your tracks on Can You Fly sound like they should be on a Bob Seger record.” I pointed out that drummer Roger Hawkins (of Muscle Schoals fame) played on many Seger tracks and thanked him for the generous compliment.

Months later, I went to a Freedy show in NYC on the Can You Fly tour and was not shocked to hear Bezozi’s musical road blocks during the set. I felt a tug at my sleeve and turned to face Michael Azerrad, musician and Rolling Stone journalist standing next to me. “Why the hell aren’t you up there playing drums?” he asked. “This drummer is killing these songs!” I shared his view. Let me wrap this section up by telling you that in 2007 I got an email from Freedy, after not hearing from him for many years. He was planning a 15-year anniversary gig, commemorating the release of Can You Fly. He explained the situation and told me he was rounding up the crew that had worked on the record. He also told me that he had already secured the commitment of Alan Bezozi for the gig. It occurred to me that it might be two-drummer affair, although I was the only drummer on the recording. I don’t know how the gig turned out because I was not there.

If Jared Nickerson was the definition of cool, then Kevin Salem was the demonstration of dishevelled. A Cat Stevens look alike, Kevin would stroll into rehearsals reeking of cat piss. His jeans were torn from the crotch straight down to the ankle. The entire pant leg was one big rip. The only thing that protected him from an indecent exposure charge were the yellowing long johns he wore underneath. He’d open his guitar cases and the stink of cat piss would almost knock you over. At dinner, the guy would eye the food on your plate like Steve Guttenburg’s character in that movie Diner. On the Holland Tour, Kevin booked me to play drums on his upcoming recording (for which I would never see a dime), and he would later ask Mark Zoltak to help finance it (I’m not sure Mark ever saw his money again either).

Can You Fly was released in early 1992. Shortly afterward, I went to Europe with The Silos for a five-week tour. Before I left, I got a call from Mark Zoltak asking me to work with Freedy in Belgium for a week or so. Miraculously, Freedy’s dates began a day or two after the last Silos date. It was perfect. I was then informed that Freedy had no money to pay me and was asked if I would do it for the cost of expenses and meals. I told Mark that I’d think about it. In the interim, I got a call from Kevin Salem who was livid about the situation. I shared his feelings and we agreed that we would both turn the offer down. In a phone call, I told Mark how I felt and that I wouldn’t be making the trip to Belgium. A week or so after I returned from The Silos tour, I called Kevin Salem to catch up and chat. He informed me that he had just returned from Belgium where he worked with Freedy.

From Freedy to TMBG

In later years, Freedy and I saw each other on only a few occasions. There was a gig in Woodstock. Once, he was a guest at my home in Stone Ridge, NY and there was a recording session with Freedy and Marshall Crenshaw, produced by John Flansburgh of They Might Be Giants. My drum tracks on Can You Fly are some of my best ever. I was 28 years old and I felt I had made musical progress. It was the bridge that carried me away from The Silos and on to many other bands. Today, after having played in bands and on sessions for 30 years, I can tell you that it can sometimes be an absolute chore to work on music. Often, it’s futile. The songs of Can You Fly, however, were a breeze in comparison. That’s because they were well written songs, straight from the heart. Later, my drum tracks would attract the attention of They Might Be Giants, with whom I would work for the next several years.

After the release of the record, Freedy fired Mark Zoltak and hired the manager of They Might Be Giants. Mark would later explain it to me saying, “I was worried about Freedy’s music and now he wants to cash-in on t-shirt sales just like They Might Be Giants do!”

The Silos Part 3/The Tours

 

 

1988-89 In Search of a Record Deal Tour

  

The Locations: Northeast U.S. and Los Angeles, CA

The Band: Walter Salas-Humara (guitar, vocals), Bob Rupe (lead guitar, vocals), Brian Doherty (drums), Richard Ford (bass)

The Crew: Joe Chinnici (sound)

The Bass Player and More: As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Richard Ford was the one who got me involved with The Silos.  It was only after he left that the band would truly value his contribution and musicianship.  A real musician, he was a team player and cared a great deal about the music.  He also had the ability to encourage the rest of us, which always made our musical outcomes improve.  I can’t describe it any other way than to say that this guy believed in me. I felt that he had the ability to withhold musical judgment and would focus solely on my potential.  At about this time, Richard was also enduring a personal transformation that required his attention.  After about five months with the band, he announced that he would be leaving. 

Later in our careers, Richard would recommend me to many other bands including the B52’s.  He was generous with his business contacts and personally magnanimous.  Richard followed through on his personal quest and moved to Los Angeles. While travelling on tour, I always looked forward to visiting there.  We would share a passion for running and would go for long jogs from Venice Beach up the coast.  Years later, I had a conversation with Bob Rupe, where he expressed similar feelings about Richard’s contributions to the band as mine. Before then, we had never discussed it.  The band would miss Richard after his departure and would never be the same without him.

The Opening Act: Local bands, Sam Phillips

Good To Know:

• Richard’s sense of humor was great: At a gig, we met someone with a colostomy bag. Richard stated; “The problem with a colostomy bag is that you can never find the right shoes to match.”
• Playing to enthusiastic fans at Pearl Street in Northampton, MA.
• My first gig with the band at TT The Bear’s in Camridge, MA where I felt like I was on the Olympic luge and couldn’t stop the ride if I wanted.
• Realizing, at a gig in Albany, that I had not just joined a band, I had joined a movement.
• Having business meetings with the band’s manager, Mark Zoltak at a mob deli in Jersey City, NJ.  Characters would stroll into the secret back room for lunch and take off their sports coats, revealing their pieces before sitting down.  An old man would come over and tell you that you’ll be eating meat loaf. To which you would agree and patiently wait for your meal.  Mark called it the Mussolini Café.
• Meeting Richard for dinner at the V.I.P. Diner in Jersey City, N.J.  We then took a leisurely drive down the Jersey Turnpike to a wild Frat House gig at Pinceton University.
• Realizing that I had been lucky to join an amazing and trend-setting band.

The Main Idea: I was lucky to find this band and felt like I had “lucked-out.”  There was an indescribable buzz about The Silos that would disappear after our record deal.

The Pics: Courtesy of Mark Zoltak, Richard Ford and Brian Doherty

   

1990-1991 The RCA Bird Tour
 

  

The Locations: U.S.  

The Band: Walter Salas-Humara (guitar, vocals), Bob Rupe (lead guitar, vocals), Brian Doherty (drums),Walter Salas-Humara, Graham Maby (bass, vocals)

The Crew: Joe Chinnici (sound, drum tech), Skip (guitar/bass tech), Mark Zoltak (tour manager)

The Bass Player and More: Graham Maby was brought in after Richard’s departure and after the completion of The Bird record on which J.D. Foster played bass.  I had known Graham’s playing well, from years of listening to Joe Jackson recordings.  It was ironic that Graham replaced Richard in The Silos, and years earlier, Richard replaced Graham in Joe Jackson’s band.  Anyway, I respected Graham’s work and was excited about the prospect of working with him.  From a drummer’s perspective, there’s nothing better than working with a great bass player.  In the past I had made a mental wish-lists of the bass players with whom I’d love to work.  Graham was on that list, and I was really looking forward to forming a rhythm-section alliance with him in the hopes that we’d be a powerhouse team.  Later on I would work with other bass players on my mental list like Tony Maimone of Pere Ubu, Colin Moulding of XTC, and Francisco Centano.

The first day of rehearsal with Graham did not go well.  He seemed unprepared and disaffected and he had a playing style of closing his eyes and keeping to himself. I was shocked and thrown a bit.  However the second rehearsal was pretty much the same as the first. It was no longer about the band missing Richard. Graham’s playing was timid and weak.  He fell far short of our expectations.  After a few days of rehearsal, I got a call from the band’s manager, Mark Zoltak, asking me what I thought about Graham’s performance. After I expressed my concerns, he stated that Bob and Walter were also disappointed and were considering replacing Graham.  Before we hung up, almost as an after thought, Mark stated that he’d like to talk with Graham and put all our concerns on the table.

At the next rehearsal, Graham was a new, reinvigorated bass player.  He knew the material and put forth thoughtful musical contributions.  He personified the image I had of him when I originally put him on my “wish list.”  In short, he was fantastic.  Our concerns and fears faded. Graham was now our bass player. Although we worked together closely, Graham and I never bonded as friends.  Although it was never articulated in words, he’d eventually make it clear that we’d never be on the same level, personally or musically.  While on tour he continued to play great, but resorted to his original aloof style of playing.  In addition, he was ill with a cold for most of this tour and appeared to lack the energy needed for a full tilt rock ‘n roll band.  What made matters even worse was that we were roommates, so we spent a lot of time together.

In fairness to Graham, he was a seasoned pro and I was the too-eager novice.  He was most likely accustomed to better touring conditions and to having his own hotel room.  To boot, I was naive and socially awkward.  I’d hound Graham to recommend me for other work, interrupt him during conversations and linger around him at gigs.  Eventually, I’d even seek his approval of my playing.  In light of all of this, some might say he handled the situation really well and very diplomatically.

In spite of everthing, Graham and I still worked well as a rhythm section.  We never formed that powerhouse bond I hoped for, like Sly and Robbie, or Bruce Thomas and Pete Thomas.  In later years we’d work together quite bit, but only as a result of my recommendation or by mere happenstance.  He enjoyed the fruits of my recommendation of him to They Might Be Giants and then later to Natalie Merchant.  I can’t say he ever returned the favor.  After I left They Might Be Giants in 1996, I learned that my replacement was recommended and endorsed by Graham.  I haven’t spoken with him since.

The Opening Act: Various,  including The Jayhawks, Hootie and the Blowfish, and Hetch Hetchy; a band fronted by Michael Stipe’s sister.

Good To Know:

• In Charleston, S.C. we learned the name of our opening act while looking through the newspaper.  Mark Zoltak exclaimed, “Who the hell is Hootie and The Blowfish!” At the gig, they were nice enough. The drummer Jim Sonefeld came into our dressing room and gave us t-shirts.  I’m wearing the Hootie shirt in a few of the pictures posted here.
• After our show in Chicago, I went down the street to see a band called the Elvis Brothers.  I was blown away by their drummer, Brad Elvis who played standing up and was one of the best performers I’ve ever seen in my life.  Afterward, my face hurt from smiling throughout the hour and a half show.
• Our long drive across the Rockies (pics below).
• The band van and the gear truck communicated via cb radio.  When we’d pass a Dairy Queen, Joe Chinnici in the gear truck would cry out, “Blizzard!!” in a thick New York accent. A Blizzard is an ice cream treat from Dairy Queen.  “Blizzard!” became a favorite exclamation of ours, and we’d often accompany Joe to share in its delight.
• Laundry on the road is often a drag.  In San Francisco, Joe Chinnici sent his t-shirts to be cleaned through the hotel service.  Unbeknownst to him, they were sent out to be dry cleaned, not laundered. Joe almost had a heart attack when his shirts arrived with a bill for $95.00.
• Dogs roamed free in a club we played in Jackson, M.S.  They remained on stage with us for most of our set.
• Sightseeing trips to Mount Rushmore and Yellowstone Park (see pics in this and past posts).
• The tour route included mostly college towns.  Unfortunately, our tour began in early May when most schools were letting out for the summer. Therefore, many of our dates were under attended, which is why I dubbed it “The School’s Out Tour.”
• Our guitar tech, Mario “Skip” Sorentino would sit in a chair in the wings of the stage.  As our set progressed, he’d slowly inch his chair out onto the stage. Sometimes, by the end of the set, we’d see Skip sitting center stage, in full view of the audience, clapping and hooting as if he just paid for a ticket to see his favorite band.  Unfortunately, his work as the guitar tuner suffered because of this.
• Pete Buck sitting in with us in G.A.
• One show when The Jayhawks opened for us, I went out to dinner during their set.  Years later, their album Rainy Day Music would be the only music I’d listen to, day in, day out.  I could kick myself for not staying for their set.
• Listening to the Tube Bar and Jerky Boys tapes in the van.  I lived near the Tube Bar in Journal Square and often took visiters to experience it.
• A wirey guy named Freedy Johnston opened up for us in Northampton, MASS.  I was an instant believer.  You can see Bob and Graham wearing Freedy’s t-shirts in some of the pictures posted here.  He performed several Northeast dates with us. Later, Mark Zoltak would become Freedy’s manager and biggest supporter. Freedy would also ask Graham, Bob and me to work on his next recording. The album would be recorded over the course of a year and would be called Can You Fly.  UPDATE 5/29/10: The full story of my tenure as Freedy’s drummer and the recording of CanYou Fly can be read here.

The Main Idea: If the band had stayed together in this formation, this tour would’ve been a nice starting point.  However, as the only US tour after the only major label recording, this tour was less than spectacular.

The Pics: Courtesy of Jim Johnson

 

 

  

 

 

  

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

1991 The RCA Bird Europe Tour

  

  

The Locations: Belgium, Holland and Germany

The Band: Walter Salas-Humara (guitar, vocals), Bob Rupe (lead guitar, vocals), Brian Doherty (drums), J.D. Foster (bass)

The Crew: Matthias Hein (bus driver, roadie, tour manager), The Band (roadies)

The Bass Player and More: J.D. Foster played bass with us for the Gainesville Sessions.  Prior to this European tour, I had only played one live show with him.  I enjoyed working with him on The Bird record, but had only seen him in the recording environment.  Before embarking, we played a warm-up show at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, N.J.  I immediately felt relieved and excited about working with J.D. on the tour.  I already knew that he was capable, but there are a multitude of other personal and professional traits that could make even the greatest musician a drag when working together.  J.D., however, was the complete package.

In my opinion, J.D. was just what the band needed.  He had a strong stage presence and a keen musical sense.  He was able to roll with anything thrown his way.  Over the tour, as songs and improvisations changed, J.D. was often the catalyst.  He had a musical confidence that made me a better player.  Compared to our recent U.S. tour, the band was now off the hook; a much more enjoyable situation.  We actually started to play like a band of musicians who were able to react, predict and create with the others in the ensemble.  If you’ve ever been lucky enough to experience this, you’ll understand that there is no greater feeling in the world.  It’s the only reason why musicians play music in the first place.  Most times, bands fail to achieve this.  Night after night, we played like there was no tomorrow.  There had been a collective paradigm shift and we’d been transformed.  There was no more fretting and second guessing and J.D. had a lot to do with bringing us there.  I consider myself fortunate to have worked with J.D. in this capacity and can only hope we will do it again.  Years later, J.D. and I would play again in a band with Ryan Hedgecock of Lone Justice.

The Opening Act: The Beatitudes

Good To Know:

• Drinking Duval beer before our first show in Belgium, and not realizing it’s high alcohol content.  It really hit me hard as we walked from the dressing room to the stage.
• Playing  a tour of continuously sold-out gigs where audiences knew every word of every song.  A first for me in The Silos.
• Drinking some of the best beer and coffee in Germany and Holland.
• Visiting the Van Gogh Museum in Holland and Dachau in Germany on days off.
• Touring East Berlin barely two years after the wall came down.  We saw Check Point Charlie.
• Having dinner with a rep from BMG (parent company of RCA) and finding out the band was dropped by the label before our desert arrived.  I’d find out later that RCA refused to support this tour.  Instead, the band’s publisher MCA Music put up the money.  UPDATE 5/29/10: Years later, I’d pitch an idea to then RCA President, Bob Jamieson in an effort to reinvent my career and help the label return to core A & R values.  I wrote about it in a piece entitled The Pitch.
• On the car ride home from the airport, Bob mentioned something about playing music with David Lowery of Camper Van Beethoven.  It would turn out to be a band called Cracker where Bob would serve as bass player.  That was the beginning of the end.

The Main Idea: This tour restored and confirmed my faith in The Silos and I only wanted more.  I got less.
 

The Pic:

    

1992 Hasta La Victoria/Europe Tour

  

The Locations: Germany, Austria, Switzerland and Spain

The Band: Walter Salas-Humara (guitar, vocals), Greg Asfar (bass), Brian Doherty (drums), Mary Rowell (violin)

The Crew: Matthias Hein (driver, roadie)

The Bass Player and More:  After three years in The Silos, we already had three different bass players.  After the European/Bird Tour, it was official; Bob would no longer be in the band.  Also gone would be manager Mark Zoltak.  It was now me, Walter and J.D.  The thought of Bob not being there was odd.  At the time I was also working with Mark on Freedy’s projects.  It wouldn’t be until later that I’d realize how important his input, feedback and overall presence would be missed by this new version of the band. 

We recorded the basic tracks for Hasta La Victoria at Water Music in Hoboken, NJ over the course of a week or two.  To work out the kinks, we booked a week of gigs at the Rodeo Bar in NYC.  Bob’s replacement was violinist Mary Rowell.  Mary had done some work with the band on Cuba.  Her playing added mood and contrast to the band’s guitar orchestrations.  I enjoyed most of the tunes Walter brought to the table for this project, but some, however, were a bit of a stretch. 

After tracking, Walter took the music out to LA and completed everything without any input from the band.  He also hired guest musicians to play on tracks.  Predictably, he played drums on a couple tracks as well.  Taking the tracks to a studio in LA reaffirmed that The Silos was Walter’s band and he’d do as he pleased.  This did not sit well with J.D. as he had played the role of  producer during the Hoboken sessions.  After being cut out of the loop, J.D. was gone.

This brought us to our fourth bass player in four years: Greg Asfar.  Greg and I had recently done some live dates and sessions together.  At the time, Greg was living in Johnstown, P.A.  For work in NYC  he’d stay with a relative in Brooklyn.  Working with Greg was like sliding into an old pair of slippers.  From a rhythm section perspective, everything was quick and easy, as if we’d known each other for years. 

Greg came to the music with expert skills and genuine rock sensibilities-no jazz or fusion.  The mark of a true musician, he didn’t play any more than what was necessary.  He was a younger guy but played the bass with the wisdom of a veteran.  He fit right in and we were lucky to have him.  Greg and I became fast friends on this tour and we had great fun and many laughs.  After the tour, Greg and I only worked together sporadically.  Eventually, he moved out to San Francisco and started a family and a business.  In spite of the circumstances, I’ve kept in touch with Greg on a consistent basis more than any other friend or music colleague.  We’re still great friends.         

The Opening Act: Barbara and Teri Manning

Good To Know:

• All of us, including the gear and the Mannings were crammed into a van for the duration of the tour; It was brutal.
• After gigs, when it came time to breaking down gear and loading the van, Walter would conveniently be MIA.
• Greg, Matthias and me screaming and running through the streets of Bilbao, Spain as a way of releasing our frustrations about the tour.
• We stayed at a haunted hotel on The Rhine where Greg and I saw something float through our open window and then disappear. 
• At a festival in Austria the power went out.  Someone in the audience screamed, “Drum solo!”  Walter got behind the kit and was happy to oblige.
• It was obvious that to the Manning sisters, Greg and I were the “evil males.”  To help prove their point, I posted the centerfold of a Hustler magazine in our van.
• Greg and I spending hours at an all-night laundry in Germany not being able to figure out how to insert the coins.
• The good gigs where the club was packed so tight that there was literally nowhere to move after the set was over.
• Playing Cookie’s in Frankfort.
• Greg and I relaxing at cafes and forever in search of satisfying espresso and coffee in Spain.

 

The Pics: Courtesy of Greg Asfar

    

   

  

Where’s Bob?

This was our second time touring Europe.  The first time had been with Bob Rupe.  This time, violinist Mary Rowell joined us in Bob’s place.  The five-week tour was slated to begin in Germany and move to Austria and Spain.  From the moment we landed, the only question on everyone’s mind was, “Where’s Bob?”   The promoters, the fans, club owners, and even the record distributor wanted an answer.  You should have seen the face of our driver, Matthias, as he picked us up at the airport.  In the previous tour, he’d formed a strong bond with Bob.  As we approached Matthias at the airport, all the joy, sparkle and expectation dropped from his face as if he’d just been diagnosed with a terminal illness.  He was expecting a repeat of our last tour; Bob’s camaraderie, good times and Rock ‘n Roll.  Instead he got Walter and a lanky music conservatory chic toting a violin case.  It was apparent that Bob had not only made a great impression, but had branded the band in a sense.  People were associating The Silos with him.  He was “The Man” and now we were beginning a tour without him.  I felt a bit uneasy at first, and then it got much worse.  I watched the faces of fans drop as we launched our sets and they realized that there was no Bob.  To boot, who the heck was this violin player? 

After gigs, fans would corner me and ask about Bob.  During quiet pauses in our sets, they’d scream it out.  They had come to see The Silos and instead got a Walter Salas-Humara show-classic bait and switch.  It was clear Walter hadn’t told the promoters in fear that they would not have booked the band.  Honestly, if this were intended as a solo Walter tour it would have been just fine.  There would have been fewer gigs and fewer fans.  Greg and I worked really well together.  Walter performed his tunes just fine.  Mary’s violin added an interesting touch, but was a bit too scratchy for my liking.  During our set, I’d often look over and see her sawing away at the instrument.  Nails on a chalk board.  We were only into the first week, and I wanted nothing more than to go home.

A few years later, Bob and I would work on a couple of projects together as session musicians.  He’s a great musician and he’s well respected in many circles.  Although we never really lost touch, Bob and I have recently reconnected because of these blog posts.  You’ll see his input and recollections in the comments section. 

The Main Idea: Greg, Matthias and I made the best of a bad situation and became good friends because of it.  This was the end of the line for me.

The Mirror

If I was the objective reader of my previous Silos posts, I’d be asking some serious questions about my own role as the band’s drummer. “Why didn’t you confront issues there and then?  How did your own shortcomings contribute to the band’s demise?” and so on.  It’s true that everyone involved, to some degree, was responsible for missing the golden ring.  However, most of those involved were simply doing their best as they knew it.  Since this is a story based on my recollections, I don’t feel compelled to spear the character of the rest of the crew.  For the most part, their character flaws often did not collide with my job performance.

As for me, I was going along to get along.  I was 27 going on 16, and as self-absorbed as a high school senior.  My car was always either broken down or on “E.”  I was a day late and a dollar short.  If I went to dinner with you, I’d be in the bathroom when the check arrived.  The mess that was my personal life was one of the only reasons I enjoyed being away from home.  Any hotel I stayed in on tour was more comfortable than the situation I created at home.  Typically, I blamed everyone else for my failures and shortcomings.  Rent always took me by surprise and seemed to come a week too early.  Normal responsibilities were for chumps.  I felt I’d be magically transported from my squalor, across  the valley of meaningful duties and admirable character traits to a Rock Star utopia.  Meanwhile, those “normal” people got married and watched their kids grow up, saved money for family vacations, performed daily responsibilities and started businesses.

Professionally, I thought The Silos was my stepping stone to the throne of Jim Gordon or Steve Gadd, although I wasn’t a fraction as good as either of them. I would rather walk on egg shells than put my balls on the line.  I overlooked friendships and saw others only as resources.  I always thought there was lots more in the future, and that it would be way better than the present.  I thought I knew everything, but really knew nothing.  I dismissed the genius of artists like Bruce Springsteen and The Ramones, while being only vaguely familiar with The Velvet Underground, Buffalo Springfield or Gram Parsons.  I undervalued the hard work and sweat equity of my colleagues on a regular basis.  I was like a child in search of my next meal, my next nap and the passing of toxic fumes some would characterize as farts (oh well, some things never change).  I’d rather covet other’s success than share in their joy.  A social invite by me almost always came with a business request or would be mentally logged in as an i.o.u to be retrieved by me at a later date.  In short, I had a long way to go in becoming an adult.  I am also responsible for letting The Silos go down the tubes.

Saved by Can You Fly

As The Silos crumbled, I started playing some live shows with Freedy Johnston.  As a matter of fact, I was also working with singer/songwriters Hub Moore, Helen Hooke, Joy Askew, Roger Gillen and Kevin Salem.  But Freedy was by far the most talented, unique and promising.  It was a great time to live in the Hoboken, N.J. area.  There were gigs at Maxwell’s and The Beaten Path.  There were recording sessions at Water Music on Grand Street and rehearsals on 2^nd Street.  To this day, I can still smell steaks broiling from Arthur’s.  Maxwell House had a coffee factory uptown on 14^thStreet.  The effervescence of roasted coffee beans permeated every inch of the mile square town.  You couldn’t walk down the main drag, Washington Street, without bumping into someone from bands such as The Bongos, the db’s, Bob Mould, and Television.  Speaking of Television, my initial gigs with Freedy would be with Television’s bassist, Fred Smith.  Other characters would be Mark Zoltak, Bob Rupe, Kevin Salem, Marshall Crenshaw, Jimmy Lee, Jared Nickerson and Graham Maby.  Freedy’s project couldn’t have come at a better time.  I was jumping from the burning ship that was The Silos to a stable, more promising Freedy Johnston.  To boot, I was still working with the “crew.”  Once again, I was lucky.  It wouldn’t be long before I’d mess up this situation.  I’m working on the full story of my tenure with Freedy Johnston, and my first hand account of his ascendance as a brilliant songwriter and why I think he ended up a teary-eyed sad sack, in an upcoming blog post.  UPDATE 5/29/10: The story of my tenure as Freedy’s drummer, and the making of the landmark Can You Fly can be read here.

Here’s the Musician magazine article. I think the problem is fixed (thanks Jade!). Click the link and the file should load. It may take a few seconds, so please be patient. This article was written by Bill Flanagan, who shadowed the band while we recorded in Gainsville, FL.

The final installment of this series will be posted on Monday, March 1st.

The Silos Musican Mag

The Silos/She Lives Up The Street by Briandoherty

You can read more about our tours here.

In previous posts, I mentioned the library of live audio captured on tour by our soundman, Joe Chinnici. Joe recorded every show from a thirty city tour. He then painstakingly selected tracks for a 3 disc set and passed it on to the band ten years ago. Recently, I dug it up and I plan to post most of the tracks here. If you read my recent posts (see links to the right) I hope you’ll agree that these tracks rightfully portray the band that was The Silos where the RCA record failed.  You can read more about our tours here. 

One After 909 by Briandoherty

  

The Gainesville Sessions–(The following post is a continuation of my January 5th posting).  In my opinion The Silos of the late 80’s/early 90’s were a one of a kind, rock ‘n roll band. The band’s music lay somewhere between The Stones, The Outlaws, and Gram Parsons.  I always felt that The Silos had unlimited potential and could have set the tone for a generation of guitar-driven rock bands.  Those of us involved with the band knew it outright.  Although our RCA record got great reviews, the way the Gainesville/RCA sessions unfolded was a complete disappointment.  The record was a dud.  The best recording of the band to this day is a series of live recordings, captured on tour by our soundman Joe Chinnici.  They’re not commercially released, but if you ever get your hands on them, you’ll hear for yourself.  This particular line-up of The Silos remained intact until 1992 and was a powerhouse on tour.  I stayed on a little longer (something I’m unfortunately prone to do) than did J.D. Foster and Bob Rupe, recording more tracks that ended up on subsequent Silos records.  My last tour with the band was a grueling six-week van tour of Germany, Austria, Spain and Switzerland.  The following is my story as the band’s drummer during this period and of our only major label recording. (Reprinted from the 1/5/10 posting, The Silos/Part 1.  It can be read here http://briandoherty.net/the-silospart-1/).

We lived in the town of Gainesville, Florida while recording The Silos, “The one with the bird on the cover.”  We recorded at an abandoned, downtown theater.  We set up our gear in a large circle in the center of the stage.  Looking out into the darkness of the house we could see silhouettes of the theater seats.  We occasionally moved our gear to the hallways and lobby for tracking and overdubs.  J.D. and I spent days tracking in the basement of the building, isolated from the rest of the band.  Not exactly the life Rock stars.

Gainesville is a huge college town and has one of the largest biking communities in the world.  I rode my bicycle to work at the Florida Theater every day.  We enjoyed long lunches at joints called Coney Island and Sonny’s Barbeque.  In my spare time, I took leisurely jogs and swam in the pool.  This is also where I taught myself how to type.  There was significant down time so I bought an instructional book and practiced typing every day.  At the time, it was one way to escape boredom.  I became a good typist during the Gainesville sessions and, to this day, am thankful for this skill.

I shared a condo with bassist J.D. Foster and producer Peter J Moore.  J.D. introduced me to some great music during this time.  I remember constantly listening to the first Lucinda Williams recording and to New York by Lou Reed.  Today, when I hear these tracks I’m transported back to the condo with its rented furniture and shag rug.

The Rehearsals

Rehearsing for a recording involves band practice, scrutiny of instrumental parts and lots of experimentation. It’s a collaborative effort and could be satisfying when improvements are made.  Hopefully, the music will sound better too.

None of that happened for us.  I knew we were in trouble when the only suggestion Peter Moore gave us was to jam and noodle a while before rehearsing.   The producer is supposed to be the band’s musical guide and beacon.  After the first day, it was clear that we had another engineer and no producer in our midst.  Rehearsals from then on consisted of running through songs from beginning to end.  After the last note of a song, the band would wait for some direction or opinion.  When none came, we’d run through the same song once again.  This was our rehearsal routine, and the songs suffered because of it.

Peter J. Moore

Before producing our record, Peter J. Moore worked with The Cowboy Junkies.  There was an industry buzz about his recording technique because he used only one microphone.  No multi-tracking and no overdubbing.  Peter accomplished this with a Calrec Ambisonic microphone.  This microphone was unique in that it hears in a 360 degree radius, as opposed to most mics which hear a single field at which they’re pointed.  The use of this microphone was the only trick up Pete’s sleeve.  He set it up in the middle of the stage, where it remained like an oracle.

Otherwise, there was never a clear objective, and the air around the band was always tense.  Walter became the man with the final musical say.  He simply said “no” to everything.  Takes that satisfied the band were garbage to Walter.  Suggestions regarding arrangements and orchestrations were dismissed with a condescending look that signaled “You just don’t understand.”

After a while, J.D. and I began challenging Walter’s musical judgment.  He then became vague, often citing obscure musical references just to make situations more confusing.  The whole scene was bullshit, and no one was saying anything.  Bob and Walter were not really talking.  Walter had asked for complete control, had gotten it.  However, he didn’t know what to do with it.  To make matters worse, he wasn’t confident enough to ask for input or admit his mistakes.  The recording was a complete disaster.  Eventually, the subtext of every musical conversation with Walter was: “Deal with it or I’ll replace you.”  He would no longer be challenged by any of us.

There were a few musically fulfilling days during our month of recording in Gainesville.  Walter had become ill and did not show up for work.  Predictably, the tracks we laid in his absence would be squashed by him the very next day.

Grasshopper and the Master.  Things came into focus when it was revealed that during college, Walter spent some time studying in Gainesville and had become close to a professor who also had a band call The Vulgar Boatmen.  Unbeknownst to us, Walter had viewed this professor as a mentor of sorts.  In a sense recording in this town was Grasshopper’s way of showing the Master he had completed his journey and was now a man of the world.  Oy vey! I felt duped by this narcissist.  Walter’s master lurked at our sessions.  Later on tour, The Vulgar Boatmen would be our opening act.

Walter finally got his way and replaced J.D. and me on two songs: Go out of Town (here’s a live performance of the song with me on drums: http://briandoherty.net/the-silos-well-go-out-of-town/ ) and Caroline. After days of Walter kyboshing take after take, he finally jumped on my drum kit one night after I left and ordered tapes to roll.  Miraculously, he approved both final takes.  When I found out, I wasn’t surprised; instead, I asked to be properly credited as playing only on the tracks I worked on.  Instead the credits list Walter AND me as the drummers ON THE ENTIRE RECORD!  (See the scan of album credits below.)  To the listener, there was no way to tell his drum tracks from mine. 

  

   

The Outcome

In spite of everything I’ve written I want to say that The Silos was one of the best and most unique bands I’ve ever been in. There wasn’t a weak song in our repertoire and the fans were beyond dedicated.  Live, the band was on fire and we had loads of fun travelling.  From a musician’s standpoint one couldn’t ask for anything more.  Before joining The Silos, I toured with jazz artists like Jonathan Butler, Lonnie Liston Smith and Noel Pointer.  Jazz was relatively new to me at the time and I learned a lot by playing it.  My musical roots, however, were strictly Southern Rock.  In high school I listened exclusively to Molly Hatchet, Blackfoot, Lynard Skynard and .38 Special.  The band that struck me the most was The Outlaws.  Two drummers, a wall of guitars and pop/country vocal arrangements were all I could have wished for.  The Silos music had many elements of Southern Rock.  Joining the band, especially after years of playing jazz, was like a homecoming.

That might explain why I expected the RCA record to capture the essence of the band and why I was so disappointed when I heard the final mixes.  Honestly, I thought the record was horrible.  It was nowhere close to how we really sounded.  The irony was that we hired a producer whose specialty was capturing the essence of bands by using one microphone.  Like an old Miles Davis record.  Even with our vintage gear and our “authentic” recording technique, we ended up with dud of a record.

As far as the interpersonal stuff is concerned, I want the reader to realize that this was nothing unique in our situation.  Every band goes through this crap.  Sometimes it’s just a matter of how well they put up with it and how long they can work around it.  I had already been in a bunch of other bands and had experienced run away egos and self-absorbed musicians.  This wasn’t just a great band; it was also a tremendous opportunity that we mishandled.  Otherwise, I was well prepared to handle tough situations as it related to my work in The Silos.  It’s unfortunate that our efforts were squandered and our hard work didn’t pay off.

 

     These were added 2/26/10, courtesy of Jim Johnson

Coming soon, the final blog of this series: School’s Out Tour, Who’s on Bass?, Good Press=Bad Sales, “Where’s Bob?” and Saved by Can You Fly.

Related links:

http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/137649/review/5943972/thesilos

http://briandoherty.net/the-silos-well-go-out-of-town/

http://briandoherty.net/the-silospart-1/

Live audio from our Bird Tour can be heard in Audio Tracks.

In my opinion The Silos of the late 80’s/early 90’s were a one  of a kind, real rock ‘n roll band. The band’s music lay somewhere between The Stones, The Outlaws and Gram Parsons.  I always felt that The Silos had unlimited potential and could have set the tone for a generation of guitar driven rock bands.  Those of us involved with the band knew it outright.  Although our RCA record got great reviews, (see link below) the way the Gainesville/RCA sessions unfolded was a complete disappointment.  The record was a dud.  (The best recording of the band to this day is a series of live recordings, captured on tour by our soundman Joe Chinnici.  They’re not commercially released, but if you ever get your hands on them, you’ll hear for yourself.)  This particular line up of The Silos remained intact until 1992 and was a powerhouse on tour.  I stayed on a little longer (something I’m unfortunately prone to do) than did JD Foster and Bob Rupe, recording more tracks which ended up on subsequent Silos records.  My last tour with the band was a grueling six week van tour of Germany, Austria, Spain and Switzerland.  The following is my story as the band’s drummer during this period, and of our only major label recording.

Richard Ford

In 1987, bass player Richard Ford had just finished working with Joe Jackson and was settling into the freelance music scene in New York. Richard had also played with Bill Nelson of Bee Bop Deluxe as well as many others.  Originally from England, Richard came to the US and lived near my home town of Randolph, NJ before settling in Hoboken. He recommended me for work regularly, for which I’ll be forever grateful.  He is a true musician and would be sorely missed by The Silos at the time of his departure from the band.

The Silos had just been voted Best Band in America by a Rolling Stone Magazine Critics Poll and were looking for a new rhythm section to carry them to major status, getting them signed to a major label record company.  Richard was asked to play bass and he recommended me for the drum chair.  The line up of The Silos was Bob Rupe and Walter Salas-Humara on guitars/vocals.  Me and Richard Ford on drums and bass.

Getting Signed

In addition to a new rhythm section, the band also had a new business manager; Hoboken realtor Mark Zoltak. Mark was a former NYC DJ and was the motivational muscle behind the band. He had great ideas and knew the songs better than those of us in the band.  He regularly spoke his mind and had strong opinions about music.  To Mark, music was either great or it sucked.  There was no in-between.  Mark truly understood the essence of The Silos.  He got it.  He devised a business plan to unleash the improved band and get it signed to a major label.  The band quickly became an unparalleled live act and played dozens of industry showcases in Los Angeles and in the Northeast.  The plan worked.  In March of 1989 the band was signed to RCA Records by the label’s president Bob Buziak.  The trick now would be to capture the true essence of the band at a studio recording.

A One Man Band

I was not involved in the daily business of the band, so I can’t explain the rationale behind most of the business decisions. As the September recording date approached it was obvious that there was a power struggle within the band.  Specifically, Walter was making it known to us that the band was his brain child.  (Subtext: “The record deal is all mine!!”)  Although Walter was indeed a strong songwriter, he was not even an adequate singer or guitar player.  It was Bob Rupe’s Otis Redding voice and Neil Young guitar style that fleshed out Walter’s contributions.  It was the way the ensemble executed the songs and the way we played together that made us a great band.  It was my hope that Bob would hold fast to his co-leader status, checking Walter’s power grab.  To my dismay however, Bob assumed the role of second-in-command.

To make things even worse, Walter then began hinting about playing the drums on the upcoming record. Yikes! Just what I needed, right?  One month before our scheduled sessions, he invited me over to his apartment for dinner.  After eating in awkward silence, he turned on the stereo and played tracks of great drummers like Al Jackson and Levon Helm.  Next he played some of our demos, the ones I drummed on.  Out of nowhere he then delivered this mandate: “Start playing like one of these drummers or I’ll find someone else to play drums in the band.” I thought, “What a douche bag!” Granted, those are two great drummers, but not really suitable for the guitar rock of The Silos.  Also, not the drummer he sought out and hired for greater success-ME!  Please don’t get me wrong.  Most of my job as a drummer has been to listen to others and execute their music as they hear it.  It’s also been my experience that when someone pulls shit like this there’s usually an ulterior motive.  This was his first of many moves to play drums on our recordings.  It was this need for control that would trump everything else.  Even if it meant he’d sabotage the band’s record deal and chances of success.

There was great irony in the fact that the guy who was the worst singer, guitarist, bassist, drummer and producer; in fact the worst musician in the band was the one who wanted to play every instrument and do everything himself. Walter had no interest in being a member of band, unless perhaps it was a one-man band.  His desire to play drums would weigh heavily on our upcoming Gainesville recording sessions and would eventually crush my desire to work with him altogether.  In the meantime, while on a coffee break from one of our many Hoboken demo sessions, Richard revealed to me that he’d be quitting and would not be joining us in Florida for the recording of the record.  For me, that was the beginning of the end.

We plowed ahead.  Austin-based JD Foster would replace Richard on bass. Cowboy Junkies producer Peter J. Moore was brought in from Toronto.  Ed Bair would run house/stage sound, and Peter Yianolis would be the recording engineer and operator of the mobile truck.  On September 25, 1989, the band and crew settled into rented apartments in the town of Gainesville, Florida ready to record.

Why Gainesville?

 During this period of The Silos, my real home was on Bergen Avenue in Jersey City. Richard, Walter and manager Mark Zoltak all lived in nearby Hoboken.  Bob lived on the lower east side of Manhattan.  We were all within a few miles of each other and within an easy commute to mid-town Manhattan, home to dozens of the world’s top recording studios.  In spite of this, Walter somehow convinced RCA executives that recording our record in NYC would be too distracting (from what?).  That instead, we’d need to record in Gainesville, Florida.  The fact that there were no suitable recording studios in Gainesville led us to an abandoned theater.  We used its stage and hallways for live sounds.  A mobile recording truck parked next to the building and was where the producer and engineer spent most of their time.  Admittedly, this made for an interesting story and good press.  For us however, that’s all we got out of it.  As we were rehearsing in the theater, we got word that RCA president and #1 Silos fan, Bob Buziak had been fired.

In the next Blog: The Sessions, Grasshopper and the Master, The Silos “School’s Out Tour”, Who’s on Bass? Good Press=Bad Sales, What New Songs?,  Bob’s Departure, Dumped by RCA, and Saved by “Can You Fly?”

 

Here’s one of the “great” reviews of The Silos record:

http://www.rollingstone.com/reviews/album/137649/review/5943972/thesilos