The Colorblind James Experience: Absolutely More!

9 Maple Ave. Saratoga Double-Header

2009-11-21T12:36:00.000-08:00

Long before the CBJExperience was formed, Colorblind booked us a gig in the dead of winter at a bar in Saratoga named 9 Maple Ave. (now a restaurant named MERA)-a double header (Fri & Sat nights). The tio consisted of Colorblind James (vocals, Guild guitar), G. Elwyn Miexner (vocal, ragetime Hawaiin guitar) and Thaddy playing a Kay double bass. After passing through the bar area there was a set of French doors that led to a back-room where Folk Music flourished. After Friday night's gig I was told that Margot and I would be staying the night with a woman named Lena--the owner of Lena's Caffe; where Bob Dylan played the first gig of his first tour.
We were led up a set of wooden stairs to her flat. Lena was a creepy looking old gal who sat in a winged back chair, chain smoking like a chimney. Her Majordomo was a balding older man that directed theatre in Saratoga; he waited on her hand and foot. He seemed to be in awe of her. Her Majordomo led us to a brass double bed, and just before we enter the bedroom he said, "Be careful, there if broken glass on the floor...I dropped a light bulb and haven't swept it up." Great, so we did the slow shuffle to our bed." Every once in a while a beam of light would appear on the wall opposing our bed, then the figure of a head and eye would appear like a closet Peeping-Tom--Majordomo was keeping a watchful eye on us; Creep factor 9. Had there been a trapeez and a rocking chair in our room, I would have given him a show: the infamous Flying Philadelphian Fuck; I imagined Majordomo cuffing his carrot in a freakin' frenzy with his eye glued to a peephole in the wall--probably covered by a painting of Elvis on black velevet.
Saturday night's gig was one to remember; a gang of 20 bikers came into the bar during our last set. As life would have it, a real to life bar fight broke-out; reminiscent of a Slim Pickens Western movie. A dangerous place for a wooden instrument; we planned our escape. We all made it out; instruments intact.
The thing to remember about Colorblind is that he was way ahead of his time; original Folk Music with a Rock-A-Billy twist. Ominous songs lamenting love lost, German Girls, the Ultra-Modern Boy, Kojak Chair, and cryptic lyrics,"Solid Behind the Times:...Cream of the only hat that ever fit me soup."

WALLY THE WHALE: Starship Beer meets the Colorblind James Experience

2009-01-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

The famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) Scorgies gig from 1985. Don Scorgie, owner and proprietor, was FURIOUS with Chuck for having Starship Beer open up for us. Their set featured one song only, Wally The Whale, which began with frontman P.J. O'Brien chanting "Wally The Whale" with a bucket on his head and ended 40 minutes later with the entire Experience on stage, each of us playing the wrong instrument. Me? I was on drums. Most of the crowd walked out but the core audience that remained loved it.

Starship Beer pioneered what they referred to as "nut music" and their first release, Free As The Squirrels, featured liner notes by Chuck. It was recorded above the Market House Music Hall on Water Street in Oswego, New York and came out in '79.

P.J. O'Brien is an artist and poet who received the kind of respect and admiration from Chuck that Chuck meted out to a scant few. Kevin Whitehead, Starship's guitarist, is NPR's jazz critic.

To this day, the loyal few whose eyes were opened that night will laugh, remember and for a moment feel again the delirious euphoria created that evening.

Route 66

2008-12-09T06:45:00.000-08:00

In December of 1980 Margot and I left Oswego for San Francisco, why? Because we could, and took the southern pass and picked up Route 66 in Oklahoma. We arrived in SF on exactly the same day that John Lennon was assassinated--December 8th,1980--we connected with Colorblind and his wife Janet on Waller St. Chuck was in the bedroom...inconsolably weeping, his hero had died. A sad day to be sure. Eventually Gene Tigh left the CBJE and a bass player was needed. I answered the call, having played with the original Colorblind James Trio w/G. Elwyn Miexner on ragtime Hawaiian guitar. As time wore on, we rehearsed tirelessly--well I did get tired once! Gigs were few and far between. Although we did make it to the "I Beam" on Haight St. in the pan handle of Golden Gate Park. As life would have it I got the call to play in a pit band up in North Beach at the Old Spaghetti Factory--a regular paying gig Wednesday thru Sunday (2 shows on Saturday night, and a matinee on Sunday)--I felt like Stu Sutcliff leaving the Beatles. But money is money and I needed all I could get living on the edge. Much to my chagrin the CBJE went on to play the "Peel sessions on the BBC" and toured Europe twice! I felt like a moax. But ya pays yer money and takes yer chances. I try not to look back, yet find myself on memory lane thinking about what might have been. The unique community of Oswegonians that lived in SF in the early '80s all looked out for each other, and we remained friends. God, those were the salad days. At 23 I felt invincible and the old adage is true :"Why is youth wasted on the young?" But such is life. Those were some of the best days of my life and I didn't even know it. I'm giging in a Big-Band now (Google the Do Good Swing Band) a 17 piece jazz band with a monster horn section...every musician has been playing for at least 30 years and smokes every chart. How I got the call is still a mystery to me...yet I find myself keeping up with some seasoned veterans that ramp up my game...I don't want to be the slouch in the rhythm section so I play with a quiet elegance. My motto is "Less is more." Athletes peak in their 20's & 30's but musicians seem to get better with age, I'm still learning and listening and every once in a while I get the eerie feeling that Colorblind is looking down on me from above laughing with love, and keeping me on the straight and narrow--well let's not get too crazy. Bfn, Thad

Episode Nine: Final Podcast (Dylan Night '91)

2008-09-01T22:53:00.000-07:00

OK, it takes me a while, but I do eventually get the things done that I say I will. Here is the promised second podcast of Bob Dylan material. This one is all taken from our show in 1991, and I'd honestly forgotten how fine that gig was. The sound is pretty good, too. Thanks again to Mike Rae for documenting the evening's activities. It's a beefy helping of Dylanesque goodness, so stand back, hit that "download" button and crank it up. It's almost 50 minutes long, so be patient... Here's the list, followed by the link:

From a Buick Six
Ramblin' Gamblin' Willie
Queen Jane, Approximately
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue (with Rick Petrie)
Golden Loom (with Bernie and Carol Heveron)
Rainy Day Women #12 & 35 (with Michael Hurley)
You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go (with Brian Horton)
You Ain't Goin' Nowhere (with Geoff Wilson)
Knockin' On Heaven's Door (with Stan "The Man" Merrill and Chas Lockwood)
Please Crawl Out Your Window

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing9.html

There are several things to comment on, but I'll try to keep it brief. Many standout performances happened that night, of which I'm only posting a fraction. I had some serious damage on one of the tapes (Florida's humidity wreaked havoc on a lot of my stuff, including this cassette) and so some sizzling material was rendered unfit for broadcast. Despite that, the band members (abetted by their guests) were in great form on this night. A few songs merit some explication:

Yes, I know I put "From a Buick Six" on the last podcast, and in a nearly identical arrangement, but this version was too good to cut. Phil's solos are fantastic, and it was nice to hear it again with Joe's trombone.

I did have to edit a sharp and unsubtle fadeout on "Golden Loom," at the point where the havoc-wreaked tape trouble started, but I couldn't bring myself to omit it. I'm unaccountably proud of Joe's and my little duet at the end, and it's a lovely song...

Rick Petrie's radical funk re-interpretation of "It's All Over Now, Baby Blue" was a standout that night, and I wish that more of our guests had gone for broke the way Rick did here. And had the security to veer sharply away from the standard "authentic" interpretation. I'll personally never be able to listen to the original again...

"Rainy Day Women" is a deliriously loose version, with Michael Hurley adding hilarious new lyrical twists to the end of the refrain each time it comes back. That glorious, manic sloppiness you hear is due in part to the fact that Michael often didn't change chords at the expected moments. He also had a somewhat different take on the rhythm and inflection of the lyrics than we had. I seem to recall all of us watching his hands on his electric piano (which is very low in the mix) for clues as to when he would move to the next chord. By the third verse we were a bit more together. Also, for this performance we had no rehearsal with the guest (as if you couldn't tell...)

Brian Horton was a fine guitarist and songwriter from Rochester who helmed a fantastic band called Buffalo Road for a few years in the early 90s. I went to hear them often. Brian died in 1995. The band released a truly great cd after Brian's death, entitled 'Through the Sun,' which remains one of my favorite discs of all time.

I really like this version of You Ain't Goin' Nowhere. I wish I could remember who the background singers were but I can't. I am pretty sure that Peggy Fournier and Carol Heveron might be they; maybe Phil remembers.

As indicated in the title, this will be my last podcast. Maybe not forever, but certainly for the present. And I think that I've gathered what I feel is the finest material in my personal archives. Other stuff may surface, but this is what I've got for now. I've enjoyed doing these, and hope that they've had some resonance with listeners. My intent has been to offer some perspective on the band's work that I felt was insufficiently represented on our commercial recordings, and show a side of us that wasn't readily apparent to our European fans. CbJE was primarily a live band, and so I've emphasized live recordings. Most long-time fans thought we sounded 'way better live than on recordings. I'd agree with that sentiment, at least for the most part. If I didn't include your own favorite songs here, I am sorry, but there's a whole lot of 'em, and I have did my best. I also have been careful to only present material where I was present in its making. Lots of great things happened before I joined the group and continued to happen long after I left, but I felt it important to only deal with the stuff that I was witness to. It's a rather narrow slice of CbJE history, but a rich one. Thanks for listening.

New Blog! Colorblind James: Song By Song

2008-07-04T12:15:00.000-07:00

I've decided to begin a different venture in retrospect to Colorblind James. Beginning with the first CD, the eponymously titled The Colorblind James Experience, I'm going to offer my reflections, memories and opinions on a song by song basis.

Thanks for stopping by,

Uncle Phil Marshall

Episode Eight (Bob Dylan Vol. 1)

2008-05-25T14:08:00.000-07:00

I am actually a day late with this episode, which I meant to have posted on May 24th. The fact is, when the semester ends, I stop looking at calendars for a while, and the day slipped past. Sorry about that... But here it is, a "jumbo big" Bob Dylan birthday episode.

Most fans noticed long ago that Chuck's songwriting was heavily influenced by the Bard of Hibbing, and so early in the band's history, the group started doing an annual Bob Dylan birthday show. This tradition began long before I joined and continued onwards after I left. Each spring we'd shut down for a month and learn about 40 Dylan songs, rehearsing many with guest artists. On the Saturday night closest to his birthday, we'd play through the whole gamut, nothing but an entire evening of Dylan. Over the years they gained in popularity, and former band members carry on the tradition to this day. We also occasionally did an Elvis birthday show and I remember us having conversations about doing ones for Van Morrison and Hank Williams. But the Dylan show was the only one that we did without fail, year after year.

This podcast is comprised of songs that were all taken from a single show, the Bob Dylan birthday show of 1992. This was in fact, my last performance as a member of the band. Joe "The Bone" Colombo had moved on by then (somewhere during our "long nap" through the winter of '92) and Chuck recruited Reece Campbell of the New Dylans to play keyboards with us for the show. This was a pretty good night for us, and the recording is a board tape made by Mike Rae, who recorded many of our shows. The venue was the Country Warehouse in Rochester, and I remember there being a sizeable audience that evening. I've included a number of songs featuring our guests, along with the band by ourselves.

here's the songlist:

From a Buick Six
Most Likely You Go Your Way and I'll Go Mine
This Wheel's On Fire (w/ former and future CbJE member G. Elwyn Meixner, gtr/voc)*
Everything Is Broken (w/ Bill Lambert, gtr/voc)
Dear Landlord (w/ Carol Heveron, voc)
Dark Eyes (w/ Brian Horton, gtr/voc)
Solid Rock

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing8.html

As noted in the heading, this is Volume 1 of at least two Dylan show podcasts. Depending on how much good material I uncover, there may be one or two more. I played on five of these as a band member, but I only have tapes for '88, '91 and '92. And '92 has the best sound by far. Hope you enjoy it.

*I meant this in the sense that Gary had been a member before I joined the group, and he rejoined it after I left it. I realized later that the way I phrased that might not make sense to some folks...

Episode Seven

2008-05-21T11:35:00.000-07:00

Here is a brace of five songs all from a single gig in 1987. At this point, the new version of the band had been rehearsing for about six months. As you'll hear, the group was still honing its sound and we compensated for any lack of refinement with sheer raw energy. Sound quality is not great, but listenable. My clarinet is barely audible most of the time--you'll have to strain your ears a bit. On the last track "The Pin-Boy's Life," it's hard to hear me at all, but I take a solo trying channel the spirit of Albert Ayler through my clarinet. I almost make it, too... This track is notable to my ears for its ferocious groove and just plain weirdness; I'd also point out that the band's aggressiveness on this and other tracks could hold its own with just about any punk group of the era. (Note: on this track there was a substantial dropout on the tape. I did my best to make a smooth edit, but it's not very smooth...) We often played Willy Dixon's "Spoonful," and it was usually a powerful standout of our live shows. My tenor solo here is not me at my best, but I did get better, I can say that. Still, it's a song we played a lot that some might not have heard before. "Why Should I Stand Up?" has different lyrics than those on the studio album, and most subsequent performances. Chuck rewrote one of the interior verses, and the arrangement hadn't quite settled into its permanent form.

The songs are:

Why Should I Stand Up?
That's Entertainment
Why'd the Boy Throw the Clock Out the Window?
Spoonful
The Pin-Boy's Life

Here's the link:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing7.html

Special thanks to Don Argus for sending me the tape of this show.

Coming Soon!

2008-05-03T12:36:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone. Here's a quick note to wish you all a Happy Buster Cornelius Day! And to let you know that there are new podcast episodes in the works, even as I type. Stay tuned!

("And that is why on the Third of May/We celebrate Buster Cornelius Day")

Episode Six: Songs of Blind Willie McTell

2007-12-16T07:20:00.000-08:00

Here's Episode Six of the podcast, featurng a few songs by Blind Willie McTell, who was one of Chuck's favorite songwriters. Truth be told, I wish I had more material for this one. There's a few songs we did, such as "Little Delia" and "River of Jordan" that I never got recordings of, but they would have certainly been included on the Blind Willie McTell album that we talked about making at some point. Sadly, no record company we dealt with gave the idea a moment's consideration. A couple years after I left the band, Bob Dylan released his excellent 'World Gone Wrong' album, which featured a number of McTell's songs and did pretty well. Apparently, Dylan had more clout in the music business than we did. Here's the list:

Statesboro Blues (Live WITR broadcast, 1991)
Your Time to Worry (Live at Jazzberry's, 1990)
Blues Around Midnight (Live WITR broadcast, 1991)
Your Time to Worry (Live WITR broadcast, 1991)
Sendin' Up My Timber (Live at Jazzberry's, 1990)

"Statesboro Blues" is one we did frequently, and is represented here in a sizzling performance, if I say so myself. In Phil's second guitar solo, he drops his pick—see if you can figure out where. I only wish Joe "the Bone" had been able to make the gig. The horn parts were much fuller with the two of us. I'm used to this clarinet-only version now, but it was a lot better when Joe was present.

You get to hear two versions of "Your Time To Worry" on this podcast. On the first, I play alto sax, and honestly, I had completely forgotten that I did. I think Joe and I sound pretty good here. I often referred to us as "the finest two-man horn section in upstate New York." Heaven knows what other folks called us... On the second version, Joe is absent and I play clarinet.

Chuck's vocal on "Blues Around Midnight" is one of his best ever, in my opinion. It haunts me to this day.

For anyone who's interested in hearing more of McTell's music, I urge you to check out his 'Atlanta Twelve String' album on Atlantic. There are other collections on the Yazoo label as well.

Download the podcast here:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing6.html

Next up: CbJE does Dylan. Their way.

Episode Five: Girls! Girls! Girls!

2007-11-18T12:11:00.000-08:00

After a long wait, here's the link to the Abolutely More! Podcast—Episode Five. My sincerest apologies for the delay; it's been a busy semester. I have two or three more episodes planned and hopefully those will get done fairly soon. The podcast:

Girls! Girls! Girls!

She'll Break Yours Too
Circus Girl
Acorn Girl
Hey! Bernadette
Blind Girl
Polka Girl
O Sylvia
Two-Headed Girl

Here's the link:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing5.html

A few comments:

"She'll Break Yours Too" is one we never played live very much. I really like the squonk at the opening and the sax/trombone melody in the middle. The recording and mix could have been better, though.

"Circus Girl" is one we did fairly often and even recorded at the BBC, though this is from a different live broadcast. Ken Frank thought it extremely erotic. I get what he means, but I'm not sure most other listeners did.

"Acorn Girl" was one of my favorites from Strange Sounds From the Basement. My daughter Rachel wanted to make a music video of it when she was in high school. She had to get the lyrics approved by her technology teacher, whose response was, "Is this a real song?" She had to show him the album before he believed her.

"Hey! Bernadette" is about the great singer and actress Bernadette Peters, who Chuck admired greatly.

"Blind Girl" is a very early CbJ song. We didn't play it out much, but I liked it.

"Polka Girl" was a really popular song. It took me a while to work out my tiny little solo, and it wasn't that easy to play. I played it better on this BBC recording than on the album version. It's the only CbJE thing that my clarinet teacher ever complimented me on.

"O Sylvia" is, in my opinion, just frickin' gorgeous.

And only Chuck would write a song about dating a two-headed girl. "We'd swing on the porch swing on the porch" is a brilliant line, though the song has many others.

Next up: the lost Blind Willie McTell album.

Some final thoughts

2007-10-25T05:49:00.000-07:00

I realize I haven't posted anything of any substance in quite a long while. It's been a pleasure to have Dave take up my slack. Dave's podcasts have been a real treat as well.

The reality is I believe I've said most everything I need to say regarding the Colorblind James Experience. I wish I could go into more detail regarding the UK/Europe touring but, quite frankly, it's all a blur. Maybe down the road at some point it will come back to me in a flood. But for now, the experience is basically bookended with arriving elated and departing exhausted. We played for a lot of adoring fans who went more beserk during a show than any of our American audiences. We drank a lot of beer and I remember Timothy Taylor's Landlord as being a particular favorite.

Touring with Yeah, Jazz in '88 was fun and I'm happy to report their material has been reissued. They have a MySpace page. Kev, the lead singer, is also spearheading a lovely folk-sounding group called Radio Mary also to be found on MySpace.

In '89 we did a stint with Boy On A Dolphin who were among the nicest fellows we could have hoped to meet. They were a very funky quartet who ended up getting signed to Atlantic. I remember the disappointment hearing that cd and not recognizing anything. The powers that be obviously wanted them to be something else.

One of us got led out of a London music hall by security for smoking a joint. I remember thinking it was all over of us. Fortunately, they led him to the street and told him not to come back. It went no further than that.

John Entwhistle was at the pub in our hotel with his arm around a girl who could've been my daughter. Maybe it was his daughter. What do I know?

I started off the tour hating the Waterboys which Kevin blasted from the van stereo. Now when I hear it, I tear up because it takes me back there.

At one of the oddest gigs we played in Norway, we were playing for an over 40 singles crowd in a hotel bar. There was a lady standing to my left who kept yelling "You are not good! You are very bad!" and insisting that we stop playing.

Playing in Kevin Hunter's home town of Hull was a highpoint. It was a small bar packed to the rafters. I was drenched in sweat before I reached the stage. I remember Chuck coaxing the crowd with "It must be 300 degrees in here! Let's TURN UP THE HEAT!" The crowd went crazy. Kevin sat in on drums and showed us just how precise and powerful he really was.

I loved the Colorblind James Experience. I loved Chuck, Jimmy Mac, Ken, Dave, John Ebert and Joe "the Bone". I loved Carl Gaedt, our 300lb sound man and roadie.

I remember waking up one morning in our hotel in London. No one was around so I threw on my clothes, scraped some change together and went out to get coffee. When I stepped outside the hotel doors, there was Ken in his long black overcoat. He was smoking a butt and was holding 3 styrofoam cups of hot coffee stacked on each other. They were all for him. In that moment I remember smiling and thinking "This is what I've always wanted to do. This is where I'm meant to be. This is who I really am." I've tried to live each day with that feeling ever since.

I may check in from time to time, but I hope the other members of the blog begin or continue to contribute their own memories and thoughts.

Peace always,

-PHil aka Uncle Phil aka Rex Havoc

Charles James "Brother" Jaffe

2007-09-25T04:34:00.001-07:00

I played keyboards in Colorblind's band for 8 years. Recorded 2 cd's with him. His name was James Charles; mine Charles James. His wife was Jan; the mother of my child was a different gal named Jan. The first time I went to Chuck's house I saw an old van and Michael Hurley stepped out of it. This was 1993. I had met Hurley in a commune in Vermont in 1968; never new Chuck new him.

I left home young and hitched out to Haight St. Cal in '67 and lived there for 2 years and lived in communes and travelled with bands and met many colorful folks. Coming to Rochester in 1990 and hooking up with Colorblind and the Rochester community has been the most meaningful days of my life. I really owe it to Chuck and all the people he brought to me. I often speak to Chuck's spirit like he was still here. He is a blessing to me.

Guest contributors

2007-08-20T18:39:00.000-07:00

I've invited a number of musicians from the band's colorful history to contribute their respective Colorblind James stories. As any reader of this blog is well aware, a linear narrative has never been attempted. Soon, hopefully, the reader will hopscotch once again from the early White Cap days, over to London, skip back to San Francisco, rest a moment in Rochester, and then fly off again.

My hope is through the narratives of the folks who played the music with Chuck, you'll be able to draw your own picture of this wonderful and unique voice in American music.

Thanks,

Uncle Phil

Europe 1989: Coming Home

2007-07-13T14:06:00.000-07:00

One of Martin Scorsese's earlier films, 'After Hours,' depicts the adventures of a character played by Griffin Dunne as he tries to connect with a girl one night in NYC. He suffers a series of dreadful events, each becoming more and more preposterous, with his character ultimately ending up back at his starting point. Our '89 tour was like that movie in many respects, with our trip home being the crowning series of frustrations.

The image shown above is a reminder of this, one of the most difficult and frustrating episodes in my time with CbJE. It also will show that we could be airheads of the first order. I think I've mentioned in earlier postings how the second tour in 1989 left the band deep in debt, in spite of our playing frenetically with practically no time off for eight weeks. We finished up in December, just a few days before Christmas. After a difficult meeting with our management, record company and booking agency, we found ourselves deep in debt and learning what should be the first lesson for any musician: at the end of the day, the artist is the one who is financially responsible. After the meeting we headed out into the streets of London with this burden.

We were also very hungry, and at that point we had practically no money. Near our hotel was an "all-you-can-eat" pasta joint, and this seemed to be the best bet for our dinner. The waiter was astonished and annoyed that we ALL ordered water. ("What, d'you mean just water from the tap??" We did.) He was also a bit cheesed by how hungry we were. Seven large Americans can eat A LOT of pasta, and I think he saw the day's profits ebbing away with every additional plate we ordered. At least that's what I interpreted from his dirty looks.

The next day we headed to Heathrow. It was here that we realized that over half the band had lost their air tickets. Actually, we had thrown them away at the beginning of the tour, not realizing what they were. This was in the days before electronic ticketing. So, the image above is a receipt for the repurchased tickets. We were eventually reimbursed by the airline, but it took months for that to happen. The flight across the Atlantic was fine, except that there was another band on the plane who'd had a fantastic European tour and exulted in all the wonderful things that they'd experienced, including playing in Berlin on the night that the Wall came down. We were supposed to have done the same thing, but our gig was cancelled. If that weren't enough misery, Phil and Chuck also had to endure the indignity of watching a film starring Dudley Moore.

Also, our flight had been delayed for around four or five hours. An annoyance, but not a big deal, or so we thought at the time. Except that it meant that by the time we got to NYC, we had missed our connecting flight to Rochester. So we had to spend the night in a hotel. The next day we took a shuttle to the airport and boarded our plane. And waited. And waited some more. After a while, someone came on to the plane and announced that there was a problem and we had to change to a different plane. I remember Phil muttering "Oh for God's sake, we're never going to get home." Eventually though, we did.

New York City: The Big Kahuna

2007-07-13T13:43:00.000-07:00

It was in June or July of 1988 that we got our first gig in New York City. It was at a club called The Big Kahuna, which boasted an aggressive surfer decor, to the point of having a VW van in the bar done up in psychedelic style, surfboards protruding everywhere. I don't remember much about the show, except that we were interviewed by Ian Cranna for Sounds magazine, we played "Viola Lee Blues" somewhere in the set, and finding parking was a nightmare. Ian spoke with Chuck after the show in a cramped basement dressing room. It was incredibly hot, so I headed out to the alley behind the club to get some relatively cool air.

I was sitting on the back step of the club when I was approached by a young black fellow who wanted to know if I had any spare change. He had a very eloquent speaking style and a heartrending tale of woe, some of which may have even been true. When we left Rochester, I'd brought along all of my spare change to help pay for tolls, and this lump of coins was still in my pocket. I said, "Yeah, I can help you. I hope things get better for you soon." and gave him all of that change, probably in the neighborhood of eight or ten dollars. His eyes widened in astonishment and the ensuing response was worth every penny. "Now, I'm not gay or nothin', but I gotta say, I LOVE white men! I mean, I just LOVE white men!" All of which was shouted repeatedly while jumping up and down. Around this time, other band members came out to witness the spectacle and added to the donation. Chuck said, "I had to give him something, he was such a fine orator."

I searched for an image of this club, which is apparently no longer there, but didn't find one. I'm also having trouble remembering if this was our first gig in NYC, or the one we did at the Rodeo Bar. Phil? Ken?

Episode Four

2007-07-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

is now up and running.
Get it here:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing4.html

This one's a bit bigger than the others. Apologies for the file size, but I think it'll be worth it. Here's the song list:

Ride Board
Strange Sounds From the Basement
Considering a Move to Memphis (live 1990)
Romeo Witherspoon (live radio, WITR 1989)
Hi-Fi Alphabet
I Am Joe Montana (live radio, WITR 1989)
Strange Case (live radio, WITR 1991)

A few notes on the program:

A "ride board" is a bulletin board at a college or meeting place for young people where one can post signs of "ride needed to 'X.'" If you happened to be driving that way, here was a person able to share expenses. I didn't have a car for much of my early college years, and the ride board was an important resource for me. Nowadays, everyone's got a car and you don't see them much anymore. The cafe referred to in the song was the Lowlife Cafe of Oswego NY. It was gone by the time I joined the band, but Chuck spoke of it often. I think both Phil and Ken probably remember it from their Oswego days as well. The names and cities in the song are significant.

"Strange Sounds From the Basement" demonstrates one our most impressive (and least appreciated) skills—the ability to play in very slow tempos. And marvel at the timing of Chuck's delivery of the words—Jack Benny coudn't have done it better.

This is a pretty good version of "Memphis," and gives the general ambience at one of our live shows. This is from a gig at the Country Warehouse, which was a pretty big Rochester venue. I saw The Band there once. They had absolutely no interest in booking us until after we'd played in Europe. And apologies to podcast listeners and my former band mates for my floundering solo here. Took me years to solo on this song properly. I'm not sure why.

"Romeo Witherspoon" and "I Am Joe Montana" were taken from a live WITR broadcast in 1989, when we did an acoustic show there as "CbJ annd the Death Valley Boys." We were working on our acoustic album at the time. Chuck was a big fan of the San Francisco 49ers, and admired Montana greatly. There were a few fans who really loved that song and we often got requests for it.

I've always loved "Hi-Fi Alphabet." Other than its skewering of artistic pretension ("bohemian die-hard twerp"), I have no idea what it's about. In the instrumental section leading to the end, you can hear a number of guest artists join in, including members of The Wilderness Family and Personal Effects, two great Rochester bands.

"Strange Case" was one of my favorite songs, but we didn't play it out much, if at all. When we started to learn it, we had a huge disagreement about how to count off the song. It got to the point where we just set it aside and worked on other things. Just before the broadcast in December of '91, we revisited the song and solved the problem by emphasizing the song's rhythmic ambiguity, rather than clarifying it. That worked. My solo on this is probably my favorite of any that I did with the band.

Next episode: Girls! Girls! Girls!

Episode Three

2007-05-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

Here's the second part of the CbJE Gospel Album. The playlist is as follows:

Daniel In the Lion's Den (live)
The Wives Of the Saints (live)
Three Of Them and One Of Us (live radio)
Jesus At the Still
Four Horsemen
Death Fears No Man

I'd actually meant to put this live version of "Daniel In the Lion's Den" on the last podcast but it slipped my mind in the rush of events of the day. So here it is now. Phil's solo is spectacular; I couldn't leave it off. And if you've never heard "Four Horsemen" before, it's one of Chuck's most hilarious and peculiar lyrics ever, with a bizarre and loopy groove from the band to match. I think it probably comes fairly close to capturing the spirit of the "Book of Oswald" that he wrote back in high school. "Three Of Them and One Of Us" is similar, but Chuck's a bit angrier in this one.

Here's where to get it:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing3.html

Podcast activity will slow down for a bit, while I attend to other matters; probably nothing more will happen until mid-June. Then, in upcoming episodes we'll explore the quirky side of CbJE, take a look at the Blind Willie McTell legacy of the band, and I'll also post some selections from some of our Bob Dylan shows as well. The ones from '91 and 92 have some terrific material. And the sound isn't too bad, either.

And quirky opinions of all sorts may be vented with:

davidmcintire "at" mac.com (replace the "at" with @)

Episode Two

2007-05-24T17:40:00.001-07:00

Here's the first installment of a hypothetical CbJE Gospel Album. I should have the second part up and running in fairly short order. The playlist for Part One is as follows:

Gospel Mood
Wedding at Cana
Daniel in the Lion's Den
Jonah and the Whale
If Nobody Loves You In Heaven

Dowload this fabulous internet resource here:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing2.html

As always, comments, criticism, and scathing invective may be lobbed at:

davidmcintire "at" mac.com

It's Here!

2007-05-02T18:40:00.000-07:00

Happy Buster Cornelius Day! Today is the launch of the Colorblind James: Absolutely More! podcast, and Episode One is already up and running. You may download it at:

http://homepage.mac.com/davidmcintire/FileSharing1.html

The playlist for Episode One is:

Buster Cornelius (live)
Leopardskin Pillbox Hat (live)
Forgotten Man (live radio)
Fourth Floor Rock
I'm Never Gonna Hurt the Girl I Love
St. James Infirmary

As promised, there's a bit of background and commentary at the beginning and end. I hope just the right amount. The audio quality is variable, though I personally think it's fairly listenable. Audiophiles should probably avoid it. I'll work on getting the podcast available through iTunes shortly, so you can just subscribe to it and have it automatically downloaded if you wish. Feedback will be greatly appreciated. Collect 'em all! Trade 'em with your friends!

Comments? Questions? Advice?

email: davidmcintire "at" mac.com

Coming Soon! Really Soon!

2007-04-20T18:14:00.000-07:00

Mark your calendars. Buster Cornelius Day is nearly upon us (that's the Third of May, folks), and there could be no better day to launch a Colorblind James Experience podcast. So that's when I'll launch one. This will be a highly personal view of the band's work (mine), and will largely (though not exclusively) focus on the period from about 1987 to 1992, the years of the band's most intense and concentrated activity. Expect some of the group's lesser-known material, a lot of previously "unheard-by-nearly-anyone" recordings from live performances, radio broadcasts and studio outtakes. Stuff you never knew we did, but will be glad to find out about. Among upcoming planned episodes, you'll get to hear a hypothetical reconstruction of the much-discussed but never-recorded "Blind Willie McTell Album," our long-lost "Gospel Album," and "Girls! Girls! Girls!." Plus so much more—a Beach Boys cover, our magnificent version of "Saint James Infirmary" and the legendary "I Am Joe Montana."

I intend to do at least four or five podcasts of about 45 minutes in length. In addition to the songs, I'll provide a bit of background and brief commentary. And this will be available to anyone for the extremely reasonable price of nothing at all. Comments from listeners will be greatly appreciated. More details will be posted here on the launch day. Woot!

(As I was typing this up, I realized that this podcast will coincide with the 20th anniversary of my joining CbJE. Whoof...)

Q Magazine reviews CbJE

2007-02-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

Here's a review of our second album, 'Why Should I Stand Up?' that appeared in Britain's Q magazine, a hip glossy that offers lots of reviews, interviews and feature articles, and a had/has somewhat higher journalistic standards than some other publications. They had some very good writers; Charles Shaar Murray was especially excellent. I think this reviewer got the album pretty well, better than many. And yes, we livened up many a wedding. (Though I don't think anything could have induced any of us to don straw-boaters for any reason. He's wrong there.)

One of the things I enjoyed about our brief spell near the limelight was seeing us grouped with other artists alphabetically, in print or in record stores. In record shops our bin would often appear next to Elvis Costello or Edwin Collins, at least once we'd graduated from the "Miscellaneous C Artists.". In this Q Magazine review, we were placed on the same page as Can, a long-time favorite of mine, and Company, a free-jazz outfit that I also admired a lot. It was a juxtaposition that I privately enjoyed very much, and probably the closest I'll ever get to either group. I always imagined some fan of Can glancing across the page after reading their review and thinking, "Hmmm. Maybe I should check these lads out..."

And speaking of record bins, they offered their own sort of endorsement. The fact that your group had its own space and your name was placed next to some artist like Elvis Costello lent a bit of credibility. ("Jeeze, these guys must be pretty good; they've got their own bin, AND it's right in front of Elvis Costello's!") One of my sister's friends was completely unimpressed that her big brother was in a band until the friend saw that we had a generously-filled bin at the Washington DC Tower Records (RIP). That proved we were somebody to reckon with, at least for her.

Mariposa, 1991

2007-02-03T13:15:00.000-08:00

Above is the cover of the program book for the Mariposa Festival, an annual festival that took place just outside of Toronto. We played there in September of 1991, our only appearances in "our neighbor to the north." It was a big deal, with several stages offering shows simultaneously, and a large amphitheatre for the bigger acts (we weren't one them). Those included Los Lobos, Jane Siberry, the Fairfield Four, Ramblin' Jack Elliott and an appearance by the soon-to-be-a-big-deal Barenaked Ladies. At that point, they were just a local sensation, and had only released a cassette on their own label. A few months later, their recordings were everywhere.

The weather was gorgeous, and I had a good time hearing other groups. Most memorable for me was listening to Pops Staples singing gospel songs to a handful of people on Sunday morning. It was better than being in church. I got to shake his hand afterwards, and felt fortunate to have been there for that reason alone.

In the folk music scene is a tradition of doing "workshops" at festivals, where a musician or group explains some aspect of their craft, or even just tells a few stories. This allows fans to interact with the musicians and musicians to share their experience. I had played some folk festivals with the band, but had never done one of these. When we arrived in Toronto, after considerable red tape at the border, I learned that I had been scheduled to lead one of these workshops, unbeknownst to me. They'd even coined a clever title for it without consulting me. And it was to begin in just a few minutes. I was shocked and more than a little intimidated. Occasionally, in stressful situations, I will simply freeze up, unable to do or say anything, paralyzed. This was one of those occasions. When I got to the location for the workshop, I had no idea what I might talk about, and no time to plan something out. I watched other musicians effortlessly regale the audience with musical insight and lore and funny stories and realized that I was in no way prepared to do this. I fled before anyone noticed that I was there. Later, I realized that it would have been no big deal for me to talk about various traditions and approaches to the clarinet, and how I used these in my own playing, but at that moment, I couldn't think clearly. Chuck and Phil were also scheduled to do a workshop on banjo-playing, of all things. I'm not even sure we took a banjo with us on that trip; I'll let Phil refresh my memory on that one...

I don't remember much else from the weekend, except that Chuck didn't like the Barenaked Ladies at all ("too clever") although I myself was pretty sure they were headed for a successful career. Los Lobos was a pretty great band, but struck me as a bit cold. Their bari sax player Steve Berlin was the only memorable aspect of their show for me. We shared a bill with a solo blues fellow who went by the name Dr. Blue, and backed him up on a couple numbers, quite impressively, I thought at the time. He seemed surprised that we could follow him. That weekend we played twice on showcases with John and Mary, who went on to a fairly active career of touring and recording, and with John Gorka, a guy who had covered a couple of Chuck's songs, including "A Different Bob" I think. I heard one of his sets, which included a song about New Jersey ("We're from New Jersey, we don't expect much"). At the time, we thought that the Mariposa appearance might lead to more gigs in Canada, but it didn't.

Best of 1989

2007-01-28T09:16:00.000-08:00

Here's a portion of the "50 Albums of 1989" list that was published in New Musical Express at the end of that year. Click on it for a larger, readable image. And there we are, in the lower right corner, smack in the middle of the pack at #25, surpassed only by the likes of Elvis Costello's 'Spike' (not pictured) and Bob Dylan's 'Oh Mercy' (pictured, and the best album he'd made in quite some time). Ken, I recall took particular delight in the phrase "lovable[y] batty." From this, one might surmise that a career in the music business might have been in store for us, that major-label status and full-time musicmaking was just around the corner. We certainly surmised that.

The album in question, 'Why Should I Stand Up?' conjures mixed emotions for me, and, I suspect, for other members of the group as well. It was the first full-length recording that I played on with CbJE, and it documents that the transition to the horn-infused sound of the new group took some time. There are some great songs on there: the title track, the wondrous "Buster Cornelius," the inscrutable "Hi-Fi Alphabet," "That's Entertainment," and others. And, I think it began to approach the sound and vision for the group that Chuck had had all along. But the album (for me) is hampered by a two-dimensional sound quality, flat and undefined, as well as excessive horn overdubs on "Why Should I Stand Up," and "He Must Have Been Quite Guy." (Those are my fault.) I am quite proud of my solo on "Polka Girl" (the only CbJE thing my clarinet teacher ever complimented me on) and the clarinet/guitar interplay of Phil and I on "I'm a Sailor." And the amazing string of solos/duos on "Buster Cornelius" is a magical piece of musical storytelling.

WSISU, unfortunately, was the only album the band made that was widely distributed in the USA and overseas. It's still the easiest bit of CbJE to find on eBay. The album that followed, 'Strange Sounds from the Basement,' shows that we all had learned from our mistakes. Recorded at the same studio, it has more clarity, and despite being an acoustic album, more power. If WSISU had been recorded with the sparkle and oomph of that later album, it'd be a classic.

In between San Francisco and the Fullham Greyhound

2007-01-23T07:09:00.000-08:00

The White Caps put out the horrific America, America/Blind Girl 45. The San Francisco line-up was documented with the now hard-to-find Talk To Me single. The other sessions that yielded that platter may someday come to light.

The best document for the post S.F./pre-touring line-up has to be the first self-titled Colorblind James Experience L.P. which features the "hits" Considering a Move to Memphis, Dance Critters, A Different Bob and Fledgling Circus.

Meaning no disrespect to the host of great players who have done their time with the Experience, I've always considered the line-up of Chuck, Ken Frank, Jimmy Mac, Dave McIntire, Joe "the Bone" Columbo and myself to be not only the definitive band but also the one that best represented Chuck's vision.

That being said, I can't stress enough the importance and the fondness I have for the 1985-1987 line-up of Chuck, Bernie Heveron (upright bass), G. Elwyn Meixner (guitar/banjo), Jimmy Mac and myself. It was a completely different band that was in many ways more diverse, less focused and more humorous than any version before or after it.

The biggest difference was the more "democratic" approach the band had. It was closer to Chuck's early jugband days in the Water Street Boys. Save for Jimmy Mac, everybody sang and everybody contributed original material.

Bernie's contributions included the popular First Day of Spring ("She's a witch!"), Three Feet and Nocturnal Emissions. G. Elwyn's songs included his own I Gave You My Number (which exists on the "Live at Jazzberry's" cassette) and Poor Able, which later appeared on the Crossing Lake Riley LP by his own group the Wilderness Family. I tried out a bunch of songs but the one's that stuck were the instrumental Havoc Theme and the song that became a millstone around my neck, Summer Of Love.

The gigs were often chaotic and silly and bounced from Bernie covering Sesame Street songs ("Hey, Kid! Where'd you get the lid?"), G. Elwyn's 10-minute workouts on Ry Cooder's Chevrolet and my primal scream nonsense on S.O.L. Chuck would bide his time while everyone took their turn until he could launch into Rodeo Night, Walking My Camel Home or some other chestnut.

G. Elwyn was the first to leave, needing to pursue his own leadership role in the Wilderness Family. The W.F. also released its own LP, Crossing Lake Riley, on Personal Effects' Earring Records. For the short time they were around, they offered the Rochester scene a completely unique sound of Gary's beautiful voice and very underrated guitar backed by upright bass, drums and accordion.

G. Elwyn originally had been the vocalist on Chuck's "German Girls" but Chuck went in and re-recorded his own vocal once Gary split.

Bernie's departure was more problematic in that his song "First Day of Spring" was included on the first LP, getting airplay on John Peel's show, and talk of touring was in the wind. Night after night in England Chuck would find himself apologizing to fans that we were not going to play FDOS because the guy who wrote it was no longer with the band. Regardless of what one may think of the song, Chuck would never sing someone else's song unless it was some time worn gem of Americana. Some fans were irate, to say the least.

Once the line-up got overhauled with the addition of Ken, Dave and trombonist John Ebert, Chuck took the opportunity to end the democracy and place himself as sole songwriter. I encouraged that as well having experienced an immediate sense of band focus after G. Elwyn's departure. Not contributing original material played a big part in Bernie's decision to leave to. For awhile he put his own band together, Flatfoot, to highlight his songs.

For many fans, the sheer absurd fun and potshot approach of the early line-up was everything. Many did not transition into the touring line-up. It was more focused but for them, too much was lost in achieving it.

Apologies, and a new clipping...

2006-12-02T13:26:00.000-08:00

Apologies to the readers of Absolutely More! for the light (well, nonexistent) postings of late. The editors of this blog have just been plain busy. I do personally promise to post more in the near future. (The "near future" being in a couple of weeks, after my finals are over...) I did find the actual clipping from the New Musical Express review that Ken quoted in his last posting, so here it is. (You can click on the images to see a large picture.) Note that you can see fellow bloggers Phil and Ken just behind Colorblind James, in the exciting action photograph from this legendary gig. Also, could one of our British readers please tell us just who the hell the "Dagenham Girl Pipers" are/were?

Fulham Greyhound Part 3

2006-08-07T19:03:00.000-07:00

My memory is not as robust as my esteemed blog-mates. I don't remember the sound check at all. What I do remember is being nervous before going on, which, believe it or not, was a first for me. We played well--pretty solidly--but we weren't our usual wild and loose selves. We were all more nervous than usual. On this and the first few shows, I had a paranoid feeling that much of the crowd was mocking us. It took me a while to realize that we had some seriously rabid fans who pretty much loved us unconditionally.

The most vivid memory for me of that night was Red Rhino and Cooking Vinyl execs courting us backstage after the show, and the first vague feeling that we were turning into a product.

I don't have a scanner, but here are excerpts from that review Dave mentioned (written by a young Stuart Maconie, now a pretty big music journalist over there):

The Holy Brail

Or How I Found God at the Fulham Greyhound

....Up until tonight I had heard one C.J.E record and I thought it was crap. But then I was a poor dumb sinner....
....The Colorblind James experience rolled into town like Jesus on the back of a flatbed truck...
....Lower your head penitent, and burn those U2 records...
....a gorgeous, anarchic cabaret that flirts with chaos thus disguising a single-minded precision....
....Sometimes (Colorblind James) reads the lyrics from a battered black ledger, like an amiable but sinister bible belt preacher...
....The crowd's devotion borders on the fanatical...
....they howl at every cheeky, demented solo....
....Long after they have taken our drinks away, pockets of stragglers remain, swaying drunkenly and chanting...

Mmmm...maybe we played even better than I thought.

Fulham Greyhound: the Uncle Phil's Eye View

2006-07-30T13:31:00.000-07:00

Fulham Greyhound was one of the happiest and stressful days of my life. I don't know if we had slept since leaving Toronto as we were rushed from one interview to another, from a photo shoot to a meeting of players and entourage, for what seemed an eternity.

Kevin Hunter, our tour manager/driver/roadie, kept us hopping and on schedule the whole time as we went from NME to Melody Maker to the next. I couldn't keep anything straight except my bangs which were Johnny Ramone length.

The club looked like nothing special, basically a big flat-black room with strips and remnants of silver duct tape interfering with the otherwise glamorous decor. Ahem. We loaded in but as we soon came to realize, Kevin and Carl were committed to doing all the work. They had agreed together that we would be calm and rested whenever possible and that the stage setup and sound-check was their job, their responsibility. That was a first for me.

Back stage was beer and wine and yes, a chutes and ladders game: one of about 5,000 we would wind up with. Sadly, I doubt any of them made it back state-side. The soundcheck was quick and functional. The opening act, "I, Ludicrous" was one guy or maybe a duo and a boom-box. I believe John Peel had played something of theirs on his show as well.

While I, Ludicrous played, we sat in the dressing room and I'm going to guess I was just shy of totally freaking out. Kevin asked each of us what we wanted on stage drink wise and made sure cans of ale, lager or H2O were opened and at everyone's respective station.

When we strolled out onto the stage the sound was deafening. Yeah, Dave, it was our Beatle moment. And not the last. The place was absolutely packed. I don't remember what we started with, how long we played or anything except that my hands were shaking the whole time.

On "Considering a Move to Memphis" I used to play a pentatonic riff using all harmonics on the guitar during the second solo. What I remember is my hand trembling and moving over the neck and not a damn thing coming out but clicks or ghost notes. My thoughts were along the line of "Me terrible. Them hate me. Me very bad."

But that wasn't the case. The Sheffield Lads began immediately with their chorus of "Absolutely More!" and the other word new to our ears being shouted out was "Brilliant!" At the time we didn't know that Britishers use "brilliant!" like we would say "great!" For a moment we thought "Damn! They think we're fucking geniuses!"

The Lads met us afterwards and introduced themselves explaining that they were prepared with the itinerary to see just about every upcoming show. As I stated before, they were fun to be around soon becoming a welcome sight for sore eyes at each U.K. show.

At the end of the night, once the van was loaded, Kevin climbed into the drivers seat and quieted us down with a stern "I've got something important to say to you all" tone to his voice. We hushed and he said "WHO WANTS A BEER?" We all cheered as he pulled out beers for each of us as we drove back to our hotel.

Maybe we sucked and maybe we were great. It really didn't matter. The show was huge, the crowd flipped for us, and it kicked off the tour awesomely.

1988 Tour: Fulham Greyhound

2006-07-26T21:19:00.000-07:00

When we arrived in Britain in October 1988 for our first tour, we didn't play any shows right away. We first spent about two or three days doing nothing but interviews, photo sessions and BBC recordings. Our first actual gig in front of an audience was at the Fulham Greyhound. We had absolutely no idea what to expect. In the rush of events, my memories of many of the details of that show are hazy, but a few details stand out. I remember doing a soundcheck in the afternoon, and noting the fact that the promoter had supplied a brand-new "Snakes and Ladders" board game in our dressing room, along with the usual refreshments. We learned that this was a clause in our contract rider, that each venue would provide a board game for the band. I played chess with Ken on a couple of occasions when a chess-board was offered. (Ken was a fine chess layer and always crushed me easily, even while spotting me a few pieces.)

After doing the soundcheck in the empty venue, we went somewhere for dinner and came back a couple hours later for the show. At this point, the place was absolutely packed. I cannot exaggerate this point whatsoever. I have never been in a denser crush of people in my life—it took at least 15 or 20 minutes for us to squeeze through the throng from the pub's entrance to the dressing room. It was unbelievably hot and humid from all of the bodies packed together. As we got on stage, I looked up and saw that the walls were literally dripping with moisture. I was so sweaty that I nearly dropped my saxophone a couple of times. Already nervous about the show, having to worry about simply holding my instruments added another layer of stress that I'd never experienced before. As we faced the audience, the crowd let out a deafening cheer that seemed to last forever. I remember thinking quite clearly to myself, "Now I know what the Beatles felt like..."

The actual gig is a complete and utter blur for me. Maybe Phil or Ken can remember something else, but I can't. I have no idea how we played. I don't think it really mattered that much. I dimly recall playing "Considering a Move to Memphis" and the roar being almost as loud as the band. Somewhere I have a glowing review of the show that I'll post if I can find it. After that, we were launched on the tour. Our prospects seemed limitless at that point.

Prequel to The First Tour (1988)

2006-07-09T12:52:00.000-07:00

With all of the mail coming in from England, with all of the BBC airplay that continued unabated from mid-1987 onwards, and with our snazzy new distribution deal with Fundamental/Red Rhino all coming together, we naturally thought that a European (or at least British) tour would instantly be in the offing. Oddly, none of our record distributors seemed to be pushing this idea very hard. We however, saw the situation as a hot iron that needed to be struck if anything were to happen.

So when I went to London in January of 1988 (my wife Kathleen had to go there on a business trip), I thought I'd drop in on the folks at Red Rhino and see if we couldn't get that plan moving forward. I talked it over with Chuck and the band, and all agreed that it made sense to try to contact them and see about organizing a tour. I said "drop in" because they didn't have an actual phone number, or at least one that we had access to. I had no means of making an appointment. All we had was a street address in York. So I took a four-hour train ride up to York from London and walked around asking directions until I was guided to a fairly shabby part of town. I walked up to a doorway on the correct street with the correct number, but no other indication that I'd come to the right place. No sign saying "Red Rhino Records, Ltd," or anything helpful like that. I knocked. And knocked some more....

Eventually a bloke came to the door, opened it about two inches or less, and said, "Yes?" I asked if this was the location of Red Rhino Records. He didn't really say one way or the other, just more or less replied, "So, who wants to know?" I explained that I was a member of the Colorblind James Experience, that I happened to be in England just then, and that I happened to have taken a train to York to speak with them about help in setting up a European tour.

"Wait here."

So I stood in the damp chill of the doorway for a while, and eventually was invited in. The two gentlemen that received me were very gracious from that point onwards, and after some discussion they gave me the name of a booking agent in London who they thought would be interested in working with us. And also recommended a fine pub for lunch, whose steak and kidney pie was outstanding. The initial cold reception and mysterious behavior made a lot more sense a few months later, when we learned a bit more about this company that was handling our record in Europe. I'll explain further in an upcoming posting.

In my various wanderings around York, I had also stopped in at a local record shop, just to get a sense of the music scene there, and because I simply couldn't walk past a record shop in those days. As I walked in, what should be playing on the store sound system but "A Different Bob," from the first album. I walked up to the counter and said, "This is a fine record that you're playing here." A largish fellow looked up and said, "Oh, have you heard of them, then?" "Actually," I replied, "I play in that band." I have never seen a jaw drop in a more classic manner in my own life (or in a movie) before or since that moment. Priceless. He told me he was a huge fan of the band, loved the album and that it had been selling well at their shop. At this point, I had to get back to the station to catch my train back to London. I reviewed the day's accomplishments. I had: 1) made direct contact with Red Rhino, 2) conveyed the fact that we were eager to tour and been encouraged by the response, 3) been given the name of a booking agent (Paul Buck, who did help book our first tour), and 4) discovered firsthand that the buzz about the album was real. It felt like a fairly productive day. The strangeness of the experience didn't sink in until much later.

Thank You, John Peel

2006-07-04T07:09:00.000-07:00

Many tributes and appreciations of the great British DJ John Peel are spread across the internet. Here's one more. Over his 30-year career at the BBC, he broke many new and unknown bands to a national audience. We were one of them. Our European tours and our succession of independent-label releases between 1987 and 1992 are largely due to the effect of this single individual. Without his advocacy of our first LP, probably none of those things would have come to pass, or certainly would have happened much differently. Here's the sequence of events:

In 1987, the CbJE had completed its first album, released on the Rochester label Earring Records. This came out a few months prior to my joining the group in the summer of '87. At that point, G. Elwyn Meixner and Bernie Heveron had left to pursue individual projects, so the band's sound was retooled to include horns—myself on clarinet and saxophone and John Ebert on trombone; Ken Frank came in on bass. The group had a thousand copies pressed (LP only), of which about a third were reserved for promos, to be sent to radio stations and record companies. Someone (maybe Phil or Ken remembers who, I don't) suggested to Chuck that an English DJ named John Peel might find our music attractive. So we plumped up the requisite international postage, and Chuck mailed a single copy of the LP to Britain, addressed to "John Peel, c/o the BBC."

A few weeks later, Chuck came home from work to find a fan letter from England in his mailbox, enthusing about the album. Peel had been playing several cuts from the album, including "The First Day of Spring," "A Different Bob," and (most importantly) "Considering a Move to Memphis." Over the next few weeks, more mail arrived, from all over Britain. Chuck had included his mailing address on the back of the album, but there was only the one copy in England at that time. So that meant that people were calling the BBC offices in London in order to get the address. Another Radio 1 DJ, Andy Kershaw, also began to play the album on his show, with strong audience response. Momentum gathered. Other radio hosts on the Beeb like Liz Kershaw began to play the album as well and the strong audience response continued. Peel never seemed to let up in his appreciation for the album, playing nearly every song that was on it. He didn't care that it was on a tiny private label, that it was unevenly recorded, or that there was no product in shops at the time. He just liked the record. Because of this, we had a national reputation in Great Britain before we even had American distribution.

Some time afterwards, we were contacted by Fundamental Records in Georgia about licensing the LP. This deal would also include English distribution through an outfit based in York called Red Rhino. Fundamental was a more or less known quantity in the States, then mainly notable for releasing Eugene Chadbourne onto an unsuspecting public. We went for it. Fundamental also issued the first LP on CD and cassette. As this was the beginning of the exciting new CD format, bonus tracks were a big deal. We added two songs that had just been recorded by the new group at Saxon Studios (see Phil's earlier posting on this Rochester institution), as it seemed like a good idea at the time. Looking back now, those extra tracks don't seem to fit with the original set of songs.

In early 1988, my wife had to go to London on a business trip, and I tagged along. Mostly I knocked around London during the day and shopped for avant garde classical recordings, but I did take a train to York to contact the folks at Red Rhino about a tour. That adventure will require its own posting. The other thing I did was to call the BBC to ask to leave a message with Peel. I had no illusions about speaking to the great man myself, and I learned later that he generally tried to keep a bit of distance between himself and the artists he played. My call was transferred around the building for a bit and then a male voice suddenly came on the line; the most mellifluous "Hello" I'd ever heard. I explained that I was trying to reach John Peel's office in order to leave a message with him. The voice replied, "You've done even better, this is John Peel speaking!" We chatted briefly, and I ended the conversation by thanking him for all of the enthusiastic airplay that we'd received on his show. Ever gracious, he said, Well, thank YOU lads for making such a wonderful album."

CbJE at the BBC

2006-07-03T08:21:00.000-07:00

Above is a picture of Phil Marshall and Colorblind James at one of our recording sessions at the BBC. I think it's from our Death Valley Boys session for Andy Kershaw in 1989. We did four of these over our three tours, including two on our very first tour, when we were considered a pretty hot item. These sessions all consisted of four songs, were all recorded in a single day at the BBC's Maida Vale studios and all were engineered by the exceptional Mike Robinson. Robinson is listed as producer on the cd insert, but Dale "Buffin" Griffin (the orginal drummer for Mott the Hoople) was also present in the capacity of producer for all four sessions. Griffin was supposedly possessed of a legendary irritability, but he seemed to like us and put in long hours getting the best mix possible. We were told he never did this for other bands.

British readers of this blog will simply regard these BBC recordings as an ordinary event, but there is nothing comparable to them in the United States. At the Maida Vale recording complex was a warren of studios recording all manner of music, all day, every day. As we wandered through its hallways on our way to lunch, we'd peer in windows to other studios and see jazz bands, choruses, orchestras and more, all being recorded for broadcast. A little bit like heaven, I thought at the time.

Our first session for John Peel (18 October 1988) included a very fast version of "Polka Girl," "Hey Bernadette" (a rollicking song dedicated to the actress and singer Bernadette Peters, who Chuck admired strenuously), Phil's terrific instrumental "Havoc Theme" (which my daughter Rachel often uses as title music in her videos; someday Phil will get a fat royalty check for that number), and "Wedding at Cana." All of these, except "Hey Bernadette" had been recorded previously, with two appearing on our second album 'Why Should I Stand Up?.' After we heard the exceptional quality of the recordings, we realized that it was foolish to duplicate stuff we'd already recorded, so after that we only recorded unreleased songs for the Beeb. The one exception to this policy was on our first session for Andy Kershaw, where we did record a too-fast and hectic version of "Considering a Move to Memphis," at his request. (Actually, he only requested the song, not that it be hectic...)

A couple years later, that first John Peel session was chosen for release on his Strange Fruit label, and was also licensed in the States on another label. On the Strange Fruit release there we are, listed alongside the likes of Joy Division, The Smiths, Siouxsie and the Banshees, New Order, the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Syd Barrett and others. "Judge us by the company we keep," Chuck once said. The rest of the BBC material (sixteen songs in total) has resided in their vaults ever since. Some of it is excellent stuff—the "Rollin' and Tumblin'" Peel session (7 November 1989) found the band in especially fine form. We often discussed issuing an album of all this BBC material, but never got around to it. At this point, it seems unlikely that any of it will see the light of day again. A shame, as it comprises some of the band's most important recorded legacy (and many of Chuck's finest songs), and comes the closest to capturing what we sounded like as a live band.

Wir sind alles Berliner(s)

2006-05-31T18:21:00.000-07:00

This picture was taken by our tour manager Steve Left, on our spring of 1990 tour of Europe. That's us, standing in front of what was remaining of the Berlin Wall. (Left to right, it's Ken Frank, David McIntire, Colorblind James, Phillip Marshall, Joe "The Bone" Colombo and James McAvaney.) Students of history will remember that the wall came came down in November of '89. We were touring then, and had some shows booked in Germany, including one in Berlin. Most of them fell through, being cancelled as we were flying to London. In the meantime, we plodded onwards with the rest of that surreal and depressing tour. We were aware that world-shaking events were unfolding, but we were preoccupied with our daily routine of travel and performing. At some point, we realized that our cancelled gig in Berlin had been scheduled for the very night that the wall came down. We would have been there for that momentous event. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

The tour concluded with us deep in debt and severely depressed as we prepared to fly home. The debacle that was our journey home will need its own separate posting, but suffice it to say, we were feeling low. But soon to be brought even lower, when, on the same plane as us was another band (I have no idea who they were) who HAD played in Berlin on that fateful night. They were exultant about the experience, telling people on the plane what a fantastic experience it had all been, how excited the East Berliners had been to hear American bands for the first time, how the clubs were all packed with enthusiastic throngs. I had an intense feeling that some cosmic plan had gone horribly wrong, and the fun, successful tour that was rightfully ours had been given to this other band somehow. It wasn't fair.

A few months later, we finally played in Berlin. By then, the excitement was over, and the gig was routine. We still took time to go to the wall and pay our respects.

Addendum: The title of this posting was a rough attempt to approximate the phrase from JFK's speech at the Berlin Wall where he declared, "Ich bin ein Berliner." The audience knew what he was trying to say and roared approvingly, but his statement more or less translates to "I am a jam-filled doughnut." Which should tell politicians to try out those phrases on native speakers BEFORE they make the big speech. Anyway, the actual plural would be "Berlineren."

1984-1987: The Bop Shop (Dave's take)

2006-05-29T07:59:00.000-07:00

Phil's previous posting on the Bop Shop caused me as well to ponder the store's contribution to Rochester's musical culture. Since I have my own extensive history with the place, I thought I'd throw in my two cents. As Phil pointed out, the store is one of the hippest record shops anywhere. The owner, Tom Kohn, is simply put, a visionary. He has wide-ranging, yet discriminating taste, and an incredible memory for record minutiae. The Bop Shop's main focus has always been on jazz, folk and blues, but with many other genres represented as well. What you won't find is current pop, or anything that Tom deems unworthy of his store. (Ages ago I remember the look of astonishment on a Japanese tourist customer's face when Tom informed him that he didn't carry the latest Michael Jackson release. Many of Kenny G's fans were likewise astonished to learn that Mr. G's highly popular recordings did not make the cut either.) Over the years, his store's presence has had an incalculable effect on the Rochester scene, providing exceptional selection for music enthusiasts, sponsoring dozens of free concerts and offering a forum for musicians learn and grow.

I met Tom in 1980 when we were both electronic technicians at MXR Innovations, Rochester's guitar effect and sound-reinforcement gear manufacturer. Tom and I were there during the company's golden age; it was a really fun place to work back when they were prosperous. By 1982-83 the Japanese corporations like Roland and Yamaha had made huge inroads into that market and MXR struggled to compete. This, combined with some terrible, cocaine-addled management decisions brought the company to its demise around '84. By mid-83 we all saw the writing on the wall, and Tom had taken his profit-sharing and started the Bop Shop at the Village Gate Square, 274 North Goodman Street in Rochester. Back then it was called Peddler's Village, and was more or less a glorified flea market. Even then, Tom was one of the most successful vendors there. At this point, twenty-some years later, his is probably the only business left from that era.

In 1983, I got married and started working on a music degree at Nazareth College. A few months later, I stopped by the Village Gate and poked around Tom's new little retail space. We hadn't spoken in a while, and he told me that things were busy and he was thinking about hiring an employee. I became the first one. At the time I thought little of it; today it seems like quite a big deal. The place expanded rapidly, quadrupling in size over the next few years. Today the store is rated one of the finest jazz record stores in the country and it serves customers all over the world. And the fact that it has simply survived through these tumultous years is remarkable. Few independent record stores have been able to do so, and fewer still on the terms that Tom demanded.

The store had an enormous impact on my own musical education. Whatever I have learned from my coursework and lessons over the years, I have learned far more about musical style, artists and repertoire from my years of working at the Bop Shop, and later managing its sister store, Recorded Classics. All of Tom's employees were (and remain) musicians and/or music lovers with tremendous knowledge. We all had different interests, but we tended to get along well and to learn from one another. A day at the store would involve listening to dozens of recordings while we went about our duties, all with vigorous discussion. The store was like a huge library, and we all absorbed its contents as much as we could. We were some of its best customers, as well as its employees. This influenced the way we played, the bands we played in, the way we thought about music altogether. After I started playing in CbJE, the Bop Shop was where I expanded my listening, to fill in the gaps of musical history I needed. Bob Dylan, Blind Willie McTell, and Cannon's Jug Stompers became essential listening. I studied the sax solos of Herbert Hardesty, the great tenor man for Fats Domino, and the solos on Little Richard's early recordings. I tried to figure out a way to make my saxophone sound like Hubert Sumlin's guitar on Howlin' Wolf's records. (Still working on that one....) John Coltrane, Albert Ayler, Cecil Taylor and Anthony Braxton became role models. Steve Lacy shaped my concept of how to play the soprano saxophone. And Sidney Bechet showed me sounds from the clarinet I'd never dreamed of...

I stopped working for Tom in 1992, when I went back to school for my master's degree, but I still shop at the Bop Shop whenever I'm in Rochester. Tom always pulls out a dozen discs to play me, ("Dave, y'gotta hear these guys, they're amazing!!!") and yes, they always are amazing. My credit card groans under the strain and I ponder how I'll get it all into my luggage, but I go forth happy that I have the best, most latest sounds that have been made. Stop by there yourself, if you don't believe me.

1985: the Bop Shop

2006-05-14T13:18:00.000-07:00

The first time I saw the Colorblind James Experience after returning to Rochester, I believe they were going by the name Colorblind James and the Death Valley Boys. Eiter that or Chuck was letting it operate under the name "The Colorblind James Band".

Chuck had hooked up once again with White Caps guitarist G. Elwyn Meixner. He had also scored Personal Effects popular bassist Bernie Heveron who had just recently acquired an upright bass and a taste for "something different". Bernie was able to point Chuck in the direction of Jimmy MacAveney who had played with such local luminaries as The Dady Brothers and The Ken Hardley Playboys.

The quartet had already enjoyed a good response playing small Rochester bars like Snake Sisters at 666 South Avenue (now LUX), Schatzee's on Richmond St. (now RICHMOND's) and of course Jazzberry's at 713 Monroe Avenue (now a gift shop). On this day, however, they were playing on the upper level of the Village Gate Square right above the Bop Shop.

During a break, Chuck and the boys brought me down to the Bop Shop where I was introduced to the youthful proprietor Tom Kohn, who was already a big fan of Chuck's music and the band's sound. Working for him at the time was a young composer, clarinetist and ex-Zenith Effluvium member David McIntire. The Bop Shop was cooler than any record store I had haunted in San Francisco and I immediately had my heart set on working there.

It would take about six months and a stormy exit from the young men's department at Sibley's before that dream would be realized. It would take another 2 years before Dave McIntire would officially join the fold. That day, however, I was happy to acquire a vinyl copy of Muddy Waters: Down on Stovall's Plantation and to realize that however little money I was to make, most of it would go into Tom Kohn's cash register.

Dave's Clipping Archive (I)

2006-05-08T12:56:00.000-07:00

The above review is from the British music weekly, New Musical Express, November 18th, 1989. (Click on this image for a larger, readable version.) The show was at a London venue called the Powerhaus. The first band, God's Little Monkeys, was a sort of punked-up folk band from York, I think. We played several shows with them on our first and second tours. Originally they were called Malcolm's Interview, a name which meant nothing to me, but I thought sounded better than GLM. Nice folks, though for me their songs had a sort of opportunistic quality, in a political sense. They had an anti-apartheid song, a song about religious repression, etc, covering the general scope of Britain's left-wing scene. Because some preacher had railed against their name in public, they worked this into the conclusion that they were somehow being persecuted. Right. They were a decent band, though. Veldt, I do not remember at all. Must have been backstage or something. And actually, I don't remember too much about our portion of the show, either. I do suspect that the booing the writer refers to was not actually directed at our second album, so much as Chuck's refusal to play some stuff from the first album. "The First Day of Spring" was often requested by beer-soaked punters, and was not in our repertoire at that time because it was Bernie Heveron's song, and he was no longer in the group. Chuck would try to explain this to audiences, but it did no good. They would get angry anyway.

This is a pretty typical example of Britain's pop music press reportage. While it's generally favorable, (except for that snip about the second album being booed), it doesn't really report on the event in any meaningful detail. It always annoys me when a writer resorts to obscure references to items in their own record collection to bolster their authority, rather than doing the hard work of writing in clear descriptive language. I have no idea what he's talking about in most cases, and I was at the show. (And that's a vibraphone, pal, NOT a xylophone.) These writers tended to take a faintly sarcastic, weary tone to their writing. I often wondered if some of them even liked music at all. I do enjoy the reference that perhaps suggests that my saxophone playing is "squirty," though it's too clever by half. And valuing cleverness over substance is what plagued nearly all of Britain's music writers.

Happy Buster Cornelius Day

2006-05-02T19:24:00.000-07:00

"...and that is why, on the Third of May,
We all celebrate Buster Cornelius Day."

Ever since I started teaching in middle-school band in Florida back in '96, I've always tried to observe Buster Cornelius Day. I play the song to my students, I explain that Buster Cornelius Day is not a widely celebrated holiday, but that for those familiar with this person, it's an important day of the year. A few former of my former students and my daughters even send me BC greeting cards every year. This year, Buster Cornelius Day is celebrated across America and as far away as New Zealand. So, take a few hours off from work. Go to the parade. Buy some Buster Cornelius balloons for your kids. Watch the PBS special about his life. Spend a moment at his statue in the city square, and reflect on this great person. Or surf to eBay and buy a used copy of the Colorblind James Experience's second album, 'Why Should I Stand Up?,' and learn more about this great American.

The proprietor of the Blessed Thistle Bakery in Rochester NY even created a Buster Cornelius sandwich for the occasion, offered once a year. I had it once and it was pretty darn good, though I don't now recall what was in it. (In its place, I recommend smoked turkey on oat bread, with swiss cheese and slices of fresh tomato and avacado. And mayo. Sprouts are optional.)

Here's Our Card...

2006-04-28T10:24:00.000-07:00

This image is the CbJE/DVBs business card from about '85-87 or thereabouts. I'll rely on Phil to fill in the details, as this piece of memorabilia dates from before I joined the group. I think Phil gave me this at some point when we both worked at the Bop Shop together, probably in '85 or '86. The drawings are Phil's, and they presage the use of cartoons in our album art for the first two Experience albums and for the Death Valley Boys album. The lineup shown is that of the first album. I like how the character of both the band and its repertoire was conveyed by the card. Note that Chuck and Bernie's phone numbers do not contain an area code. This was a local band.

San Francisco: 1983-1985

2006-04-20T19:05:00.000-07:00

From the tracks recorded at Peter Miller's studio, Chuck initially wanted to put out a 7" EP of four songs titled "Four Songs!" Eventually, it was pared down to a single featuring Talk To Me b/w Kojak Chair. We had a thousand copies pressed up and immediately dropped off 20, one for each DJ, at KUSF, the University of San Francisco's super cool station devoted to promoting the most au courrant in underground, punk and 'alternative' music. Fully expecting that within 24 hours it would shoot up to heavy rotation status, I was needless to say disappointed that it in fact received virtually zip in airplay.

Undaunted, we continued to play out as often as we could at the Sound of Music in the Tenderloin, the Fab Mab (Mabuhay Gardens) on Broadway, the Hotel Utah south of Mission and Heaven's Gate at the end of Haight St. Along the way, we hooked up with Scott Young, a pot-smoking trombone player from Keuka, Iowa who, while fully capable of tossing off a great solo, often required a nudge to remind him to play.

Eventually, bassist Dave Fisher grew tired of endless rehearsing of fine points and details only to have all hell break loose at a gig. Kevin, released from the basement where his drums were muffled with t-shirts and blankets, would turn into the Incredible Hulk while I would nudge my amp up louder and louder obliterating any trace of Chuck's scrub-board rhythm. With Dave walking, the rest of us were faced with hunting down what would be the fifth bass player or packing it in.

I decided to pick up a bass and join up with my new wave heroes Exposure, a partnership that lasted about nine months. During that time, Chuck hibernated in his basement and began to work on his vibraphone skills. What eventually emerged was one of his best songs ever: Why'd the Boy Throw the Clock Out the Window?

Once completed, he put up the money to record it at Peter's and reassembled the band for the occasion. Along with Kevin on drums, me on guitar, Dave on bass, Scott on trombone and Chuck on vibes and rhythm guitar, Chuck enlisted the help of a creepy fellow with virtually no affect on his face to speak of who called himself My Sin on keyboards as well as Peter Strauss, a friend of Dave's, on alto saxophone.

With the recording completed, the band agreed to play one gig together at the Bannam St. Art Gallery on Saturday, March 24, 1984. This gig marked a turning point for Chuck as the response from the odd assortment of artists, writers, musicians and eccentrics was overwhelmingly favorable. Chuck began to feel that his vision of a small town orchestra comprised of a bunch of working class types with a repertoire of roots rock n roll, original two-beats and spoken word songs could actually find an audience.

The set that night, preserved on a Memorex normal bias 90-minute cassette, was as follows:

Everybody's Trying to Be My Baby
All By Myself
If You Love Each Other
A Different Bob
Talk To Me
Blues in G
Jugband Music
Lie To Me
Rodeo Night
Considering a Move to Memphis
Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On
Sendin' Up My Timber

Shortly after, however, Chuck and Jan decided to move back to Rochester. Chuck's father had been having heart problems and had recently undergone open heart surgery (a quadruble bypass, no less). Proximity to his family became paramount and for the two of them the San Francisco phase was over.

Me? I stayed on in S.F. for another six months. By the end of the six months I had no job, no band and a horrible break-up with a girl that put me on everybody's shit list. When Jan called me to say she was pregnant with their first child, I was excited. When my parents asked me to help them pack up our home of 16 years in Oswego because they wanted to move to Rochester too, I made myself available. When Chuck told me he had put together a band in Rochester and there would always be a place for me in it if I came back, it was time to go.

In February of '85 I flew east to my new home.

Greetings!

2006-04-20T10:50:00.000-07:00

Hello, readers of Colorblind James and Me, and welcome to this newest collaboration of Phil, Ken and myself. I have been blogging about my time in CbJE for a while now, and recently Phil suggested that we join forces in our writings. It's a fine idea, and I've never been able to turn Phil down whenever he's asked me to participate in a project. When he suggested that I try out for CbJE in the spring of 1987, I couldn't say no. When he wanted to try out an all-improvisational rock band (The Hotheads) and invited me to join, I couldn't say no. When he asked me to sit in with LaLaLand, I couldn't say no. All of those experiences were musical highlights of my life and Phil's and Ken's extraordinary musicianship has my permanent admiration. Changing my policy now seems like pure folly... so, yes, yet again.

If you're a reader of Phil's unfolding saga of CbJE, you may wish to also read some of my earlier longwinded thoughts about the group and our work together. Simply click on the "Colorblind Days and Nights" link to be instantly transported to that blog. I'll try not to duplicate any of those postings here, though I may transfer some of the photos and memorabilia to this site, in a shameless attempt to get Phil and Ken to comment on them. As for "revisionist history," I will try to do my best to avoid it, although I may be tempted at points. Plenty of warts on my contribution to the band... Let the liveliness begin!

New Blog Title and...The Sheffield Lads

2006-04-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

I've changed the title of this blog from Colorblind James and Me to The Colorblind James Experience: Absolutely More! for a couple of reasons. As the story begins to move towards the period of European tours, I've invited Dave McIntire, saxophones and clarinets, and Ken Frank, bass, to contribute directly to the blog. With individual points of view and the likelyhood of fuzzy memories and the potential for revisitionist history, this account should be quite lively at times.

The phrase "Absolutely more" followed us throughout the U.K. and was coined by a pair of blokes we affectionately christened The Sheffield Lads. After the first song of the first gig at the Fulham Greyhound we began to hear what would become a familiar and welcome chorus from the audience: "Absolutely more! Absolutely more!"

Paul and Russ, the lads, took it upon themselves to follow us on just about every step of our first tour save for the stint across the channel. I've been able, sporadically, to stay in touch with Russ who is now married with children who in turn has kept me abreast of the ongoing antics of "his best mate" Paul. At the moment, I've lost touch with Russ having lost his email in a pc crash. If you're out there, either of you, write! pmarshall@rochester.rr.com!

The Sheffield Lads were there from the start and continued their support on both subsequent tours. They were always a welcome sight and lifted our spirits with their northern working class humor and sensibility.

Thanks Paul and Russ, for having been there and helping us get through it all!

Colorblind James Experience, San Francisco 1981

2006-02-25T08:20:00.000-08:00

Colorblind James

Thaddeus Iorizzo

Phil Marshall

Kevin McDevitt

Photos by K. Regan

These photos were taken at our first rehearsal spot deep in the mission district of San Francisco. William, the English bloke with the girlfriend named Bluh, rented the space to us. Oddly enough we reconnected outside the Electric Ballroom on the night of our big final London showcase. He was happy to see us but the entire time he had this incredulous look on his face that seemed to scream "What the hell are you lot doing here?"

Colorblind James & the White Caps, Circa 1979

2006-02-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

This is the White Caps in all their all-night-long glory at the Market Street Music Hall. From left to right: Colorblind James sporting his pre-red-painted Guild T-50, Kevin McDevitt, Rush Tattered, Terry O'Neil and G. Elwyn Meixner doing the slash-and-burn on his Telecaster.

1977 Buffalo, NY

2006-02-24T11:44:00.000-08:00

It was the fall of1977 and I was in my third semester at the University of Buffalo. The band was Pretzel which we named in honor of our drummer Jeff "Pretzel" Carlo. The other guitar player pictured here is Jay Goldberg, my best friend during the two years I endured U.B. The singer, standing behind me, is Ginny. She was a theater major and had a very non-rock'n'roll voice but no one else in the band saw themselves as singers.

The first semester, we played out as an instrumental rock band doing covers like "In Memory of Elizabeth Reed" and "Rocky Mountain Way" without words. The second semester, the infamous winter of 1977, saw us playing with a couple of self styled hippies on keyboards and saxophone who wanted to play Traffic covers and call the band Spring Thaw. I remember saying "Spring Thaw? Why don't we just call ourselves Sludge?" The relationship didn't last although when the Ellicott complex was snowed in for a full 10 day stretch, we were the very much in demand.

This picture was taken at the pub located in the Ellicott Comlex on the Amherst Campus. Our hits at this point were "White Rabbit", which I always hated, and a version of "Free Bird" which we timed at seven and 1/2 hours long. Six of those hours was my guitar solo.

At this point I was beginning to see myself as a real guitar hero. There was only one problem, tho': I had absolutely no sense of rhythm. I spent long hours learning how to play fast leads but when it came to playing with the rhythm section I was lost. My rhythm playing really didn't come together until I started playing with Chuck, for whom rhythm was everything. Beyond that, it was playing with the rhythm section of Jimmy Mac and Ken Frank that really helped me pull it together.

1976 Oswego, NY

2006-02-24T11:18:00.000-08:00

This picture of me was taken during a typical evening at the Holiday Harbor Hotel. In my pre-Les Paul days I played the 1968 Guild Starfire V seen here which I had purchased a few years back from a real guitar hustler who lived across the street from me. The guitar was beautiful and went with me to San Francisco although it always took a back seat to my Les Paul.

Before I left S.F. I was hard up for cash and ended up selling it to my friend Andrea. She is literally my oldest friend on the planet (since I was five) and when I finally re-connected with her via email, she assured me she still has the Guild.

The awesome hippie necklace was made for me by a 25-year-old French exchange student named Colette on whom I had a huge crush.

Where it all began? The Roots of Rex?

2006-02-24T05:44:00.000-08:00

Yes, my friends, that's yours truly on the far right at the ripe old age of 17. From left: Paul Vandish (19) , Bill Barlow (21), Jack Barlow (37) and Joe Trionfero (24). The year was 1976 and I was on the verge of graduating from Oswego High School when I joined up with this "50s, 60s and light rock" band after answering an ad in the Oswego Palladium Times. It was my first band and we landed a regular gig at the Holiday Harbor Hotel playing every Wednesday through Friday night. Saturday night's we played at the Fulton Bowl-a-rama.

Russel Tarby, aka Rush Tattered, was writing for the Palladium times then and he gave us favorable reviews although I think he was just being kind. Chuck, who I didn't know at the time, thought we were awful. Of course.

Paul and Joe went on to form Side By Side which Ken Frank speaks of favorably to this day and without a hint of irony in his voice. For those of you who weren't there, the jumpsuits were pink (!) and bought at a women's clothing store. The suits were complemented with 4-inch heeled disco shoes. The outfits and the shoes were not my choice. My friends, the money was good.

I stayed with the band until I left for SUNY @ Buffalo that August. By that time I had been able to purchase the white Les Paul and Music Man 4X10 that stayed with me through all my San Francisco days.

Saxon Studios, cont

2006-01-01T06:31:00.000-08:00

The folllowing was contributed by Dave McIntire:

The next lineup of CbJE also recorded at Saxon in '87, making a 45 for Jim Huey's AFM Records with "Sophisticated" as the A side, backed with Phil's great instrumental, "Havoc Theme." The single was released locally in Rochester, and these songs later made their way onto the

Fundamental Records cd release of the first album as "bonus tracks." I like the songs and the recording isn't bad, but would say that they didn't really fit in on that first album release; the newer band's sound had changed too much. Also, John Ebert, Ken Frank and I had not been in the band too long, and our sound was still coming into focus.

We (along with many other bands back then) were in a strange limbo back then, as recording formats were in such flux. 45's were still considered important for "breaking" a group, LPs were still going strong, and CDs were largely an unknown commodity, but seemed to be important. And cassettes were still a strong format, so until we made 'Solid! Behind the Times,' everything was issued on three formats, an expensive and irritating necessity.

Saxon Studios

2005-12-30T02:51:00.000-08:00

The first and arguably most popular LP by the Colorblind James Experience was a veritable patchwork of recordings from different studios, in different states, with different line-ups.

Why'd the Boy Throw the Clock Out the Window? was Chuck's last recording project at Peter Miller Studios before he and Jan moved back east to Rochester, NY. First Day of Spring and Considering a Move to Memphis were used from the Dwight Glodell sessions. The remaining tracks, The German Girls, A Different Bob, Walking My Camel Home, Gravel Road, Fledgling Circus, Dance Critters and Great Northwest were all recorded at Dave Anderson's Saxon Studios.

Throughout the 80's, Saxon Studios was the recording studio for the burgeoning underground scene in Rochester. Far from being the first group to work there, the roster of bands that had walked up the stairs to Dave's attic-top studio included The Ferrets, Lotus STP, The Projectiles, The Chincillas, The Locusts, The Rumbles, Absolute Grey, The Raunchettes, The Young Idea, Static Cling, and The Fadeaways. Saxon Studios, to this day, remains very active and for the curious, the website is worth perusing.

On Dance Critters , you can hear Dave's dog bark during one of the chorus'. It either wanted in..or out. During the opening chorus of Fledgling Circus, the audible squeaks are from the drummer's throne Chuck was gently rocking on. The German Girls originally featured G. Elwyn Meixner on lead vocal. After he quit the band, Chuck went in a sang a new vocal track. G. Elwyn's guitar tracks were left intact however.

Although a version of Dance Critters had been recorded at Dwight Glodell's, it was in fact redone at Dave Anderson's. The sound of the Dwight Glodell recording was superior, but for some reason Chuck felt the performance itself wasn't quite right.

Dwight Glodell and the First Demo Tape, 1986

2005-12-24T10:26:00.000-08:00

Dwight Glodell, who had previously worked with Personal Effects, had a studio in the Village Gate Square. He had co-produced and engineered the Effects 1983 Cachalot Ep that had garnered the band some national attention.

When it came time for the band to invest its earnings ($200) in a demo tape, Paul & Peggi not only recommended Dwight but got him to "do us a favor" with a professionally recorded live performance for next to nothing. The band that entered the studio was the first Rochester incarnation of the band that featured Bernie Heveron, Jimmy McAvaney and G. Elwyn Meixner.

Dwight was fairly reserved to the point of being a bit stand-offish to us. It seemed like he neither a) particualarly liked the band nor b) liked working for next to nothing. The songs we ended up recording there, I'm Considering a Move to Memphis, Dance Critters and First Day of Spring, all ended up on our debut LP and each received a lot of airplay on BBC1.

Dwight used some left over 1/4 inch tape and towards the end of First Day of Spring the spool ran out..fwwp, fwwp, fwwp. Moments before the tape ran out, my high E string broke during what was to be the fade-out guitar solo. Anyone familiar with a Stratocaster-style guitar knows the bridge/tremolo bar is attached to springs. When one string breaks, the springs stretch out and the remaining strings go out of tune. Of course I wanted to do it over but Dwight would have nothing to do with that. For two-hundred bucks, we got what we got. He mixed a fade-out that ended a split second before the tape ran out, with the sound of my guitar going completely bonkers.

Considering a Move to Memphis went on to make John Peel's Festive 50 for the year 1987. Dance Critters was chosen to be remixed and released as 12" dance single (what were they thinking?). It's always been a humorous point to me that our brush with success was linked to a three hour demo tape session.

Sometime in '84

2005-10-16T08:17:00.000-07:00

1984 was a big year in many ways. It arrived without real fanfare. If Big Brother was real he looked and sounded like Ronald Reagan. Yuppies ran to and fro in power suits and shoulder pads that made otherwise attractive women look like linebackers. Joe Montana brought the '49ers to their third NFC championship electrifying and energizing the Bay Area once again. Each week millions of viewers tuned in to see Dr. Huxtabold's latest horrifying oversized and gaudy sweater he would parade around in.

Also, making nary a blip on the cultural radar, the good, young and thoroughly naive employees of the Holmes Book Co., located at 3rd and Market, were ordered out on strike as contract negotiations finally collapsed. "Scabs" were brought in and the employees, including yours truly, carried picket signs, marched back and forth, and stirred up either the support or ire of the various regular patrons.

"The Holmes Book Company, 274 14th Street, Oakland; 893-6860. Open 9:30 to 5:30 Mondays through Saturdays, 11 to 5 Sundays. Founded in San Francisco in 1894, Holmes moved across the Bay after the earthquake and landed in its present home in the 1920s. It continues today as one of California's largest bookstores. Books on California and the West are but a portion of the stock, but an important portion. Some can be found on the first floor; rare and scholarly books are coddled in the carpeted sanctum of the third floor's California Room. There's a good selection of ephemera and county histories."

I don't know when the above was tossed into cyberspace, but it looks as though Holmes Book Co. is no more. The strike was approved and supported by none other than retired secretary-treasurer of the Department Store Employees Union, Local 1100, Walter Johnson. He set the striking employees up with weekly strike pay as well as a tab at the Ticker Tape Bar & Grill directly across the street.

As I had no ambition to actually work, and since I made enough in strike pay to live my hip meager pseudo-punk existence, I did minimum amount of picketing I could get away with and spent the rest of the time practicing guitar, drinking, tripping and visiting my girlfriend Shelley in Cupertino.

That I would climb aboard the train with my guitar hanging from my shoulders from a rope only added to my delusion as a self-styled Woodie Guthrie rambling and riding the blinds. I used my almost weekly trips successfully to get out of jury duty. When I was asked by the judge if there was any reason why I couldn't serve on the jury, I responded "because I'd like to go down and visit my girlfriend in Cupertino!" She graciously opted out of forcing me to participate in my civic duty and allowed me to go. I jumped up, let out a "Yahoo!" and ran from the courtroom to the sound of everyone's laughter.

Jazzberry's

2005-09-13T08:15:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned awhile back, Susan Plunkett's Jazzberry's on Monroe Avenue played an integral role in the early Rochester days of the Colorblind James Experience. When she moved uptown to open Jazzberry's Uptown, she retained the great food and eclectic mix of local and national acts while perhaps losing some of the funky down-home charm of the Monroe location.

While other clubs like Scorgie's, Shnozz's and Shatzee's seemed to tolerate us as long as we brought a crowd in, Susan Plunkett loved the band. She loved all of us. She gave us a regular last-saturday-of-every-month gig and in return for the favor, we rarely disappointed her with a slow night. And if and when that was the case, she never took it out on the band.

Susan's policy was to give everybody a chance, no matter how far off the beaten path they were. She featured spoken word, classical music, folk singers, oddball poetry bands like Health & Beauty, rock bands such as Lotus STP, The Rumbles, The Fadeaways, The Essentials and a lot more. She didn't force the bands to treat their show like a showcase gig. Showcase gigs, as you're probably well aware, are the norm nowadays. At least 3 bands and often up to 5 or 6. You've got 30 minutes in which to throw your equipment on stage, play your "greatest hit" and get off before the stage manager starts throwing a hissy fit. We got to play from 10:30 until 2 in the morning, usually 3 sets worth with 20-30 minute breaks. If we wanted, we could have an opening band or not.

Not until late into the new location on East Avenue, close to East Main, did Susan ever ask for a percentage of the door. She took the food and wine money and the band took 100% of the cover charge. Almost unheard of today.

Jazzberry's was the sort of place musicians liked to hang out even when they weren't playing that night. Her food was and still is, as her URL indicates, fabulous. Please take a moment and add your own memories of both Jazzberry's and Jazzberry's Uptown.

Thanks for everything, Susan!

Fall of '82: Peter Miller Studios and Dave Fisher

2005-09-07T03:25:00.000-07:00

We returned to San Francisco a trio: Chuck, Kevin and me. By this point, we had been living there for almost two years and had experienced nothing but fits and starts. We were determined to make a record, however, and were looking very seriously at Peter Miller Studios.

At this point, I was pretty well versed on the band scene in San Francisco and I had basically pledged my allegiance to a handful of bands that were Le Disque regulars. They included Elements of Style, the Subterraneans and my favorite of all, Exposure. Chuck never really understood my appreciation for Exposure and had little to say about their odd-meter songs and overly-cryptic lyrics:

"Comin' to the rescue! Movin' real slo-ooh-ow...Comin' to the rescue! Movin' real slo-ooh-ow!"

But I was thrilled when their 45rpm single hit the local stores. I had befriended Mark Westburg and Jay Altobelli, the guitarist and singer respectively, and they hipped me to Peter's studio on Union Street where they had recorded.

Peter Miller is known to fans of mid to late 60s psychedelia as Big Boy Pete . At the time, he had just recorded and released his Pre C.B.S. LP on his own .22 records under his own name. Pete was always a good humored and modest individual who never spent time making sure you knew his rock n roll credentials. It would come out here and there: touring with the Beatles, the one-hit-wonder status of "Can-Can '62" by Peter Jay and the Jaywalkers, the joint interview with Keith Richards on guitars and rock n roll.

His studio was small and modest and by the time we hooked up with him, he had just upgraded to a 24-track, 2" analog set-up. The studio was in the basement of his house which itself was set far back off Union Street. A cement walkway ushered you past a small boutique, through an iron gate and into his front yard. The entrance into the studio was essentially through a storm door into the basement. You entered right into the main recording area. The back of the basement was divided into control room and drum room. There were closets for amplifiers in both rooms.

In order to set foot into the studio, the band needed two things: a bassist and money. For the former, we landed on the guy that became the San Francisco bass player for the band, Dave Fisher. Dave was older than us (I believe he was all of 30 at the time) and was far and away the most solid player and most mature person we had had to date. When he hooked up with us it was initially just to help out with the recordings. By the time we were done, however, he decided to join the family officially.

The seven songs we recorded at Peter Miller Studios in the Fall of 1982 were Talk To Me, I Think I Gotta Lie Down, Aunt Rollo's Pad, A Style Of Your Own, Kojak Chair, Solid! Behind The Times and I'm Too Tired To Bark. What is apparent from these recordings is that our San Francisco sound was governed by two elements in particular: my white Les Paul through a Music Man 4X10 and Kevin's continued worship of John "Bonzo" Bonham. My dubious claim to fame was Peter telling me that I held the title as "loudest guitar player" in his studio.

Hopefully the recordings will surface someday. By the time I reached Rochester, my approach was more as a team player rather than guitar hero. For myself, I'm glad that the pinnacle of my rock flash period is preserved on the historic Peter Miller sessions.

August, 1982

2005-08-27T00:20:00.000-07:00

The turning point for the San Francisco line-up was our two week East Coast tour in August of 1982. The band had been living and essentially spinning its wheels in San Francisco for a little over a year and half. We had made no real in-roads with the club scene and no allies to speak of among the thousands of bands poised for stardom.

We weren’t punk, we weren’t arty, we had no sartorial sense and none of us had any use for hair care products. This was at a time when men were finding it essential to have perms, use mousse and, as I was to find out, lots of Aqua Net Extra Super Hold.

Our ‘manager’, for lack of a better term, was an English bloke named William who rented rehearsal space to us. He befriended the band and felt close enough to introduce us to his girlfriend, Bluh. Her name, I suppose, was actually Blair, but with his southern English accent it always came out something like “Bluh”. The introduction went something like this:
“Yes, and I’d like you to meet Bluh.”
“Bluh?”
“No, Bluh!”
“Blah?”
“Bluh!!”
and back and forth it went until we gave up. She had died-black hair hiding her eyes and was incapable of speech, so I guess it didn’t matter.

Once at a gig at Le Disque, at the end of Haight Street, William angrily pulled me over to a full length mirror and had me take a good look at myself. I was wearing white jeans that were perhaps too short at the cuff, red low top sneakers that, God forbid, were not Chuck Taylor’s, an un-ironed shirt under some crappy secondhand vest. My hair was over my ears (faux pas in the early 80s) and without discernable style. Then came the lecture:

“What are you trying to say, Phil? Look at yourself! Is this how a self-respecting rock star dresses? Bluh, come and take a look at this man! You’ve got to learn how to dress yourself! It’s a disgrace!”

By the time we arrived in Oswego in the summer of ’82, I was sporting a wicked brush cut, skin tight black twills and crisp ironed t-shirts in yellow, red and of course, black. I wore Converse hi-tops in red, purple, black and was cool enough to wear one color on one foot and a different color on the other. I felt I was returning to my hometown with full San Francisco New Wave creds. I had also learned how to thrash about and jump onto pool tables, jukeboxes, any nearby furniture with the best of them. After all, I had been taking in a steady diet of four bands, five shots of bourbon and one pack of Camel non-filters per night, Wednesday through Saturday each week. This was school…I had to learn something!

The two weeks in Oswego were magical, despite my superficial transformation into new wave icon being on display. Chuck and my sister, Jan, decided to get married. Edward, who had been more or less estranged from the family for several years, came for the occasion. He and I performed Aura Lee, a traditional English ballad that was the source material for Elvis' “Love Me Tender”. It was the first of two duets we ever played together.

We played exactly three gigs on our whirlwind "Upstate New York Tour 1982": Old City Hall in Oswego, followed by the Firehouse in Syracuse, and last, the Water Street Music Hall, right next door to the Old City Hall.

During the gig at WSMH, I accompanied Edward on “Old Man River”. By the time we did the number, the crowd was rowdy and drunk. At first, when Edward, who had positively no stage presence whatsoever, started singing in his low trained basso profundo, there were audible jeers and cat-calls from the audience. If it bothered him, it only made him bare down that much harder. By the time he unleashed his crushing forte on the final “but Old Man River, he just keeps rolling…aaaaAAAAAAA-LONG!” the crowd was going berserk. The applause was deafening. It was the one time our mutually exclusive worlds of classical and pop music converged and it was beautiful.

For me, that August brought back the past in the form of an old flame named Diana. I hadn’t seen her since I had left Oswego and there was a part of me that had hoped I never would. Our relationship was messy and about as painful as it could get, starting innocently enough with letters back and forth while I was in Paris in ’79. But there she was, among the small crowd at the Firehouse. During a break I approached her and we began to talk amiably although cautiously. By the time I left we had exchanged phone numbers.

I had a vivid dream that night that I saw her standing alone in the middle of a street in the strange twilight that always accompanies my dreams. I walked up to her and said “I willed you back into my existence” and pulled her face off. Behind her face was a black hole. Thus began the second chapter of what was to be, yet again, an ultimately excruciating and sorrowful connection.

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

Version 1: The San Francisco Line-Ups

2005-08-20T09:43:00.000-07:00

There were essentially 4 different versions of the Experience, each one spanning a distinct period in the history of the group. There was the San Francisco version, the Rochester version pre-UK tour, the Rochester touring period and then the post-touring period.
The SF version began with Chuck, Kevin, Gene Tighe and me. Gene Tighe traveled out west us ostensibly to play bass. He had been a member of the original Water Street Boys, Oswego’s first official jugband that also included Chuck, Scott “Kid” Regan, Dirty Jim Sherpa, and Rush Tattered.
Gene had never played bass put he possessed a voice that sent chills down the spine. Chuck, in true 70’s punk fashion, thought Gene would simply learn the bass once we arrived out west. Trouble was, Gene had absolutely no instinct for the bass. His approach was like that of his guitar with the WSBs: he would lock his fingers in a pentatonic scale pattern and just start wandering up and down.
In all fairness, Gene’s heart was not in it. Gene had loved playing with the Water St. boys and he loved playing jugband music in general. He had traveled to New Orleans dozens of times, crashing in pad above the original Tipitina’s and playing on the streets with other jugband musicians. As of this writing, the Water Street Boys still play from time to time and Gene is still providing his Sam Cooke-style tenor and his wandering acoustic lead guitar.
He and I lived together in a house on Potrero Hill for a very brief time during which he booked to New Orleans for the Mardi Gras and remained out-of-touch for a couple of months. By the time he returned to SF, he had been replaced with Oswego native and a high school pal of mine, Thad Iorizzo.
Thaddeus was and is a completely original character and one of the few people capable of pissing you off and leaving you in stitches at the same time. He deserves and will receive his own chapter.
After Thad left the band for the 2nd time, he was replaced by another Oswego native, Danny O’Donnell. Danny stayed with the band until our Upstate New York tour in August of 1982, whereupon he decided to stay east while the group returned to SF.
The final San Francisco version included Dave Fisher on bass and a wild pot-head ‘bone player from Keuka, Iowa named Scott Young. This was the line-up that recorded “Why’d the Boy Throw the Clock Out the Window?” at Peter Miller’s studio. On that recording, the band was also joined by Peter Strauss on alto saxophone. Peter played with the band only for a few months but was present at the legendary Banaan Street Art Gallery gig on March 24th, 1984.
In later years, Chuck referred to the gig often when speaking about genesis of the sound and vibe of the Rochester version. The band included horn players, as he always wanted, and the audience was filled with local artists, poets and kooks who did not display the customary arms-folded stone-faced “prove-yourself” look that we had come to expect with SF club-goers. The people paid attention to the words and the songs and responded with smiles, laughs and dancing. It was really the only gig in SF that felt even remotely like a White Caps gig.

Chuck, the Lord and Me

2005-08-14T12:20:00.000-07:00

Spiritually, I don’t call myself anything anymore. For a three year stretch, however, I was a born-again Christian. I “received Christ” when I was 17 and officially “fell away” while I was studying in France at the age of 20. Nothing like a little Parisian existentialism, and the hope of carnal rapture, to steer a kid away from Bible-thumping Christianity.
In other words, though, I was a born-again Christian during the same period I first met and began to play with Chuck the summer of 1978. Chuck was always open about his beliefs and his take on Christianity. He never put me down for my association with Gospel Outreach, the charismatic fellowship I involved myself with.
Chuck recounted how he had been involved with Bible study groups when he was young. He had ultimately been asked to leave when the group leader found out he had written a blasphemous piece of literature entitled “the Book of Oswald”. Chuck always maintained that he counted the Bible, along with Moby Dick, among his favorite books.
While Chuck freely called himself an atheist, he consistently drew upon his Catholic heritage and the Bible for inspiration. Among his songs are “Wedding at Canaan”, “Jonah & the Whale”, “Three of Them and One of Us”, “If Nobody Loves You in Heaven”, “The Four Horseman” and countless others.
Although Chuck referred to himself as an atheist, spirit was very real to him. Spirit was what you saw in a person that made you connect with that person. Spirit was what people displayed in the frenetic dancing at White Caps and Experience gigs. What Chuck once said to me was that he believed “life is God”. I believe that what turned him off about Christianity was its insistence that God and Life were separate and that the former created the latter.
What attracted Chuck to me more than anything was my absolute obsession with the guitar. This was a period where, like a lot of young musicians, I had both the drive and the freedom to practice from sun up to sun down. Chuck always liked weirdoes and outsiders and I think I fit the bill. I think he liked the fact that although I claimed to be a Bible-reading Jesus-loving born-again Christian, anyone could see I loved my guitar more.
The semester before I left for Paris, Fall 1978, was one of huge contradictions and conflicts for me. I studied the works of Camus, Sartre, Genet, Ionesco and others in Dr. Smirnoff’s French Literature class. I lifted up my arms to praise Jesus and attempted to speak in tongues within the fellowship of Gospel Outreach. I drank beer with the Water Street regulars, staggered home drunk and missed class the next day. I smoked pot whenever it was available and I played guitar as often as possible. I prayed on my prayer rug, read verses and spoke in tongues in the privacy of my home. And I really wanted to get laid.
Even the music I played and practiced displayed big contradictions. I was freeing my love of Chuck Berry, BB King and George Harrison with Chuck’s music while at home I was trying to learn to speed through dorian and myxolydian modes faster than Al DiMeola. I would listen to Elvis Presley’s Sun Sessions and then Romantic Warrior by Return to Forever. Except for some of Phil Keaggy’s work, I was having a hard time finding any Christian music that was listenable. But I had cut-out LPs by Howlin’ Wolf and Muddy Waters that were rawer and harsher than anything I had heard before and I was growing more fond of them with each listening.
Chuck had discovered the punk music and pub rock that was coming out of New York and London right around 1975/76. Because of his collection, I started listening to the Ramones, Talking Heads, Blondie, Graham Parker & the Rumour, Ian Dury & the Blockheads and others. Chuck was the first person I ever met who literally had a floor to ceiling wall of record albums.
Chuck’s favorite, and soon to be mine, was Elvis Costello. Chuck had bought 10 copies of “My Aim is True” when it was released and gave them away to his friends. He hitchhiked through a blizzard in '77 to Utica to see Elvis play in a small club where local heroes "the Frogs" opened up for him. Most of the club-goers that evening were there to see the Frogs. "After playing under the glare of bright white lights, Elvis left the stage and on his way out of the club turned to Chuck (or so legend has it) and asked "How was it?"" (quoted from -anonymous)

One evening I made a critical decision to go to a Gospel Outreach prayer meeting instead of a party where everyone would play music together. As Chuck and I were unofficially band-mates, he was furious with me for opting prayer over music: one an exercise in pointless and false fellowship and the other an opportunity to do what you were put on this earth to do. My sister revealed to me some time later that Chuck’s response was an absolute “I’ll never play music with Phil again.” It was not the last time Chuck would speak in absolutes.
For the time being the Lord had won. I played briefly with a Gospel Outreach group that called itself Vessel. With all due respect, the music was as horrible as anything I had heard on 100% Christian vinyl.
My time in Paris the following semester would prove to be the end of my fundamentalist period and the beginning of a time in my life every bit as tumultuous and unsettled, if not more so.

Meanwhile, Back in San Francisco...

2005-08-09T08:11:00.000-07:00

One afternoon in San Francisco, during a period when the band was “on hiatus”, Chuck invited me down to his basement, our rehearsal room, to preview a piece he had been working on. He had been fairly obsessed with first his set of bells and later with his vibraphone which he had purchased from Tower of Power’s David Garibaldi.
Up to that point, it had never been like Chuck to actually practice an instrument. His guitar had always served a utilitarian function once Chuck had a few chords together and his famous double time strumming pattern. “My guitar’s a drum with strings” he said often enough. But the vibes were different and Chuck worked out melodies and arpeggios that he practiced over and over.
Once we were based out of San Francisco, the first big change in Chuck’s songwriting was the frequent use of composed riffs. Prior to that, G. Elwyn would often plug in Chuck Berry-style licks that Chuck would soon regard as integral to the song.
The first song I remember Chuck writing with a composed riff was called “Go Away, Marie” which exists on a very early demo tape somewhere. That was soon followed by a pair of classic songs “Kojak Chair” and “Talk to Me”. Kojak Chair was also the first instance where Chuck devoted a portion of the song to spoken words.
He expanded on that with the song “Solid! Behind the Times”. Having come up with the guitar riff based on Chuck’s glottal-stop vocal suggestions, “Solid!” was the only instance where Chuck gave me co-writing credit. “Solid!” included a reference to “cream-of-the-only-hat-that-ever-fit-me soup” which came from an exchange Chuck had had with Brad Fox. At the time, Brad was never seen without this ugly brown knitted cap of his. One day Chuck snatched it off his head and refused to give it back.
Brad: Hey! That’s the only hat that ever fit me!
Chuck: I’m gonna make cream-of-the-only-hat-that-ever-fit-me soup out of it…
Back in the basement, Chuck began to play a funny riff over and over on the vibes. He explained that the riff was the entire song and that everyone would play it. Over it, he would recite pages of words. The song was called “I’m Considering a Move to Memphis”. The first time Chuck was able to get everyone together to play the song, he received less than unanimous support from his bandmates. We all thought he was crazy. This had to be just some odd ball phase of his.
Little did we know this would be the song that roughly five years later would catch the ear of John Peel on BBC1 and begin our three tour relationship with the England.

A Modest Reunion

2005-08-08T13:05:00.000-07:00

Uncle Phil, Jimmy Mac & Ken, Saturday, August 6, 2005 at the Daily Perks Coffee House. Photo courtesy of Kracke Photography.

Reims, France 1966-1968: Cum'on, Let's Go Back...

2005-08-08T09:18:00.000-07:00

In the early 80’s, while everyone was listening to the likes of the Police, Flock of Seagulls, Public Image, Talking Heads, etc. I, under the tutelage of one Chuck Cuminale, was discovering and absorbing records by the Band, Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, Graham Parker, Patti Smith and a host of other 60’s, 70’s and early new wave/punk bands. During the 70’s, while I was growing up in Oswego, my listening comprised primarily of the Beatles, their solo LPs, Chuck Berry, B.B. King and John Mayall. I bought John Mayall albums because a) it was blues and b) they were mostly .99c cut-outs. But whether I indulged myself in Wishbone Ash, discovered Randy Newman while watching a tribute to Jim Croce on the Midnight Special or tried to learn “I’m Going Home” by Ten Years After note-for-note, the Beatles remained unshakeable at the top of my tower of song.
Like a lot of people my age I remember watching the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9th, 1964. I was 6. I watched with my brother Ted, my sister Jan, my parents as well as my maternal grandparents, Grampy and Nana. I don’t recall everyone else’s reactions but as for me, I’ve spent the rest of my life coming to terms with that moment. Suddenly the world was a more exciting place to be; a place where you could choose to do that sort of thing. To be more precise, the world of grown-ups was more interesting. Up to that point, grown-ups fed me, clothed me, taught me, got after me, told me stories and sang lullabies. No grown-up had ever instructed me to “twist and shout” or yelled “yeah! Yeah! YEAH!” or made such a loud racket. I don’t think I’d ever seen so many electric guitars at once.
But the path musicians take isn’t solely dependent on the music listened to. There have always been people along the way who have helped bring the path into focus. Seeing the Beatles on TV was a planting of the seed perhaps, but the water for the fertile soil came from an unexpected source: a student of my father’s by the name of Norman Pearlman.
My father is a retired French professor who, from 1952 to 1969, taught at the University of Oregon in Eugene, my birth city. By the time I was 6 I had been to France twice as well as the U.K. and other parts of Europe. Through contacts made at a conference in New York City, my father was offered a chance to head the Queen’s College program in France. When I was 7, in the summer of 1966, my family sailed out of New York on a tiny ship, the Aurelia, bound for Le Havre on what would be a two-year stay in the city of Reims, the capitol of the Champagne region.
The Aurelia was a retired U-boat supply ship from World War II whose final trip to the scrapyard was delayed when it was transformed into a “less expensive” ocean liner. It was no Queen Elizabeth. I remember vividly looking out our porthole and seeing the hull of a lifeboat the ropes of which secured it to the boat were painted securely onto the their respective pulleys.
It was packed with college students from the program and the ship offered music and dancing in the evenings. I had made friends with a kid named Bernard and our parents would let us stay up until 10pm (!) at the little nightclub where we would watch and listen, drink coke and imagine upending boxes of marbles onto the dance floor. The one song I clearly remember hearing the band play was “Love is Blue” which I thought had a pretty cool melody. The little keyboard hook in-between verses was very catchy too.
Once we got established in Reims, my parents often had parties with students and faculty over at our place. Quite a few students felt very comfortable coming over just to hang out. This was especially true the second year when we had an apartment on La Cour L’Anglais. This was where one student, Norman Pearlman, who took notice of my interest in music, began to bring over stacks of English and American rock’n’roll singles for me listen to. Each week he would bring over a new stack and take back the last one.
In all fairness to my father, the reason Norman new of my interest in music was due to my father’s long standing friendship with Bernard Durant and his family. Monsieur Durand had a little “tabac” in Paris where, along with the daily papers, cigarettes and what-not, he sold the latest singles and EP’s by the French pop stars of the day. On his trips to Paris, my father would stop at the tabac and always leave with a stack of records for us.
When I was 8-years-old my music idols were Claude Francois, Adamo, Hugues Aufrais, Sheila, Jacques Dutronc, Antoine, a very bad-ass Johnny Hallyday and the underrated Michelle Polnareff. For a year this was the music I knew and listened to. It would be years before I realized that “J’Attendrais” by Claude Francois was a re-written “I’ll Be There” by the Four Tops…and not the other way around! I imagine when Norman heard what I was listening to, he took pity and decided to take it upon himself to school Ted, Jan and me in rock’n’roll. And with all due respect to Ted and Jan, I was the one for whom this stuff mattered the most.

Rochester, NY 1985

2005-08-04T10:23:00.000-07:00

When I arrived in Rochester, NY in February of ’85, the Colorblind James Experience had already begun to establish itself on the local music scene. Chuck phoned me several times from Rochester to tell me how excited he was about the line-up: Jim MacAvaney on drums, Bernie Heveron on upright bass and G. Elwyn Meixner, formerly of the White Caps, back on guitar. Several times he would say that if and when I moved back east I would have a guaranteed place in the band.
The Rochester scene was exciting in 1985. The club scene featured Scorgie’s on Andrews St., Shatzee’s on Richmond St. (now called Richmond’s, cleverly enough), Shnozz's in the Village Gate Square, Snake Sister’s at 666 South Ave. (now Lux) and most importantly for the band, Jazzberry’s on Monroe Ave.
At the top of the band scene was Personal Effects (whose members are currently found playing in the morphine haze film-noir soundtrack ensemble Margaret Explosion). Personal Effects routinely packed Scorgie’s offering their fans sophisticated and moody stage lighting and tight, danceable sets. They looked and sounded very current with throbbing rhythm from drummer Paul Dodd and bassist Robin Mills and metal crunch from guitarist Bob Martin. The most unique element of the band, however, was the sheer presence, mysterious voice and ethereal saxophone of Peggy Fournier. To this day, Peggy’s haunting saxophone is one of my favorite sounds in music. I strongly suggest a visit to them at http://www.popwars.com/margaretexplosion and never mind that I’m featured on their first CD “Happy Hour”.
Personal Effects helped Colorblind James Experience immensely. First off, Paul and Chuck had known each other since childhood, both families living on the same street in Webster. Secondly, before Robin, Bernie Heveron was PE’s bassist. For about a year, Robin was my housemate over on Hamilton St in the South Wedge. There was a time when the bands were very tight and familial. One Saturday night, in fact, Colorblind James was playing at Jazzberry’s and PE was playing at Scorgie’s. We decided without hesitation to be each other’s opening bands! The shows started at 10:30 and right around 11:30 or so both bands raced across town to headline their own gig!
There is a tape floating around that Susan Plunkett of Jazzberry’s financed called Live at Jazzberry’s which features Personal Effects on one side and the Colorblind James Experience on the other.

Arrriving in SF, 1980

2005-08-03T09:01:00.000-07:00

Night had fallen by the time our van began crossing the 4.35 miles of the San Francisco Bay Bridge. The traffic was fast and crowded. The whole time across I kept thinking “Please, God, not another blowout”. Kevin had manfully maneuvered the van off the road each harrowing time we had gotten a blowout. With these conditions, it would certainly have been disastrous.
The city was lit up, though, and it looked spectacular, electric and inviting. Kevin got the van to the other side without incident except that a) we were on E and b) we had no idea how to get to Chuck and Jan’s place. We took the first exit we could off the bridge and wound up somewhere in the Mission District.
The Mission is fine but if it’s your first time there and it’s dark outside and you’re lost, it can seem pretty intimidating. But we managed to find a gas station and a phone booth. Soon Jan was giving us directions to their apartment on Walter Street off of Duboce Park.

The Drive West, 1980

2005-08-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

I made the trek out west with drummer Kevin McDevitt, his girlfriend Caroline and a ’71 Chevy Beauville with all the band’s equipment. We left Oswego, NY on Saturday, November 22nd, 1980 and spent the first night near a garage in Toledo, Ohio having suffered the first of three blowouts. By the time we reached San Francisco I was certain we would call ourselves Colorblind James and the Blowouts. Fortunately, the choice was quickly rejected.
From Toledo we made started heading southwest through St. Louis, Oklahoma City, Amarillo, Phoenix, and then Albuquerque. We hit Albuquerque on Thanksgiving eve and started looking for a place to park and sleep. We couldn’t afford hotels so the three of us hunkered down in the van each night, usually me in the front seat and Kevin and Caroline in the back. By the time we hit New Mexico we were smelling up the joint something awful. Someone in a gas station suggested we pull around back for the night and maybe later they’d stop by and party with us. As young and as stupid as we were, there was something wrong with the deal so we kept on driving. We wound up on the west side of Albuquerque high up on a hill overlooking the city.
It was the Angel’s View truck stop. When night fell we knew why it was called that. Albuquerque lit up like the mothership in Close Encounters. It was absolutely beautiful. We smoked Kevin’s Marlboro’s long into the evening before turning in. There was something about the evening that was magical even though nothing extraordinary happened. We were all just feeling upbeat and recharged about our move west. We were filled with hope and my head played the same fantasy over and over of our quick rise to the top of the San Francisco scene.
The following day within minutes of waking up we all began to choke on the stench. I remember windows being rolled down quickly and random socks and underwear being tossed from the van. Kevin took his seat behind the wheel, lit a cigarette and we were off once again.
Within an hour we had our second blowout of the trip. Shortly before nightfall and just outside Kingman, Arizona we had our third. We managed to get into Kingman and get the van going again but it was Thanksgiving and we were frazzled. I was the only one who had any kind of money with me so I treated Kevin and Caroline to a Thanksgiving dinner at the local Sambo’s. Compared to the exhilaration we all felt the night before, there was something sad and lonely about being at a crummy restaurant in Kingman on Thanksgiving Day.
I wasn’t that savvy about old rocknroll hits at the time so I couldn’t even savor the fact that we were tracing all the cities laid out in Route 66. Old Route 66 was pretty much abandoned by that point but the interstate stayed true to the lyric. And yes, the following day we went through Barstow and San Bernardino before making our way up to Frisco.

October 17th, 1988

2005-07-21T22:03:00.000-07:00

On October 17th, 1988 the Colorblind James Experience landed at Heathrow Airport outside London, England ready to begin their first of three European tours. We were met by our tour manager, Kevin Hunter, holding up a loose-leaf sheet of paper with the band's name written in ballpoint pen. Right out of Spinal Tap.
The band was Chuck, John Ebert on trombone, Ken Frank on bass, Jimmy Mac on drums, Dave McIntire on sax and clarinet, and me. We were joined by fellow Rochesterian Carl Goedt who although hired as a soundman, acted also as roadie, stage manager and muscle.
He was well over 6 feet tall and 300lbs and for all the world look like he belonged with a chapter of the Hell's Angels. I met him for the first time at the airport in Toronto and I remember either thinking or at least feeling "OK. This is serious. We're a real band and this is really happening..."
Carl has to be one of the kindest souls I ever met and one of the most hard working. For the duration of the tour, he voiced his affection and concern for his 70+ mother back in Rochester. She was often responsible for putting together crews for Carl when big acts came through town (he put together the stages, the scaffolding and whatnot) His mother would be busy overhauling a Harley while he was gone.
What I remember about the flight was how we taped together three Fender guitar cases with duct tape so it could be checked as one item. Also, Ken was playing an amazing Ernie Ball acoustic bass that was the size of a Pinto. He had a case custom built for it that someday may suit me for a coffin.
We were ragtag, completely unprepared for what was to transpire, but so ready at the same time. For me it was complete vertigo: exhilaration and fear, all at once.

The Colorblind James Trio, part I

2005-06-06T07:44:00.000-07:00

Chuck was more than excited to hear that not only did I play guitar, I had a housemate who played upright bass. Thad was more than happy to join in, and the first rehearsal took place in the living room of Chuck & Jan's cold-water flat. I think what struck me most about the first batch of songs I heard was the levity, the fun of the music and the lyrics: their deceptive simplicity that made me smile a worried smile. As quite a few people who consider themselves songwriters have believed, I too thought the songs were easy, fun and I could just as well write like that. The first song Chuck taught me was Purple & Gold:

Purple & Gold, Purple & Gold
I got the blues for my baby wearin' Purple & Gold
Purple & Gold, Purple & Gold
She never liked no colors 'cept for Purple & Gold

The song is a fast polka in vein similar to Chuck Berry's car songs: Maybellene, Jaguar & Thunderbird, You Can't Catch Me, etc. The heroine's car in this fable was "a '57 Chevy with the 4-on-the-floor" and it was painted purple & gold. By the middle of the song, like the great tragedy songs of the early 60's, things took a deadly turn:

Drivin' on a Sunday, she was drivin' too fast
The car pulled off the highway, it flipped over and crashed
Purple & Gold, Purple & Gold
Everywhere was scattered bits of Purple & Gold

that's followed by the funeral (which appears in more than a few of Chuck's songs):

The day of the funeral it was rainy and cold
The people at the service wore purple and gold...

Finally, the flowers for the grave:

I'm goin' to the store where the flowers are sold
I'm buyin' one dozen roses, six purple six gold
Purple & Gold, Purple & Gold
She never liked no colors 'cept for Purple and Gold.

It would be years before I would put together a lyric that, matched with the appropriate rhythm, would even approach the wit, irony and pathos of Purple & Gold.

From the start, Chuck's vision was to have fast, danceable music that embraced lyrics that dealt with pain & suffering. Pain & suffering were the realities of life, the music was hope. The hope was seen in the reckless abandon with which the fans would dance to songs of sadness, loneliness, about common folk who got dealt a bad hand. Reckless abandon was spirit, and spirit, to Chuck, was bigger than pain & suffering.

I discovered much later in life the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. I didn't realize at the time that Chuck was attempting to transform his own sorrow & suffering into joy & happiness through his writing.

The first meeting: 1978

2005-06-02T10:35:00.000-07:00

Before the trip out west, before the Appletons or the White Caps, there was an odd little trio named appropriately the Colorblind James Rock 'n' Roll Trio. Before the RnR Trio there was the Water Street Boys and going back further still, Mike Goldstein's Cold Water Revue. The WSBs can still be heard to this day with most of the original members intact.
However, my own history with CbJ began in the summer of 1978. I was 19 and had just returned home from SUNY @ Buffalo where I had finished my sophomore year. I was transferring to SUNY @ Oswego because Buffalo was too big, too unfriendly and I really didn't know what I was trying to do majoring in music there.
My sister, Janet, had been traveling out west for the past 6 months with some mysterious guy. My brother, Edward, was also living in San Francisco, killing himself handing out communist propaganda and chauffeuring big shot party leaders while he lived in filth, ate in soup kitchens, and struggled to incorporate his only other passion into this all consuming political life. My brother was a singer and his passion was opera.
Meanwhile, my parents were once again in France (Paris, to be exact) where my father was heading an exchange program. My plan was to go abroad in the spring of '79 and study at the Sorbonne. In the meantime, however, I was without family in Oswego and feeling, as I said before, directionless.
I was living in a house kitty-corner from OHS, Oswego High School, with my longtime friend Thad Iorizzo and some guy who never stopped jumping rope. Really. His quest was to get every American jumping rope. He tried to get me jumping rope but I found it much easier to simply walk.
I had known Thad since my first drunk the eve before my 13th birthday at David Sterlicht's bar mitzvah. Along with being one of the funniest guys I've ever known he was also astonishingly mediocre on both electric and upright bass. In all fairness, I was positively mediocre myself.
When Jan arrived back in Rochester, she called me up and invited me over to the cold-water flat she moved into with her, at this point, very serious boyfriend. When I got there, I was greeted at the door by a dark-eyed, curly haired man with a huge black beard that engulfed most of his face. I remember my initial thought was “who the hell are you and why are you answering the door to my sister’s apartment?” He introduced himself as Chuck and invited me in. Little did I know that within 48 hours Chuck, Thad and I would play our first gig together at the now expanded Lowlife Café.

Colorblind James and the...Appletons?

2005-06-01T11:29:00.000-07:00

In 1980, at the height of the White Caps popularity, Chuck and his girlfriend, my sister, decided to move west to San Francisco. As I usually tell it, he invited the members of the White Caps to join them and initially everyone declined.
Oswego, for a lot of folks, mostly young, was a very odd sort of mecca. Some found paradise on the little street that ran next to the river, off of Bridge St. That was Water Street, memorialized in Chuck's song "Water Street Stomp":

Tell all the troops up in the hills
Tell the folks down in the swamp
We're gonna meet on Water Street
So we can do that Water Street Stomp

If your crossing the bridge heading east, Water Street is the first right before East 1st Street. No more than an alley, it was initially home to the Ferris Wheel, an old sailors bar that became an old college student's hangout and more than likely remains a college bar to this day. More importantly, though, in terms of Oswego's musical heritage and the history of CbJ, across the street and closer to the corner opened a new hangout, the Lowlife Cafe. Gone now, this was one of the first places where Chuck started to perform under the name Colorblind James.

Chuck had been writing his oddball folk songs for a few years and as he used to tell it, he wanted a name that sounded like his old country blues heros from the late 20s and early 30s like Blind Willie McTell (who remained Chuck's favorite), Blind Lemon Jefferson, Blind Blake, etc. Chuck was in fact colorblind and his first name was actually James, James Charles Cuminale. So, thinking it a humorous tribute, he became Colorblind James.

The summer of 1980, making preparations to leave for San Francisco in the fall, Chuck began to search for a new line-up. I had just graduated from SUNY@Oswego with a BA in music (later to become an issue) and I had no idea what I was going to do. Being a good guitarist as well as his girlfriend's brother and a fan of the music, I asked him if he wanted me to join him out west and he agreed.

Chuck, now needing a drummer and a bassist, called his friend Brad (living in SF at the time) and asked if he would be interested in playing with the band. Brad jumped at the chance. Next, Chuck did the punk thing and told a guy named Gene, a fair guitarist and really good singer, to get a bass and join the trip. Gene, too, agreed. With the new line-up determined, the first hitch occurred when White Caps drummer Kevin McDevitt decided he wanted to go. Let's just say that while Brad remained friends with Chuck, I don't believe he ever really forgave him for pulling him off the drummer's throne. Chuck suggested Brad stay on as a marimba player (did Brad know anything about marimba?) but Brad declined.

Now the line-up was Chuck on rhythm guitar, Gene on bass, Kevin on drums and me on lead guitar. Chuck, always one to dig in his heels as a blue-collar spokesman, was always amused with his girlfriend's English heritage and mannerisms (afternoon tea is still important at my sister's) and our family's embrace of French culture, due in large part to my father's francophilia. Basically, Chuck was from a large Italian-American working class family and he viewed us, the Marshalls, as, well, comical in our own non-blue-collar ways. Long story short, before heading out west, Chuck began to kick around names for the new band. Inspired by one of my story's about my grandfather, he thought that he could dress in worn-out overalls while the rest of the band dressed up as English butlers. In this guise, we would become Colorblind James and the Appletons.

Colorblind James and the White Caps, Circa '78

2005-05-31T16:25:00.000-07:00

When the White Caps first came into being, a typical night's songlist boasted a great smattering of covers such as Little Sheila, Be Bop a Lula, Ready Teddy, Money, All By Myself, Good Rockin' Tonight, Great Balls of Fire, Jambalaya, Iko-Iko, Little Queenie, Sea Cruise, etc. Along with that were Chuck's jugband songs like Do Women Have Souls?, Can't Stop Doing What I'm Doing, Blue Dog and If I Could Play the Tuba as well as his new rocknroll/rockabilly songs such as Sophisticated, I'm Still Dancing, After the Fox, Purple and Gold, Please Please Please, Don't You Believe in Me?, Crazy-O, Pay Up, You Need Somebody on Your Side, Water Street Stomp, Blind Girl and of course America, America. More comprehensive lists of covers and originals will appear later. For now, that's certainly enough. During a six-hour gig, the band might have played at the most two or three slow songs. The best of these was Chuck's ultra-spiritual pre-lounge-craze foxtrot "Diamond Mine":

Went to the diamond mine
And I grabbed a few
I grabbed a couple for me
I grabbed a couple for you
I grabbed a couple for me
I grabbed a couple for you
And don't you feel like a king
When you're visiting the Diamond Mine?

Chuck said he had written it while sitting on the steps of the Water Street Music Hall at about 3am. It was one of those songs that simply fell into his lap as he strummed his acoustic guitar. Chuck was a night owl and the staying up to the dreamy hours of early morning, he always felt more open to the grabbing songs from the cosmos. Each song was a diamond plucked from the diamond mine. And each song made him feel like a king with a place and purpose in the infinite cosmos.

Colorblind James

2005-05-31T09:33:00.000-07:00

A musician, songwriter, poet and brother-in-law by the name of Chuck, aka Colorblind James, formed a band years ago called Colorblind James and the White Caps in Oswego, New York. They were as scrappy an outfit as you could imagine: among the five members, only one had any previous experience in a rocknroll band.

Kevin McDevitt, RIP, was the self-taught Bonzo-influenced, big time drinking drummer who ultimately discovered the beat Chuck had been looking for: the polka 2-beat. Terry O'Neil stared at his shoes and held the chaos together with his hollowbody electric bass. G. Elwyn Meixner slashed away at his vintage Telecaster locked on the treble pick-up. Colorblind James scrubbed the heavy guage strings of his 1960 Guild T-50 guitar like a hopped-up tenor banjo player in a 30's jugband. And Rush Tattered shimmied and swaggered and yelped his way through songs that Chuck had specifically written for him: "Sophisticated", "Too Hip to Praise the Port City" and "If I Could Play the Tuba".

The music was fast, fast, fast. The sets were neverending. The gigs sometimes started at midnight and ended around breakfast. Whoever was still at the club would join the band for eggs and coffee at Wade's diner as the sun would rise over Oswego, the Port City itself.

The music and the dancing was inspired by the punk/rockabilly movement of the mid/late 70's but it went beyond that, way beyond that. Looking cool was for NYC. The band and the dancers didn't give a rats ass how they looked. The playing was hard and intense and the dancers were tireless and drenched in sweat. It was absolutely awesome to experience or just to watch from the sidelines.

I would sit in periodically but my time was mostly spent with my sloppy, speed happy fusion band called the Generics: plain-label fusion music. No matter what I played, I knew I wanted to be a part of that crazy intensity that, to this day, no band has ever equalled.

Colorblind James and the White Caps put out one 45rpm record: America, America/Blind Girl. The songs were great. The recording? Awful! Chuck was ready to take all the copies and dump them into Lake Ontario. Fortunately he never did. They turn up every now and then. Ya gotta be pretty die-hard to want one, though.