7-02-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #138 (Starting Out Again. . .with New Beat-ginnings in The Washington Squares - Open Mic at the Speakeasy)

The Speakeasy scene was not hard to penetrate if you had something good.  Monday night open mics were the main hoot.  Rod MacDonald hosted around our time in the scene (spring of 1983).  We showed up in our striped shirts, Ray Bans, berets  and annoyingly confident attitudes the first time out.  I had a little old acoustic F-30 Guild guitar that sounded great, and Bruce had a Gibson Hummingbird (or was it Tom’s guitar that he lent to Bruce?).   Anyway, Tom played his electric P-bass because this was before Tom got his big acoustic bass, a Guild “guitarrone” style guitar.  It looked good on him because he’s a tall guy and proportionally, it worked. 

The Speakeasy’s owner, Joseph, was a nice older man who Goodkind always schmoozed, making ol’ Joseph smile so that he practically gave Goodkind carte blanche, let Tom do whatever he wanted.   See, Tom was always ingratiating his way into favors, and we never stood in his way.  Tom wanted bookings for us, with lines around the corner.  We didn’t object to that, either!

So, at the Speakeasy on a typical night you might hear Roger Manning doing his Folkgrass duo, or Enamel the Camel singing truly bizarre songs (his theme song went, “Enamel the Camel.  . . “ etc. etc. of course).  Folk humorist Christine Lavin would sing a new satirical song that would get everybody snickering, and Rod MacDonald would sing his own songs, sometimes with Tom Intondi.

Eric Frandsen was a funny guy and a great guitar player, with a handlebar mustache that made him look kinda Gilded Age.  He wasn’t very nice at times so I steered clear; didn’t want to be in his way and get hurt.

Lucy Kaplansky and Peggy Atwood also played. . . they were lovely, fragile, and endearing. 

But the cherry on the sundae, so to speak, was young woman with a guitar who wrote songs and seemed very serious.  She was a waiflike, smart girl who wrote her own songs and never seemed to get overly excited.  Tom and Bruce in the Squares always went out of their ways to be nice and try to make her laugh and “court” her, in a way.  I wasn’t sure of their sincerity, but I was sure she had talent.  I didn’t know if she liked us, though, so that kind of got in my way of enjoying Suzanne Vega. . .   

7-01-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #137 (Starting Out Again. . .with New Beat-ginnings in The Washington Squares - Fast Folk at the Speakeasy)

The pain of Nervus Rex coming to an end was behind me; the new band, “the Squares,” healed that wound and made a lot of sense, really.  Around that time, painfully commercial popsters Huey Lewis and the News did a song called “Hip to Be Square” and a group called Timbuk 3 did a song, “The Future’s So Bright, I’ve Gotta Wear Shades.” 

(look!  We even had a logo, thanks to Marlene Weisman, a talented artist/graphic designer that Tom Goodkind hired to do design for the Peppermint Lounge, too)

As counterculture and so-called hip as we were, those popular songs were eerily apropos.  You’d think they were custom-writ for the yuppies, but most young people felt it and resonated with it.  I guess we were riding a zeitgeist, some sorta gemutlichkeit.  We felt at home anywhere there was a reason to protest, a microphone, and a spotlight.  We had something(s) to say and had to get it right out there. . . in song, and jokes.

So our initial plan of attack had us attending open mics in the village, mostly at Folk City and the Speakeasy.  There was this organization called Fast Folk that I think Jack Hardy spearheaded.  He was a preppy looking guy who wasn’t too friendly to me, but I guess I wasn’t the friendliest character either.  At turns, I was shy, wary, moody, and a little paranoid.  Of course, the cheery face I usually showed to the world belied all the weirdness going on in my head.

Tom Goodkind and Bruce Paskow (but more Tom) were good at hanging out with the other guys, and they got to know Rod MacDonald, Jack Hardy, David Massengill (he was a friend -- he and his sweetheart, Lisie), Eric Frandsen, even Dave Van Ronk.  Christine Lavin also was a part of that scene, and Frank Christian (Jr.).  Cliff Eberhardt, Tom Intondi, Carolyn Mas, Shawn Colvin. . . . lotsa good singer-songwriters.

Like I said, I wasn’t the most social person -- kind of reserved, I hung back and had a hard time feeling a part of that Fast Folk group, even at times my own group felt strange and I always questioned my sense of belonging.  But not to belabor that point here. . . I’ve always felt that way, even in my own family.  Moving on. . .

So, ever notice how different people have different effects on you?  There are those who somehow just make you feel better being in their orbit; there are others who seem to bring out the negative, the whiner in you.  I had just figured that one out right about this time. . . and if I didn’t resonate with a person, if they didn’t make me feel good or comfortable or positive. . . I kinda lost interest and wandered off, in my own self-created haze.

That haze was pure creativity (with a little pity party and self reflection sprinkled in).  I had so many songs in me, so much music to share.  The harmonies flowed on.  I felt happiest when writing and singing. . . some things never change.

1-9-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #6 (background/intro to Forming a popular New Wave Band in the Late Seventies: Nervus Rex)

Even with my writing work, college schooling, and aspirations to REALLY WRITE (not to “be a writer” – I‘m beyond that ‘cause I know I am), I also had an inexplicable itch to write and perform songs. At the tender age of 12, I appeared in a local Queens talent show for kids and sang “Both Sides, Now,” with my mom at the piano. From what I know of being 12, it’s such an awkward age. . . but I knew it was a good song and something about being on stage and singing was very appealing.

Mom was a piano teacher and church organist on Sundays. . . . we had a piano and an organ in our living room – a place otherwise filled with uncomfortable chairs and a sofa that had plywood under the cushions rather than springs. It was good that the couch in the TV room/den was nicer to sit on (somewhat!). But I digress.

As a baby, I started singing around the same time I started babbling, so I’ve always sung – especially in church on Sundays, as we had to religiously (no pun intended) attend Catholic Church as well as Catholic grammar school. We also heard music at home, almost non-stop, between mom’s music and our dad’s tuning in to WQXR FM (the local classical music station) every Sunday morning. We also listened to vinyl 33 1/3 rpm albums on the Fisher stereo set: Musicals like My Fair Lady or Fiddler on the Roof (Fiorello! Was one of my favorites) or the Dixieland jazz sounds of the Kenny Ball Orchestra’s Midnight in Moscow (fabulous song, BTW). At Christmastime, The Harry Simeone Choir’s Little Drummer Boy album dominated the stereo and we sang along to it nonstop.

In 1964, I was given The Beatles Second Album, and it was definitely exciting to dance around to and sing with them. Later on, Simon and Garfunkel, The Mamas and the Papas, The Zombies and the Cowsills filled my ears with wondrous harmonies. . . I never could get them out of my head. In church, when the key of the songs were excruciating for my voice, I’d find what I called “an alternate melody” (a 3^rd or a 5^th harmony, it turned out) and belt along as joyously as possible. Thankfully, nobody told me to shut up, or I’d probably have developed a complex and I’d never have kept making music.

Then I started copying down lyrics of my favorite songs that I’d listen to over and over. . . Joni Mitchell, Carly Simon, Linda Ronstadt especially. From studying them (and rock & roll stuff I dug, esp. the Rolling Stones) I started writing my own lyrics. But I needed an instrument.

“Mom, how about I learn the piano?” I asked innocently, around age 13.

My comely red-lipsticked mom looked up from the sink where she was dyeing her thick hair a rich chestnut brown – or more accurately, covering up her gray hairs. She sighed.

“But Laurie, you’re too headstrong to learn from me! How about the guitar – would you like to play the guitar?” My big brother, Tommy, had a few guitars that I would borrow from time to time, especially a nylon stringed classical – and then, when he came back from a trip to Mexico, he brought a lovely, light, steel stringed guitar that started warping as soon as the climate change hit its untrussed neck.

Mom took me to the local Sam Ash music store and we picked out a cute Guild F-30 guitar that had a good neck and fit to my body (the curve went just under my right breast). Except for 2 guitar lessons with a teacher mom bartered piano lessons for (the hunky hippie, Danny Crowley), and a Mel Bay beginner guitar book that I impatiently eschewed, I mostly learned to play by ear. I still have that Guild (+ two others) and play it. Good quality is always a good idea. . . thanks, mom!!

With this background – as well as a short-lived stint in a few high school bands and talent show appearances, accompanying myself on guitar playing “Long, Long Time” (a schmaltzy Linda Ronstadt number) – I came to look at the music ads in back on the Village Voice one day in late 1976. I’d been out on the music scene, writing about it and digging the music, and I knew I could add some of my own noise – if I could find some simpatico bandmates to play with.

Little did I know how drastically that would change my life – and that by making that choice how it would affect my writing career. . .