I like weird music. Well, “weird” to most people. Certainly the bands I love are well outside the mainstream. I’m good with that.
Because my tastes tend toward the obscure, most of the live concerts I attend have a small-but-mighty crowd. (I’ve been to gigs where the people on stage outnumbered the audience.)
Believe it or not, there are other folks who share my musical tastes. You start noticing the same faces at shows. And for a long stretch in the late 90s and early 2000s, it seemed like every show I went to — especially singer-songwriters shows– I’d see the same older dude with a ponytail. The Venn diagram of our musical tastes overlapped significantly.
So I finally introduced myself to him, and every show after that, we’d compare notes on new albums we liked and upcoming shows on our radar. His name was Bob Gregory (I called him “Hippie Bob”), and he taught photography at Sycamore High School in suburban Cincinnati for decades before retiring to a life of going to sparsely-attended shows and being bothered by some music nerd (c’est moi!). He was a sweet dude, soft-spoken, funny, and kind.
The last time I saw Hippie Bob at a concert, several years ago, he was having some health issues and wasn’t able to attend as many shows as he’d like to.
I’m now at the age where I follow the Carl Reiner morning ritual:
“Every morning before having breakfast, I pick up my newspaper, get the obituary section, and see if I’m listed. If I’m not, I’ll have my breakfast.”.
Carl Reiner
Last Sunday I read that Hippie Bob had passed away earlier this month at the age of 82.
We weren’t exactly buddies. Just kindred spirits. But I always enjoyed catching up with Hippie Bob. The world could use more people like him, not fewer. R.I.P. my music friend.
When I was six, I wanted to be an astronaut. I mean, what boy didn’t during the height of the space race?
By the time I was 10, the dream had changed from outer space to airwaves: I wanted to be on the radio. Playing music. Cracking jokes. Writing theater-of-the-mind skits. Doing goofy character voices.
Radio was classy once…
It’s why I majored in Communications (with a concentration in Radio/TV) in college. It’s why I took an entry level job scheduling the commercials at a crappy AM station (R.I.P. “all oldies, all the time, 1230 AM WDJO”) – because it was a “foot in the door.”
So young… and so naïve
It’s why I worked weekend overnight shifts at a country station, where my assigned on-air name was “Cincinnati Redd” and I played music I didn’t really like in the wee small hours – because it was a chance to get some experience.
It’s why I made the hour-long drive from Cincinnati to Oxford, Ohio on the weekends, to play music I did like for an even smaller audience. It’s why I came back to that station a few years later, and worked the overnight shift, making less than minimum wage – because I was chasing the dream.
It’s why I left an on-air gig at the station in Oxford to be an errand boy at a group of stations in Cincinnati… because it too was a “foot in the door.” I wound up working for a radio legend, Gary Burbank, on a 50,000-watt clear channel station, on a show that was syndicated to dozens of other stations around the country . Cracking jokes. Writing theater-of-the-mind skits. Doing goofy character voices. The dream came true. But it happened 10 years too late.
This 60-second snippet from a great podcast called The Memory Palace sums up why the dream died:
When the corporations took over the mom and pop stations, they sucked all the fun out of it. And they killed a lot of dreams.
I still miss radio – but really I miss the idea of radio… radio as it was once, not radio as it is. Sure, there are podcasts, and there’s Spotify. It’s not the same. Never will be. Radio was ethereal… and that made it magical.
Please listen to the entire The Memory Palace episode from 2017. It’s a brilliant tribute to a lost station, and a loss of innocence. There are clear parallels to 97X, the station where I worked in Oxford, Ohio… which was bought out by a corporation and now is a Spanish language station.
The entire series is well-worth a listen – you’ll find all of The Memory Palace episodes here. Host Nate DiMeo has a gift for audio storytelling, and for uncovering hidden gems from history.
“The Memory Palace podcast is among the most potent pieces of audio being produced today; the show’s short tales are so emotionally concentrated that, upon listening, they bloom in the space between one’s ears, like a single drop of dye propagating through an entire glass of water. Nate DiMeo, the show’s sole creative force, often seems to be operating on a level wholly separate from that of other podcasts”
This past weekend, Mrs. Dubbatrubba and I attended a fundraiser concert with our neighbors. The show was called “The Cancer Journey.” (Note to the fundraiser organizers: you’re not exactly “selling the sizzle”… or selling a ton of tickets… with a name like that.)
The reason “Journey” was in the title was because Kevin Chalfant was sitting in with the cover band. Never heard of Kevin Chalfant? Neither had I. So I did some exhaustive research (a.ka. “checking Wikipedia”).
It turns out that Kevin was a rock star. But not quite a big of a rock star as he might’ve been. He was the lead singer of a band called 707 that had a rock hit with “Mega Force” back in 1982. In 1990, he teamed up with a few former (and future) members of Journey, Ross Valory, Gregg Rolle, and Steve Smith, in a band called The Storm.
Yep, that’s rock star hair…
Released by Interscope Records in late 1991, The Storm hit the album charts and the band’s first single, “I’ve Got A Lot To Learn About Love” surged well into the Top 40 of the Billboard Hot 100. Faring even better at Mainstream Rock radio, the single peaked at No. 6 on the national Billboard charts, and its follow-up, “Show Me The Way” went to No. 22. That spring, the band went on a major US tour in support of Bryan Adams, then at his commercial peak, and playing arenas, moving on to open for Peter Frampton, as well as several headlining dates.
Wow, two hit songs and tours in front of big crowds… but that’s when fate intervened for the first time:
When it came time to release the second Storm album in 1993, however, the band found their label, Interscope, entrenched in the burgeoning rap scene. The band’s second album, The Eye of the Storm, did not find label release until 1996, and by then the winds powering The Storm had died out.
Ibid… and nice “winds powering The Storm” line…
But fear not — Kevin’s connection with the Journey dudes was about to pay off.
By 1993, Journey had been on a nearly seven-year hiatus, and the late-70s lineup was poised to regroup, minus singer Steve Perry, who was in the midst of working on a second solo album. Chalfant stepped in to tackle Perry’s parts for a live performance in October 1993 for a Herbie Herbert roast at Bimbo’s in San Francisco, he performed five songs with Neal Schon, Jonathan Cain, Gregg Rolie, Ross Valory, Steve Smith and Aynsley Dunbar at a roast for manager Herbie Herbert.[24]. Chalfant proved to be a good fit and was invited to formally join the band. Chalfant then began writing material in 1994 with Rolie, Neal Schon, and Jonathan Cain in anticipation of a full album and tour.
Same Wiki entry as above
Wow, things are looking up for our friend Kevin. He’s about to become the lead singer for Journey…
By 1995, however Steve Perry had returned for a brief, Grammy-nominated reunion of their early-80s lineup instead, leaving Chalfant suddenly on his own again.
Wow, talk about the mother of all bait-and-switches.
Wheel in the sky keeps on turnin’ / Don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow
So the reformulated Journey keeps on filling arenas and outdoor sheds — with, it should be noted, a lead singer they found on YouTube — and Kevin Chalfant plays casinos and fundraisers with his “Journey Experience” show.
The dude has chops too.
The misquote of Hunter S. Thompson really does apply here.
The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There’s also a negative side.
During his on stage patter, Kevin Chalfant referenced his faith. He seemed happy. At peace. Even though he and his old Journey buddies went separate ways.
If you must go / I wish you luck
Joourney “Separate Ways”
Even though “The Cancer Journey” is a terrible name for a concert, it raised funds for a great organization. Cincinnati Cancer Advisors is a non-profit that offers free second opinions to cancer patients.
Cincinnati Cancer Advisors exists to improve the care of cancer patients seeking a second opinion so that they walk away with a thorough understanding of their diagnosis and confidence in their plan of care.
So they give cancer patients more reasons to…. yes, you guessed it… Don’t Stop Believin’.
I love music. So does Lyle Lovett. (For the record, he’s a lot better at creating it than I am. His hair is nicer too!)
Photo credit: Michael Wilson, a Cincinnati photographer
Lyle was the guest on a recent episode of the Broken Record podcast, and I loved what Mr. Lovett had to say about how music can connect with your heart while you work, drive, play… “carry on with your life” as Lyle puts it.
I have songs like that – the ones where I remember where I was and what I was doing the first time I heard them. It really is magical.
The entire interview on Broken Record is quite compelling. Lyle’s a deep thinker. What also stood out to me was his genuine appreciation for the folks who helped him get to where he is today – the songwriters who offered wisdom, the music industry vets who helped him get connected in Nashville, the band who added him to their roster to keep him from being sent home from overseas, the patrons who set him up with studio time to record his songs. At every stop along the way, someone went out of their way to help Lyle, and it’s clear that their kindness meant a great deal to him.
Maybe you can’t play a lick of music. Neither can I. But when we see talent, in whatever field we may be in, we can support it, and encourage it. That’s pretty magical too!
Dreams So Real was part of the Athens, GA scene in the mid-80s. The song above comes from their 1988 release Rough Night in Jericho. Check it out below.
Kevin Sullivan on Life advice from a man who lived it: “A good one Damian. Bring our lens into focus after the long weekend or our long life journey.” Jul 7, 09:38
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