tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:/blogs/the-diamondville-chronicles?p=4
The Diamondville Chronicles
2022-07-04T15:02:53-07:00
Tom Hensley
false
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/7007469
2022-07-04T15:02:53-07:00
2023-10-16T07:54:29-07:00
The Fourths are With Me
<p><em>Independence Day is fully-stocked with memories from our touring years. It was a day on which we frequently traveled to interesting venues to play our tunes for assembled multitudes. For example..</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/051d8c8e495cff66fff2429dc45d98430b524fee/original/scan-130102-0002-copy.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /><strong>1976</strong> — We performed for the grand opening of the Aladdin Theater for the Performing Arts in Las Vegas. A shiny new space without any Rat Pack odor, and all the ushers were dressed in shiny silver foil outfits, which made them look a bit like, as our vocalist pointed out, baked potatoes.</p>
<p>We made it a family time, and took our kids for the weekend, with our dear friend, and occasional roommate, Missy came, who came along to baby-sit. While we were there, Richard and Tina were married, the ceremony taking place in Neil’s suite. As Tina recalled, the bride came down a spiral staircase as I played a mash-up of The Star Spangled Banner and Waltzing Matilda. Neil gave away the bride and the best man was Dennis St. John.</p>
<p>In the evening we all watched fireworks from the roof of the Jockey Club. It was memorable, which I why I remember it.</p>
<p>When it was time to head for home, Missy refused to let us pay her for her help, because she had won so much money playing poker. “After playing in Gardena,” she told us, “These Vegas games are easy.” I should have realized then that Missy was not just an average poker player. I learned that some years later when she joined us in a poker game at our hotel on Long Island and cleaned out everyone at the table. As a result, I was banned from bringing any more guests to the poker table.</p>
<p><strong><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/1155479d0ebc037551e9a5613e98425b3a5f6a13/original/liberty-weekend-official-program-july-3-6-1986-pap.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpeg" class="size_s justify_right border_none" alt="" />1986</strong> — Liberty Weekend, they called it, because it was the centennial of the Statue of Liberty, and a celebration of its reopening after massive restoration. We traveled in limousines to Red Hook, where we boarded chartered ferry boats to Governor's Island, where we were part of a massive, televised, celebrity-laden show, joined by endless stars and a large orchestra and chorus. Neil invited Sarah to be part of the chorus, which probably caused some nervousness among the New York studio singers in the chorus, until they found that Sarah could read music and sing simultaneously, when everyone relaxed. The next day, we gathered on a yacht in the East River and enjoyed a post-work party, interrupted only when our ship wandered into the path of the presidential yacht, and were shooed away by the Secret Service.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/94b70963281b8c2f97647220f37c9859894e393b/original/19tofmncndmnvystpnot.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpeg" class="size_s justify_left border_none" alt="" /><strong>1996</strong> — We had a show on the 3rd, in South Bend, Indiana, where Neil went shopping at the Notre Dame University gift shop, where he found a lot of items with his initials on them. Next we rode our trolley to Chicago, where we spent the 4th at the Sutton Place Hotel. That stay was distingished by what we called our Patriot Game: throwing balsa wood airplanes off the roof of the hotel, followed by our security personnel taking an elevator to street level to rush out onto Rush Street to gather up the aircraft and send them back up the elevator to Hosty for another round. On the 6th we flew to St. Louis, where we did our show, and ate Reinie's favorite pizza.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/2ead181e63aa6790efc624832a7735eab6e94f4b/original/112-1203-img.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /><strong>2002</strong> — We were playing in Dublin, and our wonderful caterers set out an American-style spread to make us feel at home. Look at the picture and imagine it surrounded by Guinness.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/2632fab4d1698c7610394072dbdc764b6478584c/original/img-2532.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" /></p>
<p><strong>2009</strong>—We appeared with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade. It was televised, with Craig Ferguson as the host. His trailer dressing room was next our trailer dressing room, and we sat around for a while swapping tales about Glasgow—his former home, an a site of one of our shows, where the audience was seriously drunk. Craig explained that to us, saying "That's what we do there. I didn't realize I was an alcoholic until I left Glasgow."</p>
<p><em>There are more such stories, of course, but there won't be any more since we're now retired from the road. Today, I put together a home July 4 playlist with a lot of marches, as one might expect. But the marches got tiresome after a while, and I made the day much more fun by adding in a lot of musical selections from </em>Philadelphia<em> Mummers parades . Yes, that's a New Year's thing, but it worked for us. Nothing beats the sound of Root Rooter-style saxophones, accordions and banjos.</em></p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6785724
2021-10-24T17:49:54-07:00
2023-01-10T19:58:45-08:00
Now THERE'S a drummer!
<p>Last week I was in a Zoom meeting when I got the message that Ron Tutt had left us. I was asked not to post anything right away on social media, leaving that to the family. I waited even longer, reading the tributes posted online by the many who knew and loved Ron, until I almost felt I didn’t need to add anything. </p>
<p>I was especially moved by Bill Cinque’s pieces, since he had only joined our band a few years ago, but seemed to know more about Ron than some of us who’d known him almost a lifetime. I’m grateful that Bill appeared for our last few tours, because by 2014 I had tired of writing my daily newsletter and was thinking of giving it up. With Bill on board, I knew that every issue would have at least one well-written piece, and he showed up again at this hour of our need,</p>
<p>From looking at the tributes that appeared, It seemed that every aspect of Ron’s life and career had been covered. But I’m jumping in now, because I have a little bit to add, so here goes: </p>
<p>In 1960, I was a student at the Kenton Clinic, a summer gathering of aspiring jazz players in my hometown of Bloomington, Indiana. I was fortunate to get some lessons from a brilliant Boston pianist named Ray Santisi, and did some jamming with a lot of folks that I would run into repeatedly over the years. </p>
<p>Towards the end of the Clinic, Ray actually recommended me for a gig, and I was excited about it, although he was a little vague about the details. I ended up flying to Cape May, New Jersey (not a nonstop, for sure), a musty east coast beach resort, to try out with a group called Ronnie Tutt and the Preludes. I was told they wanted “a pianist who could sing a little.” </p>
<p>When I arrived, I discovered that the Preludes was a vocal/instrumental group (think Four Freshmen), and they instead wanted a singer who could play a little piano. </p>
<p>If you’ve ever heard me sing, you probably know the fallacy of that expectation. </p>
<p>Still, we all met up and played together, and I valiantly tried to produce an occasional sound. The band was worried that I was too heavy, and discussed sending me to the steam room to lose some weight. But Ron and I bonded, for the first of many times, before I went back to Indiana to pursue my own destiny, and Ron carried on being Ronnie Tutt. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/841dfd0e7d6b3021efb5d86346331a2a5e2fe222/original/tempimagebqgdyo.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.png" class="size_s justify_left border_thin" alt="" />Ten years later, I had moved to LA, and was beginning to do studio work, where Ron and I met again. One day, my wife and I went to Ron’s house in the hills above Studio City, where he was, for some reason, selling turquoise artifacts, including a Bisbee turquoise ring we bought for my wife (see photo, left). A side note: Ron got a good start in the studios by living close to Hollywood, where he was available every time Jim Gordon failed to show up for a session. (Hint: it happened a lot.) Plus, he was a great player and could read. And, dating back to the Preludes, he could sing. </p>
<p>One day, on a break, Ron confided in me that he had never worked in Europe, due to Elvis’s manager’s visa issues. </p>
<p>I filed away that comment, and a while later, when I was asked to rejoin the Helen Reddy fold (I was Helen’s first musical director when she came to America) for a live album in London, I asked if they needed a drummer. They did, and Ron was available and enthusiastic, so we had another chance to bond. </p>
<p>Fast forward a few more years and the Neil Diamond band was deciding on a drummer, and I joined the chorus of those recommending Ron. He got the gig, one which lasted the rest of his life. We all lucked out.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/9aa5f49893a1aae04840dbd7ea30d9fb91434026/original/cimg3564.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_right border_thin" alt="" />Ron changed the feel of the band, which is not to say that we sucked before he arrived, but a fresh interpretation brought new life to a lot of the songs in our repertoire. Every time a new song from the bullpen was pulled up, there was excitement in the studio to see what we would do with it. </p>
<p>i’ve had the good fortune to play with great drummers since I was a kid. Many of them are gone now, and Ron has joined that list. Damn. I just have to celebrate the opportunities I’ve had to try to keep up with them. When I start to make a list, I get almost to a Spinal Tap kind of feeling. Here are a few of the greats whose sticks have reverberated in my vicinity. Some you may recognize, others not, but they're all giants: </p>
<p>Jim Steele, John Von Ohlen, Jack Gilfoy, Stan Gage, John Guerin, Jeff Porcaro, Carlos Vega, Dennis St. John, and now Ron Tutt… </p>
<p>Having played with all those stars, you’d think my time would be better by now. Take it, Ron...<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/182fc8079ee6f9e9b7c817159e56bd9fbfe32c67/original/cimg3764.jpeg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6683572
2021-07-09T11:22:39-07:00
2021-07-09T11:22:39-07:00
Cycle of Fourths
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/e477fbcdbe25aee61418d8834802e8ce26ee0557/original/memories-1-18.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Ater the holiday I'm remembering a lot of Fourths of July from my checkered past. Here are a few. May the Fourths Be Witchoo </p>
<p>1957 or so—I played at the Bloomington (Indiana) Country Club. It was an unpleasant evening. climaxed by a very drunk woman who persistently threw lit firecrackers under the already-out-of-tune piano I was trying to play. I made a silent voe never again to play at that country club—and, true to my word, I never set foot in the joint again. </p>
<p>1976 — We played in Las Vegas for the grand opening of the Aladdin Theater for the Performing Arts. We went for the weekend and took our kids along. Our friend Missy came along to baby-sit. While we were there, Richard and Tina were married, the ceremony taking place in Neil’s suite. We watched fireworks from the roof of the Jockey Club. When it was time to go home, Missy wouldn’t let us pay her, because she had won so much money playing poker. “After playing in Gardena,” she said, “These Vegas games are easy.” </p>
<p>1986 — Liberty Weekend. It was the centennial of the Statue of Liberty, and the reopening of it after restoration. It was an all-star televised event. All the celebrities' limos were parked in Red Hook and after the show, the stars were to be taken by ferry across to Red Hook. The ferry was delayed, resulting in a scrum of impatient stars, each off whom was the most important one there, battling to be first on the ferry. I'll tell the whole story sometime. </p>
<p>1996 — We had a show on the 3rd, in South Bend, Indiana, and then rode our trolley to Chicago, where we spent the 4th at the Sutton Place Hotel. That stay was distinguished by our Patriot Game: throwing balsa wood airplanes off the roof of the hotel, followed by our security personnel taking an elevator to street lever and rushing out on to Rush Street to pick up the aircraft and send them back up the elevator to Hosty for another round. On the 6th we flew to St. Louis, where we did our show. </p>
<p>2009—We appeared with the Boston Pops on the Esplanade. It was televised, with Craig Ferguson as the host. His trailer dressing room was next our trailer dressing room, and we sat around for a while swapping tales about Glasgow—his former home, an a site of one of our shows, where the audience was seriously drunk. </p>
<p>There are more, but those are the ones that came to mind on this Fourth of July. Still not planning to return to the Bloomington Country Club unless they really make it worth my while.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6670421
2021-06-25T11:50:13-07:00
2021-06-26T15:26:24-07:00
What I've Been Up To
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="vimeo" data-video-id="530588410" data-video-thumb-url="https://i.vimeocdn.com/video/1098234887_640" type="text/html" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/530588410" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320"></iframe>Okay, the last year and a half have not been exactly normal for most of us. The Diamondville crowd got a bit of a head start on that, since our leader had to retire at the beginning of 2018, so the shutdown didn't shoot us down mid-project. I decided to spend my now-ample free time rooting around in my archives, and experimenting with making videos for the various things I found there. And in the process, I uncovered a lot of strange relics that invited me to do a lot of rethinking and occasional recategorizing. And some brought back long-forgotten or long-neglected stories. This is one of them.</p>
<p>When I first arrived in LA, I was hoping to get into the recording studio game, and it happened for me fairly quickly. The very first session I did in LA turned out a surprise hit record, and it's one you might even recall, if you're old enough and perverse enough. The artist called himself Daddy Dewdrop, and the hit was "Chick-a-Boom." You may even recall a bit of the lyric: "Don't you just love it." It was a top 10 record, at a time when the charts meant something, and its success led to an album. Daddy Dewdrop, or Dick Monda, as he was legally known, included a song I had written back in Indiana and recorded as a demo once I got to LA. The album didn't do as well as the single, but I loved his version of my song, and I loved the idea of playing on a hit record. For a while, I believed it happened automatically.</p>
<p>Flash forward fifty years, and I find my song, as performed by Daddy Dewdrop, in my archives. I wondered whatever had happened to Daddy Dewdrop, a question that was easily answered by a bit of internet searching. Turned out he's still alive and active, still writing and recording, and living not far away.</p>
<p>We were nearing the end of the shutdown when I called him up and asked him if he'd be interested in lip-syncing "Five Card Stud" for my own devious purposes. It turned out thought that was a fine idea, so he came over, my first post-pandemic visitor, and we caught up on many decades of friends and other stuff, great and small—and he turned out to be a great lip-syncer, a view underscored by Daisy Press, after seeing the video:<br><em>"Wow... Daddy Dewdrop is an incredible lip-syncer and knows how to improvise the smoothest moves. He knows who he is in every way. And knows how to wear his beard." </em>If Daisy says so, it must be so.<i> </i>You can judge for yourself by watching the video.</p>
<p>Five Card Stud is a song about poker, which is one of the things we liked to do while we were on tour, which made it a natural fit with the songs on my Taking America to America album. Coincidentally, one of my goals during this time was to make videos for all the songs on that album. Will I succeed? Who knows? Have I done more? You bet I did, and I'll be showing them off around here, so bookmark my site if you care to keep up and see more. Why have a pandemic if you can't have a little fun?</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6640130
2021-05-25T19:33:16-07:00
2023-07-06T11:25:17-07:00
500 Miles From Home, Again
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/2f5cdce8d0988f1fa8e99ba37b063582fd47eb30/original/1971crash.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />The Indianapolis 500 is<br><strong>(a)</strong> a really big band,<br><strong>(b)</strong> a protest group soon to go on trial, or<br><strong>(c)</strong> almost three dozen autos driving around in a circle for a few hours.</p>
<p>If you answered<strong> (c)</strong> then you are familiar with what they used to call "the greatest spectacle in racing." These days, my favorite spectacles are any which enable me to read, and the 500 isn't quite what it used to be, either. </p>
<p>For one thing, all the cars look the same. Fortunately, the drivers don't, since these days, some of them are women. It's hard to tell with all the safety gear they have to wear, but I am pretty sure they are, indeed, women. Brava, bravi. </p>
<p>Then there was that nasty split in the racing community a few years ago, and the rise of NASCAR. No offense, NASCAR fans, but I don't get it. They seem to race all the time. What's special about that? When I was growing up in Indiana, the 500 was the major event of the year. People's lives were planned around it. NASCAR is like a bus. You miss one, there'll be another one along in a few minutes.</p>
<p>Despite my enthusiasm for the big race, I didn't actually see one until 1949, when I witnessed it on television. "Wait a minute," you doubtless say, "They didn't televise the race in those days." Aah, but they did, that one time only. The winner was Bill Holland, and my family watched at the home of a friend who worked for RCA. WFBM-TV had three cameras in the main stretch to cover the action, but we were excited nonetheless at the sheer black-and-white spectacle of it all. </p>
<p>Still, I never actually attended a race in person until the 1970, just before we moved from Indianapolis to LA. </p>
<p>Somehow I had acquired an annual plum gig of playing in a big band for an hour, on the racetrack itself. The leader was a man named George Freije, who was something of a Hoosier legend himself, a drummer whose day gig was as a pharmacist. He used to introduce himself by saying, "Hi, I'm G-g-george--or a r-reasonable fat Syrian." It was a good enough gig that he got the best musicians in town to show up. Even expatriates like drummer Benny Barth, were known to come back just to play Frieje's gig. </p>
<p>Decades later, during our 2005 tour, I sat in a bar near our New York hotel, comparing George Freije impressions with trumpeter (and ex-Hoosier) Lee Katzman, his son Theo, who's become something of a legend himself, Lee's wife and a couple of our band members Larry the K and Don "The Don" Markese. Everyone who knew George tried to mimic him, because even a bad impression of George Freije could be pretty amusing. But I digress. </p>
<p>The race was at its peak of popularity in the 1960s. The Indianapolis nightlife calendar was based around it. It sprang to life immediately after the Kentucky Derby—when, I learned from a more sybaritic clubgoer, all the hookers came up to Indy from Louisville and the clubs remained hot until after the race, at which time I assume everyone moved on to the 4th of July celebration in Port Hope, Michigan, or somewhere like that. How would I know? But, while it lasted, the month of May provided work galore for Indianapolis's burgeoning Muzoid community, thankfully including my starting line big band gig. </p>
<p>I vividly remember my annual arrival at the Indianpolis Motor Speeway The racegoers were lined up for miles around the race track, in the town of Speedway, but we Muzoids were taken down a secret back route by a multi-motorcycle escort. It was a bit like a high-speed pursuit, except in reverse: the perpetrators were chasing the police. And a few of the honored escortees were puffing weed in their cars all the way. l confess that the thought of it still makes my sense of irony tingle.</p>
<p>Our downbeat was at 6 am, the moment the gates opened and the crowd of 4.5 Gazillion spectators began flowing into the stands. It was a curious sight, more than a dozen musicians swinging away on the starting line, playing for an audience which initially consisted of exactly nobody, but grew larger and larger as the hour went along. </p>
<p>At seven, we knocked off. George handed each of us a small wad of cash for our efforts, and after that we were free to stay and watch the race from anywhere within the immediate area, which included the entire starting area of the track. </p>
<p>I enjoyed milling around and tried to look like someone who knew what he was doing and why he was there, which veteran observers will recognize immediately as a bit of a stretch. Nonetheless, I heard second-hand from a friend in Japan that I was actually observed pushing a car out to the starting line one year on NHK, so my ruse apparently worked.</p>
<p>As the start of the race neared, I would find a place to hover. In those days, there was a wagon stationed next to the track from which photographers were allowed to cluster to get their first-lap photos, and I figured the view should be optimal from there and planted myself, holding easily the cheapest camera of anyone present.</p>
<p>A month after the race in 1970, we moved to Los Angeles, requiring me to give up an assortment of various Muzoid jobs: playing in a 7-piece band for a daily TV show, leading the house band in a night club, a semi-thriving jingle business...but I eventually found work in LA and didn't look back.</p>
<p>Until the following May, that is, when race time rolled around. The 1971 500 was to first to be televised on the same day, albeit on a tape-delayed basis, since the one I'd seen in 1949. I felt pretty nostalgic for my Hoosier roots and sorry about having to miss out on one of my favorite gigs of the year. </p>
<p>Even though Tivo had not yet been invented, I did the Tivo mental workout that day, making sure that I didn't receive any prior information about the race before the taped telecast. So, with a delicious sparkling beverage handy and some sinful snacks at the ready, I settled in to watch the beginning of the race. </p>
<p>If you're familiar with the 500, you know that the lap before the race officially begins is called the pace lap, and it is led by a consumer automobile designated as the pace car—an honor awarded, after what must be munificent negotiation, to a local automobile dealer—who then could paint up dozens of replicas and sell them on the lot to race fetishists. </p>
<p>An Indianapolis Dodge dealer had achieved the honor of driving the pace car in 1971, but as he completed his lap and prepared to veer off out of the way of the now-unfettered racers, somehow something went very wrong, Although the pace car looked lovely, he somehow managed to lose control of it and slam it into the photographers stand, injuring a number of people, some of them rather seriously.</p>
<p>As I watched, I realized that he had crashed that handsome pace car into what appeared to be the exact spot where I had crouched a year earlier to watch the start of the race. </p>
<p>Suddenly it occurred to me that perhaps departing from Indianapolis had been a very good idea, after all. Â If I had been there this year, I could have...well, suffice it to say that I wasn't there. A year later, the race instituted the tradition of having Jim Nabors sing "Back Home Again in Indiana," which he continued doing until 2014. Neil and I did a version of that song during a show in Indianapolis during that time, and there was some talk from some fans about Neil taking over for Jim Nabors, but that was not going to happen, let me assure you. </p>
<p>Many years have passed since then, and George Freije is, sad to say, no longer with us. Nor is Lee Katzman, nor is Jim Nabors. But I will be loyally watching the 105th annual Indy 500 mile race this Sunday, May 30th, once again from the comfort of my living room.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6615469
2021-04-27T15:15:28-07:00
2021-04-27T16:08:52-07:00
Bluegrass Moment
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/7625508cd2054d95c1a1cfbb9225596c3c72d09a/original/memories-1-13.jpg/!!/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />Here is a snapshot from April,1962. If your vision is keen, you can spot me hidden behind banjo player Neil Rosenberg with my bass. It’s a performance by our group, the Pigeon Hill Boys at the Ann Arbor Folk Music Festival in Michigan. </p>
<p>Franklin Miller is playing mandolin and Chuck Crawford is on guitar. They were new to me, and subbing for the regulars. We were part of a Saturday night hootenanny, when all of the festival performers did sets. We were preceded by a fellow from New hatYork who called himself “Bob Dillon.” He changed the spelling later. He began his act with a harmonica clipped to his guitar. When he blew into it, the harmonica dislodged from its holder and skittered across the stage, causing much amusement for the audience, and for us. It turned out that was part of his act. Who knew that Bob Dylan, as he later became known, did such schtick? Tomfoolery was more my department, as is traditional in bluegrass bands. </p>
<p>I wan’t much of a player, but I fulfilled the first requirement for playing bass in a bluegrass band: I owned a bass. I couldn’t do the slapping and spinning required of big-time bassists, but I could find my way through a three-chord song in G, D or E. </p>
<p>My main memory from that day is that during a lengthy break, I walked down the street in Ann Arbor and found a jazz club where an afternoon jam session was going on. I walked in the door and checked out the scene. The players were good, but not intimidatingly so. After a while, I went over to the bandstand, and uncharacteristically asked if I could sit in. </p>
<p>I was dressed in my full bluegrass mufti, including cowboy hat, checked shirt and jeans, and I enjoyed the look of horror on the musicians' faces at the thought of a hillbilly sharing their bandstand, but they were good sports and didn't kick me out. There was palpable relief when it turned out that I was somewhat credible in their genre. Many years later, Charlie Haden made it perfectly okay for jazz players to dabble in bluegrass. </p>
<p>The real star of the Pigeon Hill Boys was Neil Rosenberg. He played banjo the way you expect to hear it in a big-time outfit, and he wrote the book on Bluegrass. Literally. His book <em>Bluegrass: A History</em> (as well as his others on Bill Monroe and other aspects of the music) are required reading in ethnomusicology departments everywhere. You can read more about this and other bluegrass moments in his book <em>Bluegrass Generation</em>.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6596195
2021-04-06T15:27:44-07:00
2021-04-09T13:20:22-07:00
Day After Dyngus
<p><em>I meant to post this yesterday as an observation of Dyngus Day, but I'm a day late. So sue me. Actually, I haven't posted anything here lately, but there's a reason for that, and it's not a sad one, I'm happy to say. But more about that on a subsequent day.</em></p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/19bbc232672a76dd79ab8f883ff66d00484cc59e/original/memories-1-11.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_none" alt="" />I want to take a moment to reflect on Dyngus Day, which I'm sure you all know is the day after Easter. Here's what I wrote about it in the PBI in March of 2015, after we had played a show in Buffalo:</p>
<p>If you bothered to pick up and peruse the mini-brochure at the Hyatt Regency’s concierge desk, you know all about Dyngus Day, and are excused from reading the rest of this story. If not, you are probably unaware that we are leaving Buffalo not long before the biggest event of the year for Buffalopians with a Polish background. </p>
<p>Dyngus Day is the day after Easter, and Polish-Americans use it as an excuse to drink, go nuts, and par-tay ALL day long. But even before that, on Easter Sunday itself, the whoopee begins at Salvatore’s (see separate story). At 7:30 pm is “The ORIGINAL ‘Blessing of the Instruments’ Ceremony.” From that point on, it will be possible to polka till you puke at various locations, including the Millenium Hotel, where they will feature special guests, including the Dyna-Tones’ Larry Trojak and “Scrubby” Sewerynial, as well as the Chopin Singing Society. </p>
<p>Unfortunately, on that evening, our instruments will be on their way to Pittsburgh, so any blessing of them will have to be done en route—although we’re pretty sure we can find a polka in Pittsburgh. We do have access to an accordion player or two. </p>
<p>Those polski folks have their own kind of Easter, even their own Palm Sunday. Californians use palms for everything (including laxatives—with fronds like that, who needs enemas?), but the Polish tradition, it says here is to bless pussywillows. The PBI doesn’t know much about pussywillows, so we asked King Errisson for some help, and he replied, “Willows?” </p>
<p>The Polish Easter greeting is “Wesolych swiat Wielkanocnych,” and we could all say that, although it would be easier if we could buy a vowel or two. The great thing about Dyngus Day is that it combines Christian and pagan rituals in a rather harmless way, using rites of cleansing, purification, courtship and fertility, so what could go wrong? (It is also associating with driving out the “money-changers,” so we may wish to participate by ceremonially kicking our accountant out of Hosty for a few minutes.) </p>
<p>The Dyngus Day fun includes lots of drinking, water-splashing, Chodzenie, or Easter trick-or-treating; and a certain amount of śmigus, which involves striking people (usually girls) with willow branches. That does sound like fun, possibly, and it certainly answers a lot of questions while raising others, doesn’t it? Something tells us that our women may balk at lining up for a bit of celebratory śmigus. </p>
<p>Here is a typical Dyngus song: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Your duck has told me </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>That you've baked a cake </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Your hen has told me </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>She's laid you a basket and a half of eggs </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Your sow has told me that you've killed her son </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>If not her son then her little daughter </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Give me something if only a bit of her fat </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Who will not be generous today </strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong>Let him not count on heaven.</strong></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6503672
2020-12-19T14:57:38-08:00
2020-12-20T13:25:31-08:00
Where were we 40 years ago?
<p>Four decades ago, we were working hard, puttling together a piece of moviemaking titled "The Jazz Singer." There are a lot of stories about the making of the film, and many of them are true. But here's my favorite clip from the finished product, a scene where Alan Lindgren and I are playing a duet of a song called "On the Robert E. Lee." There were lots of hits on the soundtrack album, and this isn't one of them, but it remains my favorite, because it's so doggoned much fun to play. It's a song you couldn't do today, because parties are illegal. Enjoy!</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="ro_pZeaMcNk" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/ro_pZeaMcNk/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ro_pZeaMcNk?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6501168
2020-12-16T15:29:50-08:00
2021-04-21T10:07:13-07:00
RIP Mr. Simon Stokes
<p><iframe allow="autoplay; fullscreen" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/435604317" width="640"></iframe></p>
<p>Sadness today, at news of the passing of veteran troublemaker Simon Stokes. Google him if you're not familiar with the name. I'm including a video I completed recently of a track we recorded together some years ago. Working with Simon allowed me, REQUIRED me to stretch way beyond my usual limits. This song is a fine example of what Simon brought to the table.We met through our mutual friend, guitarist Richard Bennett, but I had actually heard Simon's Black Whip Thrill Band at the Artists and Models Ball in 1970 or so, shortly after we arrived in LA. We later inexplicably became golfing buddies, and the first time we went to dinner at Simon and Maria's Hollywood home, I was astonished to find a copy of my Masters of Deceit album in his record collection. We recorded a lot of rather naughty songs together, which must have broadened my base. We did a tribute to Simon a couple of years ago, and it was the only time my name ever appeared on a poster next to that of Jello Biafra—and a bunch of other wild folks, too. My condolences to his family, especially his wife Maria, ever sweet and patient.</p>
<p>A Couble Order of You —words and music by Simon Stokes and Tom Hensley © 1990 Your Name Here Music (BMI) and Scoundrel Music (ASCAP)</p>
<p>Saxophone, Don Markese</p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6479896
2020-11-17T14:25:40-08:00
2021-01-29T06:15:26-08:00
A Medley of Memories
<p>It was nice to be confronted with this memory from 1986. Alan Lindgren and I were co-musical directors for the CBS special, which was done at Television City, at Beverly and Fairfax. I arrived early one afternoon for rehearsal, just as a tour group was being shown around the building. As I came in, Carol was arriving at the same time. She saw me and came over and gave me a big, enthusiastic hug. The people touring the building observed that taking place, and I'm sure they all asked each other, "Who is that woman hugging Tom?"</p>
<p> <iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="Y3WLeaZTOlI" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/Y3WLeaZTOlI/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Y3WLeaZTOlI?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6417283
2020-08-25T20:07:29-07:00
2020-08-26T11:33:07-07:00
Glenda the Good
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/4b7c2be2528faed587108942bc1ed5741e4c5ea0/original/memories-1-176.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />During our final tour, in April of 2017, we played Fort Lauderdale, Florida, never one of my favorites, but it's not my tour. And we weren't staying in Ft. La-di-da, we were up the road in Hollywood. Yes, there's a Hollywood everywhere, even in FLorida. </p>
<p>\While scanning the local press for interesting day-off activities, I came across mention of a performer working at the Tropics Piano Bar & Restaurant in a place called Wilton Manors, and the name connected immediately. </p>
<p>It was a singer named Glenda Grainger, who was “performing songs from the Great American Songbook.” I recalled having backed Ms. Grainger in 1965 at the Embers supper club in Indianapolis, where I led the house band. Shows at the Embers invariably featured a singer and a comic. Over the course of 14 shows a week, I generally learned the comic’s act and formed an opinion of the singer. </p>
<p>The performers were usually somewhere mid-arc in their careers, headed up or headed down, but it was hard to peg Glenda. She sang pretty well, and had a record out that seemed to be getting some attention, doing talk shows and an occasional film, but wasn’t really well-known, and she was opening for the comic, an odd duck named Poncie Ponce, who came to national attention in 1959 as the wise-cracking cab driver Kazuo Kim on the Warner Bros. detective series Hawaiian Eye, which ran for four years on ABC.</p>
<p>Kazuo Kim was known for his trademark straw hat and ubiquitous ukulele, as a occasional informant for the detectives, or as he idly plucked the uke while leaning against his cab waiting for a fare. The show's intro showed Kazuo Kim floating in the ocean on an inner tube, wearing the hat and plucking his uke. His comedy wasn’t much, as I recall, but he grabbed the crowd with what we described as his “Sophie Tucker Hello God” medley, a closer which concluded with him playing “The Stars and Stripes Forever,” as a small American flag popped out of his ukelele. </p>
<p>Poncie was a bit grumpy by that point in his career, and I remember that he got into an argument with my bass player, which nearly escalated into a mini-fistfight, over an issue I can’t remember. </p>
<p>On the other hand, nobody had any argument with Glenda, a buxom, attractive English girl with decent pipes and a genial nature. </p>
<p>The thing I remember most is that a week or so after her stint at the Embers ended, I got a lovely, handwritten note from Glenda, thanking me for accompanying her so beautifully, and ending with a request for me to help her reach some radio stations with her new record. </p>
<p>Now, fifty years later, Poncie is deceased, but Glenda was still going strong at age 80, as I learned from the Florida Jewish Journal in an article which neatly filled in the many blanks in my knowledge of Glenda, of whom I knew little when she played the Embers: </p>
<p>Grainger was born in England as Gitell Goldberg. As a child, she remembered many fearful nights worrying whether she and her family would be able to withstand the attacks on England from Nazi Germany. </p>
<p>"Those years helped solidify the importance of family as well as the importance of being Jewish. It also gave me confidence to pursue my dreams of singing by age 18," said Grainger. </p>
<p>"I changed my name to Glenda Grainger not because of any negative feelings for being Jewish, but because I wanted a marquee name to get hired in show business, as was the custom in those days." </p>
<p>She had hit a record in England in the late 60’s with one of the songs from the James Bond movie Thunderball (the one in which King Errisson starred), called “Mr. Kiss Kiss Bang Bang.” She appeared in a classic French Film Noir called “Deux Hommes Dans Manhattan,” and numerous films in Mexico, and was featured in the movie “Hook, Line and Sinker, where she played a lifeguard who gave Jerry Lewis CPR and mouth to mouth resuscitation, a nasty job but somebody had to do it. She eventually decided to reside in the United States and Florida in the 1960s, mainly as a singer in cabaret shows. The positive reviews to Grainger's performances in Las Vegas, New York and South Florida earned her appearances on the of Johnny Carson, Mike Douglas and Merv Griffin shows. </p>
<p>In South Florida, Grainger sang at prestigious hotels, such as the Fontainebleau Hilton, Marco Polo and Sheraton Bal Harbour. </p>
<p>“As much as I fondly remember my years acting, it is singing that keeps me going, wanting to perform as often as I can," said Grainger. </p>
<p>And I also learned about Glenda’s life away from the gig: </p>
<p>Outside of show business, Grainger had a happy private life. She was married to show business promoter Lenny Miller from 1962 until he passed on in 1994. </p>
<p>"Lenny and I had so much in common. We both loved show business, we both were Jewish and I loved him so much that I decided at one point to retire from singing so that I could help Lenny with his business. I have wonderful memories of my life with Lenny." </p>
<p>In 2000, Grainger met Jerry Cohen, an Orthodox Jewish man, whom she married and moved to Harrisburg, PA to be with him until Cohen died in 2009. </p>
<p>"Love is about caring, sharing and making sacrifices. There was little opportunity for me to sing in Harrisburg, but Jerry wanted to be there, so I went to live in Harrisburg because of love." </p>
<p>"I have been lucky to have been in love twice in my life and would not want to change anything in my life even if I could," said Grainger. </p>
<p>I really thought about going down to the Tropics Restaurant & Piano Bars, described as “a warm, friendly place where you can enjoy fine dining, cocktails and live entertainment. Patrons can relax in one of our three dining rooms or three full-service bars. Proudly serving South Florida’s gay and lesbian community for over 20 years, we’re known by regulars as a place where good friends convene and memories are made. Tourists remember us for quality dining, entertainment and a welcoming atmosphere unique to this establishment.” </p>
<p>It would have been nice to say hello after 50 years to Glenda, but it would have been a 30-45 minute trip each way, and it seemed more prudent to use the day off to remain inert, and save my convening and memory-making to my own gig. And I could tell PBI readers all about it almost as if I’d been there.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6415161
2020-08-22T15:24:51-07:00
2020-08-25T14:21:21-07:00
Cher and Cher Alike
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/2066ca6c446c954eda57c6f6c5d63ff49cd1e7f7/original/memories-1-174.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />The picture shows an imagined visit of Kurt Vonnegut and Andy Warhol to the Hollywood Bowl, for no reason. This story is about an altogether different night, one when our band was hanging around backstage before a show at the Bowl in 2015, when in walked Cher. No last name required.et </p>
<p>We didn't often have pre-show visitors, preferring to do meet-and-greets after the show; so her arrival did not go unnoticed. She walked through the common area briskly and disappeared into Neil's dressing room for a few minutes of visiting. Those of us who were there at that moment began discussing our history with, naturally, Cher.</p>
<p>We reallized that every band member present had played on one or another of her hits over the span of her career. My memory was an early one, since I played piano on "Half Breed" in the early 1970s. Alan Lindgren recorded tunes during her disco era, while Reinie Press and Ron Tutt had done others along the way. Cher, of course, didn't meet or greet any of us on her way in and out through the room, but that wasn't really expected or required. We were just amused that we all had our own individual pieces of Cher's history.</p>
<p>I had an extra-special memory of her, from a moment she probably would not have preferred to recall. I was in A&M studio A the night Phil Spector brought her into the room during a session for John Lennon's Roch and Roll album, announcing "John, this is Cher. She's going to sing along on the next song."</p>
<p>John's reply was "The f*** she is!" </p>
<p>There's more to that story, but I've dined on it for years, and there may be a few meals left in it yet, so I'll save it for when I'm hungry.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6401856
2020-08-04T12:21:50-07:00
2021-11-20T12:30:37-08:00
Here's One You Might Have Missed...
<p>For people interested in such things, here's a video that turned up recently on the web, a song only done in our show a few times--it's titled "Wake Up The Band," here, and it's based on a song from my "Taking America to America" album, where its title was "Hosty." The original lyrics were about the food in our hotel's hospitality suite, and the vocal was done by Julia Waters. On this one, Neil is singing and introducing the band members, including a rare sighting of trombonist Nick Lane.</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="youtube" data-video-id="FhCxAiNrxPI" data-video-thumb-url="https://img.youtube.com/vi/FhCxAiNrxPI/mqdefault.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FhCxAiNrxPI?rel=0&wmode=transparent&enablejsapi=1" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320" allowfullscreen="true"></iframe></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6393260
2020-07-25T14:54:18-07:00
2020-07-30T13:01:27-07:00
Regis and Tom
<p>Sad to read today of the passing of Regis Philbin, a real TV icon. I liked Regis in general, but specifically I liked him because one night in 1986, he and his then-broadcast partner, Kathie Lee Gifford, came to see our show at Madison Square Garden in New York. After the show, he sent word that he wanted to invite me to be on their show the next day. Specifically me he wanted to invite. That was not a request I was accustomed to receiving.</p>
<p>Mind you, mornings after a show night historically tended to be quite fuzzy for me. Show nights tend to run late, and that one did so. Regis and Kathy Lee's show, some may recall, was quite an early one. My wife and I had to drag ourselves out of bed before 6 am to be transported to the ABC studios, and I can't say that it was anywhere close to being easy to do so. When I look at the clips from that morning, I'm amazed that I appear to be wide awake, even though I know that I wasn't anywhere near to consciousness. Judge for yourself.</p>
<p>In those days, I wrote a song about every town we played in, and they wanted me to perform the song I had written about New York, and that was fun and all, but hardly the stuff of television history. But then, after I finished it, Regis had a little surprise in store. Here is the clip of Regis and I doing <em>his</em> number, and I dedicate it to his memory.</p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="vimeo" data-video-id="441670913" data-video-thumb-url="https://i.vimeocdn.com/video/930005158_295x166.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/441670913" frameborder="0" height="180" width="320"></iframe></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6387040
2020-07-18T18:35:55-07:00
2021-11-20T12:31:47-08:00
Foster Family
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f72251038105eedec0ad44f96925c690650d4d77/original/maxresdefault.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />On the night we all convened to begin our 2017 tour, the final one, most of the band sat up late at night in the lobby bar of our hotel in Fresno, and talked about the early days, and especially about the late Dennis St. John, our original drummer and leader, and the man who really put the band together. </p>
<p>We realized in retrospect, what should have been an obvious truth: the band was created for a marathon not a sprint. It wasn’t an accident that Neil’s group of musicians remained intact for four decades, even though Dennis sadly didn’t make it all the way through. It was intended all along that the band had to be capable of living harmoniously on tour for many years, and that the personalities had to be fairly compatible and congenial, which wasn’t always a given in the music business. For example: </p>
<p>I was officially hired for the Neil Diamond band in 1975. I had been doing some sessions with Dennis, whom I had originally met at the legendary jam session parties at Brent and Carrie Seawell’s house in Echo Park. One of those recording sessions was for the "Serenade" album, and afterward he invited me to go with him to Neil’s home and have a talk. Naturally, I did so, and we spoke for a little while about touring, and that was pretty much it. Very quickly, we began rehearsing at a soundstage on the Paramount Pictures lot, an activity which continued for a couple of months before we hit the road for the first time. </p>
<p>It was not until many years later that I learned I had not been the first pianist who’d been invited to visit the band at Paramount. They had earlier spent a while playing with a young Canadian fellow named David Foster, who eventually became a successful producer. Right now, Netflix has been running a documentary about his impressive career, and the rest of this page will be a tiny footnote to that.</p>
<p>Foster wrote in his 2008 autobiography, modestly titled “Hit Man,” his version of his brief adventure in our world. </p>
<p><em>"I also played, briefly, with Neil Diamond. Or with his band, anyway. Sometimes you’ll show up at the rehearsal studio and you’l play with the musicians, for days and weeks on end, and the main guy shows up only when you’re done rehearsing—when you’re ready for him. I never even saw Neil, and, in his perpetual absence, Alan Lindgren, a talented keyboard player and arranger, was running the show. I think he was a little threatened by my talent, so one night—after I think I’d performed admirably well—he asked me not to come back."</em></p>
<p>I worked with David Foster a few times over the years, and I could have assured him that his talent had nothing to do with it. He was a great player, but not someone you would necessarily want in your family.</p>
<p>Despite all that, Foster ended up actually producing a few tracks we did, and our band recorded a couple of them in his home studio in Malibu. He had been through one of his divorces around that time, and his latest ex-wife was living in the house next door. Whenever we took a break from recording, we went out into his back yard, where he had installed a fence to separate the two houses. When we were outside, we could hear his children, on the other side of the fence, whimpering, “Daddy, daddy…” It was not something you easily forget.</p>
<p>On the weekend after those sessions, a paid advertising insert appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the kind of piece for which publicists pay up to get their clients included. It was called “Father of the Year,” and among those appearing in the pages as Fathers of the year was an old friend of ours (but not part of the family), guess who? We all shared a nice chuckle over that one.</p>
<p>Years later, we backed Neil at a benefit at the Beverly Hilton, one for which David Foster was the musical director. When we were gathering for the afternoon rehearsal, David asked our man Sam where to find the band, and Sam said something like, “I don't know, maybe they’re threatened by your talent.” </p>
<p>“Oh, you saw that?” he asked. </p>
<p>“They ALL saw it,” Sam told him.</p>
<p>It's a family thing.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6380348
2020-07-08T18:03:32-07:00
2020-07-20T14:53:45-07:00
NARAS, My Gosh, to Thee
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/8e9355161379862afc57b0582c3e146eca254515/original/memories-1-164.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />In the year 2008 A.D., the Diamondville touring year consisted of 82 shows, exactly the same as the number of games played by an NBA team during a regular, i.e. non-pandemic, season. And our appearances during the 2009 Grammy week would therefore correspond neatly with the playoffs, and the band played itself off quite nicely. But first... </p>
<p>Friday night, February 6, our vocalist was to be honored as the MusiCares Person of the Year. The charity event surrounding that award was amazingly successful, even in an economy which was still reeling from the after-effects of the Bush years. </p>
<p>The 1956 Thunderbird, which our band had chipped in to purchase as a gift for Mr. Diamond some years earlier, was to be auctioned off to benefit MusiCares, a charity for music people in times of need. The opening bid was set at $50,000. Some band members floated a suggestion that we chip in once more and buy it again, and give it to Neil all over again, but we worried that doing so would turn the T-Bird into something akin to an albatross. </p>
<p>Cooler heads prevailed, especially when it was pointed out that the auto’s value had appreciated over the years to far more than we had paid for it the first time around. In fact, MusiCares head guy Neil Portnow won the bidding at $75,000, and we are happy to report that Portnow paid for it without a complaint. Besides, who wanted to hear Portnow’s complaint? </p>
<p>The audience for the Musicares show that year was an impressive collection of notables of all styles and eras. Right off the bat, I saw Pat Boone arriving, and took the opportunity to greet him and remind him that we had actually worked together once, exactly 50 years earlier. He, in turn, reminded me that HE was the artist who boosted our vocalist’s career confidence by recording Neil’s song “Ten Lonely Guys,” co-written with nine other lonely songwriters. When Mr. Boone walked the red carpet at the start of the evening, he was asked by an interviewer on to name his favorite Neil Diamond song. Naturally enough, he replied “Ten Lonely Guys,” causing the channel 11 reporter to say “Wha...?” Or maybe it was WTF? <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/5010010f046a81e6fcf8aeedac95b14d911b7a9c/original/memories-1-165.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" /></p>
<p>Inside, near us at a front table, sat our host for the evening, the always-cheerful Jimmy Kimmel, along with his then-lady pal Sarah Silverman. Press reports at the time had them described the couple as being on the outs, but we witnessed enough kanoodling during “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers” to make us suspect that her video claim of having intimate relations with Matt Damon was more of an artistic statement than a factual one. </p>
<p>The lineup of contemporary artists who performed selections from our setlist was impressive, and each of them did justice to the material while bringing it into their <em>oeuvre</em>, in some cases giving our Muzoids cause to pause and contemplate some ideas about things we could do to add some novel pizazz to our nightly versions.</p>
<p>The house band, led by producer/bassist Don Was, did a bang-up job of accompanying the multitude. His ensemble included a raft of studio veterans who’ve played behind everybody over the years, and since our Muzoids have been in that same role over the years, they knew many of the players and could identify with their tasks and appreciate how well they achieved them. </p>
<p>As a matter of fact, there were occasional moments when we would say, “Hey, that’s not RIGHT—wait, maybe that’s okay after all. You know, that’s actually a GOOD idea! We should try THAT!” </p>
<p>For example Kid Rock’s version of “Thank the Lord for the Nighttime,” of all things, was an eye-opener. All our Muzoids expressed admiration for his treatment of the chorus, and mulling a similar approach for our future treatment of the song. Less likely would be for us to incorporate elements of Terence Blanchard and Cassandra Wilson’s trippy version of “September Morn” into our set, but then, one never knows. </p>
<p>The Foo Fighters drew approval for arriving with their approach to “Delirious Love” fully thought-out and operational. Coldplay, on the other hand, seemed to be learning “I’m a Believer” during their rehearsal. Still, their frat-house jam version really worked for that song. </p>
<p>Jennifer Hudson seemed not to grasp the section of “Holly Holy” where it goes to the A chord, where she continued to sing in the key of E, until clashing notes signalled the error. At that point she went into a vocalese section so brilliant that any flaws were forgiven and forgotten. We’re still not sure whether she did that on purpose or it was just a lucky accident, but it’s safe to say that she KILLED. </p>
<p>Next came a video clip of Neil relating the story of how he accidentally included a band called Los Volcanes in the show’s lineup. It was priceless and perfectly-timed, and the group’s performance did not disappoint. In fact, Larry Klimas had to contain himself from joining in on air accordion. </p>
<p>Faith Hill sang “Flowers” with our fella, and during rehearsal she announced “I’ve never danced with anyone but my husband and my brothers.” Thankfully, she did not tell our vocalist, “and YOU are NOT my BROTHAH!” And she danced with our vocalist, just as Princess Diana had done previously. That guy will dance with anybody.</p>
<p>Two days later, we all reconvened at Staples for the actual televised awards ceremony. It was my first time at the Grammies since my first time at the Grammies, back in the 1970s. It was a lot more fun then. The show was at the Shrine Auditorium, and the after-parties were all in various rooms at the Biltmore Hotel. We danced to the music of Count Basie and his orchestra, and the Count himself was alive and playing. There was country music and a chamber ensemble and other types of real music going on all evening. By 2009, however, things had regressed considerably regarding variety, and the Staples Center, a joint we knew well, was the venue.. </p>
<p>When we arrived, we were shown to a small food-deprived suite upstairs overlooking the back of the stage, where we hung out for 500 minutes or so, but who was counting? We watched the first few hours of the rehearsal in our room, trying to reconcile the puny-speaker TV sound with the bass-trap thunder that was rolling up from the stage downstairs. </p>
<p>Some highlights snuck through the rumble: One was Sugarland, whose performance grabbed the ear of even hard-core rappers in the crowd. And, once again, Jennifer Hudson shined. Her pipes were enhanced by a big gospel choir, which had occupied the dressing rooms adjacent to ours. At one point, a trip to the men’s room meant walking through their midst as their rehearsal was in progress, resulting in the best stereo effect I’ve heard in years. </p>
<p>A mid-afternoon meal was served, and we learned that our Muzoids are not the only ones who can lay waste to a spread. Back to waiting. </p>
<p>Finally, the show kicked off and eventually we were summoned to our on-stage positions to play our obligatory three minutes of Sweet Caroline. </p>
<p>And yes, it was sweet to look out at the front rows of the audience and see Paul McCartney and Jay Z smiling and clapping and singing along during that irresistible song. </p>
<p>When we finished, there was still some show left to go, so we were able to fly under the radar, out the door, out of the parking garage and onto the freeway, heading home to see the show again in the comfort of our own sofas. </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6375326
2020-07-03T17:00:34-07:00
2020-07-07T15:52:05-07:00
America the Bountiful
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/aa934f804b19bef1752a2e5f024e0d2d77f7536b/original/memories-1-161.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />When I was a mere teen-ager, one of my earliest gigs was a 4th of July party at the Bloomington, Indiana country club. It was an awful evening of loud drunks behaving badly, including an especially abrasive lady whose idea of fun consisted of lighting firecrackers and throwing them under the piano. </p>
<p>Afterward I made two vows: one that I would never again play at the Bloomington Country Club, and one that I would never again play a gig on the fourth of July. </p>
<p>The first vow was an easy one—I haven’t had any reason to set foot inside the country club since. I’m sure the succeeding generation was more cool and cultured than the bunch I played for, but I haven’t had any reason to find out. </p>
<p>The second vow was considerably more difficult. As it has turned out, some of my best gigs have been on the fourth, and I’ll run down a few of them for you, starting with the one pictured at left: </p>
<p>1976: We did the first show at the then-brand-new Aladdin Theatre of the Performing Arts in Las Vegas. It has since been imploded, but it was quite a showplace then, and our show and our audience did the joint up proud. Plus we got to watch late-night fireworks from the top of the Jockey Club, where we were staying. And there was an extra bonus: our guitarist Richard Bennett exchanged marriage vows with his wife Tina at a big wedding in our vocalist’s suite at the Aladdin. And they are still happily married, and produced another guitarist for our band, their son Nick! </p>
<p>The photo includes Sarah and myself in our 1976 disguises, our kids Cathy and Tim, along with their baby sitter, Missy. Missy was hired to come with us for the weekend, but when it was time to go home, she wouldn't let us pay her, because she felt she had won so much money playing poker. "The games are a lot easier here than in Gardena," she told us. She later visited us on the road and played in the Diamondville poker game, where she cleaned out everybody at the table, causing me to be barred from bringing guests to future games. </p>
<p>It seems that in between those two Diamondville visits, she had become a professional poker player. I'll always remember NY promoter Ron Delsener asking me "Who was that girl? She couldn't LOSE!" I suspect she still can't. Hi, Melissa! But I digress.</p>
<p>Another fourth found us in Ireland, where our friends at Woburn Abbey made us feel at home by coming up with a gen-u-wine American-style picnic for us. Hot dogs, corn, baked beans, all served on proper English china.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/7d7be9b0fe5d206a1c7c92c9ae154f4edc03330d/original/memories-1-159.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" />On yet another fourth we were in Dublin, and our stellar catering folks at the venue prepared this setting, pictured at right, for us, not to mention the impressively multicultural prentation. </p>
<p>And then there was the fourth in Boston, jamming with the Pops, and hanging with our TV host Craig Ferguson, with whom we swapped tales of Glasgow. Possibly our biggest fourth was back in 1986, when we were part of a massive event called Liberty Weekend. It was to celebrate the centennial of the opening of the Statue of Liberty, and included the statue's reopening after a massive, years-long refurbishing. It was a celebrity-packed event, and I have stories about that, but it was mainly special for me because not only was I playing "America" with Neil, but Mrs. Hensley was with me, joining in the chorus of New York studio singers who were made up the cast of a spectacular production. <a contents="Here’s a video of the entire opening night concert" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00l8CNcDo9U" target="_blank">Here’s a video of the entire opening night concert</a>. It’s a full meal to take in, but you'll find us in there eventually, along with a lot of people who are actually famous.</p>
<p>I’m happy to report that in none of the events since my first was I ever subjected to lit firecrackers being thrown under the piano. Thank you very much.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6372820
2020-07-01T13:56:38-07:00
2021-11-02T22:28:46-07:00
The Arrival and Departure of the Stogie Era
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/924b6a266d9ba29185d9c462e8e6d1ce7ec9031f/original/memories-1-157.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /><em>Cigarmania</em> hit Diamondville big-time back at the end of the last century. Our vocalist either acquired or revived a powerful craving for smoking stogies, and some others soon got the bug too. Even I, who had never even indulged in a cigarette, found myself smoking Culebras, those odd, spiral-shaped cigars, which were sold wound together in pairs. </p>
<p>When word got around that Neil was really, really into cigars, the manager of each arena in each itinerary soon began to gift him with a big box of fancy Cubans as a gift welcoming him to whatever city we were in that night. </p>
<p>And after the show ended, Neil would reliably get on our bus heading back to the hotel, walk down the aisle, and generously hand a cigar to any company member who showed the slightest sign of wanting one. Since these were not simple cheroots, but high-end, fabulous specimens, there were plenty of takers, including those like myself, who had never thought of themselves as cigar smokers. </p>
<p>This behavior continued through a trip to Australia, where King Errisson famously walked into a banquet room full of stogie-suckers, and announced loudly: “It’s a good thing Neil didn’t take up (expletives deleted).” </p>
<p>The fascination eventually waned, as such manias often do and things returned to normal. But a funny thing then happened: our singer’s voice became better than ever before. </p>
<p>We weren’t quite sure whether his vocals were improved by his period of intense cigar-smoking, or by the subsequent ending of the period of intense cigar-smoking, but either way, it led us to some of our best shows ever, vocal-wise-speaking.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6359994
2020-06-19T21:02:45-07:00
2020-06-21T11:13:55-07:00
Tulsa—Don't Spell it Backwards!
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/43a5d7d048cb6a6d440600517f94384c1df7cf88/original/tulsa.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />Way back on October 20, 2008, as our plane was preparing to land in Tulsa where we were to perform the next night, our stellar trombonist Arturo Velasco shared with us that he was experiencing a toothache. </p>
<p>Not a little tingle-tooth, mind you, but a real full-on toothache. And since our Muzoids were always well looked after, he was quickly delivered to a dental surgery unit, where his big mouth was worked on until will into the evening. </p>
<p>Most people would rather have a root canal than spend a couple of days in Tulsa, but Art was the rare exception, a man who got to do both. </p>
<p>In the painting at the top left, Arturo is shown undergoing treatment from a very caring nurse, albeit one with liquor perhaps on her breath. The photo at the bottom right shows Arturo’s pre-root-canal state—just to prove that he wasn’t faking it, just to get attention. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/df99527a06e7c6154d1b4af1c220cc3f92151565/original/art.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_right border_" /></p>
<p>A well-known politician is giving the good people of Tulsa a painful extraction of his own this weekend, and a lot of us will look forward to when it’s all over and we can get back to sensible people doing sensible things. </p>
<p>When the plan to stage a gigantic Trump rally at the BOK Center emerged, some wacky claims were floated for the number of projected attendees. The Trump crowd has an uneasy relationship with numbers, preferring to make them up as needed. Those of us who’ve actually worked in the BOK Center have a little clearer idea of its actual capacity—19,199, and if we could have squeezed in a few more, rest assured our accountants would have found a way to do so. it. The claimed numbers were later reduced to something a bit closer to reality. </p>
<p>The BOK Center (Big Old Kalamity, we respectfully called it) was designed by a gent named Cesar Pelli, the same dude who got big bucks for designing the Enron building in Houston. Speaking of numbers, any connection there? </p>
<p>The choice to hold their rally during a brutal pandemic may not have been wise, but at least they are managing to sneak through the heart of “Tornado Alley” during a brief period of no tornadoes. </p>
<p>Side note: Tulsa is filled with Art Deco buildings, but the rally attendees probably won’t get to see any of them, because they’ll be elsewhere, trying not to die. </p>
<p>There is some precedent for infectious appearances in town. ªThe ghost of Enrico Caruso is said to haunt Tulsa’s Brady Theater. He is supposed to have caught a cold there, which led to his later death by pleurisy. Just mentioning...</p>
<p>In 1957, a brand new Plymouth Belvedere was buried under the lawn of the Tulsa County Courthouse. There was to be a contest held 50 years later, with the car going to the person who had come closest to guessing the 2007 population of Tulsa. </p>
<p>Well, they weren’t too good with numbers either, and the contest was all messed up. They weren’t sure exactly who should get the car, and they had trouble trying to get people to help dig it up. Plus. they didn’t know what kind of shape it would be in when it was unearthed. </p>
<p>But we do know this: the very last Plymouth came off the assembly line in 2001. When DaimlerChrysler killed off the Plymouth brand, they did an arguably blasphemous thing: Plymouth was the brand of automobile which God used to drive. </p>
<p>Proof is in the bible: “... then God drove Adam and Eve from the Garden of Paradise in a Fury!”</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6353459
2020-06-14T17:18:37-07:00
2020-06-14T18:00:49-07:00
NASHVILLE BASHER TELLS ALL; RECANTS HIS STANCE
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/69fcf989931d934b10118ab288e5f8fa1d654e63/original/memories-1-93.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Yes, I’ll confess. I was one of those who piled insults on Nashville upon arriving here for the first time in 2001. As the plane was landing, various Touroids cupped their hands over their mouths to simulate an airport speaker system and intoned messages such as: </p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. Set your watches back thirty years. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. If a chord has more than one letter and one number, it is wrong. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. Forget half of what you know. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. Bassists will please confine themselves to one and three. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. All raised ninths must be lowered before entering the city. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>•Welcome to Nashville. Use a capo or go to jail. </em></strong></p>
<p>I could go on and on. Actually, I already have. </p>
<p>I used to say that everyone I knew in the studios in the 1970s had either died or moved to Nashville, and I at least knew that the ones who’d died had gone on to a better place. I think you’re getting the picture. </p>
<p>My first impression of the city, arriving from the airport that night in 2001, did little to alter my preconceived notions. A rainy, chilly night. A meal consisting mainly of meat. Walking through a beaten-up downtown, listening to some mediocre blues bands, including one player who rushed so badly that by the time he reached the end of his set, he had time for an extra tune. </p>
<p>But then something odd happened. The sun came up the next morning! </p>
<p>And it wasn’t raining and it wasn’t cold and I went for a walk and found myself sitting in a Baja Fresh restaurant, just as if I was at Coldwater and Ventura Boulevards (two locations which by the way, are now gone), eating quesadilla and ensalada just as God intended it. </p>
<p>And then something else odd happened. A line formed at the counter and the customers in it had the unmistakable appearance of a recording session lunch break: a group of men of indeterminate age, all with distinctive hairstyles. One slightly older dude, who was obviously a producer. One slightly younger dude, who was obviously the artist. </p>
<p>And then something else odd happened. One of the distinctive hairstyles turned out to be residing atop the head of our backup drummer emeritus (summa cum sic Tutt) Paul Leim. </p>
<p>It turned out that Mr. Leim was the drummer and W4mëister for an album-in-progress by a newcomer named Brian Bennett (no relation to Richard). I also met the other Muzoids—I’m embarrassed to say that I couldn’t etch all the names into battery-backed memory, although I’m sure they were all well-known, at least in the bidness. </p>
<p>The producer, though, I had met before. His name was Bob Johnston, and he had been making great records for a long time (pedigree upon Google search). I recalled that in the early 1970s I was called to do a session for him. I arrived at Western Recorders, ready to impress the big-name producer and thus open the door for much future work. </p>
<p>But what I was asked to do was to hold down one note on a Hammond B-3 while he tried miking the resulting sound from various Places in the room. It was a four-hour session on a Saturday afternoon (i.e. big buck$), but I experienced the depressing realization that my part could have been handled just as well by a toddler holding a Popsicle stick. </p>
<p>When I spoke to Bob Johnston, I related that story to him and Bob immediately said “Well come on over, you can play on the tune we’re cutting this afternoon.” Sure, great! I was ready to rumble until I remembered the small matter of a 4:35 pm bus call, followed by a sound check, followed by a show for actual paying customers, and knew I had no choice but to respectfully decline. </p>
<p>But I have to admit it was thrilling to have my first chance in years to turn down a record date. </p>
<p>I did, however, accept the invitation to come down to the studio and hang out and hear a take. The players were, as you might expect, great. But for me, following along on the Nashville-style numbered chord sheets was an adventure. In Nashville, even a simple chart looks kind of like a London phone number. But more complex tunes, including this one, a song called “That’s What Love Can Do,” were not at all simple. Besides, every time I saw a “1,” meaning a tonic chord, it looked to me like a bar line. I found myself happy to be a neutral observer and not a participant. </p>
<p>I noticed a sheet of paper posted on the wall of the control room containing a quote from Bob Johnston which I shared with our band, and which I’ll share with you now: “Critics are an eternal mediocrity, living at the expense of genius, either to belittle it or destroy it; a race of insects happily eating away at the foliage of art.” The quote was from Bob Johnston, and the attribution is a story in itself. </p>
<p>Mr. Leim, knowing that I had to be back at the hotel, told me to take his car—his wife was picking him up for tonight’s concert and he could reclaim his car at the hotel. </p>
<p>“Treat it as if it was your own,” Paul told me. So I went downtown and sold it. </p>
<p>No, I didn’t sell it. But before I left, Bob Johnston asked for my phone number and I obliged. It had been a long time since I’d given my phone number to a record producer, so I almost slipped up and told him “I’m with Arlyn’s.” </p>
<p>Bob Johnston passed away in 2015, joining the list of producers who will never call me again. </p>
<p>So there you have it. I arrived in Nashville slinging insults and opprobrium, and the damn town gets even by nice-ing me into submission.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6349234
2020-06-10T15:34:56-07:00
2020-06-11T10:10:13-07:00
Portrait of a Vocalist
<p>I’ve taken a little hiatus from posting at a time when humor is too close to physical labor, but today I decided it’s time for me to revisit the Diamondville Chronicles archives and share some with you. It's okay, I won't breathe on you.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/01f828d0ed5bae019449b7f7d3d98ab6d41e87cd/original/nd-david-cowles.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Over the last few days, I spent some of my free time acquiring some new Facebook friends, and I note that many of them turned out to be artists. Not recording artists, silly, I mean physical, graphic visual artists, the kind with implement above and surface below. That’s not really what I do myself, although I certainly enjoy seeing it; and our son Tim actually operates in that world, albeit subtly. His books, <a contents="Wally Gropius" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.amazon.com/Wally-Gropius-Tim-Hensley/dp/1606993550" target="_blank">Wally Gropius</a> and <a contents="Sir Alfred" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.amazon.com/Sir-Alfred-Tim-Hensley/dp/B01JBO4BP0/ref=pd_lpo_14_t_0/145-9728036-1879156?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B01JBO4BP0&pd_rd_r=18755ce7-e554-4504-9bb5-d52d63d18790&pd_rd_w=HpdRZ&pd_rd_wg=lfWrt&pf_rd_p=7b36d496-f366-4631-94d3-61b87b52511b&pf_rd_r=RK81E9ENB0C3DWB5QMAV&psc=1&refRID=RK81E9ENB0C3DWB5QMAV" target="_blank">Sir Alfred</a>, and <a contents="Ticket Stub" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.yambooks.com/ticketstub/" target="_blank">Ticket Stub</a> are available from various sources, including some earlier work from <a contents="Fantagraphics" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.fantagraphics.com/?subcats=Y&pcode_from_q=Y&pshort=Y&pfull=Y&pname=Y&pkeywords=Y&search_performed=Y&q=tim+hensley&dispatch=products.search">Fantagraphics</a>, in case you didn't know. But I digress.</p>
<p>One of the fine artists I now call a friend is a gent named David Cowles, whose style is right in my wheelhouse, so imagine my surprise when I found a portrait he had done of our vocalist. </p>
<p>I dropped him a note, pointing out that I’ve seen drawings, sketches, and other kinds of artwork depicting our frontman over the 40 years I toured in Diamondville, but had never seen this one, or even one like it, and I find it very cool.</p>
<p>I asked if I could post it here, because I doubt many of you have seen this either, and I think it’s kind of special. So enjoy it here. He’s done lots of portraits of famous people, and if you <a contents="visit his web site" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.davidcowles.net" target="_blank">visit his web site</a> , you’ll find lots to amuse and/or impress you.</p>
<p>I noted that Mr. Cowles lives in Rochester, New York, a town we played on our final tour three years ago. We had some painfully amusing adventures with our hotel there, which I shared with him, and I will share here on a future dip into the Chronicles.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6326806
2020-05-22T13:45:54-07:00
2020-05-24T14:23:38-07:00
Many Rivers to Cross
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/b0ee758bd2623f101d0bf2c420ea8fb92654e3b9/original/jim-connell-jake-holmes-joan-rivers-circa-1960s.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I'm spending a lot of time right now (and time is what we have plenty of, right?) constructing the tale of my time spent with the people at Mattel. The toy people. That's for my other blog, Tom Sez, the tales that don't belong in the Diamondville Chronicles. It's a pretty good one, but it's complicated. So is the stuff from the tour, but here's one that's short and, well, a tiny bit sweet.</p>
<p>On the flight home from our 2011 tour of Europe and South Africa—on the last lap, from London to Los Angeles, one of our fellow passengers turned out to be the late Joan Rivers, I'm going to assume you've heard of her. I certainly knew of her. I had actually even met her many years earlier, at a time when she was a member of a group called Jim, Jake and Joan (pictured). They had played the Embers in Indianapolis when I had the house band there. We didn't play for their show, and when I wasn't needed in the showroom, I was assigned to do whatever I could do in the lounge. I mostly played cocktail piano, but sometimes did an occasional Mose Allison tune, just to make the customers drink up. It was a vain attempt to be entertaining.</p>
<p>When I met Joan, along with Jim and Jake, she struck me as actually, forgive me for saying this, quite a cute young thing—in a 1960s kind of way. We chatted, she was funny, I liked her, end of story. Until that day in 2011.</p>
<p>None of us actually knew she was on our flight, not until we arrived. How is that possible? Well, we were in business class, so I have to assume she must have been in funny-business class, in a funnier section of the plane.</p>
<p>When we landed at LAX, we all dutifully reported to immigration. While I was distracted by being required to go through my formalities, I happened to glance over at an adjoining interview table, where an immigration agent was busy interviewing Joan. At that exact moment, he was, in fact, holding up her documents in one hand, while appearing to compare her then-current face with the picture in her passport. My mind raced as I began inventing punch lines and captions for a potential photo of that scene. I probably thought of a good twenty minutes of material for her act while I sat there.</p>
<p>But I never finished creating my dozens of face lift jokes. After all, we were home. No need for further material.</p>
<p>How could I know that, nine years later, the memory would provide a few paragraphs of material for me today? Thank you very much, Ms. Rivers, we'll take it from here. Thank you for your service.</p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6315310
2020-05-13T13:53:37-07:00
2020-05-13T21:50:25-07:00
I'll Drink to That!
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f7aa03eb2fcfe06ecb680dbb8e6010b75fc79bbe/original/memories-1-87.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />The sky at home is a beautiful blue, today. it inexplicably flashed me back to the sight of the drink pictured at left, from back in one of our early UK stops. </p>
<p>Our hotel in London, in a silly piece of cross-promotion, was drawing attention to itself by creating drink specials inspired bu whatever performer was currently appearing at the local venue, which in this case happened to be the O2 Arena. </p>
<p>During our stay, the bar had three "Concert Cocktails" on their menu. They specialties were: </p>
<p>•<strong>Sweet Caroline</strong> "Good times never seemed so good…" </p>
<p>Vodka, kiwi, apricot liqeur, lemon juice, gomme garnished with fresh kiwi </p>
<p>•<strong>Love On The Rocks</strong> "Ain't no surprise, pour me a drink and I'll tell you some lies…" </p>
<p>Sloe gin, lemon, almond syrup garnished with fresh raspberries </p>
<p>•<strong>Only You</strong> "All I needed was the love you gave, all I needed for another day…" </p>
<p>Sagatiba, creme de menthe, gomme, lime garnished with fresh mint </p>
<p>Okay, we got the idea of the first two—big hits, lots of recognition. But we wondered why they choose the third one—a mere album cut that very few have ever heard? And one actually written by two mere keyboard players? </p>
<p>This started me on a litte investigation. I knew that the lyric snippet included in the third item on the drinks menu was not from a Neil Diamond recording at all. A little more searching revealed that it had been a #1 hit in the UK for an <em>a capella</em> group called the <em>Flying Pickets</em>. And still more digging led me to the fact that it was actually a cover of an even more recent recording by an artist called <em>Yazoo</em>. But who was <em>Yazoo</em>? More searching, late into the night. </p>
<p>"<em>Only You</em>" (with the Lowry's drinks menu lyrics) turned out to have been written by a gentleman named <em>Vince Clarke</em>, while he was with the group <em>Depeche Mode.</em> He offered it to the group as he left, almost a decade earlier. They declined the offer, so he recorded it as a duet with <em>Alison Moyet</em>, using the name…<em>Yazoo</em>. </p>
<p>The <em>Flying Pickets</em> version then appeared on a Christmas album, and the song was thus thought by many to be a Christmas ditty. But it was also recorded by <em>Enrique Iglesias</em>, and his version—though it reached #1 on the Billboard Latin chart—did not include any discernible holiday ambiance—no sleigh bells, jingling or otherwise. Nor did the subsequent recording of it by a group with the carefully pronounced name "<em>Boomtang</em>." </p>
<p>Should we have pretended to be irate at these people for using our title for their song? Hardly, since there is the small matter of the <em>Platters</em> song with the same name which far predates all these others, and ours. </p>
<p>Which brings us to the question: Why did this song appear on the drinks menu for Neil Diamond? For the answer to that one, we decided to contact the hotel’s bar at their inquiries email address. It’s been twelve years, and we are still waiting for a reply. But I'm sure they've been busy. And, come to think of it, so were we.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6313821
2020-05-12T14:04:48-07:00
2020-05-12T15:15:46-07:00
Walmart Calls the Tune
<p>A few years ago, America was shaken by the shocking revelation that mass-retailer Walmart was selling altered versions of popular recordings without revealing that fact to the purchaser. </p>
<p>Sometimes the cover was changed, sometimes alternate lyrics were used (or the original lyrics were bleeped) and sometimes entire songs were simply deleted. </p>
<p>Diamondville officials figured it wouldn’t really affect our work, since Neil Diamond albums mostly have no lyrics about Walmart’s gun sales to psychos and generally contain little sex and violence, leaning more toward sax and violins. </p>
<p>But after hearing a Walmart version of the “<em>In My Lifetime” </em>set we can understand the concern a little better. Not only was <em>“Cherry, Cherry</em>” retitled “Orange, Orange,” some other lyrics were affected too. Here is “September Morn” as heard by Walmart customers:</p>
<p> </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/6ba30c40066375d7bb0abd4376d8a3f40139183b/original/memories-1-86.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_left border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6310733
2020-05-09T15:40:30-07:00
2020-05-09T15:40:30-07:00
Play Ons, Play Offs
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/19b32d0473832fdec5b4ce6fdb64ac5f0e86f62a/original/images-2.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpeg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />A few years ago, Tonight Show bandleader Questlove sparked a media firestorm after playing “Lyin’ Ass Bitch” while Republican then-presidential candidate Michele Bachmann sauntered onstage on “Late Night with Jimmy Fallon”? I saw an account which said the Roots drummer was nearly fired over the incident. </p>
<p>I had read about that incident and I had to mention it when I spoke to Questlove when we appeared on the Tonight Show October 17, 2014. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/66b9c3db869f0ce2b882c4b33ea8faf5e5134833/original/memories-1-82.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" /></p>
<p>As a fan of the original Tonight Show, from the Steve Allen days, I enjoyed walking down the hallway to Studio 6B, where it all had happened. I also enjoyed that the house band, The Roots, all word the t-shirt as pictured at left. We felt so welcomed.</p>
<p>I wanted to discuss Questlove's incident, since back in the 1960s, when I was playing The Jim Gerard Show in Indianapolis (see <a contents="Tom Sez" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://hensleyfarms.com/tom-sez/blog/the-jim-gerard-show" target="_blank">Tom Sez</a>, a few days ago), we had a guest from the Pentagon, with lots of decorations on his chest. Our band boldly played the military guy on with an anti-Vietnam song, one famously recorded by Country Joe and the Fish, called the <strong>“Feel Like I’m Fixin’ to Die Rag.” </strong></p>
<p>As I told Questlove, we were lucky to be doing our show long before the internet existed, before infinite replays, and with the minimal scrutiny that came with being a smaller-market show. I didn’t hear anything more about it at first, except when the show was over, a producer who was taking notes for the show’s log casually asked about the name of the piece of music we had played. I told him it was “Muskrat Ramble,” since Country Joe’s song is just an alternate lyric for that older tune, and we had done an instrumental version, so I was technically accurate, and there was no fallout from it. Questlove seemed to enjoy hearing the story, and I enjoyed his reaction to the whole thing. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/bc89ce1459a4cbeb2aa8f357c767bba8c35fcc7d/original/memories-1-83.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></p>
<p>Later in that year’s tour, we played Indianapolis, and I made sure to call up the bandleader on the Gerard Show, the late George Nicoloff, who was at that time nearly 90. He always enjoyed keeping track of the other talk shows, so I delightedly shared an account of my Questlove chat with him. George immediately replied, “You forgot the best part.” </p>
<p>Wha? </p>
<p>George said, “Later on that same show, they had a fashion show of pregnancy outfits, and the music we played to accompany it was ’Strangers in the Night.’ We did get in a little trouble for that.” </p>
<p>It was so cool to have my memory updated by someone even older than me. </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6307046
2020-05-06T14:09:22-07:00
2020-05-07T00:57:35-07:00
There is Nothing Like Two Dames
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/23906dde78d9ce9a844f0ceaf61d34672884df0f/original/http-cdn-cnn-com-cnnnext-dam-assets-200505101840-vogue-june-cover-dame-judi-dench.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I love it when news events give me a reason to write a blog post, especially when those news events aren’t something related to death and/or destruction. So today is a good day, since the news item for today reveals to us that Dame Judi Dench is going to be the oldest person ever to grace the cover of British Vogue Magazine. She is 85, which is older even than any of our band members, and, as it turns out, she’s probably spritelier too. Here’s the story about that: </p>
<p>Back in 2008, we did a TV show for ITV in London called “An Audience With…” The show has a featured performer and playing to an audience made up of celebrities, most of them British and less familiar to Americans. Some of them took a while for me to realize, “Oh yeah, that’s <em>Johnny Vegas</em>,” or “Wow—<em>Germaine Greer</em>,” or “<em>Sir Tim Rice</em>?” </p>
<p>The audience member that I recognized immediately was <em>Dame Judi Dench</em>. She’s pretty easy to spot, and was seated up front, so it wasn’t difficult.” </p>
<p>She was clearly enjoying the show, which went along nicely, until we did “Cherry Cherry,” always an audience pleaser. As soon as we began playing it, the audience was on their feet dancing, especially Dame Judi Dench, who was displaying some impressive moves and snappy steps that made everyone watch her admiringly. </p>
<p>But at the same time, there was some kind of technical problem with the electrical wiring of some stage lighting, which didn’t look right on the screen. </p>
<p>Here’s a little-known fact about the medium: people who make television don’t give a damn how things sound, only about how things look. You can do an entire tune with one guitar a half-step away from the rest of the band, or even turned off, due to a faulty capo setting or failed batter or something, and no television producer/director will ever stop and say, “We should do that again and make sure it’s right.” No, BUT but if there happens to be something wrong with the lighting or anything else in the picture, they will work on it repeatedly until it’s just as it's intended to be, even if it takes all day and costs every penny in the budget.. </p>
<p>As a result of the lighting issue, we had to do “Cherry Cherry” again…and again, and again and again. I lost count of how many times we did that wonderful song, but I’ll estimate that we did the song seven times, and while the band was growing weary, Dame Judi was out of her chair and going full-speed on every take with no sign of letup. The band agreed that we had never seen such crazed audience choreography. We probably should have offered to take her on tour with us. </p>
<p>Interestingly (to me), the “An Audience With…” show first launched back in 1980, and its first host was Dame Edna Everage, with whom I have a bit of history <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/eafdfee8086a23d612f1ac9477dbe1ba59ebdeb3/original/memories-1-80.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" />myself. My episode with her took place on stage at the Ahmanson Theatre in the Los Angeles Music Center. Dame Edna was doing one of her multiple farewell tours, and that show included a bit where she performed a movie scene with cast members selected from her audience, on that night including me. I played Dame Edna’s husband. Further, deponent sayeth naught. But I digress, so back to the other Dame. </p>
<p>Dame Judi appears on the cover of British Vogue’s June issue, and editor-in-chief Edward Enninful hailed her as "one of the nation's most beloved citizens" in an Instagram post Monday. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to see Dame Judi Dench, the unassailable queen of stage and screen, starring on her first Vogue cover at the age of 85," he wrote. </p>
<p>Although she’s best known for her dancing performance with our band, Dench is an iconic actor who is best known for her roles in "Shakespeare In Love" and the James Bond movie "Skyfall."</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6302946
2020-05-02T16:16:44-07:00
2020-05-02T16:42:39-07:00
More Contacts Intended
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f5451951af208e914393a44d37fc8ee6981014d8/original/tony-julia.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I’m back at my now-diminishing pile of contact notes found in a folder in my filing cabinet while obsessively cleaning it out. I found quite a few cards from Ireland, including one from a fellow named <strong>Tom Sherlock</strong>. I remember that when I first met Tom, he was working behind the counter at a cozy little shop called Claddagh Records in Temple Bar. I learned that Claddagh was the best place to go for traditional Irish music recordings in Dublin. From then on, every time we came to town, I spent some time and some money at Claddagh, and Tom was expert at tipping me to the best stuff, and albums that were unlikely to be automatically be imported to the states. </p>
<p>On one particular trip a few years later, Tom wasn’t there—they had a new person working behind the counter, and I learned from the new guy that Tom had moved up the musical food chain, and was now managing a band—and not just any band, mind you, but a really good and highly-regarded one called Altan. </p>
<p>After I reconnected with Tom, he tipped me to a session going on that night at a pub not far from our hotel. I went, along with Hadley, Ron and a couple of others from our band. This was in the days when Dublin pubs were a smoky fogbank, but Tom met us at the door and ushered us upstairs, where we could see, hear, and breathe, all at the same time. (I have video from that evening, and it’s great.) Several members of Altan were there, along with the legendary Steve Cooney, a Celtic guitarist from Australia, who doubles on didgeridoo. And doubling on didgeridoo is a difficult deed to do. </p>
<p>That night was the first time we heard and met <strong>Tony McManus</strong>, a spectacular Celtic guitarist out of Glasgow, then working in Dublin, now living in Canada. Tony tours around the world—we ran into him a few years ago in Australia, where he was playing in Perth. But he now lives in Toronto, and with his touring curtailed, he did a virtual recital the other night with another fine guitarist and fiddle player, Julia Toaspern, and it’s up on YouTube, and you can watch it by going to this link. </p>
<p><a contents="Tony McManus and Julia Toaspern&nbsp;‘" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u6MixcPgMK0" target="_blank">Tony McManus and Julia Toaspern ‘</a></p>
<p>Meanwhile, Tom Sherlock now has the Tom Sherlock Management Company, and he just sent me an email promising a further update, so we’ll see about that. I did, however, watch a YouTube video of Dreamers Circus, a band he’s managing now, and they’re terrific. <a contents="You can check them out at this link" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://dreamerscircus.com/media" target="_blank">You can check them out at this link</a>.</p>
<p>On the other hand, the brilliant fiddler Tricia Hutton doesn't seem to be findable. Tricia had just done an album with her band Lia Luchra when we met. She was booking the players at Gogarty’s in Temple Bar, and she invited me to sit down in a booth among the musicians. It was the best stereo sound ever. I traded her tickets to our show in Dublin, and she had a great time, but has since vanished. There was a rumor that she was in Nashville for a while. Anyway, if you bump into her, tell her to look us up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another one of my Irish friends, one who has been a bit easier to find is <strong>Gráinne O'Driscoll</strong>. When I first met her, she was in the advertising business, producing commercials for Guinness (what do you think, she was going to be selling Miller Light?). I saw her whenever we came to Dublin. Once I asked our horn section if they’d like to come along on our arrival day and meet her when she finished her coed rugby practice. When we got to our meeting place, she said she had been kicked in the face during practice and looked a bit the worse for wear. On a subsequent trip to Dublin, the horn guys passed on a get together, (maybe they remembered her injured look). On the return visit, however, Gráinne and a friend met me at a pub, ane they were all dolled up as girly glamourous as can be, and I took a picture, just to let the Hollywood Horns know what they missed. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/9e90c5bc585be36aa72d1f133d082869ea16016f/original/memories-1-77.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" /></p>
<p>On another visit, Gráinne brought her mother and met Sarah and I for cappuccinos at our hotel. But on our last visit to Dublin, in <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/9048f0c685872e735a2e92eb8408ae0ff996b6ec/original/memories-1-76.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_right border_" />2017, her career path had veered and she has become a quite successful Pilates instructor. I’ve been doing Pilates since the 1970s, when Ron Fletcher brought what he’d learned as a disciple of Joe Pilates to a Beverly Hills studio. Gráinne had learned her Pilates, and gave me a right proper workout and we followed it with a great dinner, too. Her studio is called <strong>‘Grá For Fitness.</strong>’ (Grá is Irish for love—to have a ‘grá’ for something means we have a love for it—like some have a grá for music.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/4190e57306a19a1e6d6bb088a240cc7dd93676de/original/memories-1-78.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Another recurring Irish connection is a gentleman named <strong>Michael Devine</strong>. Mick’s gig is transportation. He always handled our transport whenever we came to Ireland, and he personally drove our vocalist whenever we were in town—except one time, and therein lies a tale. </p>
<p>Mick had driven the actress Julia Roberts when she was doing a film in Ireland, and Ms. Roberts became good friends with Mick and his family. Such good friends that when she hit a patch of relationship woes and wanted to hide away for a while, she stayed with Mick and his family. Flash forward a few years, and Julia was in a much better place, so much so that she had become engaged, and asked Mick to give away the bride at her wedding. </p>
<p>So Mick was in New Mexico to do his marital duties, and couldn’t drive our boss around town, for the only time ever. </p>
<p>We met a lot of friendly people in a lot of friendly places over our years of touring, and it’s nice that some friendships have endured.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6299060
2020-04-29T14:34:39-07:00
2021-04-27T15:27:41-07:00
Getting Me to the Gate on Time
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/ed0950c7d3b8f7fe3ebeaecd75fb7e5dbbc20ba8/original/memories-1-74.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />When we were on tour, there were three days of the week: show day, travel day, and day off. Oh, occasionally there were hyphenate days. A day off might double as a fluff ’n’ fold day, when our hard-working security dudes would take our dirty laundry to be fluffed and folded and returned the next day. A couple of times, we had travel/show days, which were just as they sound. </p>
<p>We very occasionally had multiple days off in a row, one such being in March of 2011, when we were in Melbourne, Australia. Our vocalist had to fly off to the states to be inducted into the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame, leaving us alone to amuse ourselves in the quite fancy Langham Hotel on the Southbank Promenade of the Yarra River. A lot of people had a lot of fun during that stretch of days.</p>
<p>But in our retirement, which we’re all still getting used to, every day is now a day off—unless we come up with something really important to do, such as a Zoom meeting, or a trip to the grocery. or walking the dogs.</p>
<p>This leaves a lot of time to read and write and remember, which is why more blog posts have been appearing on the Hensley Farms site, and why you’ll just have to put up with it. </p>
<p>Recently, I started posting about memorable people we’d encountered on the road, and wondering what had become of them. I’ve now begun hearing some responses to that, and I’ll share some of them with you in the next few days.</p>
<p>But there’s one person I haven’t heard about, and I’m thankful for that. The young woman in the picture at top worked at the Brussels airpot when we passed through there on our way from Munich to Antwerp on June 20, 2015. By that time, the mobility issues I had from neuropathy dictated that I get help making it through large airports, and Brussels is a large airport. </p>
<p>In the US, we were on a charter jet, and hardly saw the inside of an airport. But in Europe, we were just normal people, although a bit abnormal. Because I was so gimpy, I was usually issued a wheelchair upon arrival at the airport. Sometimes a crew member would be assigned push me around, and I found that the crew guys were actually anxious to take on that responsibility, because it enabled them to get through the security line quicker. </p>
<p>In Brussels, the airport sent the young woman in my photograph, to get me from check in to the gate. She was delightful company, funny and helpful. </p>
<p>I thought of her the following March, when 32 people were killed and many more injured in attacks at Brussels airport and Maelbeek metro station. I didn’t know her name, but I searched press reports to see if any of the victims could have been her. Fortunately, I didn’t see any likely matches, and that's what I'm thankful for. But if by any chance you know her, please tell her I asked after her and hope she was well and happy. It seemed to me that her location at the airport would have been a dangerous one.</p>
<p>Next time, I’ll talk about some of people I have heard from since I first brought this up.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6296336
2020-04-27T16:09:47-07:00
2020-04-28T14:44:29-07:00
Contact Intended
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/2bce43c2faed158f9fa80ade5dbf583e2415b63f/original/memories-1-73.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Now that we’re no longer touring, I’m using the current quarantine time to clean out my filing cabinet. Some folders can be easily tossed, others create challenges and/or opportunities. </p>
<p>Today, I’m looking at a folder labeled “contacts.” Not contracts—those have already been shredded. These are mostly last-century contacts, before such things found their way into my iPhone for eternal convenience. So now I’m holding in my hand a smallish pile of business cards, napkins and scraps of paper inscribed with names, phone numbers, or other clues as to whom I might have in my hand. </p>
<p>This is a job with unpredictable results. Too many of the names, when searched on the internet, return links to obituaries, which is a major bummer. But some of them lead to rescuscitated contact with friends or potential friends long thought lost. </p>
<p>I recently wrote a piece about Charlie Waters, my first editor at the LA Times, who passed away not so long ago. But today I found the card of Ray Steele, Jr., who was publisher at the Fresno Bee, where Charlie was working when we came through on tour. The three of us played golf in Fresno, and Ray came with Charlie and their wives to see our show. I see that Ray is now something of a big shot at the Sacramento Bee—different bee, same hive? I’ve sent an email to what I hoped might be a right address. but it wasn’t, and the Sacramento Bee has no email contact information on its web site. I’m expected to write them a letter. Homey don’t play dat, but I’ve called and sat through a thicket of voice mail clues, and hoping for a call back. I guess McClatchy doesn’t think that internet thing is really here to stay. </p>
<p>Next was a card from Nick Coffey, who was at the time a senior reporter and presenter for the Today Tonight show in Ireland. I looked him up and see that he’s now retired, and his son has become a film producer of some note. When my wife and I met Nick, we were in Waterford, and he had a camera crew seeking out tourists to ask opinions about a scheme to make Waterford Crystal production to Czechoslovakia. Sarah spoke to them, and I knew she told them exactly what they wanted to hear. Nick and his cohorts seemed pleased, and we were told the show would air the following Thursday, and that we should watch. </p>
<p>We were doing some post-tour touring on our own, and were back in Dublin that Thursday. We had forgotten the interview, of course, and had a lovely dinner of Indian food at Rajdoot, just off Grafton Street, and started walking back toward our hotel. On the way, we passed a pub and decided to pursue a post-dinner pint. As we peeked in the door, everyone at the bar seemed to turn around at once to look at us, and somebody said loud and clear: “They’re the people on the telly!” That was not the only time that happened while we were in Dublin. </p>
<p>Turns our that Today Tonight was the Sixty Minutes of Ireland, and its audience is huge. I’ve sent an email to his son Mark, and perhaps I’ll hear back. Or maybe Mark will say “What the hell is this?” You never know. </p>
<p>Finally was a card from David Le Duc, who was a friend of Simon Stokes in Sydney, Australia. He ran a wonderful restaurant in the Crow’s Next area of Sydney, and he treated us, along with Ron Tutt, to an absolutely fabulous lunch one day a few tours ago, just before the turn of the century. He's the baldest guy in the picture above. Endless Indian dishes, each more dazzling than the previous one. The next time we returned to Australia, David seemed to have disappeared. But then I searched online today and found that he and his wife, after a time at another restaurant in the Southern Highlands of Australia, have returned to England and have a restaurant called the Drum and Bugle Curry Company. It looks like it’ll be another dining palace, although the odds of our getting there are a bit longer now. Hi David, if you see this, we still talk about that lunch! </p>
<p>That’s enough for today—I’ll dig deeper into the pile tomorrow. And if you know any of the people above, let them know we're looking them up.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6291282
2020-04-22T19:13:56-07:00
2020-04-22T21:38:55-07:00
New Albany Jam
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/ee19efcb7dac95c35af690bbc888bdd5989d78b7/original/memories-1-71.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />After landing in Louisville, and settling in at the downtown Louisville Marriott, the first thing on the agenda of some Touroids was getting out of Louisville. Getting out of the whole damned state of Kentucky, in fact, and heading across a big bridge into the next- door state of Indiana, and the charming little town of New Albany. The lure was a performance by a jazz musician born and raised and still living in New Albany. His name is Jamey Aebersold, and he is legendary in these parts, and beyond, as a great jazz performer and educator. An NEA Jazz Master, in fact, and those are not in abundance. </p>
<p>Mr. Aebersold was playing with a snappy quartet in a refurbished old building, the River City Winery, in a refurbished old downtown. There was quite a crowd in the room when the first Uberload of Muzoids arrived, and even more so when a second car dumped its load of Hollywood Horns (without their horns, sadly). </p>
<p>Upon arrival, each Touroid was issued a copy of the Jazz Handbook, published by Jamey Aebersold Jazz, chock full of practice suggestions, tips and tricks, and the secrets of improvisation. A quote: “Everyone has the ability to improvise from the youngest child to the senior citizen. You have to have desire and set aside time to work at it until moving your fingers becomes automatic and the distance between your mind and fingers grows smaller and smaller to where you think an idea and your fingers are already playing it. It’s not magic. If it is, then magic equals hard work and perseverance. When asked, ‘What is the greatest obstacle to enlightenment?’ the Buddha replied, ‘Laziness.’ I agree!” </p>
<p>Part of Jamey’s successful business model is his jazz play along CD/music packages, which are used all over the world for training by amateurs and professionals alike, including some of our horn players, which was the reason they gave for feeling too intimidated by him to sit in.</p>
<p>A while later, Jamey walked into the audience, and gave each visiting Touroid a 25-cent piece. Yes, a quarter. Not, as you might think, so they could call someone who cared. Instead, he said, “Look at these closely.” Those who did, and whose Codger Vision was functioning properly, could read the name Duke Ellington, which appeared on the back of the coin. </p>
<p>As I said, the Hollywood Horns arrived disarmed, i.e. sans instruments, so there was no jamming for them, but both our keyboard dudes sat in for a tune each, and acquitted themselves without embarrassment on an unfamiliar instrument. “Acquitted” is the appropriate word, too, because the Muzoids were accompanied by my nephew, Mike Hensley, who had driven into New Albany from Madison, Indiana, where he is a judge holding the same seat once occupied by his father, the late “Honest” Joe Hensley, who was the talented one in my family, with 21 novels published as well as 100 short stories,. My grand total is, let’s see...exactly, uh, none. Unless you count thirty years of this PBI crap. But that’s another story, or perhaps dozens of them. </p>
<p>Further deponent sayeth naught. </p>
<p>After the jazz gig shut down (a little after nine), several Muzoids were driven back to the hotel by Judge Mike. On a street corner on the way to his car, they stopped to look at a music store. It was closed, obviously, or Richard Bennett would have been inside shopping, but outside was a weatherbeaten upright piano, and I stopped to play a few bars for the invisible crowd on the street, as shown in the top photo.</p>
<p>The evening was wrapped up nicely by Judge Mike's action-packed drive through the Louisville street grid’s closings, impending demolition and random one-way direction changes. Eventually, they found the hotel, which is why you’re able to read this. </p>
<p>Footnote 2019: A few days after our lovely evening in New Albany, Jamey Aebersold emailed me that he had just been informed by the management of the River City Winery that his group’s services would no longer be required. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why the music business sucks, as does one no-longer-hip establishment in Southern Indiana where being a certified NEA Jazz Legend is insufficient credentials for a gig.</p>
<p>If you're up for a sneak peek at what transpired that evening, <a contents="you can click here" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://vimeo.com/410851030" target="_blank">you can click here</a>, if you want to. But only if you really want to.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6289867
2020-04-21T18:30:59-07:00
2020-04-23T13:19:16-07:00
Cannes You Hear Me Now?
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/caad58b9bdea1fa4fb51cbb925fb799d994e5cc8/original/800px-ho-tel-majestic-barrie-re-2014.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpeg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />MIDEM has been cancelled. MIDEM is the acronym for <em>Marché International du Disque</em> et de l'Edition Musicale, which is organized annually in and around the <em>Palais des Festivals et des Congrès</em> in Cannes, France. It’s a big-deal trade show, billed as the leading international business event for the music ecosystem, and it has been held since 1967. </p>
<p>But not this year. Because of the Trump virus, there will be no MIDEM until 2021. That, as it happens, will be the 50th anniversary of my sole visit to the festival, at which careers are launched and sunk and bought and sold. Yes, it was 1971 and I found myself in France for the first time, in the role of musical director for a newcomer named Helen Reddy. I was there with Helen and her husband, Jeff Wald. Helen’s career was Jeff’s masterpiece, and I was the easel stretcher for it. We flew from LA to Paris, and I hit the ground running, since I actually could speak a wee bit of French, and therein lies a tale. </p>
<p>My high school French teacher in Bloomington, Indiana, was a stern-appearing woman named Virginia Kruse. I enjoyed languages, and appreciated her teaching, and she appreciated my enthusiasm for it. But I didn't really appreciate how much I learned in her classes until I arrived in Paris with Helen. We were to do a couple of TV shows before trying to jump-start her career by appearing as a somewhat featured performer at the aforementioned 1971 MIDEM. While we were in Paris, I read the papers and watched the (two-channel black-and-white) TV, and I found that a flood of memories from Miss Kruse's classes were cresting inside my head. By the time we got to Cannes, I was going full-bore (in every sense of the phrase), cracking jokes with cab drivers, making puns in French and generally having the kind of good time that French-speakers have, that the non-fluent miss out on. </p>
<p>We flew from Paris to Nice, where Jeff rented a car to drive to Cannes. The first time he parked the rental, he opened the door and someone drove into it, almost removing it from the auto body. The next day, he took it back to the rental agency and convinced them to give him another car, since that one was “defective.” </p>
<p>We had a night off, and I went out to a performance by a band called Martin Circus, which was a weird band of varying styles, naturally of interest to me. Great show, as I remember it, but don’t ask me for details. Afterward, I walked back toward our hotel, which was on a side street, and so small that it didn't have a bar (Helen was not yet any kind of star). So I stopped at a small lounge just off the Croisette (the main drag of Cannes, along the waterfront), for a relaxing beverage before settling down for the night. I seated myself inconspicuously in the back of the room, intentionally away from the couple at the bar who were having a heated conversation. The man I recognized as a record-company executive, known to be an unpleasant gent (and remember, I was <em>working</em> for Jeff Wald). He was seated at the bar, attempting unsuccessfully to communicate in English with a local working girl who clearly spoke only French, regarding the price of some pleasure he wished to purchase. </p>
<p>He didn't know me at all, and I didn’t want to know him, but he worked to draw me into their conversation. He demanded to know if I spoke French. I said no, but he wouldn’t accept that answer, and I eventually found myself drafted to serve as their interpreter. </p>
<p>Since they were negotiating the price for her services, I told him I would attempt talk her price down. </p>
<p>At that point, I was counting on his ignorance of the French language being total, because I began telling the young girl in French that he was a rich American pig with far too much money, and suggesting that she raise her price much higher. Gradually, I worked her amount up to at least ten times her original fee. They agreed on the deal, and left the bar arm in arm. On the way out the door, she gave me a wink, which seemed to promise that further business might be feasible in the future. </p>
<p>My conclusion from this experience: I made everybody in the room happy that night. The look that la Douce gave me as she and her client departed suggested that if I choose to alter my career path, I might eventually find myself driving a fancy car down the <em>Croisette</em>, tending to my string of women. Meanwhile, the record company fellow presumably got exactly what he wanted, at what he thought was a a fraction of her asking price, so he felt blessed that he had found me in that gin joint that night to close the deal. </p>
<p>After they departed, the bartender, who had been observing the entire scene, told me that there would be no charge for my drinks and food, and that whatever else I wanted would also be on the house, because it was the funniest scene he'd ever witnessed in his many years at that bar.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6287289
2020-04-19T13:05:05-07:00
2020-04-19T13:05:05-07:00
The David C Chronicles
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/6fe4df4ebadbd7c73d9af2584f01a9c9d7545ee8/original/daved-in-hawail.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />I posted a salute to David Cassidy on his birthday a while back, and there was more response to it than I expected. I hadn't thought there would be that much overlap between Neil's fan base and David's, but what do I know? I just play piano here. My motto is "give 'em what they want," so here I an item from the Chronicles, published in the PBI during a tour of England in 2008.</p>
<p>In his heyday, David Cassidy was a much bigger star in England than in America. He set attendance records at Wembley surpassing those of the Beatles and Rolling Stones, even though the Partridge Family series had not yet aired in the UK. <br>Several years ago, Mr. Cassidy wrote a tell-all autobiography for the UK entitled <strong>C’mon Get Happy</strong>, which included this interesting comment about his band, and the way he claims they got happy:</p>
<p><em>“The musicians could be really great at home, but as soon as they walked through the airport metal detectors, they’d turn into animals. I’d watch their behavior go from ‘Bye, honey’...to sitting in some hotel room...with peanut butter on their (private parts).” </em></p>
<p>Actually, most of the fun seemed to be had not by his band but rather by Mr. Cassidy himself, at least during my brief stay on his tour, and bassist Reinie Press's stay, for that matter, but what do we know? I also notice that Ron Tutt's name is found in the book, but with no mention of peanut butter at all—it was only in reference to Ron's having drummed on David's recording of "Fever." </p>
<p>As far <em>our</em> tour is concerned, let me say this: since I personally consumed many sandwiches utilizing the ample supply of peanut butter always found in Diamondville Hospitality Suites, I assume and profoundly hope and pray that that peanut butter was only used in manner intended by the Sunpat company (the only peanut butter available there), and not in any manner referred to in David Cassidy's book. </p>
<p>But the reason for my harping on this is that Mr. Cassidy subsequently published a SECOND autobiography in England, which one would hope would clear up any inaccurate peanut butter references in his FIRST autobiography. (It's unfortunate that the title "I Led Three Lives" had already been used, else David might have been able to complete an autobiographical trilogy.) </p>
<p>His second work was titled <strong>Could it be Forever? </strong>Without any spoilers, I can assure you that the answer would be "no." </p>
<p>Here is the money quote from volume two: </p>
<p><em>When the (Madison Square Garden) concert was finished, I ran off the stage and two burly security men wrapped me in an army blanket and threw me in the trunk of a Toyota. They sent limousines out which fans followed, while the Toyota headed off, unnoticed, in another direction. By the time the fans realised they'd been tricked, it was too late; I was gone. </em></p>
<p><em>About four blocks later, we stopped. I hopped out of the trunk and got into the back seat. All the hotels in Manhattan were swarming with fans looking for me; none of the good hotels in Manhattan would take me any more, although my band still stayed in them. I, on the other hand, was driven instead to some dump out in Queens, a cheap motel, where a room had been reserved for me under an alias. Fifteen minutes after starring in the most publicised concert in the world, I was dropped off—still wearing my white jumpsuit, which was drenched in sweat—at a shabby motel. I didn't know where I was. I had no money and no clothes except for what I was wearing. I stayed in the bathtub for an hour and a half, alone. I waited for someone to call or come and get me. I didn't know where anybody was. I understood why Marilyn Monroe couldn't get a date on Saturday nights. I lay there and thought, What am I doing this for? </em></p>
<p>I rhetorically am replying "David! What about the smiling faces? What about the spiritual journey? How about hiring a better road manager?" </p>
<p>Once, after a show at the Merriweather Post Pavilion, near Cleveland, I commented to Mr. Cassidy, "David, there wasn't a dry seat in the house tonight."</p>
<p>Coincidentally, I was able to use the exact same line on one of our tours, following a totally rain-soaked performance outdoors at Hampden Road in Glasgow.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6280076
2020-04-11T23:09:26-07:00
2020-04-12T21:10:41-07:00
AC, DC, Me, See?
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/79ebe3e057c3c6a3292b6819db66c363d37054ef/original/memories-1-69.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I used to play golf. I played golf on the road, I played golf at home, I read about golf, I watched golf on television. One of those dumb things we old guys do. Until we can't.</p>
<p>I don’t do any of those things now, but I want to write something about golf now, so indulge me. </p>
<p>At the left is a picture of a golf game at a par 3 course on Whitsett in Studio City, a lovely spot which is now endangered by the property demands of Harvard/Westlake, a voracious educational business which is trying to engulf and devour all the property around it. Our part of town always displays the latest crop of lawn signs disputing yet another heinous plot hatched by Mr. Harvard and Mr. Wetlake. But I digress, already.</p>
<p>In the picture, I’m playing with some great friends, from left: the late Mentor Williams, the lively Simon Stokes, and the late Jack Conrad. Mentor produced a lot of great records in Nashville, and wrote big-time songs, including the hit song "Drift Away." Oh, and his brother Paul has written some songs, too. </p>
<p>I hired Jack to play bass in the first band I put together for Helen Reddy—he had been playing with the Doors previously, and he later backed the Captain and Tenille. The hit songs he wrote included "Isn't it Time," "Family of Man," and "If Looks Could Kill." Simon Stokes, in the middle, is legendary. The song of his that I must mention is "A Boa Constrictor Ate my Wife Last Night." Obviously, an all-star foursome, except for moi. But this post isn't about that day. </p>
<p>It's about a similar day, in 2008, at that same golf course. I was playing with Larry Brown, the great drummer/composer/producer, whose music hides under lots of films and tv shows; and we had slow players ahead of us, and as a result, we were moving along slowly too. We had reached our next tee and were waiting for it to clear so we could keep moving. The pair of gents playing behind us caught up with us as we waited. I heard one of the players speak a few words, and I immediately recognized his accent. I turned around to him and said: “Newcastle.” </p>
<p>“Garr, no American knows that accent,” he said. I proved that I knew the accent, and that I knew Newcastle, by following up with “The Malmaison.” </p>
<p>Obviously, this fellow was a touring musician, because because the name of that hotel was the kind of stuff musicians tend to know. It turned out I was right—he toured with a little band called AC/DC. His name was Brian Johnson, and he was the lead singer with the group. You might be surprised to find that the Neil Diamond band and AC/DC have a lot in common, but it’s true. We joined our twosomes up, and finished the round, carrying on a lively discussion of cities and arenas and hotels and restaurants. </p>
<p>After finished our undistinguished round of golf, Brian and I made a tentative plan to play golf soon in Vancouver, where his band was headed for a recording residency, and where we were to be performing on our tour in a couple of weeks. </p>
<p>Sure enough, we got in touch In Vancouver. We made a plan, and a tee time was reserved. But on the Sunday we were to play, it was a predictably rainy BC morning. We doggedly stuck to our plan, though., and went to the course and sat in the pro shop for a while, waiting for the rain to stop. This being Vancouver, of course, it didn’t stop. We eventually headed back to our mutual hotels, and Brian kindly asked if I’d like to have dinner with his band that night. Sounded cool. </p>
<p>By evening, when it was dark and far too late for any golf, the rain finally stopped, so I met Brian and the others from AC/DC on the roof of a nearby eatery. Joe Fortes is a nifty seafood and chop house on Thurlow St., just off of Robson, one of Vancouver’s main drag dining streets, and obviously a popular spot. </p>
<p>It was by now dry, and we were on the roof gathered around a big table. I met the others present from the band, including Angus and Malcolm Young and their brother George, along with one or two others, whose names I’m sorry I don’t recall now. It was a jolly time, although interrupted occasionally by fans coming over to the table to ask for an autograph or chat, pausing dinner for frequent moments. </p>
<p>They were quite patient with all this, until a pair of attractive young women came to the table and said they were big AC/DC fans from Calgary. </p>
<p>“Calgary?” said Brian, “What are you doing in Vancouver?” </p>
<p>“We came to see Neil Diamond,” was the answer. </p>
<p>Seeing an opportunity to return to dinner, Brian pointed at me and said, “He’s with Neil.” This caused the girls to pivot and descend on me for further questioning, while the band returned to their food. </p>
<p>Dinner was superb, the conversation was spirited and everybody departed as friends. We continued our tour, which did very well; they finished up the album they were recording, which also did very well, thank you. </p>
<p>We crossed paths briefly with AC/DC on our 2017 tour, but I never met up with Brian Johnson again. Brian, if you come across this, give me a buzz. And you too, Diane Keaton.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6279750
2020-04-11T13:14:42-07:00
2020-11-08T04:53:45-08:00
Final Episodes
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/628bf1d01f213dd999a347177532c9787247f031/original/memories-1-68.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />I succumbed to the hype and watch the final Modern Family Wednesday night. I didn’t ever saw the show during its run, but found the finale entertaining. The post-finale documentary really drew me in, since we just finished a rather long run of our own, and I understand the emotions faced by the cast. Still, I found myself thinking “They’re so worked up about saying goodbye to their gig and each other after only 11 years?” Our show hung it up in 2018 after FORTY years. Yes, there were a few changes over the decades, but you get to know your co-workers pretty well in all that time. </p>
<p>We didn’t have a farewell episode to share with our fans and bring big ratings. That doesn’t work for music concerts, although we had been advertising a 50th anniversary tour. We didn’t know our October 19 show in London was our final show until months after it happened, so there was no opportunity to celebrate/grieve/ponder or anything else. The thing I DID eventually do was to put out a final issue of the PBI. In case you didn’t know, I had been publishing my showday newsletter since 1986, and I wasn’t going to let it go away without making a fuss. It took a while, but on the third of June of 2018, PBI Volume 68, number 1 went out to everybody on the distribution email list. </p>
<p>Like the ABC special last night, it was filled with memories, and turned up some treats for long-time readers. Here’s one I enjoyed: </p>
<p>Mark Capner was the first piano player to inhabit the chair, before me and long before I gave Diamondville its name. I tracked Mark down, and he was willing to share his account about his earliest days with the band: </p>
<p><em>In the fall of ’71 I got a call from Country Joe and the Fish’s old movie agent, who had moved on to the agency booking Neil. I’d played keyboards with the <br>Fish for the last year-and-a-half of their existence, including at Woodstock. When I got the call, I wasn’t totally clear who Neil was, until I realized he was the Cherry Cherry guy. </em></p>
<p><em>My contact told me to figure out the horn and string parts for “Sweet Caroline” and another song on the organ for the audition. The guy who auditioned before me was a jazz virtuoso, who was all over the keyboard. I went in, played simple, and got the gig. We went out with Carol Hunter on guitar, Randy Sterling on bass, me on piano and organ (B3 and Steinway or Baldwin, usually) and Eddie Rubin on drums. I heard from the others that the studio cats who played on all the records (Hal Blaine, Carol Kaye, etc) wouldn’t tour, so there we were. </em></p>
<p><em>The drummer was a tired old jazz player, who had supposedly played with Billie Holiday at some point. He had no pop or rock sensibility. When Dennis St, John came on board I was ecstatic. Every time he hit a drum it was a sanctified heartbeat! I had a gas playing with Neil. The audience was so very different for that of the Fish. When CJ & The Fish played, every freak and longhair within 100 miles would come to see us. With Neil, the audience was much straighter, aged 6 to 60, and all the women were wearing bras. </em></p>
<p><em>As soon as i got the gig, I realized that a song I had disliked the summer before, “Cracklin’ Rosie”, was Neil’s. The second day of rehearsal, Neil had us work it up. He started in C, then said move it up a half step. Aargh, C#! It felt like ironic justice for my previously stabbing the button on the radio of my Chevy whenever the song had come on. The last song we worked up while our unit was on board was “I Am, I Said”. </em></p>
<p><em>We toured around the country playing the hits. It was a strange time...1971-1972. One day we flew into LA from another city. We had the day free before driving up to Bakersfield to play a gig. It was surreal to try and hitchhike down Sunset to see a woman I knew and not get a ride for 20 minutes (this was the post-Manson era), only to be riding in a limo two hours later to the gig. When we played in Alabama, the audience gasped when Randy and I took the stage. We both had huge hair. The next day, at a barbecue, everyone was sweet as could be. We might have been hippies, but we were Neil’s hippies! </em></p>
<p><em>It was my understanding that Dennis and Richard hooked Neil up with a unit made up of studio quality musicians who were also willing to tour, at which point, Carol, Randy and I were let go. Were you the one who gave me a chart for “He Ain’t Heavy”? It was fun playing it at Carnegie Hall. </em></p>
<p>There were lots of other stories, and I’ll share more of them in the Diamondville Chronicles, because where else am I going to put them?</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6277870
2020-04-09T17:50:58-07:00
2020-04-11T13:50:49-07:00
Don't Pass Over This Post
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/355c9454924b16450754814548a2ecf4d8735385/original/gefilte-fish.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />I continue doggedly pursuing items from my archives that will bring back some happy memories at a time when current events are so sour and sad. </p>
<p>In 1989, when Diamondville rolled into San Diego it was around Passover, so Jews of all sizes, shapes, faiths and colors gathered together to celebrate with a semi-traditional Seder dinner, which took place in an intimate alcove just off the main catering area at the Sports Arena. Here is the PBI coverage of the event: </p>
<p>As promised, there was no pizza or tacos, but no one seemed to mind. The Manischewitz poured like wine, as the real and ersatz faithful feasted on matza, chicken, potato pancakes and other delicacies—following the question-and-answer period, ably handled by publicist emeritus Sherrie Levy (playing the part of the youngest) and our vocalist (in the role of the eldest). </p>
<p>The service itself was quite brief, in some ways resembling a Cliff’s notes version, but the Yiddish pronunciations were convincing, at least seemed so to the inexperienced ears of many of the goyim celebrants. </p>
<p>•One matza was reported to be missing and had not been located at press time. </p>
<p>•Stage Manager Doug Pope attended, the first Pope to attend a Seder in quite a few years. </p>
<p>•King Errisson observed that the Matzoh Ball Soup bore a startling resemblance to a fondly- remembered menu item from his native land, wherever that is.</p>
<p>•Sam Cole differed, saying that the matzoh balls reminded him of long-ago billiard games. </p>
<p>•Marilyn Lowey assembled the necessary props and scripts for our exercise in Judaica, and did an excellent job of keeping things as authentic as possible, under the circumstances. She also handled the blessing of the candles with authority, while Sam Cole performed the blessing of the wine, which it sorely needed. </p>
<p>•The Hockensmiths were wide awake for the festivities, thanks to Hadley’s 6 a.m. “celebrity wake-up call” from a local radio station. He was uncertain whether to be annoyed by the inconvenience or honored at being mistaken for a celebrity. </p>
<p>•The Tutts also attended, and Ron seemed relieved to be involved in an activity which did not involve the use of a credit card. </p>
<p>•The late Cathrine Hensley enjoyed the ceremony, but did not express any willingness to convert;</p>
<p>•and the late Patrick Stansfield told the PBI he regarded it as a kind of St. Patrick’s celebration in reverse, a day when <em>nobody</em> is Irish. </p>
<p>•There was a surprisingly spirited rendition of “Da-Yay-Nu,” which left some at the table contemplating securing publishing on the arrangement. K. Errisson was restrained from mistakenly breaking into a chorus of “Day-O”. </p>
<p>•The late Vince Charles made a surprise guest appearance, bearing a special gift from the Black of the Bus and the laseroids: a 3-pound container of Diamond Crystal Kosher (or so sez Rabbi Bernard Levy no relation to Sherrie of Brooklyn) Salt, enough to cover the rims of dozens of margarita glasses. The salt box’s logo bore a startling similarity to the diamond which appeared above the stage at the beginning of our show in those days. </p>
<p>•Finally, since this took place during the era of smoking, the Principal wrapped up the celebration by lighting an after-dinner cigarette, one with a gefïlte tip. </p>
<p>The event became part of Diamondville’s rich history. It was further immortalized when our shuffling team created a poker game called “San Diego Seder,” which was basic 5-card stud, but with the cards dealt in reverse, so that the last card was down. </p>
<p>That night, the PBI published a quasi-official Seder Hymn, and it went exactly like this: </p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><strong><em>(sung to the tune of “Alla en El Rancho Grande”) </em></strong></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’re gonna have a Seder </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Way down in San Diego </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’re gonna eat some maror </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>and then we’ll have some karpas </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>and no one’s gonna stop us </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>There’ll be no tacos or pizza </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>but lots of matza and baytza </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Although we don’t know much Hebrew </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’ll try to sing Dadayaynu </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’ll pour the Mogen David </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>and some of us will drink it </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>because those herbs are bitter </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>and S. Levy and Mare-O </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>will cuss that nasty Pharaoh </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’ll eat a sandwich for Hillel </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>Then do the show if we’re still well </em></p>
<p style="text-align: center;"><em>We’ll stump the band and the caterer<br><br>at the first Arch Angel Seder</em></p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6275354
2020-04-07T14:57:13-07:00
2020-04-18T04:19:49-07:00
Al Kaline, Red Knapp and Other Rochester Moments
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/38fc2a477ee7a323f3ec73cce9179f75b073b38e/original/memories-1-66.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />Back in 2017, which now seems like a very long time ago, we did a show in Detroit, staying at a lovely hotel in nearby Rochester, Michigan. </p>
<p>We had a genuine day off, and I figured I would take a walk in charming downtown Rochester. Onthe way out, I ran into our guitar genius Richard Bennett, and then our well-known vocalist, who was also feeling like taking a downtown stroll. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/27cbadec73f809116ce47c47bba2be1d14464c88/original/memories-1-64.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />We wandered around the streets and quickly found some lovely shops. Naturally, the one that caught Neil’s eye was called Rochester Sports Cards and Memorabilia, and we spent quite a bit of time perusing the goods there. Neil found quite a number of items that he couldn’t resist. some for gifts, others for personal treasures. One such keepsake was a baseball autographed by Detroit’s slugger, Al Kaline, who passed away just the other day. </p>
<p>By the time Neil’s bag was filled with souvenirs, he had run up quite a purchase, and I suspected that the young fellow behind the counter was keen on making such a jumbo-sized sale. </p>
<p>Afterward settling up, we continued touring Main Street in downtown Rochester, which provides everything needed to support human life. There was an Irish pub, a bakery disguised as a shoe store, a book store, a jewelry store—all that stuff and dim sum. But the establishment that drew our trio through its doors on that Wednesday afternoon was a joint called Red Knapp’s Dairy Bar. </p>
<p>During the 1930's Red Knapp (starting, I assume, with little more than a red Knapp sack, opened a restaurant in Rochester, with a goal of “serving simple food to local patrons.” It was successful, and the restaurant was sold in the late 1940’s. In 1950 Red returned with Red Knapp's Dairy Bar which, on this particular Wednesday afternoon, was serving local food to simple visitors. To the Rochesterians inside, we might have looked like we could conceivably have been coming in from football practice. We were lined up on stools, lost in their malteds: the fullback, the quarterback and the halfback. We chatted about the music playing on the juke box in Red Knapp’s Dairy Bar, strictly oldies, most of them well-known to the visitors. </p>
<p>Some of the tunes prompted we out-of-towners to recall stories from bygone days in the music business, along with strange-sounding names like Bert Berns and Morris Levy, who were likely unfamiliar in Rochester, echoing along the counter. </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/145f9e2acfe718c442d8429f393abf6990441f33/original/memories-1-65.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_right border_" />A mother with her two small children sat across from us and paid us no mind. When she collected her kids and walked over to the cash register to pay her bill. I asked if she would mind taking our picture. “Over there?” she asked, pointing to an open area, and I said “No, right here, from behind us is fine.” So we got a great shot of our backs as we downed Red’s specialties, and I posted a good review on Yelp that night. </p>
<p>There was a sign on the wall that said “Have your wedding party at Red’s,” so I asked, “How much does it cost to have a wedding here?” A young employee in a soda jerk cap replied, “I don’t know, nobody ever asked before.” </p>
<p><br>When we returned to our hotel, we had apparently remained seated at that counter so long that our waiting security personnel were becoming concerned that we might have been kidnapped or, in this case, Redknapped.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6270940
2020-04-03T13:32:04-07:00
2021-04-21T10:02:04-07:00
Fear of the Marketplace
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/97f565781b9ae5b033a46e76dd4eac508847dcb6/original/images.jpeg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpeg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />I saw something online the other day that reminded me of a song we recorded in 1981. Funny how that happens. Someone was posting about being afraid to go to the grocery during these pandemic times, and I thought back to Neil’s song <a contents="“Fear of the Marketplace.”" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wbG3kMV4lUM" target="_blank">“Fear of the Marketplace.”</a> </p>
<p>I went back and listened to it, which you can do if you use the link above, and found that while it’s tough to relate the lyrics to the current situation, it’s a better track than I remembered. </p>
<p>The song was not a single, and not even especially popular with the band, probably because Neil became slightly obsessed with it, starting rehearsals every day by playing the intro figure on his guitar, which inevitably led us into playing it more times than many would have expected or preferred. But that was then, and listening to it these days takes me back to some wonderful times, when we were new and successful and living the dream. And I thought of the title every time we played in Munich, where I referred to it as “Fear of the Marienplatz.” </p>
<p>Another cut on the album that brings a powerful memory was one called<a contents=" “The Drifter." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F9W4OdEpkwU" target="_blank"> “The Drifter.</a>” We were recording at Neil’s studio, Arch Angel, and we ordered out dinner from a nearby Hamburger Hamlet. I had mentioned that I liked their dessert called the Ultimate Hot Fudge Layer Cake, served with three scoops of Häagen Dazs ice cream, salted peanuts and freshly whipped cream. This was a dessert intended to be shared by two, but Neil didn’t know that, so he ordered one for each of us. It was absolutely certain overload, but our band of mighty eaters was up to the task, and after dinner we were semi-comatose. At that point, Neil cleverly brought out “The Drifter” for us to record. The tempo was intended to be slow, but our dessert experience slowed us down to the point that the tempo of the actual record reached nearly zero beats per second. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/5915f07ecd1d7f65b4697827c87400feef92841b/original/hamburger-hamlets-ultimate-hot-fudge-layer-cake.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" /></p>
<p>We played the song live a few times in our shows, but we could never arrive at the tempo of the record if we were fully conscious. </p>
<p>The title of the album we were working on was “On the Way to the Sky,” and I’m happy to say that it turned out to be a platinum record, and I won’t sneeze at that, even if I’m wearing a face mask.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6268404
2020-04-01T09:38:16-07:00
2020-04-11T13:57:20-07:00
I Am Not Woman
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/60330a249ef252b3ad2729054818eb6376b51eac/original/memories-1-51.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I’ve bragged before that my very first touring gig was accompanying, among others, Buster Keaton. But I haven’t often mentioned that my first touring gig after arriving in LA in 1970 was as musical director for a promising young singer named Helen Reddy. </p>
<p>It was the beginning of Helen’s American career. She had come from rugged Australian performing stock, and was fully prepared. We were were doing low-budget touring, to say the least. At the start, Helen, her manager/husband Jeff Wald and I would fly to a destination somewhere, rent a car, toss our stuff in the trunk, and drive to the gig. </p>
<p>One early date was a show in Charlotte, North Carolina, for an auto race weekend. They do that kind of thing in North Carolina. Our work was to begin with an appearance the night before the race. When we arrived at the venue, we discovered that we were to perform at a cocktail party in a hotel ballroom, where the audience would be standing holding their drinks while Helen sang. It pretty much guaranteed a standing ovation, but it still wasn't a promising start.</p>
<p>If Jeff was unhappy about the setting, his annoyance peaked when he learned that Helen was expected to kiss the winner of the race. </p>
<p>I don’t remember how that issue was resolved, although I don’t remember any grease-spattered smooching, so I’ll just move along a bit, Later, the gigs gradually grew a bit silkier, to the point that I was tasked with putting together a touring band. I started with a new-in-town friend Michael Berkowitz, a drummer I knew from Indianapolis, and guitarist Mike Warren, who later went on to do some great gigs with Donna Summer, before seemingly vanishing from the face of the earth. Mike, where are you?</p>
<p>Helen’s recording career had taken off somewhat with her first hit, “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” a cover of a ballad from Jesus Christ Superstar. We did a bunch of recording, sometimes with me as a designated producer; including a couple of early version of “I Am Woman,” although my unerring commercial taste suggested to me that another song, “Don’t You Mess With a Woman,” might have more commercial potential. </p>
<p>When I first met Helen, she and Jeff were living on Mulholland Drive, and I drove over to their house to rehearse. Helen made panut butter sandwiches. I later wrote for a tribute to Helen at the London Palladium, that I would always be thankful to her for introducing me to Laura Scudder nutty peanut butter. it was clear that she saw her career as more akin to that of Joni Mitchell—an earnest singer/songwriter, in touch with her roots. I didn’t realize she was going to be a big star until, after a showdown, Jeff convinced her to shave under her arms to cinch the deal for her first NBC TV show. </p>
<p>We recorded in Dallas while doing a gig there, in April of 1972. We played the Venetian Room for two weeks, and during that stay, I had occasion to visit the lobby gift shop several times, and was waited on by a young, rather cute girl who flirted with me, in a Texas kind of way, meaning not at all. She somehow convinced me it would be cool to buy a battery-powered toy locomotive. It made a choo-choo sound, its bell rang, and it wandered around until it hit something, which caused to change directions and wander on.. So I bought it, and one night at about 3 a.m., I sent my little train down the hallway of the floor our Muzoids were occupying. At that hour, its sounds seemed much louder, and it seemed to bump into every doorway in the hall. I enjoyed the hell out of it, the others perhaps not so much. </p>
<p>When we played Dallas a couple of years ago with Neil, we stayed at the Fairmont, and I wondered if I might be found out as the choo-choo menace, but it didn’t happen, so I went down to have a look at the Venetian Room. I was surprised to find it looking surprisingly intact, at least as much so as me. </p>
<p>While revisiting the Fairmont, I had nice chat with Tony Bennett. Not the one who famously warbled with Lady Gaga. And not the one who appeared in the Fairmont’s Venetian Room almost a half-century ago. </p>
<p>This Tony Bennett was silver-haired and dark-skinned, and greeted guests when they arrived at the Fairmont. He’d only been at his post for 10 years or so, but before that, he worked at the Adolphus, which was at one time the top hotel in Dallas. “The big bands all played there,” he told me, “Cab Calloway, Basie. We had Sinatra, Tony Bennett...” Wait a minute. I asked if he had met the other Tony Bennett. “Oh yes, I did. He told me his real name was Antonio Benedetto, so I told him he should pay a little royalty to the REAL Tony Bennett for using my name.” </p>
<p>But I digress, I mean, SERIOUSLY, digress. </p>
<p>The reason I started talking about Helen Reddy here is that, as I posted yesterday, the producers of “I Am Woman,” a biopic about Helen’s life, have signed deals which will result in the film being distributed worldwide. I had a look when it opened at the Toronto International Film Festival a few months ago.</p>
<p>I checked it out, and I do NOT appear as a character in the movie, and I suppose we can all be thankful for that. </p>
<p>Still, with the passage of time, I have to admit I’ve come to have a sanguine feeling about the years working with her, and with Jeff, who was so transparent in his behavior, and so forthcoming in his description of his actions, that I could overlook the rough edges that often made him an object of scorn. </p>
<p>My favorite quote from Jeff Wald, which I’m paraphrasing, went something like this: </p>
<p><em>“I can get a record played on the radio, I can get it seen on television, I can get articles in every magazine, I can get it into every newspaper—but sooner or later, someone, somewhere, actually has to BUY a copy."</em></p>
<p>Helen has health issues these days, and we haven't spoken in many years, but with the inevitable press that will accompany the film, I'm sure I will relive some moments, and in the current situation, reliving is almost as good as living.</p>
<p><a contents="Here's the story about the film." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/helen-reddy-biopic-i-am-woman-sells-aqute-media-us-1287630" target="_blank">Here's the story about the film.</a></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6265863
2020-03-29T16:49:16-07:00
2021-04-19T02:23:55-07:00
I Think We're Secure Now
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f68905f39ab6183b94fce2831b6221c3e79c4a70/original/memories-1-49.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />We predictably miss so many things from our touring life, but one which might surprise you is that we miss our security crew. Not the local people, but the ones who traveled with us and recognizably big fellas from Wisconsin, who always had a stubborn streak of niceness which you might not expect due to their intimidating size. </p>
<p>The three Gorlewski brothers were a vital part of our army, and many fans became familiar with them, because in addition to keeping the peace backstage, they did much to help everybody on the tour have a good experience, including the audience. </p>
<p>One vital function they performed was wrangling our fluff ’n’ fold service, which ensured that the band had always had clean offstage clothes to wear, most of the time. They made it happen like clockwork, except for that one time when King Errisson and publicist Sherrie Levy’s underwear got switched; or perhaps the time that everybody’s laundry came back to the hotel in one enormous pile of indistinguishable knickers</p>
<p>Tom, Dave, and John Gorlewski appear in this little comic strip from the PBI around 2008. They didn’t mind being made fun of, as far as I can tell. If not, it’s never to late to beat me up.. </p>
<p>Tom, Dave, and John Gorlewski appear in this little comic strip from the PBI around 2008. They didn’t mind being made fun of, as far as I can tell. If not, it’s never too late for them to beat me up.</p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f68905f39ab6183b94fce2831b6221c3e79c4a70/original/memories-1-49.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6265174
2020-03-28T14:47:48-07:00
2020-03-28T14:53:37-07:00
Put a Cork in it...
<p>Good ole Cork! See video below right at the end. </p>
<p>I remember on one of our post-tour vacation jaunts around Ireland, Sarah and I stayed at a lovely hotel in Cork called <em>Ballymaloe</em>, just so we could have an extra few meals at their incredible restaurant. </p>
<p>Later, I found myself dining backstage with Michael Palin, the brilliant Monty Python member, and I mentioned our stay at Ballymaloe. He pulled up his chair and said, “We have to TALK. That is my favorite restaurant in the whole world.” </p>
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/865caf90f77339d73087410737c13c59a295bb5f/original/memories-1-45.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_l justify_left border_" />I also got a photo, above, of Mr. Palin reading a print copy of the PBI, just to prove it happened.</p>
<p><a contents="And THIS happened. In Cork, Much more recently." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://twitter.com/i/web/status/1243878002259374085" target="_blank">And THIS happened. In Cork, Much more recently.</a></p>
<p>https://twitter.com/i/web/status/1243878002259374085</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6263054
2020-03-26T16:13:44-07:00
2020-03-26T16:20:26-07:00
And Then I Wrote....
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/08aa6c5bd8f5229b8f8d4f9d1dafadb830cafccf/original/qrud-logo2.png/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.png" class="size_s justify_left border_" />I really enjoy seeing comments about my little blog entries. Somebody mentioned the other day that they didn’t know I was a writer. While some might argue, I would point out that I’ve been a writer for a long time. </p>
<p>At my high school, in Bloomington, Indiana, the student newspaper was called The Univee Quad. I occasionally wrote a record review, but mainly devoted my efforts to what would later be called an underground newspaper, which I called the Univee Qrud (logo, left). It was mimeographed and contained lots of parodies of what the Quad took seriously. I got a few issues out and despite this, I eventually graduated. </p>
<p>In college, at Indiana University, there was a humor magazine called the Crimson Bull. Just before I started at IU, the Crimson Bull editor, a fellow named Clint Major. was fired for including too much dirty content. Mr. Major then started an underground humor magazine called The Renegade. I became the editor of, and published a few issues of the Renegade, and despite this, I eventually graduated. </p>
<p><em>Footnote: When I went to a high school class reunion in the 1980s, I put out a 30-year anniversary issue of the Qrud, which drew acclaim from just a few people (my graduating class was around 90 people strong). It included a revised version of the school fight song (University School closed in 1977, so the new song was called “Alma Mater Mortis.” As I write this, I’m thinking I should make a video for Alma Mater Mortis, so don’t be surprised it it happens. </em></p>
<p>In California, I began writing some pieces for the Los Angeles Times, back in its glory years, when real writers were on staff there. I contributed to a jokey section called Laugh Lines, and the editor of Laugh Lines was a guy name Charlie Waters, and it was my first experience with having my writing edited. Every time Charlie suggested a change, I noticed it made the final product better. </p>
<p>Of course, Charlie left the Times when their infernal cost-cutting schemes took hold, and he turned up in Fresno, as the editor of the Bee, my favorite newspaper named after an insect. Charlie and I played golf during my visit on out 2005 tour, and he and his boss came to our show. More about that below. </p>
<p>My longest-lasting publishing folly began in 1986. It was an on-tour newsletter called The Arch Angel Post-Bugle Intelligencer, known to its friends as the PBI. It came out on every showday, at first hot off a copy machine, later as an emailed PDF file, until we knocked off at the end of 2017. The PBI’s swan song was a thick issue with many pages of contributions from those who had passed Through Diamondville over the years. </p>
<p>My favorite item from the final issue was a contribution from the pianist in Neil’s earliest band, whose prior gig had been with Country Joe and the Fish. I asked him was it was like to go from Country Joe to City Neil, and he said the first difference he noticed was that the women in Neil’s audiences were wearing bras. </p>
<p>The archives from the PBI are a rich source of tour history which I dig into often, especially when compiling my blog. I dug into it just now, and checked up on Charlie Waters, who passed away a few years ago. I found this item, from Las Vegas, where Charlie lived out his last years. </p>
<p><strong><em>I am writing to you to see if your fine publication can help me. Some years ago -- probably 2005 or 2006 -- my former boss and I had the pleasure of enjoying an afternoon of golf and lunch in Fresno with two musicians in Neil Diamond's band. I remember that one guy's name was King and I think the other's was Tom. We later took our wives to the concert and afterwards met them and Catgut girl Catherine back stage. All in all, it was a wonderful day. <br>I see in my Las Vegas newspaper that Neil Diamond is playing the MGM Grand in Las Vegas this Saturday evening. And since your outstanding journal has received international acclaim for its insightful, trenchant, behind-the-scenes coverage of Neil Diamond tours, I am hoping you can find the answer to a question that has nagged both me and my ex-boss since we played golf that day with King and Tom. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>Our question is this: Was that day in Fresno the first time Tom had ever played golf ? </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>I look forward to your answer in the next issue of PBI. I have $50 riding on the answer. </em></strong></p>
<p><strong><em>Charlie Waters </em></strong></p>
<p>I replied:</p>
<p><em>I get that question every time I play. For the last fifteen years I’ve been asked that question. The answer, then and now, is: “Not necessarily. You probably got that idea from the fact that when we played, I spent more time in the bunker than Eva Braun.” </em></p>
<p>Okay, that’s enough for today. Back to my quarantine party.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6261705
2020-03-25T13:12:50-07:00
2020-04-11T13:58:52-07:00
We Sold Out the Forum then, Ballmer Sold it Now
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/66a2ae459a9bfb18d136d5617e929c053be3153c/original/memories-1-44.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_left border_" />We're in our merry little quarantine zone now, and I figure that’s not too interesting for anyone to read about, and that’s why I’ve been busy working on my Diamondville Chronicles—my past is far more fun to read about than my present. </p>
<p>I’ve gone from being the “guy who plays piano for Neil Diamond” to being “the guy who used to play piano for Neil Diamond,” to the current “the guy who stays home because he’s in the endangered age group.” </p>
<p>The big news yesterday, other than the other big news yesterday, was the $400 million splurge the LA Clippers took to purchase the Forum, a spot which we frequented (is 35 shows frequently enough?) over the years, most recently in August of 2017, and where we achieved a fair share of glory. </p>
<p>So now I’m inspired to venture back into the last century, to a little year I like to call 1992. We were playing at the Forum, then known as the Fabulous Forum, and lodging at the J.W. Marriott hotel in Century City, even those of us who live in LA. Each afternoon, we would all ride a tour bus from the hotel to the Forum. It was an unusual way for many of us to see our town, especially for locals. This was how I described it in the PBI at the time, 29 years ago: </p>
<p><strong>Commuters with Computers </strong></p>
<p><em>The drive from the J. Fred “Muggs” Marriott Hotel to the Great Western Omelet and Forum each day has turned into a quasi-commute for our Diamondville Touroid Trolley riders. </em></p>
<p><em>Having seen “Grand Canyon,” some expressed concern lest our land shark malfunction and strand us on the streets of Inglewood. They can rest easy, since the mayor here has sent out a letter to the media stating that the streets of his city are safe and that the movie was a load of crap. Our driver carries a copy of that letter at all times, so we are assured of no problems. With those fears allayed, we were able to sit back and be regular commuters, growing familiar with some of the landmarks which—during a shorter run in an unfamiliar city—would be commented upon in a smart ass manner and forgotten, such as: </em></p>
<p><em><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/c23b4cb651bca195f303032cf541e71c72bee891/original/joan-crawford.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_right border_" />•The Joan Crawford Day-Care Center. What’s the dang deal here? Is it a joke? Do they allow wire hangers? The PBI, in its eternal quest for knowledge, decided to call the Center during our day off. We learned that there is an actual Joan Crawford who runs the place. She sounded terribly nice, and she assured us: “I’m alive and in living color.” She asked us to toot the horn as we go by, so we’ll ask the driver to do so tomorrow. </em></p>
<p><em>•That big hospital on Prairie Avenue. Touroids are asking: how does it feel to wake up in one of those rooms overlooking the cemetary? We didn’t call, but think we can safely say that it’s better than NOT waking up! </em></p>
<p><em>•The automobile wax museum at Washington and National. Old Thunderbirds, Edsels, Corvairs and other collectors’ items, sitting out in the open air. Pick up a souvenir?Why aren’t there any Fieros there? </em></p>
<p><em>•Angel-ettes of California. Here’s a great opportunity for the graffiti-prone. Perhaps if Arch was simply to prefix his name to their sign, we could all feel more at home. </em></p>
<p><em>•Dreamgirl. What is this place and what are they up to? One theory: it’s where they make those inflatable sheep that Doc Johnson sells to the world. </em></p>
<p><em>•Sadly missed: the Holy Moses hamburger joint seems to be terribly defunct. Maybe if we had stopped there a few times, it would be thriving.</em></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6259421
2020-03-23T13:49:59-07:00
2020-06-15T16:56:25-07:00
The Costumer is Always Right
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/eeba19ffd3ed48d18019f7b61b90fb93b1c05ec8/original/memories-1-43.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />Over the years, I wore a lot of bizarre outfits on stage. I kind of became known for them, to the extent that I was known. One reason for this was Neil's costume designer, a gentleman named Bill Whitten, who did all our stage clothes for at least 30 years. A magazine called The Costume Rag recently published an article about Bill’s career, and it’s great to see them making a fuss over Bill, who worked in relative obscurity all his life, even as he designed garments that were spectacularly influential, for savvy clients including Michael Jackson, Bob Dylan, and our vocalist, who was one of his first big-time supporters. <a contents="You can read all about his work here" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://thecostumerag.com/bill-whitten-the-forgotten-story-of-glam/" target="_blank">You can read all about his work here</a>. </p>
<p>Bill liked clothes that were wild and wacky for me, as he liked to say, and he felt that my personality was suited to them, since I tended to dress the same way in real life. </p>
<p>I remember when we played <em>Palais des Sportes</em> in Paris for the first time, in 1977, there was an after-party for us at Maxim’s, a big meet-and-greet with lots of people of note in attendance. Our then-publicist, the late Paul Wasserman, walked up to me just as someone was complimenting me on my outfit, and in his cynical, grumpy way, said of me: “He just does that to get attention.” Another guest who happened to be standing nearby, a writer for Women’s Wear Daily, immediately said to us “THAT is the purpose of ALL fashion.” Take that, Mr. Wasserman. </p>
<p>Bill came up with a lot of fun ways for me to look silly. One of my favorites was a suit I wore when we did the Today show in 2002. We were playing outdoors, in the Rockefeller Center plaza. During the show, the NBC weatherman, Al Roker, came out to do his thing. This was in his chubby days. and mine as well. When he saw my suit, he insisted that I stand next to while he did the weather. Now, I’m not a piano, but I play one on TV. Frequently, let me add. I’m also used to what happens most of the time: I’m put in a rear corner of the set, and kept out of the picture during most of our spot. I’m used to that, I’m cool with it. </p>
<p>What I learned on that April day in 2002 is that if you stand next to the Today Show’s weather report, EVERYBODY sees you. After the show, I had calls from relatives and friends that I had never even met. It was quite memorable for me. But apparently not for Al. When we next time we played the Today Show, a few years later, I mentioned the incident to Al. He didn’t remember it. </p>
<p>When Bill Whitten died in 2006, Sarah and I were at his memorial at Forest Lawn, and heard actress Cicely Tyson say, “Whenever I had an awards show to do, I would call Bill and he would do something perfect.” </p>
<p>I have a closet full of garments Bill designed for me. They were perfect, and I treasure them.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6258507
2020-03-22T15:34:35-07:00
2020-12-29T01:23:21-08:00
Welcome Home
<p>My fellow musicians and other tour personnel are used to the give-and-take of the travling life, and this must seem to them to be not unlike a normal break from the tour. A few years ago, I constructed this note for them to put next to their bed, to make it seem like the more normal tourstop situation.<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/032c5544950c0a5ca797975229c909ab869404e4/original/home-notice.jpg/!!/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6257660
2020-03-21T14:07:57-07:00
2020-03-23T05:49:18-07:00
Joy in a Time of Woe
<p><span class="font_regular"><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/80d7b6068fd1d39bd05283add1dbe65a9fb1693d/original/memories-1-7.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />We played Madison Square Garden on 10/11/01, just a month after the attack. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">We flew in from Chicago on the 10th, and I set out to visit an exhibition of Fluxus movement works at Art in General (79 Walker Street, near Canal and Lafayette). As it turned out, Canal St. was the demarcation point for the area of lower Manhattan which was still closed to vehicle traffic, so I found myself passing a military-style barricade into an area where there were almost no cars on the street. It couldn’t have been Mr. Happy Feet, so it must have been Mr. Unhappy Feet who led me to walk past City Hall (closed off, white house-style), and the courts buildings, and other places I’d never visited before. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It was clear that this was to be a day of milling and mulling rather than malling and mealing, so I toughed it out despite the still-acrid smell which seemed to come from every direction. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">At the Jacob Javits Federal Building, an immense line-up began at the front door and continued to the street and as far as I could see around the corner. It was a queue for the Immigration and Naturalization Service. Nearby, a large crowd had gathered on the street. It turned out that a building had been evacuated for unknown reasons, which its workers seemed to regard as a typical day at the office. They chatted with one another and made calls on their mobile phones and waited to be told to return to work. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Soon I began to encounter a lot of citizens wearing face masks, which made the scratchiness in our throat burn a little more. Fortunately, there was a Starbucks nearby, so we figured a cup o’ Joe would help. I walked in and asked for a grande nonfat latte and the barista said loudly, “I WANT TO GO HOME.” I told him that I’d be happy to write a note for him if it would help and he replied, “Do you think it would?” </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Outside, I viewed a command post and staging area and lots more military folks on duty. Several police cars raced by with lights and sirens on full. Then I noticed a bomb squad truck with the door open, so I thought it was about time to skedaddle. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I still hadn’t really seen anything major to write about, mainly because I didn’t know exactly where the World Trade Center used to be. How do you find a landmark when the landmark you use to find things is gone? </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I walked on rather aimlessly back to Canal Street, which is always a carnival of pushcart merchants, and was so again today. Of course there were America-themed garments aplenty, but in surprisingly good taste. There were no “My parents visited the site of an unprecedented tragedy and all I got was this lousy T-shirt”-type souvenirs available, thankfully. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I continued into Little Italy, viewed the ruins of the Grotta Azzurra, the now-abandoned site of several happy tour dinners, and continued past the firehouse of Engine Co. 55. Outside was a massive display of flower, candles and other offerings from the neighborhood to a station where many were lost. On the outside wall was a poster for the Fireman’s Ball that very evening. If our show wouldn’t be emotional enough for you, I thought, perhaps you should head over there and try to maintain that cynical and ironic demeanor. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I had emerged from the combat zone sufficiently that when I smelled something burning, it turned out to be the food on a street vendor’s cart. I was now in Soho, which seemed about as normal as usual, i.e. not very. Still, one storefront on Prince Street was jammed, with a line extending out into the street, so I had to investigate. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">It turned out to be a place called <em>Here Is New York</em>, offering “images from the frontline of history: a democracy of photographs.” Inside were photos taken by residents of the area, amateur and professional, some of them so gripping that the viewers could only stare transfixed. Along one wall was a bank of IMacs, and one could purchase copies of any of the images, which were printed on the spot using several high-end printers. All pictures were the same price ($25) and all proceeds went to the Children’s Aid Society 911 Fund. If you want to know more, visit their website: <a contents="www.hereisnewyork.org." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="http://www.hereisnewyork.org" target="_blank">www.hereisnewyork.org.</a> The site is still up now, if you wondered.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">After this final catharsis, I was ready to poke around in the shops and have lunch. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">The next day was our showday, and it was an emotional roller-coaster, but ultimately a joyous experience, with an especially intense audience reaction. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">A few days later, I got an email from a woman who said she had attended the show with her husband. It was his first night out after weeks of working every day at ground zero, and she said it was the first time she’d see him smile in a month. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Her description of the joy our show had brought them made me reconsider my concept of our occupation, its importance, and what it meant to people. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Musicians become so involved in the nuts and bolts of what is expected from them that they can become blind to the emotions of those who attend performances. This was a wake-up call for me, one which has endured since. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">I can’t find the email she sent—it's in my hopelessly scattershot email archive, but if I could, I would send her a lengthy thank you note. I hope she and her husband are thriving in the midst of our latest tragedy. </span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">And I wish the same for all of our audience members over the last 40 years, who helped all of us, on stage and off, to enjoy our own experience in a deeper way.</span></p>
<p><span class="font_regular">Unfortunately, we're no longer out there to send out cheer-up vibes, so you'll have to find your own way to deal with the current situation. I would suggest that we acquire a competent leader, </span></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6255234
2020-03-19T13:29:34-07:00
2020-03-21T18:54:48-07:00
Time to Read a Book
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/27d15e0e1c225bd7c137ffdf1dc2a424615b400f/original/tattered-cover-interior.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />In today’s LA Times we read that Powell’s Books in Portland has had to close all its locations and lay off its employees due to the effects of the Trumpvirus which is destroying everything everywhere. </p>
<p>When I read about Powell’s, I recalled an incident that had occurred when we played Portland during our 2015 tour. Or so I thought.</p>
<p>When I jumped into my archives, I found that I my less-agile-than-previously brain had gotten it all wrong. It was 2015 all right, but it happened in Denver, not Portland. And it wasn’t Powell’s Books at all, it was the Tattered Cover. The Tattered Cover is another distinguished bookstore, one which is also forced to become an online vendor for the nonce, and could probably use a little mention here. </p>
<p>And since the story was pretty good, I’ll decided to tell it anyway, even though the reason for telling it is no longer valid. </p>
<p>While I was looking around in an aisle of the Tattered Cover, a woman on an adjoining aisle was attempting to return a book she had been browsing to its proper place on a shelf. In the process of doing that, she somehow pushed the book into place in s way that created a domino effect, resulting in a lot of books tumbling, in a minor literary avalanche, into the aisle where I was standing. As it fell, one book hit me on its way down, not painfully but certainly noticeably. As I picked up the book up to return it to its former location. I noticed that its title was <strong>Assholes</strong>. This triggered enough curiosity for me to warrant further examination. </p>
<p>Assholes turned out to be a philosophy book by Mr. Aaron James, one which deals with exactly what you might think: it’s about what causes certain people to become the way they turn out to be, and how the rest of us can deal with them, when we have to. </p>
<p>I wondered if my being bonked by such a book was some kind of omen, sending me a message. I decided I should buy that book. </p>
<p>Being a Hollywood kind of guy, my way of considering a book purchase is first to open the back cover and turn to the index, to see whether my name is mentioned. Surprisingly, it wasn’t. But Assholes turned out to be quite a great read. There was a particularly fascinating chapter about Kanye West, as you might expect. His chapter included the following: </p>
<p><em>It is instructive to compare West to asshole artists such as Pablo Picasso or Ernest Hemingway or Miles Davis. None were mistaken about their greatness. All were wrong about what their greatness entitled them to by way of special treatment from others. </em></p>
<p>In a footnote, he adds,<em> A particularly stark example is Buddy Rich, whose greatness as a drummer is nearly matched by his rudeness, justified in the name of his own artistic perfection. Observe his rancid eloquence in addressing those not quite up to snuff <a contents="here" data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=omID1prJHFo" target="_blank">here</a>. </em>(This is a link to the famous bus tape of Mr. Rich, and if you haven’t heard it, you should give it a listen.) </p>
<p>Assholes’ final chapter is titled <strong>Letter to an asshole</strong>, and is written "in the spirit of Horace's epistles." Hopefully, studying the rest of the book enabled me to be a bit less of an asshole by the time we moved on to Germany, a land which has a history of producing a few assholes of its own. </p>
<p>If you decide seek out the book under discussion—online, of course, since both Tattered Cover and Powell’s (and many other book vendors) are strictly online right now—make sure to read the chapter about Phil Spector, a gentleman I worked for now and then, and stories about whom I’ve dined on for many years since. </p>
<p>Sadly, dining on old stories is not such a fruitful endeavor at the moment, so I’m telling them to you instead. Hey, are you going to finish those fries?</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6249686
2020-03-14T17:55:47-07:00
2020-03-14T17:55:47-07:00
Sitting In and Around
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/b36b8969a094d32d805168f215b086d9a1f98d14/original/memories-1-38.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" />I always enjoyed playing Indianapolis on tour. I could walk around the arena pre-show and chat with people in the audience, some of whom remembered me from the years we lived there, or from high school or college, or the years when I was on television every day on the Jim Gerard Show, or from when I had the house band at the Embers night club, or one of the jazz clubs around town. Plus, all the relatives. Lots of relatives. </p>
<p>It was also a joy to hear some of the up-and-coming young players who are carrying on the wonderful Indiana jazz tradition. </p>
<p>In this photo, I was at one of my favorite night spots, the Chatterbox, on Massachusetts Avenue, where I was privileged to sit in for a couple of tunes with saxophonist Sophie Faught. </p>
<p>The rise of fine female jazz musicians is the best thing that’s happened in my time. I mean, sure it was fun hanging out with all those guys back in the day, but the women take it to really interesting places now. </p>
<p>I was having too much fun on my Indy night off to take reliable notes, but I believe Sophie’s bandmates in the picture are Ben Lumsdaine and Nick Tucker. It was a great group to hear and a treat to play with them.</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6238674
2020-03-05T13:36:21-08:00
2020-03-19T18:26:27-07:00
Ain't we lucky?
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/d6df656c77151bce11f8f9b9ea75afbccabe9c2c/original/memories-1-37.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsInNtYWxsIl1d.jpg" class="size_s justify_left border_" />It’s usually not easy to be sure whether it’s good luck or bad luck. You often have to wait around to find out. </p>
<p>Right now, it’s starting to appear that the end to our touring career couldn’t have come along at a better time. </p>
<p>If there had been a 2020 tour, we could have had to cancel any trip to the UK because Brexit has ruined travel between countries with a deluge of visas and formalities. </p>
<p>Travel is much less safe now, because the president’s obsession with cutting regulations has made much of American travel far less safe. Of course, he’s made staying home less safe, too, by cutting back protections of the food we eat, among other things. And the weather is being nasty as usual.</p>
<p>And, of course, there’s the possibility of having our shows cancelled by pandemic concerns, as seems to be happening around the concert industry now. It's not going to be an easy year for showfolk.</p>
<p>So now we find ourselves sitting at home, rather than in a hotel; and not planning to fly in a plane anytime soon. And not expecting to spend any time in an arena with 15-20,000 people coughing and spitting in our direction.</p>
<p>Of course, we're sorry to miss getting to see all the fine folks who came out to see us over the years, and hopefully would do so again, but we all may be better off for the moment.l</p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6168760
2020-01-24T10:39:32-08:00
2020-04-11T14:00:47-07:00
To the Birthday Boy...
<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/f4fca7e0e53357f16eac7d77e94cac6ffb6c36f8/original/memories-1-6.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /><span class="font_regular">To the Birthday Boy...</span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Have a room service meal </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Win a hand that you deal </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Just remember your lyrics </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">Happy birthday to Neil </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="font_large">Have a nice plate of fish </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">or a dog and a knish </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">just remember your lyrics </span></p>
<p><span class="font_large">and you can have what you wish </span></p>
<p><span class="font_small">From the PBI </span></p>
<p><span class="font_small">Tuesday, January 24, 1989 </span></p>
<p><span class="font_small">Volume 14, Number 4</span></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6038654
2019-12-21T18:29:02-08:00
2019-12-22T16:41:29-08:00
Have Yourself...
<p>In 1994, we recorded a second Christmas album with Neil, and I'm sharing this cut here because it's one that I really enjoyed doing. Usually on Neil's albums, the producer chose an arranger, but sometimes the job fell to a band member. I always felt those cuts were kind of special, since those of us in the band took a more personal interest in the result than the off-the-rack arranger-around-town. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/74b75b69fbf9b34723cf5fa3355fd4bafa3c7173/original/lndchristmas2.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsIm1lZGl1bSJdXQ==.jpg" class="size_m justify_left border_" /></p>
<p>When it was in in-house job, the arranging gig fell to Alan Lindgren, for several reasons: He played orchestral parts in our performances, he's really good, and much faster than the other guy (me).</p>
<p>But this song is one for which I wrote the arrangement, and when I listen to it I'm surprised that it is mine. I haven't done a ton of arranging over the years, for several reasons: I play piano parts in our performances, I'm not all that great, and I'm much slower than the other guy (Alan).</p>
<p>But this is one I actually did, and I'm rather proud of it, especially because it's in a style that I haven't done much since I left Indiana and was cautioned not to appear too jazzified in the rock 'n' roll world.</p>
<p>In this day and age, liner notes are kind of a rarity. so I'm making up for it by owning it up and telling you about it. You can probably identify my favorite arrangers by hearing my borrowed tropes. Here it is, just as we did it.</p>
<p><a contents="Have a listen for yourself..." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVN2b3ficng" target="_blank">Have a listen for yourself...</a></p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/6013932
2019-12-13T16:30:26-08:00
2019-12-16T03:12:23-08:00
HBO Flashback
<p>In 1992 we had a Christmas album out, and did an HBO special to promote it. An in order to promote the HBO special, we made a cute little video, which appears below. Despite what our leader tells you, you will not be able to find us on HBO anytime soon. Sorry about that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><iframe class="justify_inline" data-video-type="vimeo" data-video-id="379372888" data-video-thumb-url="https://i.vimeocdn.com/video/839414517_295x166.jpg" type="text/html" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/379372888" frameborder="0" height="360" width="640"></iframe></p>
Tom Hensley
tag:hensleyfarms.com,2005:Post/5977907
2019-11-26T09:47:00-08:00
2019-11-26T09:47:00-08:00
Thanksgiving With the Tribe, 2009
<p>Ten years ago, we spent our Thanksgiving at the Mohegan Sun Casino, an atypically handsome joint in the woods in Connecticut. I'm not especially fond of casinos, but I had to admit this one was a rather lovely place to be—if you could dodge the (supposedly forbidden) cigarette smoke and the unbeautiful noise of the gambling machines. On T-day itself, we had a tasty and substantial dinner catered for us in a banquet room somewhere in the catacombs of the complex. In the next issue of the PBI, I documented the occasion with a tribute to folks who were housing us there. <img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/285648/aa08b459b9db2a59d23aefc9912041004c57148e/original/memories-1-4.jpg/!!/undefined/b:W1sic2l6ZSIsImxhcmdlIl1d.jpg" class="size_xl justify_center border_" /></p>
<p> </p>
Tom Hensley