What's Wrong With Steve?

Steve,

If you were to advertise urgently for a replacement bassist, what would a man of such knowledge and education as yourself write in the ad? What can I put there that will attract bags of bassists? Just wondered how Mr. G would go about this dilemma.

Thanks for any help!

Andy

Andy

There is no stranger breed of musician than the bassist.  I know a few great bassists, and without exception my admiration and respect for their musicality goes hand in hand with my bewilderment at the idiosyncratic and profoundly eccentric nature of each of these talented individual’s lives.  Bassists, unlike other types of musicians, share very few common traits.  They are all nuts in their own, unique way.  (In contrast, a study of lead singers would offer a Venn Diagram indistinguishable from a paint spill.)

There are, however, two worms for your hook that even the most non-conformist, ruggedly individualistic, “I gotta be me” bassists will notice.

Try this:

BASSIST needed for BASS HEAVY band

Sacks of CASH upon hiring

Run that ad, and your bass cup will soon runneth over.

SG

VINTAGE WWWS

Steve,

What do you and the guys do with all that time while traveling on the tour bus?  Is it one big prison of smoke?  Or do you guys just go stark raving mad?  I’d be like “stop the bus and run down the highway nude caulking like a chicken singing Nick Nack Paddy Wack”  until that great white Paddy wagon come to take me away.

Have you gotten to that point of insanity yet?

Too much time on my hands,

G. A. Thompson

G.A.

Time on the bus is time well spent, I can assure you.

I pass the first few hours of each trip in constant satellite communication with brokers from all around the globe.  We analyze each and every one of the world’s markets and devise strategies for the next day’s investments.

Once I’m satisfied that Team Gorman is running smoothly and efficiently, I can turn my attention to the band.  The boys look to me as an “old wise man” of sorts, so I give them advice on their many problems and concerns.  After a few hours spent sharing, laughing, crying, and listening (the most important part!) we all lie down for a healthy and healing sleep.

Rare is the night that I don’t drift off without the satisfying knowledge that by helping others, I have helped myself as well.

Of course, other nights I sit by myself and just drink beer until I pass out with a lap full of chips and a mouth full of spit.

Whatever.

SG

Steve,

I’ll get right to the question that is on everyone’s minds…is it boxers or briefs?  I’m sorry to cut through the red tape and get so personal, but I’m tired of waiting around for others to ask.

John

John

Thanks so much for your question.

I must give credit to your no-nonsense approach to what I consider no one else’s business.  If not for your blunt attitude regarding my undergarments, I would probably be inclined to duck the issue.  But, no.  You, sir, have prompted me to come clean.

The decision is usually made simply by which style of pant I choose for a particular day, although there are special occasions that require something unique.

For instance, jeans or cords call for something a little more clingy, like a brief.  A smart pair of trousers calls for the freedom that comes with a boxer.

And, on an occasion like a Christmas party, for instance, the aforementioned red tape works just fine.

SG

What’s up Steve,

I am 24 years old. Ever since I was old enough to remember my Mom has had a

crazy theory. She believes that Billy Idol is actually Jim Morrison. Pretty

nuts right? She does have some interesting points, but she also lived

through the 60’s and I think LSD is doing some of the talking. Anyway I

was wondering if you could confirm her theory. Bye the way I saw you guys

last week in St. Louis, absolutely the greatest rock band on earth. Please

come back to St. Louis.

Thanks,

Tim

Tim

Believe it or not, your mother is absolutely right.

In the late 60’s, as the COINTELPRO unit of the FBI was methodically (and illegally) breaking the back of the Black Panthers and many other radical groups,  J. Edgar Hoover saw the need to target rock n’ roll musicians as well.  Their cultural impact and influence on America’s teens was a grave concern to THE MAN, and once The Doors showed up talking about patricide and Oedipal impulses, while wearing leather pants no less, it was decided that enough was enough.

Initially, the Feds toyed with the idea of simply killing the stars they saw as the most threatening, but at some point, Hoover’s boys came upon a far more insidious and devastatingly effective strategy.  They decided to neutralize the messages of these visionaries by simply faking their deaths, blackmailing or buying off the now “deceased” stars, and then putting them back to work, complete with a brand new message and identity, for the US Government.  LBJ initially green-lighted the project – code name Crock Star – late in his presidency, Tricky Dick’s administration enthusiastically embraced and perfected it, and Gerald Ford saw the program through to its conclusion.

So, Jim Morrison is pushing the cultural envelope a little too much?  Nothing a mysterious death in Paris, a lousy English accent, a sneer and some peroxide can’t fix.  Billy Idol (Jim) certainly seemed like a real punk at first, but that image soon gave way to videos and songs that were custom built for the masses to ingest.

If lyrics like

“Come on come on come on come on now touch me babe,

Can’t you see that I am not afraid?”

gave teenagers the wrong ideas about premarital sex, then maybe lyrics like

“Oh, oh, oh dancing with myself

Oh, oh, oh dancing with myself

We’ll there’s nothing to lose

And there’s nothing to prove

And I’m dancing with myself”

would help to keep the number of STDs and teen pregnancies in check.

Amazing, isn’t it?  So simple, and yet so effective.

You’ll also be interested to know that most of the advances in plastic surgery during the so called “Me Decade” were tested and perfected on what the Feds took to calling the “(White) House Band”.

Anyway, the program worked so well that within a decade or so they discontinued it.  In order to ensure long term success, a top secret deal was then cut between Gerald Ford, the Brothers Gibb, and Jeff Lynne to guarantee that rebellion and anarchy would no longer be themes of the pop landscape.

Janis (”take another little piece of my heart now, baby”) Joplin reemerged years later as that (”gonna harden my heart, gonna swallow my tears”) chick from Quarterflash.  It took her a while to figure out how to play the saxaphone, obviously, but Janis was a hard worker and the results spoke for themselves.

Jimi (”Are You Experienced?”) Hendrix was “reborn” as Morris (“What Time is it?”) Day.

The list goes on and on.

None of these “reissued” rock stars were allowed to ascend to their previous artistic or commercial heights of course. They were all given a moment or two in the sun complete with more “lulling” messages, and then ushered off to various levels of obscurity, while the legends of their true identities continued to grow larger with each passing year.

Evil?  Yes.  Impressive?  Absolutely.

Don’t mess with THE MAN.

SG

Hey Steve

It’s Chris from Glasgow, Scotland.  Could you please inform me as to which ride cymbal you are currently using?   I am struggling to find out.

Also, I am the owner of a milk van and kids keep throwing bottles at me when I am delivering.  What should I do?

Cheers,

Chris

Chris

I have been using the same ride for as long as i can remember: a Zildjian 22″ A Custom Ping, and I recommend that you follow suit ASAP.

I am distressed to hear that kids are throwing bottles at your milk truck.  What’s the world coming to?  When I was a kid, the milkman was like a celebrity in our neighborhood.  Nobody messed with that guy.  Ever try eating a bowl of Buc Wheats without milk?  I shudder to think of my childhood suffering even a momentary interruption in milk delivery.

Having spent many a day strolling through your fair city with its narrow, winding streets and tightly packed residential neighborhoods, I suggest you start driving really, really fast.  As in, as fast as that van can go at all times.  What could go wrong?  The milk will be delivered ahead of schedule, you’ll get home earlier every day, and there will be fewer broken bottles in the streets.  Let me know how it goes.

SG

Dear Steve,

When it comes to the ways of love, can you give a fellow musician some guidance?

Where is the balance between wife, kids, and family, and the pursuit of music? I ask specifically when music isn’t your primary source of income!

The best I can come up with is the quote from Del Griffith: “Ive got a saying- like your job, but love your wife.”  Except sometimes I replace “wife”  for “music.”

Thanks (and can’t wait for the new DVD to come out)!

Tightrope in St Louis,

Jason

Jason

“Where’s the balance?”  Simple- it’s leaning hard to the side of your responsibilities as a parent and husband.

Come on down from that tightrope, Wallenda, before you lead your family into a replay of the 1962 Detroit Shrine Circus situation.

SG

Dear Steve,

Ever known a pathological liar & if you have, how have you dealt with them once you’ve discovered they are?

If you haven’t, any advice on how to deal with one? (A friend seems to think the word ‘insane’ is fitting.  Perhaps there is a fine line between the two.)

Thanks for your wisdom in advance.

Peace & Happiness,

Jen

Jen

Pathological liar…insane…tomato.  Whatever you call it, this person’s condition is not something you need in your life.  You didn’t make them a pathological liar, and you can’t stop them from being a pathological liar.

This situation will ultimately conclude with the liar (let’s call him/her PL) out of your life completely.  You should know that up front.

The only choice you need to make concerns the manner in which you end the relationship.

I would normally recommend the guillotine approach:  a quick and complete severing of ties, with no hope of reconciliation.

But if that seems too harsh, and you don’t feel like you can go through with it, I will offer a different tactic:

I propose that you maintain contact for a few months, and lie to this person every single time you realize they are lying to you.  See how long it takes for them to notice, and try to make them crack.

—PL says,  “Sorry I am late, but there was a huge crash on the highway” – you follow up with “I know, I saw it on the news!”

—PL says, “I was All-State in basketball twice.  Would have gone D-1 but I blew out my knee in the state semi finals my senior year” – you follow up with, “I know, I googled you once and found the story from your local paper’s sports page after that particular game.  God, that must have been so tough to deal with!”

—PL says, “Did I ever tell you about the time I partied with the Foo Fighters?” – you follow up with “Yeah, of course you did.  Didn’t I tell you about the time I met Grohl, and I asked him about you, and he said you were awesome?”

—PL says, “I make a great chili and all kinds of awesome soups” – you follow up with “Geez, I don’t know how to make any of that stuff.”

—PL says, “I emailed Gorman at his advice column and he answered me right away….what a great guy!” – you follow up with “Yeah, I did too and never heard anything…jerk!”.

Surely you can see the inherent fun with this approach.  PL throws a whopper your way, you send a double whopper right back at him/her.  Awesome!

PL will eventually become more and more uncomfortable around you, and then for reasons they can’t possibly understand or admit to, they will be the one to cut ties with you.

Mission accomplished.

You’re most welcome, in advance.

SG

Steve,

The other day my 10 month old daughter and I were watching a Crowes concert dvd. I had one of my acoustic guitars and was playing along, and she was playing along on her toy banjo. Everything was going well until your drum solo starts at which point she crawls over to the t.v., stands up against it, starts repeating “papa, papa”, and starts kissing the screen.

How do you explain this?

Thanks,

Jennifer’s dad?

J.D.

Stop worrying.  Of course you are Jennifer’s dad!

Well, come to think of it, I have no idea if that’s true.  It IS true, however, that Jennifer’s dad is NOT me.  So, there’s that.

Your concern is understandable, but I think you can relax on this one.

I am no Dr. Spock, but I am quite confident that little Jennifer wasn’t trying to say “That’s my Papa!”.  No, not at all.  She was trying to say “I wish that guy playing drums was my Papa!”.

See?  No biggie!

SG

Dear Steve,

I am trying to steal the identity of Chris Robinson and was wondering if you could help me out with his social security # ?

Also if you were on a raft in the ocean with room for one more person on there, and both Chris and Rich were swimming towards you…who would drown?

Sincerely,

Nathan

Nathan

Chris’s SSN?  No problem: 666-66-6666.

As for the raft scenario:  They’d both drown, hands tightly clenched around each other’s throats, long before I’d have to make the gut wrenching decision you have conjured up.

Oh sure, I’d pretend to be paddling in their direction (in the same way one pretends to be searching for the “Open” button on an elevator when someone says “Hold the door!”) but in truth the raft would be, if anything, drifting slowly away from their epic struggle at sea.  It’s been years since I thrust myself into the middle of one of their little donnybrooks and I can’t imagine doing so again now, with lives literally on the line and no terra firma in play.

On the off chance that Chris and Rich weren’t fighting each other, but were instead helping each other towards the raft in a wholly unexpected show of familial teamwork, I have to admit that the result would still be the same.  You see, I am well aware that if they did make it to the raft together, the one treading water shortly thereafter would be yours truly.

So, I’d simply keep paddling away from them, making sure to appreciate all that extra legroom as I await rescue.  I mean, it would really suck if my aging, sports worn knees were all locked up when that Coast Guard chopper finally showed up, know what I mean?

SG

Steve

I recently dug out my copy of “Who Killed That Bird Out On Your Window Sill” for a viewing and I was wondering something.  What’s up with that haircut you had back then?  The only thing I can think of is that it was either a horrible accident, you were tired of your hair being in your eyes while bringing the thunder, you wanted to take a mullet to the next level, or you lost a bet.  Which is it?

Love the new album and I’m looking forward to the Grand Rapids – Chicago – Milwaukee leg of the tour.

Mike

Mike

That haircut, I now realize with the benefit of hindsight, was a cry for help.  I can’t possibly explain, in a sensible and linear fashion, just exactly how being on tour for 18 months straight led me to shave the front half of my head, grow a goatee, and start wearing eyeliner, but suffice it to say that I was in a fragile state as we rolled through Europe as the opening act on the Monsters of Rock Tour in the summer of 1991.  I had felt for a few months that I was approaching the end of my rope, and was worried on a daily basis that I was about to snap.

The butcher job in question went down on a night off in Frankfurt, after I had casually gone through a few (as in, 30 or so) beers during an otherwise calm evening.  I remember walking into Johnny’s hotel room and discovering four members of a local biker gang playing cards, drinking copious amounts of bourbon, brandishing large knives, and just generally being WASTED MEMBERS OF A GERMAN BIKER GANG without my having any understanding of who they were or why they were there.

Some agitated looks were exchanged between the bikers, a few of my drunken attempts at ice-breaking humor were misinterpreted, some (clearly) angry words in German were muttered, panic ensued, and suddenly I was in locked in Johnny’s bathroom giving myself a reverse Mohawk.  That, sadly, is about as clearly as I can explain it.

Within a few moments, I realized I needed a little help to finish whatever it was I had started, and Johnny (who had thankfully convinced me to unlock the bathroom door and let him in) suggested we knock out the entire front half, leave it long in the back, and go with, in his words, “a Manchurian bodyguard” look.  And Mike, for what it’s worth, that seemed like a FANTASTIC idea at the time.

Mission accomplished, I stumbled back to my room and passed out fully clothed on the floor.  (Good times!)

I awoke a few hours later to discover that I did now in fact resemble, well, a Manchurian bodyguard.  I had no choice but to embrace the situation, and before long I had enhanced it with the aforementioned goatee and eyeliner.

Much to my pleasant surprise, the angst and pressure I had been feeling for months dissipated almost immediately.  It was as if I had become someone else, and could start over with a clean slate.

I noticed something kind of funny, too – people on the street recoiled from me as if they were worried I might attack them.  I enjoyed that.  I added a full length leather trench coat to the look and spent the final few months of the tour in character, so to speak, scowling and being a fairly menacing presence at all times.  I started to enjoy myself again.  It turned out to be a very healthy thing to have done.

The tour ended soon enough, and I raced home to Atlanta to unwind and reconnect with all the friends that I hadn’t seen much of in two years.  Almost immediately, I realized that Europe on tour was Europe on tour, Atlanta was again my reality, and in that reality, I looked like a complete idiot.

I shaved the back half of my head and that snappy, clean cut SHAMC look was hatched, which of course led most people to assume that the band had a new drummer.  But, that’s a different story for a different day.

SG

Ahh, memories!

Steve

Greetings from the banks of the mighty Wabash (Lafayette, IN).

I have quite the quandary:  My best friend and his wife are expecting a baby next month. On top of the obligatory gifts we are sending their way, I am compiling some quality tunes for the wee one to be. Of course, I have essentials like Blackbird (Beatles), Moonshadow (Cat Stevens), Bron-Yr-Aur (Led Zeppelin), Into the Mystic (Van Morrison) and California Stars (Wilco). But, with the Crowes being my favorite band, I must include classics from your musical library of genius. Any suggestions for songs that are baby safe? I am guessing Horsehead is right out.

Peace,

JS

JS

I wouldn’t rule out “Horsehead” necessarily.  That child won’t pick up on the drug infused lyrical content for at the very least a decade, which is far longer than you can expect anyone to hang onto a CD that you burn for them – whether or not the Black Crowes are included on the playlist.  (And let’s face it, that drum track won’t hurt anyone, in utero or not.)

Off the top of my head, I can offer two of our tunes as suggestions that might be appropriate:

1)  “Sleepyheads”.  It’s an unreleased song we recorded around 2000, I think.  I am sure you could track down a copy from someone somewhere.  Not the greatest song ever, to be sure, but Chris wrote the lyrics for Rich’s two boys.  So, that’s kinda sweet and most definitely kid friendly.

2)  “Cosmic Friend”.  I have no idea what the hell this song is about, frankly.  What I do know is that at the end of the tune you can hear my son (as a three month old) screaming his little lungs out.  I gotta think that a brand new baby will be able to relate to whatever he was trying to express.

Best to all involved,

SG