“Do the difficult things while they are easy and do the great things while they are small.
A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.”
-- Lao Tzu
Once Larry had secured his new cache of dough from Mrs. Fowler’s pot of gold, he didn’t exactly wait for any moss to start growin’ under his feet. Uhn-uh. Not his style. So, within a few days of acquiring – and cashing – Mrs. Fowler’s $10K check, Larry got in touch with an engineer he’d used before with “The Brotherhood.”
The cats name was John Vierra. And besides working alongside Larry with Jerry’s band, Vierra had done a bunch of other sessions with a lot of the heavy hitters in the local music scene. Vierra said he was “in” for working with us and Larry. Cool.
But, now Larry needed a pro-level studio as well. And again, it apparently didn’t take him too long to find one and start lining up a session for us. He called up Kathy and told her that he was working on booking a date for a Cookin' Mama recording session at Wally Heider Studios in San Francisco.
Just so you know: Wally Heider’s was, at the time, a local studio that even young and aspiring musical acolytes like us knew to be by reputation an absolutely top-notch recording facility. Tons of SF’s local “hero bands” had recorded there. And, continued to do so. Pretty much non-stop.
Hence, due to Heider’s rather crammed up schedule of sessions which had already been booked, we would have to wait a little while before there was an opening for us. Nonetheless, the good news was that Larry finally was able to squeeze us into Heider’s schedule.
He had us booked for a one-day session on Monday, Aug. 17th.
And so we were all set to go.
Pro studio. Pro engineer. Pro Producer. And. Pro Producer Dope.
The next step in reaching our dream of getting a first-rate recording of our music
seemed to finally be within reach.
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.”
-- Lao Tzu
I guess you’re all figuring about now, dear reader, that us having to wait another 6 - 7 weeks before going in to record our demo was a real downer for us. I mean, you’re perhaps thinking that because we were all still teenagers, that just sorta automatically meant that we were also an impatient bunch of Young Guns. Or. Huns. Hmm?
Well, yes and no.
I mean, of course we were all chompin’ at the bit to get into Heider’s ASAP. But, we also realized that now we could use those extra weeks in order to look thru our list of original songs in order to find our best tunes.
We’d be taking basically the same approach as we did for the Jerry gig @ “Mandrakes.” But the “Drakes” affair was just a one-time fire drill rehearsal type of deal. Now, for this new experience, we’d have oodles of time to scour thru our entire repertoire and rehearse whichever the hell tunes we’d all decide to end up preferring to use.
And get them all to up to a level of proficiency where we could literally rip ‘em off in our sleep. All before actually rollin’ into the studio for our August 17th session.
As an extra plus, Larry also invited the entire band to come over to his pad in order to discuss with us getting some more new gigs lined up. But mostly, to talk back n’ forth about the upcoming session. Including going over our list of tunes and deciding on the actual songs we’d be recording. A day and time was set for this latest meeting of the minds. And we said we’d be there.
However, unbeknownst to us, Larry had recently moved to a different location. OK. So, where are we going to meet you this time, my man? He informed us that he had moved from Tiburon. Good idea, Larry. Why? Cuz we all assumed that due to his recent rather reduced financial status, he would’ve sorta downsized a bit in order to save money. Right?
Nope.
Larry had actually gone in the other direction. He’d upgraded his digs and moved up the food chain to a house in Belvedere. Which, as stated earlier, was yet even one more step up that ol’ financial ladder from Tiburon-For-Fat-Cats. As such, a home address located in Belvedere was the absolutely most glistening cherry on the very top of the Marin County "Big Bucks Residence" ice cream cone
Hmm. Wonder how in the hell he pulled that one off?
This was a’gonna be a very interesting meeting with our lad, don’tcha know.
Lots to talk about on many fronts.
And even though at the time we didn’t yet know this.
It would also end up being our first real introduction
to a whole other side of who Larry Sharp was.
“Nice guys finish last.”
-- Leo Durocher
The day for our meeting arrived and we - along with Kathy - drove over to Belvedere in a combo-plate caravan of my ride, “The Green Brick." Kathy's VW "Arrest-Me-Red" Moon Roof Beetle. And Paul’s mighty VW rag-top bug, “The White Rhino”
(*see pictures of these jalopies in “The Hang” section of our “Flashback Gallery” page).
After driving thru the luxurious downtown area of Belvedere, and then winding our way up and down and all around the gorgeous hills in the surrounding areas, we finally arrived at our destination. Parked the cars, rang the bell, entered into the foyer, and were then led by Larry into his new inner sanctuary's living room.
Holy Manischewitz & Gefilte Fish-on-a-Bagel, Batman! Larry’s new pad kinda made his Tiburon palace look more like a flop house. This doggone place was absolutely crazy-insane over-the-top spectacular.
Completely new, hip and very exquisite furniture. Gorgeous Oriental rugs. Which were huge and placed at intervals on top of brilliantly shined-up hardwood floors. Floors that were outfitted in a variety of different upscale-level hard woods. Hell, one area looked like it might have actually been laid down using teak – which for the times was completely off the hook.
Slap me a tree axe high-five on that one, Paul Bunyan.
There was totally tricked-out lighting all throughout the house. A ceiling that had to be at least another 5 – 10 feet higher than the one in his old Tiburon crib. And which allowed for an even bigger and better view of the north-east SF Bay. Expensive oil paintings had been strategically placed on the walls of his new cathedral. And Larry now had a brand new, absolute state-of-the-art. and even slicker sounding stereo system than the one he’d been using in Tiburon.
With a “Wall of Sound” speaker system that looked and sounded like it
prob’ly could’ve pert near done the job as the PA at The Fillmore.
A top-shelf selection of beers, wines, hard hootch, mixers, deli trays and, of course – huge bowls of macadamia nuts - were all brought out to us by Larry’s ever faithful valet and multi-purpose Ethiopian gofer, “Rosebury.” Who had somehow managed to remain on the in-house payroll.
And, avoid being cut from the roster of “Team Larry.”
Sheesh! This was all completely nutso.
Brother Sharp - “Le Doge de Belvedere” - had set himself up like a doggone Prince.
Ain’t dat the truth, Machiavelli?
But. Via. Using what money?
Ya wanna know? I think ya already do know, right?
Even though we didn't already know.
In any case.
Read on, dear reader, read on.
“Amateurs wait for inspiration. The rest of us just get up and go to work.”
--Chuck Close
Before getting to an explanation – or a “spin,” if you will – about where Larry’s new influx of cash came from, lemme just describe the minutes of the meeting for y’all. And the basic order in which things went down that day.
After a short amount of time spent on some small talk amongst us all - during which we complemented him on his new pad - Larry decided it was high time to dig in. Using his normal and by now very recognizable take-control-of-the-meeting manner, he began rattling off a number of old and new venues at which we would soon be performing.
One of the new night clubs just added to our giggin' list was “The New Orleans House” in Berkeley. And Larry continued on by informing us about some encore appearances at a few of the joints where we’d already played.
“The Matrix” in SF, and in Berkeley at “The Longbranch” and "Babylon."
He told us we’d also continue to perform on a regular basis at “Keystone Korner” in SF. And at “The Lion’s Share” in San Anselmo. For a whole boatload of shows at both clubs.
However, we would not be returning to West Oakland's "The Continental Club." Neither with nor without Charlie Musselwhite. The joint had closed down. For reasons more than likely associated with its rather dicey location. Smack dab in the middle of "Gang Alley,"
This latest onslaught of new and very exciting info – as well as his PD (i.e. "Producer Dope”) – had once again gotten us all to a point on the happy-go-lucky stoned scale of close to around level 8. Level 10 being the highest (no pun intended) level one could attain before you entered into the foothills of “acid land.”
Gotta hand it to him.
Larry really knew how to soften up a situation in order to belay any potential resistance to his presentations from the masses.
So, now that he had us all floating on clouds of pot, booze & chow - including the omnipresent macadamia nuts - he moved on to the real meat of the meeting.
For the Aug. 17th session at Wally Heider’s, Larry wanted to us to record a 4 song demo. Alrighty, then. We’d come prepared for this conversation. So he cranked on his brand-new "Producer Level" Sony reel-to-reel tape recorder. Popped on the ¼ inch tape that we’d brought with us. And we sat back and listened to about 6 or 7 of our favorite original tunes.
Ones which we’d just recorded “live” about a week earlier at one of our rehearsals.
Using Pat’s Wollensak Mono tape recorder.
The quality of the recording produced by the Mighty Wollensak, of course, completely sucked ass. However, Larry was an astute enough listener to be able to shuffle thru our selections and come up with his 4 faves. Funny thing. These were the same 4 tunes that we’d already been leaning towards using for the Heider’s session.
Musical telepathy, I suppose. Or some other kind of mental hogwash that some musicians seem to always claim to have with everyone and everything else in the entire universe.
Just like “Ducks on a Pond.”
Wow. I actually just wrote that and haven’t had a hit of pot in years. Hmm.
Perhaps I am still able to book the occasional one-day E-Ticket ride up to "Flashback City."
Golly, gee. Hope I can find my return ticket.
“If it’s a penny for your thoughts and you put in your two cents worth,
then someone, somewhere is making a penny.”
-- Steven Wright
After this latest meeting with Larry we all sorta began putting two and two together, in order to try and see how he’d gotten set up in such a grand way. But, with every possible conceivable version of math we used…we kept coming up with five. Or six. Or every other number that was not four. Hmm. Why was that, Pythagoras?
C’mon now! Think, fellas.
We already knew that “The Brotherhood” album had pretty much tanked. And it’s not as if we’d been alerted to any kind of verifiable fact stating that any of Larry’s other bands had recently scored a record deal since the “Brotherhood’s” rather Gettysburg-like event.
Which, in itself, was prob’ly due to that ol’ tried n’ true show biz Rule of Thumb which basically states: that once a record company gives you “bank” on your advance money to record an album on their label – cuz they’re bettin’ on you hittin’ a home run – and then your record ends up in the bargain bin at Woolworth’s (kind of a much smaller and early ‘60’s version of today’s Walmart).
Then, you are pretty much shit out of luck when it comes to knocking on their door again. Or on the door of any of that record company’s other record company buddies. These Fat Cats all keep in touch with each other’s successes. As well as, each other’s failures.
Legitimate tax write-off or not, you usually only get one shot with these folks.
So, wassup?
Was Larry secretly invoking the powers of a King Midas type of magician?
Turning basic metals and stones into gold?
At the time, none of us had any idea in the world how much a 4-song demo tape containing the aforementioned parameters would, could, or should cost in total. But, $10K? Really? Nah. Not even close. Much less than that, No Cigar Boyz.
“Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains,
no matter how improbable, must be the truth.”
-- Sherlock Holmes via Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
So the correct answer finally worked its way out from the tendrils of our minds and into our mouths. And we then started in on probably one of the longest and most “lively” conversations we’d ever had together as a band up to this point.
By the end of our discussion we had the answer:
(which I'm betting is probably the same answer that you, dear reader,
had already figured out on your own at the beginning of this section)
Larry was using some – or most – of Mrs. Fowler dough on himself.
No, Duh...Sherlock..
"You'll never get ahead by blaming your problems on other people."
- Willie Nelson
However, this was not the time to speak out as to what we now realized was starting to sound to us like some kind of a con-man job. Cuz it would more than likely derail our li’l recording train right off the damn tracks. Nope. Our job was to take care of the music side of this whole caper. Larry would have to deal with Mrs. Fowler and her very generous “loan” on his own. We, on the other hand, would have to bear down even more on the songs that Larry and we had chosen for this project.
Those four tunes were: “Feel Good.” “Out the Door.” “Beautiful Wine.”
And. “The Word Speaks.”
The “Word” being by far the one tune in our musical corral
which was most heavily laden with Christian lyrics.
At least, for now.
But recording 4 complete songs: Basic instrumental tracks. All the horn parts. The numerous and assorted solos within these tunes. Vocals. And getting a final mix done. All in one session. Was like biting off a huge chunk of meat, chewing it up, digesting it,
and then poopin‘ it out in a manner of minutes. Not hours. Particularly for a group of young musicians who had never ever even been inside a real first-class recording studio. Much less, ever actually recorded in one.
This was a’gonaa be quite a jump up the ladder from using the one condenser mic approach we’d been employing with Ye Olde Wollensak Mono Tape Recorder.
‘Cuz the studio board at Heider’s was a 16-track machine.
Whoa, there horsey. How does that work?
Hey! Didn’t matter if we knew how it worked or not. Figuring out how we were going to do all this in one day - in a 16-track studio - t’weren’t really our problem. Larry was the producer. The producer is the one who not only arranges the budget for the project. And from which rock the river of cash needed to flow in order to get the session booked and paid for. But, it is also his job to make sure that by the end of the session the band has a finished product. One that could actually have a legitimate shot at generating a record deal.
It’s your turn, Larry. Take it away, bro’.
However, by this point in our relationship with Larry –
and knowing what we now knew about him in re his recent financial high jinx -
we had finally come up with a nickname for him.
Larry Sharp was now known to all of us in Cookin’ Mama simply as:
“The Shark.”
“There's no substitute for live work to keep a band together.”
- Keith Richards
While getting’ our band up to speed on the 4 tunes for Heider’s, we had at least one ace up our collective sleeve: we we’re giggin’. A whole lot o’ giggin’. At both old and new venues now corralled within our bookings stable.
Just as an aside, folks: Performing in front of a live audience really helps to make a band’s tunes even better than just rehearsin’ ‘em in your rehearsal digs. The audience response just does something to musicians which brings out an entirely new and different way of doing your material.
You get a variety of different kinds of energy from the audience. You see the dancin’ and cavortin’. You get to hear the applause, the yellin’ and the screamin’. And. Yes, of course. Sometimes, the booin’ too. But, it all works together to let you see what’s really getting over with the crowd 100% of the time. What still needs some work.
And what needs to go bye-bye.
But even with all of this extra live performing, we – as always - were still hungry for more and different types of gigs. Particularly, shows at larger venues. Places that were bigger than night clubs. And, as if by magic, our hunger and persistence finally paid off for us.
In spades.
Larry called up Kathy and told her that he had us booked as the opening act on a Tuesday night, Nov. 17th, at “The Fillmore West – Carousel Ballroom.”
Are ya kiddin’ me? “The Fillmore”? Whewie! Be still, my beating heart.
Except there was still one little ol' road block
we’d have to negotiate our way thru in order to do the Fillmore show.
The Fillmore, as it turned out, was a Union house.
Meaning.
You had to be in The Musicians Union in order to play there.
Alright. So how do we get that done?
“The Musician’s Union”
“Remember: No one can make you feel inferior without your consent. “
-- Eleanor Roosevelt
SF Musician's Union Local 6 Building @ 230 Jones St.
as looked circa 1970
Actually, we didn’t really have a hell of a lot of time to worry about any of this Musicians Union stuff. Cuz Kathy looked into it for us. Found out how a band went about applying for Union membership. And booked us for an audition at The Musicians Union Local 6 in SF. An audition? Really? Yep. Ya had to go into the Union hall. Set up your gear. Play a few tunes for the Union Big Wigs.
And then see if the powers that be gave you the thumbs up.
Or the thumbs down.
OK. Cool. No biggie. At least we’d have some time to prepare, right? Nope. Kathy had booked our audition for Aug. 3rd. A mere week away. Uh-Ohh. Looks like it’s a’gonna be yet another combo-plate “Anniversary Game”-"Mandrakes" type of challenge, boys.
A total last-minute, “all hands on deck” for Fire Drill City sorta thing.
Aug. 3, 1970
“I never studied anything, really. I didn't study the drums.
I joined bands and made all the mistakes onstage."
- Ringo Starr
As it turned out this was not any kind of a big deal audition. Truly. So, to once again save time - I’ll give ya the short version. On Audition Day, we found the SF Musicians Union Local 6 building. Went in and set up. And then the judges came in from their chambers. Sat their rather substantial asses down. And said: “Play.” OK. So we counted off our first tune and went for it. We were barely thru the first half of the arrangement when one of the men waved his hands for us to stop.
Uh-Ohh. Looks like they didn’t like what they were hearing.
Shoot. No Fillmore gig. Or any other big venues.
Man, we are so screwed.
Uhn-uh. Nope. Just the opposite. After only just one-half of only one song….we were “in.” Huh? That’s it? That was the “audition?” 3 minutes of one lousy song?
Yep.
That’s all it took in 1970 to become a member of SF Musician’s Union Local 6.
Well, that…and paying them the membership dues n’ such.
The audition had been a very unexpectedly easy cake-walk "waltz thru the tulips" for us.
True dat, Tiny Tim.
“A small man in search of a balcony”
― Jimmy Breslin
We had just begun to pack up our gear, when the Union Illuminati said that they wanted to talk to us a bit more in detail about why this day was such a "grand" occasion for us. And for our musical careers going forward. Billy Catalano, Sr. – the President of Musician’s Union Local 6 – sat us down and explained the advantages of Union membership.
And it was to be one gol'darn big mouthful of verbal pasta, lemme just tell ya, dear reader.
As an Overture to explaining all the various ins-and-outs of our newly-formed li’l contractual business symphony, Mr. Catalano began with a short history of why the Musician’s Union was formed in the first place. And why certain rules were put into place.
This is what I recall him saying about all of this.
Sometime around the 1920’s and into the 1940’s, club owners would hire a 3-pc band, all the time knowing damn well that this trio of players probably had a bunch of friends who would show up to jam with them. For free. Or for just a couple of draft beers (*see “Freddy Herrera” stories earlier in this tale). Cuz real musicians love playing music for music’s sake alone. Even if there isn’t anything remotely resembling a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow each night after they’re finished.
Oftentimes, musicians would even stick around after closing time and play into the wee hours of the morning. Again. All for free. Just cuz that’s what they did. Cuz that’s what they loved. Capisce?
While the club owner was making bank via selling booze at inflated prices.
And possibly raking in the dough with a door charge, as well.
So, in order to protect musicians from being taken advantage of by club owners – as well, I suppose, as from themselves, so to speak – the Musicians Union was formed. And their job was to step in and basically tell nightclub owners and show promoters n' such:
“If musicians show up to perform for you, then each one of them deserves to get paid.
And get paid a fair wage for their performance."
The emotional high from the music and the free draft beer n' anything else -
including loose women - was just their extra “tip jar” take for the night.
The pre-determined "salary scale" money was their payment.
A salary scale that was clearly stated in the Musicians Union Contract.
And signed by both parties.
Cool. Sounds really helpful. Right?
Well. Once again.
Yes and No.
This kind of “if ya play, ya get paid” rule was great for musicians such as, Symphony players, Recording studio session-players, and bands that had Recording deals with a record company. And that’s largely because in those music biz scenarios there was almost always enough money floating around management n’ such to be able to pay “Union scale” wages to Union musicians. Or, in some cases, be able to even pay “above scale” wages.
But, for Nightclub gigs in the early-‘70’s? Which were back then, as they still are now, oftentimes the bread n’ butter of a musicians yearly earnings. Not so much.
Here’s why:
Along with your yearly Union Membership Dues (which at the time were at about $30 a year) you also had other “dues” to pay. Boy, Howdy – did’ya. So, for each gig you played within the boundaries of your own local - Local 6 in this example – you paid your Local the amount of 5% in “Work Dues.” And this came “off the top” (i.e., your gross pay).
However, if you played outside of your Local – in another Locals area?
Then it was 5% to your Local, and an extra 2% to the other Local.
That extra 2% was called: “Traveling Dues.”
Though we had many other more colorful names for it.
And. That t’weren’t all. The band leader was supposed to get another small chunk added in for him or her (10% more). And. If the band carried a Hammond Organ (like I did).
Another 10% on top of that.
All that would’ve been wonderful.
That is, if that was the way it actually ever turned out.
But, here’s what almost always ended up happening – at least to me in my
early career as a member of the Musician’s Union.
“This guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, Doc, my brother’s crazy.
He thinks he’s a chicken. The doctor says, Well why don’t you turn him in?
And the guy says, I would but I need the eggs. Well, I guess that’s pretty much how I feel about relationships. You know, they’re totally irrational and crazy and absurd,
but I guess we keep going through it because, uh, most of us need the eggs.”
― Woody Allen
For example, let’s say my 4-pc band is gigging at a club inside the boundaries of our own Local. Union scale per member depends on how long you play. It was a per-hour kinda deal. With built-in automatic times for breaks between sets. Usually one 15-minute break after every 45-minute set.
So, in this example, my little 4-pc is playing a 4 hour show. Union scale is perhaps back then, $6 an hour per band member 4 sets @ $6 per hour for 4 members equals $96 for the entire band. And then you add on the extra 10% for the band leader. Me. That’s another $9.60. Now we’re up to $105.60. And, since I was playing my Hammond on the gig in this example, another 10% ( $9.60).
Final Union scale for that night would be about $115.20.
(FYI: Gas had now only gone up to a paltry $.36 cents per gallon at this time)
Wow! Up tight, outta sight, right?
No, not outta sight, Li’l Stevie.
Why’s that?
Because in the early-‘70’s NO club owners could or would afford to pay the band in this example that kind of dough. It would be more like $80 a night. Total. So, what you had to do was crazy. You’d have to fill in the Union contract for the requisite amount of $115.20. You’d then pay your Local 5% off the top of that $115.20 = $5.76. Now you’re supposed to have $109.44 left over to divide amongst the 4-pc band.
Or $26.36 per band member.
(That is, assuming that the band leader & the Hammond player took that extra 10% that each of them were supposed to make and decided to just put it back into the "band communal pot").
But, if in reality, the club has only paid you $80 – which would’ve been about absolute top-dollar at that time. Then it was $80 minus that $5.76 in Work Dues (the Work Dues still being based on the amount - $115.20 - stated in the Union contract). And when it was all said n’ done, the band would get what’s left. In this example, $80 minus $5.76 = $74.24.
Split 4-ways = $18.56 per band member.
Which was almost $8 less per night, per band member, from what the Union contract said you were supposed to get paid. Over a 5-night a week gig? You're down almost $40.
And over an entire month? You're down almost $160.
Now that might not sound like very much money in today's world.
However, back then, that was just about what rent on a one-bedroom apartment
cost per month throughout much of the Bay Area.
And that $160 rent fee also usually included your
water, electricity & garbage costs, as well.
Add in the 15% Booking Agent fees that came into the equation shortly after my time with Cookin’ Mama, and I think you’re probably beginning to get the idea.
Really? You really had to do all of that, Twick?
Yep. Back then it was a real “tough titty said the kitty” kinda scenario for us
Lucky Union Jacks.
However, on the day of this – our first Union briefing - "Don" Billy, Sr. never once touched upon this subject. Much less, the likelihood of it every happening.
But, many years later I began to figure that even way back in 1970
he must've already known all about this kind of contractual BS.
Hell. How could he not have known? Hmm?
So, as if all the aforementioned was not enough for one day for all of us fairly naïve,
non-street smart teen-aged boys. Here’s the real topper to this big ol’ shit sandwich.
“If you have a job without any aggravations, you don’t have a job.”
- Malcolm Forbes
We had just recently discovered that most of the nightclubs we were currently playing at were NOT Union joints. OK. So how did that work into the equation? Well, that was the problem. It didn’t. If you played a non-Union venue? Or if you had a band member who was not in the Union? And if the Union found out? Then, you got fined by the Union.
And I’m a’talkin’ “Big Time” fines, folks.
So, how did the Union find out about non-Union venues and/or musicians and collect those fines? Hmm? Union Business Agents. The core of which were usually made up of ex-wanna-be musicians who had figured out they had more talent at snitching out other “fellow” Union member musicians, than they did playing their instruments.
The Union’s version of “The Gestapo.”
These dudes (I never once saw a female Biz Agent) went around at night from club to club to see who was playing where. If one showed up where you were giggin’? Then they’d wait ‘til you were on a break. Gather up the entire band, and ask everyone in the band to present their Union card. If you were playing at a non-Union venue? Or you had even just one member in the band that night who was not in the Union?
Then they took down all of your names & Union member numbers
and turned ‘em in to the Local office.
I, myself, never got fined by the Union. Not once. Hell, I just figured it wasn't worth it to not play by their rules. And risk having to deal with both the fines and all the added paperwork headaches n' such.
Actually - truth be told - perhaps I should say that I never ever once got caught.
"Tricky Twicky," and all that kinda jazz, don'tcha know.
But, other musician buddies of mine did.
And here's what they told me would happen if you did get caught:
Your fine would arrive at in the mail at your home address containing a tersely written form letter which more closely resembled something from the Salem Witch Hunts, than a courtesy spanking. Compared to these li'l Union missives, my buddies told me that the few letters they'd received over the years from the IRS had sounded like Hallmark Greeting Cards.
So, to reiterate. As much as the Union was good for Recording artists and Symphony cats.
It was not, however, very SF hippie-era, non-record deal, Rock Band-friendly.
If y’all catch my drift.
Alright, already. So, what are ya really tryin' to say, Twick?
OK. Let me just spill the the whole can of beans & try n' spell it all out for ya this way.
Unlike most other Unions, the Musician's Union only helped certain types of members find work (i.e., the aforementioned Symphony, Recording session and Record deal artists).
But, Union members who played in Top 40 bands or even in just good
ol' fashioned Rock, Blues, Soul, R&B, Jazz, Country Western and/or Original Music bands, got no help at all from the Union in finding work for their band.
That is, unless you were all cozied-up with some Union Big Wig on the inside
For all the rest of us Average Joe's, there was no booking assistance for:
Nightclubs. Weddings. Corporate gigs. Concerts. Street Fairs. Outdoor music festivals. Casinos. Motorcycle club runs. Military Bases. Private parties. Bar Mitzvahs. Divorces. Baby Showers. Probation hearings. Prison executions. Funerals. Nor for anything else that might even possibly appear from time to time on a band's potential gig menu.
Nothing at all. Not one gig ever. Nada. Zip.
You were completely on your own when it came to that.
Or you'd be forced to employ the strategy in which you hired a Booking Agent
to find you work. Which entailed paying out that 15% "off the top" booking fee
which I just alluded to a few paragraphs ago.
Hey there, folks: a Union which doesn't help you find work just because you're not already flush in the Big Time? Cuz you're only some kind of a Union low-level grunt night club player? Or you're just starting out in the music business? Really? You pay these Union guys just so that you can play? And only at certain venues? The ones at which they tell you you're allowed to play? And then they fine you if you don't go by all the rules, all the time?
Man, talk about gettin' hustled on the Long Con.
Arghh!
Take a deep breath, Twick.
Whewwwww.....
OK. I'm calm again.
So, I suppose right about now, dear reader, you’re all wondering what, if anything at all,
was totally & truly “grand” about our newfound Musicians Union membership...Hmm?
Here’s what we heard that day from Mr. Catalano.
“Get your facts first, then you can distort them as you please.”
Mark Twain
We were told that the main “Good News” about Union membership was this: once a Musician Union member or band of Union members had a signed Union contract for any “live” performance or recording session, then it was the Union’s job to make sure that you got paid. And got paid according to the Wage Scale that they used for these various types of Union-Contracted gigs.
But, if there was a problem getting your money from someone who hired you?
Then, the Union would step in and start flexing its collective muscles.
For example - as explained by "Don" Catalano - if a nightclub doesn’t pay up in full? Then the Musician’s Union will demand that they do. And if that doesn’t sway the nightclub that’s supposed to pay ya? Then, the Musician’s Union calls up the Teamster’s Union and tells them to stop delivering booze to the club. And if that don’t do the trick? A Union lawyer will step in to make sure you get your dough. And the Union gets their “fair” share. One way or another, the Union will take care of everything.
And the requisite money owed is sho’ ‘nuff a’gonna get paid out.
Yo’! Fo'git about it.
However – to be fair - I don’t remember Billy Boy saying anything at all about Union thugs wielding axe handles or claw hammers n’ such to get the job done.
(As in the “Union vs. Scabs Wars” in the U.S.A. from 1886 thru the 1920’s n’ ‘30’s)
Oh. And by the way.
Here’s another tasty li’l peach for y’all to chew on.
Unless you made a certain high-level of income playing music (*see Symphony Musicians, Recording Session Players, and Artists with Record Deals), which resulted in a high-level of various types of dues being paid regularly to the Union...
...then there were no Medical Benefits available to members via the Union.
With the sad exception of the terrible policies they occasionally trotted out in their monthly magazine (that you got in the mail “for free”), and which they tried to foist upon any and all unsuspecting lower-income musicians as “real” medical insurance.
Hey. But, when you died? And. If over the course of your life you’d paid in
a certain large set-amount of coin to the Union?
Then, there was a “Death Benefit” for whoever you named as your beneficiary.
The amount?
$1,000
Whoopie!
Hence, for us it was all just some sort of additional necessary evil that we'd have to endure in order to do the Fillmore show…and…if we got signed to a record deal.
But, this whole Musician’s Union "we've always got your back" thing will come up
in a big mess of a way in just a li’l bit from now…so, stay tuned
Lou & Steve providing the edges of bread around our "Mama's Sandwich."
Another 50+ year old proof sheet shot.
(you can see the big "X" in the upper right hand corner. An "X" on any of these pics meant that we thought it was a "keeper")
©2024 Cookin' Mama
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