A blog, suggested by my wife Bernadette (my Drew Believer), about my two decades in and around the Boston Music Scene. She's heard my million-or-so true stories a thousand times, and I can't believe she's still entertained by them. It'll be fun to recall the people, places and tales, both comedic and tragic, of these last twenty-something years.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

November 22



My parents moved my sister and me to Dallas from Upstate NY in October of '63. We were there only a month when Kennedy was shot. My Dad, who worked in a downtown building, actually watched from street level as the President's motorcade passed. By the time he returned to his office on the third floor, it had happened. My earliest memory of childhood was seeing my mom sobbing in front of the TV set. I asked, "Mommy, why are you crying?" I was three. The first person whose name I knew, other than mommy, daddy, grammy and Capt Kangaroo, was President Kennedy. As we got older, Dad would take us to Dealey Plaza. By the age of six I could point to the window on the Depository Building from where the shots were fired. In 1967 I remember sitting on one of the plaza's stone colonnade arches --Dad lifted us up there -- and watching a TV crew film a documentary of the event. They were interviewing eye-witnesses. The old Texan man being interviewed said, "I heard pop, pop, pop." Whenever we went by the Plaza up on the Stemmons Freeway, we'd look at the big yellow Hertz Rent-a-Car sign with the digital clock on it, which of course stood atop the Depository. It drew your attention to the site like a, well, like a big yellow billboard! (They finally removed it, but not until decades later).

I still have the complete Dallas Morning News paper from Saturday the 23rd. Never a November 22nd ever goes by without me reflecting on the events of that, sad sad day.

In some ways I wonder how much effect that event had on my life. It was sort of the launch-pad of my awareness. I think to be certain, the Kennedy Assasination has cast a very long shadow over my life, and I’m sure there are many others who feel the same.

Last year, on November 22, 2007, Thanksgiving Day, Bernadette's beloved mother lost her battle with cancer. My poor wife has barely had time to grieve. Neither of us can believe it has been a year already.

November 22nd. A day of mourning for The Townsons.

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

A "Flowery" Slideshow...


Hothouse Flowers were both Hot, AND in The House at Newbury in '89

Look what I just found on the world-wide interweb! I was Googling to see what became of Newbury Sound, the studio I worked out of from '86 to roughly '96, and I found the studio's new web-site, Newbury Media.com. On the site there's a slide-show of the time the Irish band Hothouse Flowers came in to the studio to do a live WBCN Lunchtime Concert, hosted by Carter Alan. This was 1989 and Hothouse Flowers was touring off their huge LP, "People" and its hits from that year. The buzz at the time was that HF were going to be the next U2. As you can see from the pics, there was a small studio audience in there. Keep watching the slides roll and in the very last two, you'll see the band and Carter Alan hanging in the control-room with the guy who was at the console, mixing the show. Yep, that's me with the bad tie-die shirt. My hair looks cool though. There were a few mullets on display that day and I'm glad to say I was not a mulleteer. (Never had one, ever). In the last shot that's me in the middle, surrounded by the band, and with Carter just above me. You can see that at tis point in my life and career, I thought I had arrived. This is where I belonged; sitting at a big recording console with a famous major-label band. I was on the launchpad at age 28. Little did I know then that my rocket-fuel was watered down...

HOTHOUSE SLIDESHOW

Saturday, September 27, 2008

Thirteen, Boston Compilation, 1995


The Wicked Smile of Mister Jinx Welcomes The Listener to "Thirteen". I drew The Devil on a napkin originally. I wanted the CD jacket to look like the label on a bottle of hot sauce.

I just signed on to a gig playing lead guitar for The Dave Sammarco Band, a hard-working country rock outfit. I'm not the main guy, by any means. Nope. Dave has a "roster" of players at every position, and I'm the second or third string Telecaster Twanger. His main guy is the incredible Jimmy Scoppa, Boston's Master of the Telecaster, and I'm not worthy of shining his shoes as a country guitar player. The "DSB" plays all the time, all over New England. Between now and the end of the year, I'm playing four gigs, including The Church of Boston on November 29th. The Kilmarnock Street club and restaurant in The Fenway was once The Linwood Grill, a place I knew well. Played there, hung out there, and many a night got shitfaced there. In the mid '90's The Linwood was a happening joint, which brings me to this new blog.... I remember it like it was yesterday...(Sounds of harps and screen gets all swirly)...

It's 1995, and we're having the two night record release party for "Thirteen: Boston Compilation". I had produced the alternative rock tome at Newbury Sound, bringing in one group after the next in sort of a cattle-call style. We left all the mics up and the drum-kit and the bands would come in and I’d press the big red button. The band line-up included Digger, Ten Star General, Serum, Delta Clutch, Cobalt 60, The Derangers and others. We had high hopes for the CD, released by Rick Schettino's Young American Records. Rick was the publisher and founder of New England Performer, now known as Northeast Performer, or maybe it's simply Performer now. At the time, I thought the CD sounded ahead of its time, and I was right. Even now, when I listen to the album, and I have been listening to it lately for the first time in years, it still sounds pretty fresh, if not a bit "grungy". It got good reviews, but the bands were a little new and outside the main core of the Boston alternative scene. The only group still in existence is Delta Clutch, now called The Blizzard of '78. Cobalt 60, who changed their name to C60 in the late '90s continued on Jeff Marshall's Monolyth Records through the mid 2Ks, touring and recording. I was once a Monolyth recording artist myself, back in '86 through '88, but that's a different story.

So we had the CD release party at The Linwood, a two-night Friday and Saturday affair. The Linwood was just getting started as a rock venue. It had been a blues and pizza joint earlier, known more for drawing a baseball crowd due to its proximity to Fenway Park, but now, it was a full-blown black leather-jacket Boston rock club. The Linwood was capturing the spill-off from The Rat, and by '95, the writing was on the greasy, graffitti'd wall of the old Rathskeller. Barry Hite, Landsdowne Street stage-manager and sound guru, had created a new rock outpost on the Fens side of the Ball Park, in the old Linwood Irish pub. He and a few fellow Kenmore ex-patriots (Bob Daley, I think?) were behind making the Linwood the hot new venue.

The first night of the release, the place was packed. It was insane. The crowd was a who's-who of '95 and a big "where-are-they-now?" of 2008. There was Ken Kanavos from Newbury Sound, Deb Catalano, Schettino, of course, Kevin of The Linwood, Jeff Marshall, Radio people like Bill Abbate and Laurie Gale and Janet Egan (Juanita) were there, along with all the band members and their people. I was high on adrenaline (and some other stuff) and to this day I still remember it as being one of the best times, one of the absolute best nights I've ever had in this Boston Music Scene. It was magical and full of energy. The room was electric, with high-voltage performances by the bands, who rocked with total abandon. Even my own surf instrumental trio the Derangers put on a blazing set. It was all black leather, hair and attitudes, and you couldn't fall down in there.
The second night was very mellow by comparison; modestly attended but a good night just the same. It was as if everybody got their groove on the night before and were all nursing giant rock and roll hangovers 24 hours later.
Some bands I know what happened to, others I don’t. Almost all that were part of “13” I’m long out of touch with. I know Delta Clutch is still slugging away as The Blizzard of ’78, and I still talk to Chris Cugini, a producer now in his own right, regularly. Tristram Lozaw, famous Boston Rock Journalist and then member of Serum is still writing about the music. Siobhan McAuley, also ex Serum, is creating beautiful atmospheric music under the name Embrionic with her long-time partner and fellow musician James Bryan McCaffrey. “Jay” as I call him, was in the band Resinsect on “13”. I have been in touch with him over the years, though not lately. Barry Edwards of Ten Star General just moved back to the Buffalo area after decades of being a great guitarist in the Boston Scene, most recently with Cash Monies & The Jetsetter, as well as The Dave Sammarco Band. The only guys I’ve been in-touch with consistently over the years are the Brothers Frazier, Daryl and Mark, both long out of Boston, who were my buddies and bandmates in Digger. But where’s Bow Thayer (of Still Home)? What happened to the guys from Underball or Jehova Starbelly or Scratch? I think Doug MacDonald of Tidal Wave might still be drinking and strumming somewhere. Cobalt 60, or “C60” seems to be done, as far as I can Google.


Hawking "Thirteen" at SXSW Music Convention in Austin, St. Patrick's Day 1995

“Thirteen” was not an enormously successful CD. It was overshadowed by a lot of what was happening in Boston around that time. A year later, I myself produced and released the “Tube” Surf compilation on the CherryDisc label, which made a much bigger splash. But as I listen to “13” I hear good stuff. My recording and production quality was excellent, if I say so myself (and if I don’t, who will?). I hear a lot of analog depth and musicality in the tracks. The CD sounds amazingly fresh today in 2008. Not bad for a CD called “Thirteen” that actually IS 13 years old now. I guess I was right back in ’95 when I proclaimed that “Thirteen: Boston Compilation” was ahead of its time.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Introducing ANALOG PLANET


Hello folks! Well I have some big news! I have started my own company - a web-boutique called Drew Townson's Analog Planet. Yazoo! The Planet sells high-end analog recording gear, including lots of tube stuff. I call it "The Audio Hardware Store...in space!" Great idea, starting a high-end business in this economy, right?

What am I thinking?

Well, I'm thinking I want to start a a genuine high-end thing, based on my own deication to quality, as well as creating a legacy for my family and son. Plus, I was getting sick of the guys I was working for driving in to work at 11 am in their Beemers and Benzes and coming up to me with, "Sold anything today Drew?" "What have you done for me lately Drew?"

What I had done for them is a lot. Made happy customers. Brought in a lot of money...which was not trickling enough back down to me. So I said, "screw it!" and started my own business.

The site's young and buggy and still in development, but hey, go check out Analog Planet!

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Blowing Joey's Ears...


OneTwoThreeFaw! Joey and Johnny Beating On The Brat, 1979

Of course, over the years I've had my less-than-stellar moments in the studio (and elsewhere). One of the first, and worst, was before I even moved to Boston.

It was the time I fried Joey Ramone's ears.

It must have been late '84 or early '85 when the Ramones came to Dallas to play at The Twilight Room, which was a decent size club with a nice stage. I'd say there were 800, maybe 1000 people there.

My band-mate and production partner at the time, Lisa, was an old pal of Joey's, having been in cutting-edge college and commercial radio for some years.

So we had access to Joey.

My sister and I had a nice studio called "Castle Audio" in nearby Carrolton. Lisa and I were working on a studio project under the name White Noise. We had tracked this sort of ska-punk version of Led Zepplin's "D'yer Mak'er", which would have been perfect for Joey to sing on. Astonishingly, when asked if he'd add a couple layers of vocal tracks, he agreed.

So after the show at the Twilight, Joey Ramone showed up at my studio. It was about 2:am, and in comes this bigger than life geek, wearing the pink granny-glasses, leather jacket and Chuck Taylor sneaks. He was this too-tall, bent over sloth of a guy; a slow-moving gentle giant. With the play-doh face and thick lips, re really did look like a cartoon of himself. And what a sweet sweet man. In his syrupy, nasally Queens drawl, he agreed to everything we were telling him was about to happen. He was so eager to please, even though he had the sniffles.

I had everything all cued up and ready, including a nice Neumann recording mic, on a stand and live. Headphones were hangin' there, too.

First, we played him the track a few times over the JBL studio monitors (a move that would later prove our undoing). After he got the hang of the part, we thought it was time to roll tape. That's when Joey made one small request.

He wanted a Shure SM57 on a straight mic-stand, so he could stand in his exact stage-pose. Y'know the one: feet wide-apart, head forward, soulders back with one hand at the mic and one way down the stand, and the mic jammed right up there, lost in the mop of black hair. The stage-mic didn't need to be plugged in, mind you. I already had a $2000 recording mic on a boom, all ready to rock. So the $100 Shure would be simply a dummy. It would be Joey's "Linus Blanket".

This was not a problem. I quickly obliged. But in doing so, I forgot to do somehing else.

I forgot to extinguish the studio speakers. Something I had never ever forgotten to do.

So Joey put the headphones on, leaned in, and in the control-room I hit the big red button on the tape recorder.

What happened next was the loudest, most shrill, most siren-like feedback the world has ever known. Ice picks. Flying knives. To poor Joey, with his headphones on, it must have felt like power-drills boring through his ear-drums, straight to the pain-receptors of his brain.

He instinctively threw the headphones to the floor and covered his ears. It took me a few seconds to figure out where the Gawd-Awful din was coming from, but I did, and in about 5 seconds, it was over.

Joey had been deafened.

I felt like shit warmed over. Full shame and embarrasment.

He stood there, rubbing the feeling back in to his ears, which were ringing like a firehouse bell, I'm sure. And to his credit, he offered to go ahead with the session. "I'm awright," he said, "I can do it."

But after that, the magic was gone; the moment was lost. We let Joey go back to his hotel to bed. I'm sure his ears were still buzzing as he tried to sleep.

Sweet wonderful Joey.

And I blew out his ears....

Monday, March 31, 2008

Nowhere Man: How Christopher Moore went from Bean-town to No-Scene-Town

While I was working at that Hellhole whose name shall not be uttered (go back 1-year on this blog), I became acquainted with one Mr. Chris Moore, a part-time helper there who was, well there's no better word for it, Chris was cool. We're talkin' wrap-around shades, the latest in hair-spikage, mod clothes, and a rave-club pallor. Young Chris had an air about him, that is for sure. Didn't take long for me to find out that the kid was funny, too, in a dry, ascerbic way. Smart kid, Chris Moore.

Because he was sort of the lone hipster among a bunch of long-toothed rockers, he caught more than his share of ribbing from the gang. But he laughed right along with everybody and returned the abuse in-kind. All the while, Chris was learning audio engineering and live sound. Turns out he was a singer and was beginning the process of getting a demo together. Chris was even planning a trip to Cali to track and mix with a very well-known veteran producer/mixologist. Yep, that Chris was on his way up in life. He had big plans. Big dreams. He was on the launchpad. He was ready to ignite. He was on the Road....

...to Nowhere.

Or, more accurately, he was on the Rotary to Nowhere. For those of you who don't live in Massachusetts, a Rotary is a traffic circle. They're all over the place up here, and they're scary as-hell. Where three or four or more roads converge/intersect, instead of a traffic light, there's a rotary. You enter the one-way mixmaster, circling until the road you want comes up and then you exit. And it's not just one lane, either. There can be two, sometimes three cars side-by-side. So all these vehicles are getting on and off and going 'round and 'round. What sometimes happens is, you might be in the outside lane, and the car on the INSIDE lane (to your left) decides to exit (to your right). This was the unlucky position Chris found himself in last summer. He was on the notorious Fresh Pond Rotary in Cambridge, one of the busiest and craziest in the area.

CCRRASSSHHH!

In an instant, Chris's life changed, and not in a good way. He didn't have health insurance and ended up with a bad doctor. The story goes down hill from there. But I'll let Chris tell it himself. Instead of Hollywood, he's out in the middle of Cow-cake Ohio, surrounded by a sea of mud, trying desperately to get back to civilization through his laptop. So, check out his site, TheQuarterProject, watch his video, and maybe flip a couple Washingtons his way...

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Feelin' it With Joe Ely


Ely Tellin' Texas Tales as Tall as a Ten-Gallon Hat

One of the best gigs I ever had with the Derangers was in 1997 at Mama Kin on Landsdowne, when we opened for the great Texas Balladeer, Joe Ely. Joe Ely Homepage

We got to hang with him back stage and got his autograph. He signed my (vinyl 12") copy of Lord of The Highway, writing, "Beware of El Tarantula!" Bern and I had recounted to him the story of how we had just moved to a new apartment, and how I had gotten produce boxes from a local grocery store, and how when I opened the banana box, now containing CDs, there was a giant hairy tarantula in there. Ely was like, "Didja keep 'im? What didja name 'im?"


Times They Were a-Twangin' with The Derangers and My 1961 Stratocaster!

The best part was, we were to play first of three bands, but the middle band didn't show up, so we got bumped up to right before Ely. By the time we went on, like ten-ish, the place had filled up with Ely fans, who really dug what we were doing. We were at the top of our game by that point, so that was a really good night for us.

And Ely and his band were amazing, of course.

Friday, February 15, 2008

Track 16 Strikes Again!


Chris "Cujo" Cugini goes airborne during Anastasia Screamed's show at the 1989 WBCN Rumble.

Ok, Moontime session again. We were taking a break from sessioning and this little party started in the lounge next to the control room -- band, girlfriends, drinks. It was early eve. There was even a TV on; this little old set with the manual click click click channel dial. The party sounds were interesting to me, so I threw a blank up, put 16 in record and pulled a mic out in to the lounge.

The mic was close to the TV and I was picking up "Star Trek The Next Generation". There's that ascending horn motif that plays when the show like, comes back from a commercial or goes to a commercial: "Daa da da da Daa, da da da Daaa..." Right? Know what I mean? So that lick plays and somebody turned the channel which gave a burst of white noise, "KSSHHHH". So theres the horn riff and then, "Kssshhhh".

So, again, later we track songs and at mix time I push 16 up to see what's going to happen. The verse riff goes back and forth between D and C and then hits the chorus on an E? I think? Maybe G? So the verse is winding up and going in to the chorus, and from track 16 comes this horn riff in perfect key and timing, leading the song to the chous and on the "4" beat right before the downbeat of the chorus there's the blast of white noise which ends precisely at the "one" beat of the big chorus.

Everybody in the room hit the floor.

We rewound like ten times to hear it over and over. We HAD to keep it! Added some verb to give it stereo space and did a little EQ. Then, I had to painstakingly fly it in to the second chorus. This was an all analog project, no samplers or DAW. This meant I had to record the part off track 16 on to a 2-track and then back on to 16 at the right time. It took quite a while, and was much harder than the one that happened totally by chance. And the nature of the song, being a hard, noisy rocker, you absolutely don't recognise that little blurb as being "Star Trek" at all.

The song is called "Dead in The Grass".

The Track 16 Happy Accident happens at 1:12, and then again at 2:30 (on purpose via fly-in).

Here it is on Amazon: Moontme on MP3 at Amazon (The part we're talkin' about is not contained in the 30-second clip, unfortunately). Warning, track titles are mixed up. The crazy afore-blogged "Blues" with the thunder is mis-labelled "Dead Ants", and if you grab any track at all, get "15 Seconds or 5 Days", which is mis-titled "Fall to Ceiling" "One Deep Breath" is breathtaking, with backing vocals by Tany Donnely (see * below). What the hell, get the whole album!

You can hear full length streamers of a few AS songs, including "Dead in The Grass" on their MySpace page, too: Anastasia MySpace

*Tanya Donnely is also on that LP on a couple of tracks, right when she was leaving Throwing Muses and starting Belly. She liked the Nashville Studio so much, she did the debut Belly album there a few months later. She and I worked together well...she was good at taking direction from a producer and very professional in the studio. She said ideally she'd like to do the Belly LP there in Nashville with ME producing. That would have launched my career. Alas, her label had other ideas. Oh well. can't win 'em all.

But it was a trippy record. So is Anastasia's first LP, "Laughing Down The Limehouse". We did that one here in Boston. All kinds of effed-up cool wierd shit happened during those sessions, too, like the time the speaker turned itself off (a story for another time). Anastsia was never huge in the US and they were way ahead of their time, being pre Nirvana "Never Mind", but they had a loyal following in the UK, Germany, etc. If you want to hear some mind-bending cocophonous ear-candy, get either of their LPs or both. Heck, their London-based label gave us $15K per record budget, which was tiny at the time. Sure wish somebody'd give me $15 grand to do a record NOW! Recording not as big-bottomed as today's stuff, but it sounded right in the early '90s'.

Thursday, February 14, 2008

The Mysterious Track 16...

While doing Anastasia Scream's "Moontime" LP at Nashville's at Sound Emporium Studios, we encountered some bizarre happenings. I'm not jivin' you. Some really crazy wierd shit happened. In one anomalous event, we recorded a loud thunderstorm that was happening outside the studio. This was a real boomer. I quickly threw on a blank 2" 24-track reel, popped track 16 in to record, and put a mic in front of an open doorway. This was a $3,000 Neumann U47fet that happened to be handy, and the studio assistant was none too happy later when she saw it placed inches from the torrent outside.

We recorded about six minutes of big rain and thunder. It's not like we had any plans for "the storm track", but thought it might be cool to have. (And besides, we were like, wicked baked, y'know?)


Eventually, we needed that reel to record songs, so we put track 16 in safe and recorded around it. Pretty much forgot about it.

Days later, when we were mixing this finished song called "Blues", I remembered track 16. About two minutes in to the song I eased fader 16 up. At one point right before the song, which is raging full-on, breaks down in to a quiet part, Chick Graning sings, "there's a hole in my head where the rain gets in," and, BOOOOOOMMM! A huge rolling thunderclap follows his phrase right on beat, and rolls and rumbles for about 20 seconds right through the breakdown! (The low-frequency of it vibrated the whole control-room)

Yes, for real.

Of course anybody listening would assume we very carefully placed a thunder sound-effect right there in the song. But no! It was there before the song was even tracked.

The breakdown is followed by this manic sax solo, so we left the magical track 16 in behind there...with the rain and thunder and sax wailing, it sounds like total madness!

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

Johnny and Me



For some reason this morning I woke up remembering Johnny Cunningham, the renowned Scottish Fiddler and producer who passed away a few years back. It was as if I heard the distant voice of his fiddle, calling me from my bed on this gray and rainy winter’s dawn (of course, if Johnny was awake at dawn, it meant he had not been to bed yet). I was lucky to have the great pleasure of knowing Johnny. Not that I was by any means a big player in his life, because he had a very big life that touched countless people. He was like giant ship; like The Queen Mary passing through the harbor. I was fortunate to have been invited onboard for the music and booze-cruise, between roughly '88 and '94. I can say without hesitation that Johnny was the most gregarious, funniest, most musical soul I have ever had the pleasure to get schnockered with. In a word, he was jolly. I was deeply saddened to hear of his passing in December of ’03, but for whatever reason, I have not really reflected on what Johnny Cunningham meant to me until now. Call this the memoir long overdue.

I met Johnny in 1988 while engineering a studio project for The Raindogs. They were an all-star band made up of Rhode Island singer/writer Mark Cutler, Bassist Darren Hill and drummer Jimmy Reilly, both formerly of Red Rockers (remember that one ‘80s hit, “China”?), and Johnny on fiddle. They were a really great band, too, infusing American blue-collar rock with Celtic overtones. It was like Tom Petty meets Bruce Springsteen meets Bob Geldof meets Elvis Costello and they all get drunk with The Pogues. We were tracking a label demo at Newbury Sound, paid by and for Sire/Warner Brothers and produced by Andy Paley. Ultimately, they did NOT sign with Warners, mostly due to Paley’s Specter-like overproduction being a mis-match for the more organic Raindogs, so the tapes I tracked have never seen the light of day. Their LP “Lost Souls” was released a year later on Atlantic, and is a wonderful album.


Dog Days: Raindogs '88, with Johnny as Top Dog in this promo pic.

Suffice it to say we recorded hard and played hard. After Paley’s departure from the studio every night around 1 am, the real party began, revolving around a glass-top table in the studio lounge. Hey, it was the ‘80s! I joined right in and partied with these guys ‘till dawn every night. As the beers flowed and in a haze of cigarette smoke I became drawn to the two Celts of the bunch: Jovial Johnny and his hilarious Scottish stories, and Jimmy, whose tinny Belfast brogue became less decipherable with each passing beer. I learned that before he was in Red Rockers, he was the drummer in Stiff Little Fingers, the seminal Irish Punk band. In fact, Jimmy’s brother had been murdered in an Irish political thing. If I recall correctly it was IRA who killed him, and they had a big benefit concert on his behalf at a football stadium in Ireland. This was ’79 or ’80. Stiff Little Fingers had headlined, and included on the bill was a rising young Dublin group called U2, playing their very first stadium show ever. Jimmy was a funny bastard, in a harder-edged sort of way. You got the feeling he could guzzle kerosene if someone dared him too. You also knew that crossing Jimmy would lead to lost teeth. He was a tough Irish street kid, y’know? One funny note: His Ulster accent prevented him from pronouncing my name properly. They can’t say the “oooh” sound. So, “Drew” always came out of Jimmy as “Dree”. “Dree, kedja add a bitta lew end t’me keck-dram?”

Johnny, contrarily, was round. He was warm and welcoming. He told jokes and stories so funny you’d wet yourself laughing. Being of Scots heritage myself, I was really drawn to his Scottishness. And by that I don’t mean just his accent, which was wonderful and lyrical; it was his wit, his charm, his way that got me. He had the soul of a Scotsman. It was the way he could drink anybody under the table and still play like a champ. It was the twinkle in his eye. It was his bawdy tales. It was his mischievousness. Mostly though, it was the way he could make you feel like a welcome special friend, even though he was immensely popular. Johnny was the life of the party. Everybody loved Johnny and wanted to be Johnny’s friend. I wanted to be Johnny friend.

At one point, Johnny's brother Phil appeared all the way from, I think he had been in Ireland, and the brothers played an impromtu trad performance after hours, Phil on the studio grand piano and Johnny on his fiddle. Amazing!

Shortly thereafter, I got him to co-produce and play fiddle a song of mine called, “I Can’t Get Over You”. I say I “got” him to, but the truth is he was happy to do it, and charged me nothing. We spent a day in the studio together and he really helped me bring the song together. Not only did he play a couple of brilliant fiddle tracks, pretty much in one take (which I learned was typical), he helped me mix the song and provided some nice insight. I learned how to record fiddle with Johnny. But it wasn’t a great song and I never really did anything with it. All I have now is a cassette copy. (My guitar-playing, which I had recorded before Johnny’s involvement, was rushed and sort of ham-fisted).

Later, as luck would have it, we ended up being neighbors. When I moved to Oak Square in Brighton in 1990, Johnny lived in Newton Corner, about a mile up the hill from me. Brighton had lots of Irish Pubs, but the one we ended up at the most frequently was The Green Briar. They had a popular Irish Seisiun there every week, so he sometimes sat in. Other times, I’d find myself sitting on a bar-stool next to Johnny, just drinking and laughing and smoking and soaking up his vibe. Once, I even got invited to a Scottish breakfast at his place in Newton. Jimmy was there and I don’t remember who else. We had Scotch eggs and ale. Nice. I saw him perform solo a couple of times. He’d sit up there with his fiddle, a whisky and a smoke, and play a reel and then tell a story; play an air and then tell a joke. Ever the bard, that was Johnny.

I worked with Johnny again in the studio when I was co-producing the band “Vision Thing”. He came in as a guest player to lay fiddle down on one of their tracks. The studio, Squid Hell, was in a big old house. It had multiple spaces to play, all of which were wired for microphones. He walked/played from room to room to find the best acoustics, and in classic Cunningham style, he chose the bathroom. He played the track (in one take) literally sitting on the throne. At the conclusion of his take, and as the last notes of the song died away, we heard over the control-room speakers: flusshhhh...
I still chuckle over that one. That was Johnny.

I don’t remember when the last time I saw Johnny was, but I think it was in Portsmouth New Hampshire, where I bumped in to him at The Press Room. That was probably ’94, give or take a year. After that he was based out of New York, his career went up to the next level, and deservingly so.

Perhaps it’s the gloom of this dreary day that brought Johnny to mind. He was the kind of guy who, from the corner of the pub and with revelers gathered ‘round, radiated humor and warmth and music, late in to a long winter’s night. He was the hearth. I reckon that is a trait born and bred in The Highlands (and fed by the water of life). One day I'll be drinking with him again and jamming with Johnny at seisiun, in that little pub, far away and over the hills.

For now, I will raise a not-so wee drammie to my lips and toast my one-time friend, Johnny Cunningham, the most soulful Scotsman I ever knew. beannachd leat caraid

Here are some Johnny web sites and his NY Times Obit:

http://www.johnnycunningham.com/

Johnny on MySpace

http://www.kennedy-center.org/programs/millennium/artist_detail.cfm?artist_id=CUNINGJOHN

NY Obituary

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Charro Charro! Tacos, Cervesa y Mariachi!


Photo: Mariachi Mexamerica, playing weekly at Tacos El Charro

I discovered Jamaica Plain’s Tacos El Charro way before most non-Latinos. Before it had a “Best of Boston” award and long line of tastemongers waiting forever for a table, I frequented the authentic Taqueria there on Center Street. In about 1990 I started doing sessions nearby at my buddy Dicky Spears’ funky home studio, affectionately known as Squid Hell, located off Green Street. Now that I think of it, I was ahead of the crowd on a couple of levels. First, nobody yet knew about Squid Hell, but by ’94 or so, some of Boston’s most well-known engineers, producers and artists were tracking there. Second, few blue-eyed diners had yet crossed the threshold of Tacos El Charro, partially because it was (and still is) in a Latino neighborhood. In fact, that area of JP was still about eight or more years away from experiencing a huge gentrification and renaissance. (Dicky did very well for himself, buying that house back in about ’88. I can imagine what it must be worth now!).

So, we were always looking for food while sessioning, often opting for Doyle’s Irish Pub, the 100-year old Boston landmark on Washington Street. One lunchy mid-day, Dicky told me about the recently-opened Tacos El Charro. He said it made no sense to call in the order on the phone because they didn’t speak English. This was a good sign. So we just went down there. It was a shabby but clean little Cantina, with the classic piñatas and big fancy sombreros hanging from the ceiling. The smell of oil, cilantro and tortillas filled the restaurant. I noticed a small stage and some folkloric Mexican guitars hanging on the wall, too.

The food was great, cooked by mom in the kitchen and served by girls I surmised were her daughters. We’re talkin’ real Mexican tacos: Chopped seasoned steak with onions and cilantro folded in to a softened corn tortilla with beans on the side. That’s right, soft corn, not flour. There were none of the usual American trappings like cheese or olives or lettuce, making this unquestionably the most authentic Mexican food I’d had since moving from Texas five years before.

While eating, I noticed Mariachi memorabelia everywhere. There were photos of full bands as well as individual (very macho) Mariachis, like Hollywood head-shots. I learned that the owner was Pepe Guitierrez of Guadalajara, and he was, yes, Boston’s original Mariachi. While his wife ran the kitchen, Pepe headed up Mariachi Guadalajara, the only band of Mariachis in town. Turns out the group had been in existence locally since, my memory’s vague here, 1978? 1980? He and his wife DID in fact, speak broken English. The instruments hanging on the walls were the real deal, owned by the group, who played there every Saturday night. The restaurant didn’t have a full liquor license, but they did have beer! Holy shit! What a find! What a freaking FIND!

To make a long story even longer, I became a regular there. I got to know Pepe and the band and the girls who worked there. Dicky and I and bands we were working with at Squid Hell got introduced to Tacos El Charro and the Saturday night Mariachi fiesta. On nights when I had a gig with my band nearby, like at The Midway or The Milky Way, we’d go there to eat before the set. Though the place had yet to be “discovered”, I guess you could say WE were discovering it, bringing people there who likely never would have ventured in. And what fun we had!

One memorable night, we experienced Tacos El Charro in its full glory. (Actually it would be more memorable if I hadn’t drowned so many brain-cells in Tecate and Tequila). It was at least ten years ago now. Now that I think of it, it may have been on the eve of us moving to Albuquerque, which would make it late summer of ’97. Bernadette and I and a few friends, including our friend Bert Katzianer, were there having dinner (Bert was in a band I was producing called Rebel Yell). We had a big table with a party of at least six people. It must have been a Saturday because the Mariachis were doin’ their thing. The cervesa was a-flowin’ and the trumpets were a-blowin’ and before we knew it, they had closed the restaurant with us inside. I distinctly remember one of the waitresses locking the door and putting the closed sign up. I’d guess it was about 11:30 when she did that. Now it was the band, the staff, and US! This is when the REAL party began. Suddenly, I got the distinct feeling beer was not the only beverage being consumed. Everyone was dancing and drinking and whooping and hollering. Apparently we were being considered part of the family, and included in the fiesta.

I think it was Pepe or another guy in the group who first shouted for Beatris. Beatris was our waitress, this cute round Mexican girl with a couple of gold teeth right in the front. Others in the place joined in the call for Beatris to the stage. So, sheepish and blushing, she got up there and Pepe handed her the mic. They struck up a Mariachi Classic, Arboles de la Barranca I think it was, and Beatris proceeded to canta la cancion. She had the voice as strong as Tequila, as smooth as a Mexican brew. Incredible! She set the casa en fuego! To be flies on the wall would have been worth it, but they made us feel like full participants in the carnival. They were bringing us beer and not charging for it. At one point I found myself downstairs (Men's room) and my suspicions were confirmed. I stumbled in to the band room where the Mariachis were enjoying Tequila shots. Far be it for me not to join in! Salud!

After that, it gets pretty fuzzy. Like I said, it would be a night to remember, if only I could remember it!

Tom Halter, the lead trumpet in the group has worked with me in the studio a few times over the years, including recently. He’s an Americano but can play with perfectly imperfect slurry Spanish accent. He’s been in the outfit with Pepe, now called Mariachi Mexamerica since day one. You can hear a sample of his work with me on The Fathoms new LP, “Fathom This!”. Click on this link and play the song, “The Palomino”.


Pepe "El Tapatio" Gutierrez in prime form. Que guapo!