20.40. Jones Beach Theatre, Long Island.
A warm summer night on Long Island. Right now Kenny Wayne Shepherd is blasting a storm out of Voodoo Child. Backtracking…
Thursday 19th. June:
Last night's debut solos in Hartford were lots of fun for me. I found myself looking forward to getting on stage with the team and spitting out a line or two. Going Down and Red House with Red House on guitar organ throughout. Into the front line for Robert.
It's difficult to keep fresh for three hours after Soundscaping, walk on and join a geared-up and raving Satriani band, then going to the hotel and winding down. Consequently, the night's sleeping tends to be short and I sleep in the van on the next day's drive.
Tomorrow my wife Toyah debuts in Much Ado About Nothing at the Ludlow Festival in Shropshire; today a large bouquet of flowers should arrive in her hotel. Because of Toyah’s extreme busyness, we haven't been able to speak every day as is our custom: she has rehearsals, interviews for two shows, VH1 presenting, and a hotel without a telephone in the room. I’m in soundcheck and performance mode when she gets back after work. But on Sunday she'll be home and we’ll get to catch up then.
Today's hotel has aspirations for itself although the bathroom fittings speak of an earlier, more modest, incarnation. I allowed myself lunch for an opportunity to sit and read, for 90 minutes, over clean linen. The cheesecake, at $7.50, would be considered a tad expensive anywhere else. Here, it was cheesecake nouvelle but observing Long Island denizens at lunch was (almost) worth paying through the nose.
The Satriani family and band arrived at the restaurant ten minutes before I left. Such a natural, good-hearted group of people with kind words from Stu (who listened to That Which Passes last night).
Today, coming off at the end of Soundscapes, Steve was listening on the side: I've never heard anything like that before he said. I seized my chance to realise an ambition, and asked to play For The Love Of God with him. Anything Steve said: duet, Soundscapes, second guitar, whatever. For The Love Of God is an exceptional piece, and not a title that could be chosen without innocence or humility. It has been a favourite of mine since first listening to Passion and Warfare and remains in my pantheon of loved and respected guitar instrumentals.
Steve is the only interviewee I've ever read who mentioned fasting as preparation for playing & recording. He said it had attracted criticism: You can't talk about that sort of stuff we both agreed. As a younger apprentice to music's mystery, armed with a body of techniques and hot ideas, I tended to sound off somewhat more than was wise or advisable but felt it necessary to put up a flag for those who had eyes to see. Guitar Craft, after 12 years, has not even touched on much more than a cursory introduction to the techniques of craft living. Little is needed to make a sea change in one's way of living, provided that the little is discharged. Meanwhile, I am nowadays content to say much less than formerly, if anything at all.
The editor of a particular guitar magazine would like to be a full time musician, but editorship is his day job. Advice to any young player: be a professional only if you have to. Otherwise, be a semi-pro.
‘Phoned Vernon Reid last night, just before midnight. Vernon was back from Mali that afternoon and is invited to join the G3 jam tomorrow and might. Today he’s on his way to Philly to meet a young group he's producing.
Agent Steve Martin visits: Crash Test Dummies – it appears that I nearly went out as a Soundscaping support for them.
Rumination of the day: Satch and Steve are guitarists. That is what they do. I play guitar as a way to do what I do. For them, it is the end. Their fluency, which is so far beyond my own, is proof of that. For me, it's the prime (but not the only) way to do what it is that I do.
"The more failures, the more successes."
