i can honestly count on one hand, the number of concerts i’ve been to where i left feeling truly uplifted. one of the most surprisingly uplifting concert experiences i ever had was when i attended a performance of Bill Haley’s Comets at the music pier in Ocean City, NJ when i was probably 19 or 20 years old.
it was either my mom or i who saw the concert listed as we were vacationing at the jersey shore, just as we had since i was a child. i remember being a little confused by the Comets listing since i was pretty certain that Bill Haley had died but it felt like a good idea so mom and i went. the music pier in Ocean City, NJ is a fantastic old building on the boardwalk that is bursting with all kinds of nostalgic atmosphere and is no doubt, a great place to see live music. as the band took the stage, the last member to appear was the drummer, who apparently was the only living connection to Bill Haley and the reason they were able to appear under the Bill Haley name. I guess he had played with Haley in the 60′s and 70′s and his entrance at the concert was some sort of a big deal. once the band had assembled, however, it was fairly obvious that this was no crack unit of energetic musicians in their prime, hot off the success of top ten singles. far from it. this was a no-holds-barred nostalgia act, complete with satin jackets and bad jokes in bewteen songs. but it never mattered. never. what was wholly intact was the beat. that pulsing, digging, grinding, churning beat that shoved all good fifties rock and roll down the tracks and over the cliff to musical ecstacy. god, that beat. it all came rushing back to me as i sat there in the music pier in Ocean City, NJ.
my musical upbringing had only begun a few years before that concert. it all started with Buddy Holly. soon after, came Bill Haley, Chuck Berry, Carl Perkins, Eddie Cochran, Elvis Presley, Ritchie Valens, etc. i immersed myself in those artists as i discovered a world of hypnotic rhythms and infectious beats. as a youngster in the mid 1980′s where Wham, Culture CLub and MTV were defining adolescence for my peers, i was cutting guitars out of cardboard and lip-synching to Chuck Berry and Buddy Holly in front of a mirror in my bedroom. i was obsessed with Leave It To Beaver. i started using brylcreem and wearing my father’s letterman sweater from Rutgers. it all centered on that beat and that music. it was my lifeline. i remember raiding my best friend’s mom’s record collection and making dozens of mixed tapes. she had all kinds of fifties rock compilations. i’d go over there for sleepovers with a stack of blank cassettes and a voracious appetetite for oldies music. it had a stranglehold on me and it had me good, this music, this rock n roll. i began playing guitar and struggled through that damn near impossible intro to Johnny B Goode. i tackled the guitar solo to La Bamba. thankfully the opening chords to Summertime Blues weren’t quite so challenging but they did change quickly. there was nothing else in my world but that glorious music. after a few years, however, the natural progression of things took my musical interests in other directions. a little Stevie Ray Vaughan here. some Jimi Hendrix there (I always say never trust a guitar player who doesn’t respect Hendrix. they don’t have to love him but i’m afraid that respect to the man is a requirement for membership in the world of guitarists). the red hot chili peppers and their, then new, guitarist, John Frusciante got my attention. a lot of devotion to Ian Anderson’s acoustic guitar wizardry in Jethro Tull followed. then, Phish started making waves outside of New England and Trey Anastasio’s flawless technique grabbed my ear. all of these elements (and boatloads more) got into my system and they, as Scooty Moore would say, were entered in my data bank. soon, i would go so far as to say that i might have gotten a little “too cool” for all that stuff from the 50′s. now, i didn’t consciously move away from 50′s music or try to deny my love for it but i was in no hurry to announce the existence of my 50′s inspiration. i was getting on in years, 17 and 18 years old, and i had a musical image to pretend to have. i had to be somewhat cool for whatever gigs i did play and that 50′s stuff was not that cool.
or so i thought. well, thank god for Bill Haley’s Comets because as i sat in the crowd that night in Ocean City, i was transformed. i was awakened. awakened by “Shake Rattle and Roll”. awakened by the unrelenting swing of “Dim, Dim The Lights”. oh, man i felt alive again. i felt that thing that moved a whole generation of post-war teens to leather jackets and rebellion. it was glorious. so raw and so feral. it didn’t matter who played it, what they wore or how old they were. it was that beat, that swing. i was feeling the magical embrace of music in my blood. i had come home to my roots and i was delivered home by a nostalgic version of Bill Haley’s Comets. i immediately dug out my old tapes and found myself again. all of my old friends were intact and welcomed me back graciously. that rolling drum beat that kicks off the chorus to “Sweet Little Sixteen”. the throbbing, spotlessly crystal clear groove on the chorus of “Stranded In The Jungle”. the reverb drenched guitar that opens “I Only Have Eyes For You”. the cardboard box drum beat of “Not Fade Away”. they hadn’t changed a bit. in fact, they had grown quite fine with age and i was glad to return to them all.
ever since that fateful, almost accidental, life-altering concert, i make sure to embrace the music that moves me. i don’t care what it is or who thinks what about it. the lifeblood of creation is inspiration. inspiration comes in many forms and the greatest asset an artist has is their personal taste. woven together with craftsmanship, passion and expression, personal taste is what gives an artist their own specific voice. so i listen to whatever feels good to me and if it happens to be the theme song to “Silver Spoons” then god help whoever’s in the car with me at the time because i’m cranking it.
