Sunday, March 25, 2012

Ice Cream with Ben E. King


One night early in '85 I was onstage with a top-40 band in Lancaster CA, out in the middle of the desert in a nautical-themed motel lounge. One of the staples of cover bands then was the "Ice Cream Changes Medley."  "Ice Cream Changes" are what musicians call a sequence of four chords that show up in almost every tin pan alley tune, and comprise a large chunk of the early rock 'n roll repertoire.  In C, for instance you would be looking at: C - Am - Dm (or F) - G, or variations of it. The leader calls "Ice Cream!" and you find a key, get in a dreamy 12/8 feel and:

Darlin yoooooo-wooo-wooooooo.  Send me….
("hey I got one," says the guitar player)
Cherry.  Che-erry pie….Gi-i-mme. Gimme so-ome…
(the saxman steps to the mic and…)
Devil or Ay-hnngel, I can't make. Up my mi-ind…
(and back to the lead singer)
Count every wave, on the stormy sea….

…and so on, for as long as paying customers are dancing and we can come up with tunes. There's usually a bridge section to contend with, but they usually fall into a couple of set patterns which can pretty much be divined with a word or two from across the stage.  So in response to raised eyebrows someone'd yell "rhythm!" or "go to the four!" With an Ice Cream Changes tune, that's usually enough to you started. What I do with guitar players who need a chord is point to a fret on my bass up or down the E-string. 

So anyway, this one night, there's a tap on my arm - I was easy to reach at my position on the very left of the stand - and this guy says "I'm Ben E. King, can I sit in?"  To which I naturally respond "getcher butt up here!" and he's great. Now I'm not sure if back then I'd have known  whether or not he was who he said he was, but he had an undeniably stentorian doowop voice, knew the bag, and could do all the stage moves.  Three nights later, I'm at a restaurant somewhere in Orange county, with a different band but in my usual spot on the left side of the bandstand and this guy taps me on the arm, "Hey I'm Ben E. King…"  Different guy, same response, "getcher butt on up here."  Same thing: great singer, smooth performer.  Thinking back on it, and the fact that this was Southern California after all, I doubt either one actually was the Ben E. King.

And a few years later, back in Richmond, I found out why.  I was at that time in a band with 10 of my best buddies, good good band, and we were hired to do a big corporate bash at a downtown hotel. The clients had gone so far as to hire The Drifters and Bowzer (of Sha-Na-Na and TV fame), and members of our rhythm section were supposed to fill in for whatever chairs the name guys needed covered, then play a dance set with our full band.  The Drifters, such as they were (no chick, no one even claiming to be Ben E. King) had their own drummer and guitarist, and pretty much just chord charts, so it was a pretty easy show.  Of course the lead singer was more of an Otis Redding clone than a Ben E. King, but there was a great old-school bass singer, and then a couple of younger guys filling it out; I sort of figured we were backing the Central Atlantic Drifters Troupe or something. With which I have no problem - these Drifter guys were pros. But I guess there's a bunch of guys who, at one time or another in their professional lives, "were" Ben E. King.

I ended up playing The Drifters, The Bowz, and my band's long set with no break. And of course for a bass player, that also pretty much means playing almost every second of every tune, and by the end I thought my arms were gonna fall off.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Great lyrics (not mine)

The literature of the great Calypsonians, from what I've been able to find, is woefully underrepresented on the internet and libraries.  For the lyrics below I don't make any particular effort to transcribe the sound of the language, except in specific instances of Trinbagonian English words or syntax, for example "distill water" or "Du."   


"Concertina" (The Roaring Lion) 

I beg yuh Miss Millie
For goodness sake take it easy
And please have some patience
And don't torture me with your long endurance.

(chorus) Oh no Miss Millie
For heaven's sake take it easy
Du don't advance any further
And kill me dead with your concertina

Last week you give me fever
All night long was the same maneuver
You had me piston in fire
Trying to fiddle your concertina

Oh no...

Your engine always in action
Day and night you want lubrication
Not me any longer
Your battery need too much distill water

Oh no...

Night and day you('re) complainin
Every minute your valve want grindin
If not your carriage your throttle
I'm too afraid of your old crank handle


Oh no Miss Millie
For heaven's sake take it easy
Du don't advance any further
And kill me dead with your concertina


Saturday, March 3, 2012

A Truly Backhanded Compliment

My acupuncturist back in the Twin Cities, N, after sticking you full of needles will customarily (also being a musician) put on some music and leave the room for a bit to let the magic work. She told me she had my guitar CD in the rotation, and that one of her regular patients, a woman with dementia, gave it an emphatic  thumbs-down. "I don't like this music." she said, "It makes my toes hurt."

Turns out her toes got sore where she'd been snapping them in time.