Category: Current events


Picture of Willis Alan Ramsey from Wikipedia taken by Ron Baker.

Picture of Willis Alan Ramsey from Wikipedia taken by Ron Baker.

Cyndy and I had the good fortune to see Willis Alan Ramsey Thursday night at the Shipping and Receiving Bar in Ft. Worth. His wife, Alison Rogers Ramsey, opened for him. I saw him quite a few times in the ‘70s. One time in particular was at a club called Mother Blue’s on Lemmon Ave.

His throat was sore and he had a bottle of Chloraseptic on a stool with a glass of water. After each song or so, he would spray his throat with the Chloraseptic. About half way through the show, he appeared frustrated. After the next song, he looked at the audience, said “to hell with it,” unscrewed the top and chugged part of the bottle. He made it through the rest of the show.

Thursday night, Alison played as good a set as she could play with an injured knee and constant pain. She was quite funny and the audience was supportive since she was obviously plagued with pain. They both talked about the 900 mile drive from Colorado they had just endured – with a stop in Childress for auto repairs.

Then Willis Alan took the stage, with another round of applause for Alison.
He began with “Watermelon Man,” to the crowd’s delight. He played new songs and some of his classics, including Northeast Texas Women. He did not play “Muskrat Love.” Then again, no one in the audience expected – or even wanted – him to play it.

Ramsey did mention the song though. He said a teacher in college told him to write what he knew. At 19, he didn’t know anything. So he quit school to “go learn something.”

“I write songs about things I don’t know anything about. For instance, I didn’t know anything about Muskrats? Still don’t.”

Willis Alan talked about staying on Leon Russell’s land in Oklahoma soon after Russell had acquired it. It was while Russell and George Harrison, among others, were planning the Concert for Bangeladesh. Ramsey stayed in one of the small cabins on the lake – literally on the lake with a boat slip on the side – with his dog. At one point, he asked if anyone had a cough drop.

He took a short break, after which he returned to the stage to play a set of “mostly ballads.” The ballads included songs that were not on his first album, such as “Mockingbird,” “Desiree,” and “Boys Town.” Ramsey also played “Angel Eyes,” receiving a standing ovation, and ended with “Satin Sheets.”

Cyndy and I went to talk to Willis Alan and Alison where they were sitting on a couch. Cyndy had already talked to Alison when she went to the restroom. Alison had mentioned on stage that “in the ‘70s there was nothing to do in Dallas.” She went to Hockaday and Cyndy and I went to W. T. White which were not far apart, although not the same years.

“One of the only things to do in Dallas in the ‘70s was to hang out at the bowling alley at Preston Forest.”

“Oh my God,” Alison said. “I haven’t thought about that place in ages.”

When I got to the couch, Cyndy was talking to Alison again and introduced me to Alison. I told Willis Alan that I thought it was funny that he had asked for a cough drop, and I told him the story about the Chloraseptic incident. Alison got a kick out of the story. He looked at me with a knowing smile.

“I remember that, actually.”

Willis Alan Ramsey and Alison Rogers will be playing at Poor David’s Pub in Dallas on November 7 with Bob Livingston.

Hunting Catfish

Cyndy and the boys with fishIt is not a trick title . A friend of mine who is visiting in Tennessee at the moment was sitting in the house, minding his own business watching tv one evening. Suddenly, without warning, he heard shotgun bursts not far from the house. He was accustomed to his son-in-law firing shots into the woods and at trees to “calm down.” But the sounds did not emanate from one person.

My friend went out and discovered his son-in-law and compadres at the small pond. They had become irritated that the lone catfish in the pond had eluded capture. They were annoyed that the catfish was eating the smaller fish – which is a part of nature. They had worked themselves up to the point that they were shooting at this poor fish with shotguns. I cannot imagine that they did the smaller fish a whole lot of good themselves.

The friend said something I will not repeat here, but that seemed appropriate given the circumstances – and God’s tendency for forgiveness. It does seem rather excessive behavior to conceive of firing a shotgun at one catfish in a pond. Accidents do happen and people could be hurt. It is certainly a frame of mind that I would not entertain. And we will not mention the shooting at small animals with assault rifles.

(The picture is of Cyndy and the boys with fish they caught quite a few years ago. The fish were caught with fishing poles, not shotguns or AK-47’s.)

Peace be with you.

20140503_171118 One thing I noticed while working the Dallas Songwriters Association booth at the Dallas Guitar Show is something I notice most of the time when I visit a music store. Naturally, there are talented guitarists at the guitar show or store. The majority, I would think. But then there are the new guitarists who do not want anyone else in the store to know that they have not been playing very long or cannot play very well.

So they play the one riff they can play well from their favorite band. Unfortunately, that is the only cover tune riff they can do well enough to be heard in Guitar Center, Sam Ash, or any music store that sells guitars, as well as guitar shows. So, rather than risk embarrassment, they play that riff over and over. They change the settings each time so it sounds a little different and gives the impression that they are actually serious about buying a guitar. Which would work if they were not there three times a week and had never bought anything more than strings.

At guitar shows, these guitarists are the same, but incredibly louder. Particularly at booths selling amps that purport to be louder than all other amps. Then it is just painful. And it is made worse by their insistence in hearing themselves over all the other guitarists who are doing the same thing. That and the fact that, for some reason, the sound men for the various stages seem to feel that good sound is not as important as being heard in the next universe.

In the ‘70s and ‘80s, there was a dual lick. By that I mean that the lick I refer to was useful to guitarists and also those who wanted to “prove” they could play bass. That lick was from the song, Smoke On the Water, by Deep Purple. Whether you liked Deep Purple or not, you got tired of it quick – just because someone could play the riff did not mean they could do it well. These days, these irritating guitarists’ riffs span the scale of genres.

I was in a Guitar Center in the past week or so to pick up a couple of things. A guy was playing his favorite heavy metal riff. As the clerk was ringing up my purchase, the guy played it a couple more times, pausing for a few minutes between to change settings.

“I think you’ve got it down now,” I said outloud to the guy (who couldn’t hear me).

The clerk made a face that said he agreed with me.

“At least it wasn’t Smoke On the Water!” I said, and he laughed.

“Oh, he was in yesterday,” he replied.

It was my turn to laugh, but I was surprised that people still play that riff in public. I shouldn’t have been surprised, really. The song is still played on classic rock stations. And the riff is relatively simple to play. The funny thing, though, is that most people play it wrong. Which makes the pretense of displaying their talent all the more sad.

Peace be with you.

Dans article - Texas Beat 1995I was working at the Dallas Songwriters Association booth at the Dallas Guitar Show last weekend. Cameron, our middle son, was with me for a while on Saturday. Across from the booth was a display of all kinds of music stuff – literally. There was one box on the end of one of the tables that had a sign on the side reading “Vintage Texas Music Magazines.”

“I wonder if any of the magazines I wrote for are in that box?” I asked myself offhand, talking more to myself than Cameron.

But Cameron went over and looked. He didn’t check them all out, yet he found a couple of issues of Texas Beat with my column in it from 1995. That particular column – Music As You Read It (one of which is pictured) – was a music book review column. I had different columns over the years.

When Cameron found the magazines, I was surprised. I wasn’t surprised that he found them. Somewhere at home I have some myself. But what surprised me was that when I was writing for magazines over the years, I never considered that the magazines would be classified as “vintage.”

My friends, you have before you the writing of a vintage writer, songwriter, guitarist. Sadly enough, it simply means I have been around long enough for my writing, etc., to achieve the distinction of being vintage – or even part of vintage. Which, when you think about it, is actually a good thing. I’m just not used to being classified under the term. But if vintage means good enough to hang on to, I’m in.

Peace be with you.

Randy and the Big Shoe for Amputee Advocacy

Randy and the Big Shoe for Amputee Advocacy

I was in LA last week for the American Society of Composers, Authors, and Publishers (ASCAP) conference at the Loews Hollywood Hotel. I registered last November. A few months ago, Randy Mecca, an old friend and amputee, moved with Kelley and youngest daughter, Kaleigh, to Tennessee to stay with their oldest daughter and her family for an extended visit. Two weeks ago, Randy called from Tennessee. I knew he was trying out for America’s Got Talent, but I hadn’t heard anything since he did his amputee comedy for the Texas auditions.

When I answered the phone, he told me that he had made it to the LA auditions. He was telling me the dates when I stopped him mid-sentence. I asked him to repeat the dates. Which he did.

“Conner and I are going to be in LA on the 22nd!” I told him.

Randy was naturally surprised and said he would see about getting two more tickets. Kelley’s siblings live near LA and they were using the tickets he had been given. Which was okay. It was enough that we might be able to get together. It wasn’t until Monday, the 21st, when I was packing and finalizing plans, that it dawned on me that the Dolby Theatre attached to the hotel is the home of the Academy Awards. I began to wonder …

I sent Randy a text asking where the auditions were going to be held. Since he has spotty service in east Tennessee, the reply came a good while later. I’m sure you have figured out that he replied that it was the Dolby Theatre. Which we could not freaking believe. But as they say in the commercials – “but wait, there’s more.”

Conner and I should have arrived at the hotel about 1 p.m. But we got the Super Shuttle driver from hell. He took us through parts of Los Angeles that I could have skipped altogether. Places where I was praying he would not stop and open the door. And his sense of direction had taken an extended vacation. We passed within frisbee throwing distance of our hotel at least twice – or so it seemed.

We arrived just shortly after 2 p.m. The hotel had not received my request to change from a king to two queen beds. They had a room with the two beds, but it would not be ready until 4 p.m. So we went to look at the Musician’s Institute – the school Conner plans to attend – and get something to eat. When we got back to the hotel around 4, the room was ready. Wouldn’t you know that we were on the floor just below Randy and Kelley?

We went up to visit with them after the auditions were over. They were leaving early the next morning. What are the odds that Randy and I would end up in LA at the same time? What do you think? Have you ever had this type of experience happen to you?

Peace be with you.

Dan Roark and Sons 3 For the past couple of years, I have been getting music together in preparation for recording a new CD. I didn’t play much when the boys were growing up, what with Little League baseball, church activities, and disc golf tournaments. Now Conner and Cameron are 20 and 19, respectively, J.D. is a senior, and it’s time to get back to playing music. We all play in the praise band at church occasionally.

I started with my old standards and added the new songs I’ve written over the past few years. As I was practicing and getting ready to go into the studio, I kept thinking of other songs I’ve written that I hadn’t thought of in a while. But when I looked in my notebooks, I could not find some of the songs I was looking for. And some of the songs I found didn’t have the chords written down.

I remembered the songs in my head, of course – for the most part. And I have a large number of tapes. My musical partner, Joel Nichols, and I were fanatics about recording practices and shows (sadly, Joel died in 1999). Yet not all of the tapes are labeled as to what songs are on them. Unfortunately, there are no clues such as – “this is the recording of that song that you remember was particularly excellent.” So I get to spend a lot of time listening to tapes. Which means a lot of recordings of the same songs.

Which is my cross to bear. Here’s my point – keep track of everything. Back everything up and date it. Having everything on computer is useless if you don’t know where to find it. But you’re a couple of steps ahead of me. I still have boxes to go through and copyrights to renew.

Joel and I thought we could hit the big time at any moment. We would spend our lives playing the same songs, along with new ones we were writing. It never occurred to us we might not sing them long enough for them to settle in the backs of our minds with other old memories. Fortunately for me, I played most of my songs enough that, even if I didn’t play them again, I probably will never forget them. Once I started playing the newly found old songs, they usually came back to me fairly easily. Yet there were others that didn’t come back as quickly or easily.

So trust me, don’t rely completely on your memory. You’re already having to write songs, record, give interviews, make appearances, and plan tours (among other things). Don’t leave anything to chance. It can come back to haunt you.

Peace be with you.

Mom and Dad1I was talking to my mom on the phone the other day. We talked about how the aunts and cousins were getting along – the only husband left among Mom and her surviving siblings is Dad. Aunt Stella Joe passed away a week or so ago after falling, breaking her hip and shoulder. She was in hospice for several weeks.

We talked about the journeys my cousins, Scott, Sue, and David had to travel while she was in hospice. Especially with Scott’s wife having brain cancer. The waiting and hoping, yet not sure what to pray for. Our family went through the same type of situation with my Aunt Juanita on my father’s side. Cyndy and I also went through the same situation with her Aunt Gee.

Mom and I talked about her two remaining sisters, Edna and Clara. We talked about our immediate family, the situations our four children are dealing with, the recent rain, and other things. I would give my opinion and Mom would reply, “that’s what Dad said.” It occurred several times during the conversation.

Which surprised, and slightly amused me. When I was in my twenties, and thirties for that matter, it would have severely irritated me to be told I sounded like my dad. He and I are so much alike that the few differences were magnified. He and I did not always talk directly. A lot of the time it was through Mom.

Over the years though, I have learned to appreciate the ways we are alike and also the ways in which we are different. We are closer now than we ever were back then. Having your own children changes how you previously viewed your father and fatherhood. First Jennifer, then the three boys, Conner, Cameron and J.D. I began to find myself saying certain things to them and then thinking “holy crap, I sound like my dad!”

In high school, a few friends and I decided to make a list of all the things that we would do differently with our children than our parents did. We would put the list in a safety deposit box and open it after we all had children and see how we did. Then we decided we would save ourselves the grief of not only having done things like our parents, but of not doing the things we were going to do differently. Even though we disagreed with our parents – still do on some things – overall they were probably right and we knew it even then.

I was talking with Dad a short while back and he was telling me about my grandparents when he was young. And the last part of the last paragraph?

That’s what Dad said.

Peace be with you.

Dressed up, Hair down b I picked up my granddaughter, Kelley, from school last week and we stopped by McDonalds on the way home. I wanted some tea and since Kelley hadn’t had a chance to eat her snack, I thought I would get her a happy meal for a treat as well as a smoothie for Cyndy. We were getting back in the car when Kelley spotted a dead bird between the sidewalk and the street.

“I’m sad because I see a dead bird,” she said, and I turned around to see the bird as I opened the door.

“It is a dead bird isn’t it?”

“I’m sad when nature dies,” she said as she climbed into her car seat. “I already named that bird one time,” as I buckled her in.

I said “oh really,” as I shut the door, and walked around the car.

“I’m sad for Enchilada,” Kelley said as I got in the car and started the engine.

“Oh, yeah?”

“That’s what I named her.”

“Oh, okay.”

We pulled out of the parking lot and headed for our house. As we were nearing the train tracks that cross the road, the lights began to flash as the barriers came down. I have not counted train cars for quite some time – they do not run as often as they have in the past – but it was the first time I had waited on a train with Kelley, so it was fun – again – to count the cars. There were two engines in front, 133 cars, and three engines on the back. Kelley was counting with me until there were about eighty cars.

We hadn’t been at our house long before her dad came to pick her up. I was telling him about counting the train cars when Kelley piped in.

“I was helping him count until my mouth got tired,” she told her dad.

That is why I love being a grandfather. I enjoyed being a father, too. But as a father, I had to use those moments as teaching moments, and inject a sense of reality, to a childish degree. As a grandfather, I still have a responsibility, yet I also have the chance to indulge in the weirdness of a child’s mind – and my own.

As Hunter S. Thompson used to say – and I have a t-shirt – “when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.” And five year old girls – or boys for that matter – are really good at weird.

Peace be with you.

Brewer and Shipley 2 Cyndy and I went to Ft. Worth last Friday to see Brewer and Shipley at McDavid Studios. It is in a building owned or managed by Bass Performance Hall and houses smaller venues in the next block. The Van Cliburn Recital Hall is also in that building. The room we were in had a capacity of 200 people with the setup for the show. The crowd numbered less than two hundred but it was a good audience for Michael Brewer and Tom Shipley.

I first saw Brewer and Shipley at the Lone Star Opry House in the early seventies. Cyndy and I had our first date at Lone Star Opry House when we went to see Rusty Weir not long before or after the Brewer and Shipley show. Cyndy and I sang One Toke Over the Line in the folk club in high school – I was one of the guitarists.

The next time I saw the duo was the day our youngest son was born in 1996. (We dated a couple of times after high school, but did not get married until 1992 after both of us were divorced.) Sally, a good friend of Cyndy and I, took me to see them at the original Poor David’s Pub when Cyndy had to remain in the hospital for a couple of days. They signed all of my albums, but I could not find my Brewer and Shipley songbook. They signed the songbook on Friday.

Seventeen years later, Cyndy got to see Brewer and Shipley. And they sounded just as good as the past two times. Their harmonies intertwined, as did their guitars, to create an orchestral acoustic sound. The duo began with Shake Off the Demon and followed it with Make My Bed from their Shanghai CD.

Then they played One Toke Over the Line after a few stories about how they wrote the song and times when they were “several tokes over the line.” They were playing clubs in the midwest when they went out back of the club for a – well – toke break. When they were walking back into the club, Tom Shipley turned to Michael Brewer and said, “Man, I’m one toke over the line.” They wrote the song that night as a joke for their friends. It only made the album because they needed another song. Brewer came back from a trip to Mexico and found that One Toke… had been made a single and the vice president said they were the worst influences on young people of the day. Lawrence Welk had a couple sing the “modern spiritual,” One Toke Over the Line. Jerry Garcia also covered the tune.

“Which makes us the only people on the planet,” Shipley said, “to have a song covered by both Lawrence Welk and Jerry Garcia.”

The hour and a half set included numerous stories and songs. Among others, All Along the Watchtower – “the only song we’ve played longer than our own songs” – Witchi Tai To, an Indian song from the 1800s, Streets of America, and the encore, a song by Tom Shipley, Treehouse Brown. Speaking for myself, it was a greatest hits set of my favorite Brewer and Shipley songs. Were there other songs I would have liked to have heard? Well, sure. But I trust that I will see them again – next year, not in another seventeen years.

Peace be with you.

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JD Pitching 1 I was in Fort Worth this past weekend with J.D. at TCU for a baseball camp. We were driving from one field to another and were driving down W. Berry from TCU. Coming down the hill, I spotted a man and a woman waving from a concrete platform that turned out to be the entrance to a church. They were not waving “come here” like parking attendants, but they were using a modified princess wave. Unfortunately, their signage was not sufficient for me to see the name quickly as I drove by. And time did not permit stopping to take a picture.

As I told J.D. later, if we hadn’t been on a schedule, I would have stopped and attended their service. But while I couldn’t stop, it was a bright spot in the morning. It was over 100 degrees for most of the weekend and J.D. had already played two games (albeit short games). In the picture, J.D. is the pitcher. It was a showcase camp before coaches and recruiters from numerous colleges and some major league teams. It was a high intensity weekend, which made the smiles and the waves all the more important.

When I saw them and realized it was a church, I said to J.D., “so simple, but effective. How cool is that?” I happen to be on the communications committee of our church. It was certainly a Jesus moment in which life is briefly in the background and God’s light shines like a beacon in the wilderness. One of those moments that reminds us that life may be tough at times, but something better awaits us.

Peace be with you.