A Beautiful Song: A Musical Soul Story

by Michael Cantwell

  “Stu, I’ve been practicing really hard learning songs you know how to play on your guitar. I really want to sing while you play, please?

  “Debby, I have never heard you sing even when the band was practicing. I don’t want to have to go back and ask a third time if we can change things around at the party. I’ll tell you what, let’s practice a few times. If we ever get another offer to play and we sound good together, we’ll try it.”

  I really didn’t want to set myself up for failure. I recognized the first set as a band would be enough of a disaster. Adding Debby to the mix might end my career in music, before it ever began.

  Saturday night came and I ended up having to split the $15 equally even though I did double duty. I was originally going to play for free but I think after all the hassles and lugging all the drums and keyboards the host felt a bit guilty. Debby was not invited, but she was not going to miss this event. I explained to the host she would sit quietly off to the side. If memory serves me, there were about 25 of our classmates at the party. We knocked out two Monkees tunes, two Beatles and a very bad version of Proud Mary. After the bands short set, I ended up sitting on a chair in the back yard with every one sitting on the ground and playing for over an hour. I knew maybe twenty songs by heart, so it was easy to play for an hour. No one seemed to mind too much that I was not singing, though I did hear Debby singing softly to a few of the songs, just off to my left.

  When I arrived at school on Monday, I was shocked at the attention I received from my classmates. Many who had never bothered to say hello before, came up to tell me they heard I was a big hit over the weekend. I did however get a very cold shoulder from my now constant lunch partner, Debby. I think she learned that stare from my dad too. Kevin was bouncing all around the cafeteria as if we were the second coming of the Rolling Stones. I had grown to become very critical about my sound, and didn’t think the set with the band was our best effort.

  I was starting to feel pretty good about my success over the past weekend. I wandered over to the shop for my Tuesday night jam session with Gordy and usual suspects. However, when I turned up, I noticed the group was a bit larger than the usual four or five. Skunk was back after a couple of month hiatus from the shop. He had brought with him the band he had been recording with in New York.

  They had just got back from an east coast tour promoting their recent release. I already was familiar with it, and was impressed with the song writing. Skunk’s lead licks were impressive on the recordings. I was hoping this would be a treat. What I was not ready for was the humbling experience I was about to endure. These guys were pros. I mean they were a tight bunch. Despite having played there for about a year now with Gordy, I was way out of my league. They would play chords and keys I didn’t know existed on the neck of a guitar. None of those sounds were on their two albums.

  Skunk told me that they were transforming into more of a jazz fusion band and leaving all of the three chords and its rock and roll life behind. I mean the few times I was supposed to take over, it was humiliating. I didn’t want to play anymore. I only wanted to listen and not embarrass myself more than I already had. I am not sure if I was upset more because I could not keep up, or because I had come there thinking I would rock the place that night. I was sadly mistaken. Being an accomplished professional musician was still a long way away from this amateur. I didn’t return to Gordy’s until my next lesson.

  “So tell me Stu, what did you think of the fellas from the other night”, Gordy asked when I slinked in for my lesson.

  “I don’t even want to talk about it Gordy. I came in here with my head barely being able to fit through that door because I could strum a few tunes at a sweet sixteen party and these guys are out there playing in front of large crowds, playing their own songs. I feel like a jack ass thinking I was a real player. I’m not even close.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself kiddo. Those guys have been perfecting their sound and playing for over ten years in bars and small halls all across this area for almost a decade now. They got a recording deal a couple of years ago and as you know have a couple of albums out now. But they paid their dues. Their lead guitar player let a woman get to him and he stopped going on the road. That’s why they picked up Skunk to play lead. They are close to being world class musicians. You can’t compare yourself to them. Your time will come. Now, give thanks to your maker and let’s get this lesson started.”

  A week or so later my local church had decided to add another Sunday service. It would not be in the main hall but in the basement. It was going to be a worship service with live music, not your traditional mass. Father Daniel, who knew I played guitar, asked me to bring my instrument and join in on Sunday. He sold me out by calling my mom and asking her to make sure I showed up. The good priest even mailed her sheet music to four songs. I had two days to learn my part.

  I really didn’t want to participate. Despite my humbling experience the previous week, I was still a rock and roll guy. I was not meant for some old people’s Christian band. But in order to remain in my mother’s good graces, I showed ninety minutes early for a quick rehearsal before the service was to begin. Once again I was about to suffer another humbling experience. I was surrounded by adults who could really play. I was to play rhythm and strum a few chords while the older guys took lead. I had seen and worked out the songs, but with the entire band, the songs actually rocked. I didn’t know until that morning they had been practicing as a band for a few weeks. So I accepted my role as an additional side player in the band.

  It was the first time I felt as though I was playing for others, not for me. Up until that point it was all about me, and my selfish kid’s trappings. I was not playing for a higher purpose. I was starting to understand what Gordy had been trying to get through to me in my lessons. We played two songs before the service started and two more near the end. Possibly Gordy was there in the beginning of the service, but I noticed during the second set of songs, he was sitting in the last row of chairs with a smile on his face. I had never seen that smile since I had known him.

  After the service, I was asked to join the weekly group. Practice would be on Tuesday nights. I declined. When I told Gordy the story, he informed me that he no longer had time to play on Tuesday nights. “It’s best you stay with the church band, I’ll start the Tuesday boys again in a few months. That is if you stay in the church group.” I called Father Daniel and accepted later that night. For some reason, he really didn’t seem surprised.

  The more I played with the church band, the more I really felt for the first time part of a group. The service grew from about forty people to almost two hundred over a few short weeks during the summer. I even convinced Gordy to join the group one week. “Gordy, the Lord came to me in a dream and told me you were to come along one week.” He didn’t like my sixteen year old humor any more than he did my thirteen year old humor.

  The Saturday group was falling flat. We were not getting any better no matter how hard we practiced. That was until Debby finally convinced us to let her sing one song. Kevin was our lead singer, but he really was not any better than me. And trust me; I was not good by any standards.

  “I’ll tell you what Deb, if you can sing “Here, There and Everywhere” better than Kevin, it’s now your song to sing for our group in public. That is assuming we ever get a paying gig again.”

  She opened her mouth and I thought I was given a gift from heaven. She was incredible. I asked why she never wanted to sing with us before. I quickly learned how fast a woman can turn on you. I thought her cold shoulder from a couple of months back was bad, I had no idea.

  “You guys, you all think you know everything. I told you for weeks I could sing. But oh no, you guys think you are all God’s gift to music. Well guess what, you’re not! Well here I am. I know I can sing better than any of you conceited assholes, and now I proved it.”

  After the shock of her voice and her rant left the room, we all knew she sang so beautifully it was a no brain
er. Debby Fletcher was now our lead singer. Kevin realized he was going to be limited to singing lead on one or two songs. The band started to learn songs that Debby could sing in her vocal range. It was mostly some slow ballads at first, but I didn’t care. I was willing to let her take over as the main reason if we were to find an audience. I was learning with the church group that just being a part of a competent band was fun.

  The first day of our senior year of high school, we found out that one of our classmates had been killed in a drunken driving accident at the Jersey shore over the Labor Day weekend. The school wanted to do some kind of awareness campaign and help offset her funeral costs. It was to be an outside event and bands were asked to come and play for thirty minute sets.

  I convinced both the church group and the Saturday group to play. The Saturday group could now play ten songs with Debby singing lead. We picked our best six songs to play our set. I had to borrow that old strat from Gordy again so that I could plug in and be heard across the parking lot. Debby stole the thunder from our band, but I really enjoyed playing softly behind her voice. There were maybe three hundred people listening when we performed. It was the largest crowd any in our band had ever played in front of as a musician. It was very obvious that Debby made all the difference. By now Sticks had become competent enough to play the 10 songs we knew as a band and Kevin could play a solo or two on the keyboards to fill in our sound. We really needed to add a bass player, but no one we knew played bass guitar.

  During our set, someone from another school heard us play and asked if he could sit in as our bass guitarist. His name was Brian Jones. He had a heart tattoo on his arm. Brian went to a school across town and drove a rusted out 1969 Chevy Camaro that was badly in need of a new muffler. We quickly found out that really he was far more interested in Debby and her cute jeans, than in being a member of our band. It was strained enough that Debby had invited me as a lunch partner with her and Kevin. Now with this guy hanging around and flirting, it was really uncomfortable. We had to tell Brian to back off or he would not be invited back. He agreed, but the drool running down his chin was very apparent. The guy could play however, and the band really was not complete without a bass player. Brian needed about thirty minutes practice time with us until the band realized we needed him more than he needed us. Brian played in a band before ours, but would not say why he left the other group.

  After practice Debby approached with a favor. “Stu, there is an open mic night at a local restaurant and first prize is fifty bucks. The first round is next Friday, with the finals on Saturday. Do ya think you and I can try to win first place?

  “I don’t know Deb, the last time I was going to play without the others, Kevin had a fit. I’ll only do it if you bat your baby blues at Kevin and get him and the others not to jump up my ass for doing it.”

  “I can do that. I’ll even split the prize money with you after we win.” Debby batted her eyes at me, smiled and walked away, shaking her backside just enough that I would take notice.

  We agreed on four songs, two for the first night, and if we advanced two for the second night. Good thing, because we easily made it to the second night. We did a really good version of “Heart of Gold” and “You’ve Got a Friend”. I was sure we had won because we had by far the loudest applause, but we quickly learned the best does not always win. The prize went to a solo lady singer who was pretty good by local standards. We later found out she was the girlfriend of the restaurant owner’s son. That was a really hard lesson for us to swallow. My mom and dad came there for dinner on Saturday night to hear us play. My dad did inform me, it was not the 1812 Overture, but he did enjoy it. He was proud of us both. That was worth more to me than the money.

  Kevin was becoming quite the young entrepreneur. He booked our band at the local CYO (Catholic Youth Organization) dance hall for the Friday night dances for a month. We were contracted to play two forty five minute sessions. It was the first would be mostly Debby and I performing ballads with the band occasionally filling on certain songs then the second would be faster rock and roll.

  Brian made us practice much harder as a band. Kevin and Sticks were now improving with each practice session. We could now comfortably play fifteen songs. Debby and I learned about ten more as a duo. As a band, we were still not as good as the church group, but that was for an entirely different purpose. However we were a much stronger performing band even since the day we played at the fundraiser.

  At a tender age, Debby knew how to bend and shape her now seventeen year old body to make people take notice of more than just her voice. That hid many of our mistakes as a band in the background. We were starting to draw a following from more than just our local classmates. We were paid fifty dollars a week. But for me, it was really not about the money. I was growing as a musician and I needed an audience. Debby was becoming a local star. I knew where to hitch my wagon. She knew I was going to make her sound good too, and only pick songs she could handle vocally. Even though she had a wonderful voice, she had not learned yet to stretch to different octaves. She had a sweet spot in her voice. I was good enough at hearing tones to know exactly where that was. She appreciated the fact I knew enough to give her songs she could handle.

  By the third week of the month, the CYO had booked us to play again two months later. Kevin found a restaurant that wanted some local music on Friday nights, so we played there for a couple of weeks. We started to feel better about playing outside of a garage. We were even learning a few of the newer songs hitting the radio. I could figure them out by ear now, and if I had trouble in spots I could ask Gordy for help. He was better at that than I was, even if I thought I could handle it on my own.

  I was not hanging out at Gordy’s as often as before. Even though my brother had taken over many of my chores, including walking my grandmother’s dog, I still had band practice with two bands, my school work and playing with the bands on the weekends. My grades were starting to slip. It was the wrong time for that. I was starting to apply to colleges and I had to take college exams again, since I didn’t do so well on the math section the first time around. I wanted the experience of college, but was not looking forward to leaving the area. I knew it would be the end of the Saturday band.

  Kevin was accepted to attend college in Philadelphia. He made it very clear he would not be able to commit to playing every weekend or come home for practice during the week. Since it was about a ninety minute drive to where he was going to school, we all understood. Debby too was going to attend college and was leaning towards a small college outside of the Philly area. Sticks was a year younger than us and still in high school. Brian was not sure he would make it out of high school. He had no designs on a college career.

  My dad told me that if I didn’t attend college, I was no longer permitted to live at home. I am not sure that was a good enough incentive to get into college, but I got his point. My grades needed some improvement, so my time at Gordy’s became even more limited. I did convince him to open one time on a Sunday so he could hear Debby sing. We invited the old Tuesday group. Gordy was only semi impressed and told me to make sure she stayed in her vocal range. I told him I was well aware of her limitations. Debby was trying to improve her vocal abilities. Her dad sprung for a few lessons.

  Christmas holidays were quickly approaching. The church band decided to do a ninety minute performance. One would be on the Saturday night before Christmas, and one on Christmas Eve. What it really meant was extra practice time, and learning many new songs as a band. I really didn’t have the time for all that. I knew my time in that band was about over as well, so I agreed to the extra practice for four weeks. I was getting two new solos in the performance. I was no longer just the back of the stage rhythm player. I was right next to the lead guitarist and the lead singer on stage.

  The church built a slightly larger stage for the two new horn players. We had become the most attended service other than the Saturday night one. Even the older generation of church goers would occasio
nally come to our service in the basement. I for the very first time, had gotten down on my knees and asked my Lord for a path to get all my studies and band activities done, as well as my weekly visit with my grandmother. I didn’t think I could make it through that month, but it was over so fast I barely noticed. The two performances were a huge success, and we ended up being asked to do a New Years’ Eve performance in the morning instead of our usual service. We agreed, and the next day I crashed doing nothing but watching football with my dad and brother. I didn’t pick up my guitar even once, which was so rare I could not even remember the last time that happened.

  The holidays were just what I needed to regroup and catch up on my college admissions. I had not yet been accepted anywhere, so I decided to apply to a local college as a backup plan. My grades were good enough for some upper level schools, but I had yet to be accepted anywhere. Father Daniel had made a few calls on my behalf. I was getting some interest from a small Christian college in North Carolina for a music scholarship. I didn’t think I wanted to go in that direction, but it was nice that he thought enough of me make the call. His old college roommate was the admissions director. I guess I learned the lesson that it’s always good to have connections. I didn’t have many local friends, but I really didn’t want to travel that far from home.

  Over the break I stopped by to see Gordy. He offered me a job after school to give lessons to a few young kids who were just starting out. I really don’t think he had the patience any longer for the really young kids. He knew it would get me in the shop more often. So I quit my part time job at the restaurant, and started to give lessons in the shop. I made more money than working at the restaurant, so it was a good move. As much as I loved playing guitar, I was not the best teacher. Gordy knew it, but it made me practice my scales again while assisting the beginners. I did however show them how to strum a few current songs on the radio. I think that helped to keep the parents paying for lessons.