“What did you say to convince him? You didn’t do anything I’m going to regret, did you?”
“Who, me?” Bert responded with a laugh. “Of course not. I simply pitched him a story about a bunch of downtrodden guys who got together to form a band, and how a young Berkeley student was their guardian angel, helping to get them back on their feet. Kind of inspirational, wouldn’t you say?”
“You know that’s not the way it is,” snapped Ethan.
“What do you mean? Look how much you’ve done for the band. You’ve written lyrics. You’ve gotten us a regular gig. Like it or not, we wouldn’t be nearly this far without you.” He paused. “Hey, maybe I embellished your role a bit and took some liberties with your attitude, but that’s my job, marketing the band. Marketing is just packaging the product the way the consumer wants to see it.”
“Maybe so, but I still wish you had checked with me before saying that.”
Ethan paused, uncomfortable about bringing up the next subject, one he had been thinking about a lot lately. He braced himself. “You know, Bert. My commitment ends in a few weeks. Remember, I agreed to give you until the end of the school year?” Bert raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything, so Ethan continued. “Just letting you know.” Bert nodded silently.
The next few weeks came to be a revelation for the young student. It began with the school newspaper. A writer came to The Grind for the Friday night show, stayed for the entire performance, and interviewed the band members between sets. As the Wednesday distribution of the school paper neared, Ethan had found himself surprisingly anxious to see the article. Anxious in a good way.
When the day arrived, he had raced out of his 9:00 class the moment it ended and hurried over to the bookstore, which was the closest place that distributed the publication. Ethan had thrown open the glass door, dropped his book bag on the ground, and grabbed the paper from the rack. Flipping quickly through the pages, he found on page eighteen a photograph of the band and an article headlined “Redeemers Groove the Grind.” His heart raced with excitement as read the effusive article.
The Redeemers are undoubtedly a band on the move. One thing is for certain. We should enjoy this campus sensation while we can. This band will quickly outgrow Berkeley. Led by a self-described missionary…
The article went on to tell the tale of the Redeemers, or at least Bert’s version of it, which now bordered on folklore. Was that a tinge of pride Ethan felt?
Ethan just stood there, shaking his head and laughing to himself. This pedigreed student of Berkeley was able to learn something from Bert, a man who, until recently, had made his home on the street.
* * *
During these same few weeks, the band had also recorded the two completed songs. Bert had made some calls to recording studios in the Bay Area, but the costs were prohibitive, even at the small ones. Trying to think of a way to do it on the cheap, Bert realized that Dave might have some resources available to the band.
Sure enough, Dave said that the school did, in fact, have a basic recording studio. Dave had warned Bert that it was pretty minimal. The studio was generally used to allow students to hear how they sounded to others, as well as for the teachers to provide specific instruction on how the students approached certain aspects of their play. Bert had concluded that it would suffice, beggars not being choosers, as the adage went.
When the band had arrived to do their recording, they had found the studio to be sparse but serviceable, just as Dave had described. There was a main room with beige vinyl flooring and microphones hanging from the drop ceiling. One wall had a large, Plexiglas window that exposed the room containing the recording equipment. There was no mixing board, but that was okay. They didn’t have a producer anyway.
Without the benefit of a producer or the appropriate equipment, the band would not be able to splice into or out of the songs. Bert had assured them, in his typically motivational way, that recording the songs straight through would better capture the natural, unfiltered spirit of the band anyway.
The Redeemers did multiple takes of each song, just to have some options. At the end of several exhausting hours, the band came away with a perfectly well-executed promotional CD.
With the band basking in the glow from the article in the school newspaper, Bert wanted to keep the momentum strong. He now broached an idea that would benefit the band directly as well as continue his “education” of Ethan.
“Ethan,” Bert had said to him one night after finishing up the show on campus. “You seem like the type of kid who learns quickly. You know that CD we made at Dave’s school?”
“Yeah,” Ethan answered, and then noticed the gleam in Bert’s eye. “Wait,” he said, “let me guess this time. You want me to talk to the school radio station.”
“You are a quick study. I knew it. What do you say? There’s nothing like airplay on a college radio station to pull a band out of obscurity. Many a band has started out with an underground collegiate following. We’ll start a grass roots buzz that spreads to campuses all over the country.”
“There’s a big difference between getting a coffee house to feature a cover band and getting a radio station to play our originals,” Ethan replied.
“Only because you let it be that way.” Bert grinned.
Ethan looked to the sky and shrugged in surrender. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”
“I know what you can do, Ethan. And I think you know what you can do. You’re going to be our angel, just like the newspaper said.” Bert gave Ethan a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
Over the weekend, Ethan made a few calls to KBRK, the campus radio station, to find out with whom he needed to speak. A Monday call to Alice Trammel, the station manager, resulted in an invitation for Ethan to stop by the station on Tuesday morning.
Shortly after 9:30 a.m. on Tuesday, Ethan appeared at the station carrying the issue of the school paper that contained the article on the Redeemers.
The station was housed in the basement of a gray, six-story building not far from the student center. Ethan was buzzed in through the main entrance, then made his way down the narrow stairway and over its carpeted, but threadbare steps to the basement. He peeked in the doorways until he found Alice’s office.
Alice was a fortyish looking woman who was probably very attractive in her youth. The Aeropostale clothes told observers that she was still trying to be college hip, even though it was obvious that her hipper days were behind her. The casual outfit and the not fully brushed hair left her without a strong feminine presence. Ethan noticed her UC Berkeley diploma on the wall as he entered her office and observed that she had graduated from the school twenty years earlier.
Once they were seated and pleasantries had been exchanged, Alice looked expectantly at Ethan. Feeling more confident than he had on his visit to the paper, Ethan thrust the newspaper, which was folded open to the Redeemers article, across the desk. “Have you seen this?” he asked.
“Yes, I have,” she answered without further elaboration.
“So you know about the Redeemers,” Ethan concluded. “I’m the--”
Alice cut him off. “The guitarist. Yes, I know. You mentioned it on the phone.”
“Right,” Ethan answered, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a CD. “I’ve got this demo of our first two songs.” Ethan paused and looked her confidently in the eyes. “I was hoping you’d consider giving them some airplay on K-Berk.”
Alice sat upright in her seat and leaned toward Ethan, as if she were about to discuss something candidly. “Ethan,” she said, “do you know how many bands have come through the campus? If we played every song by every wannabe band, there’d be no time left for the established music.”
Ethan didn’t let up this time. “We’re not just any band,” he said emphatically. “In fact, we’re not even a campus band. I’m the only Berkeley student in it. You read the article. We’re a bunch of street urchins in need of a break.” Alice continued to listen to him attentively.
“There might come a time when I can do you a favor. What do you say? I’ll take care of you when we’re big enough to play the Oakland Arena.”
Alice leaned back more relaxed. “You don’t much look like a street urchin to me,” she said, eyeing Ethan’s trendy clothing. He started to object, but Alice stopped him. She gave him a wry smile. “I saw your band play at The Grind this past Friday.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. And you’re right. You’re not just another garage band. Your musical style almost defies categorization. I like it. It’s got a rock ‘n’ roll foundation, but the R&B and funk overtones --” She paused, searching for a description. “Even the cover songs. You’ve reworked them and injected them with a beat that –”
Ethan stopped her mid sentence with a two word response. “Street thump.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?” she asked rhetorically. “That’s a good name. It suits your music.” She paused pensively. “I’ll tell you what. I think you guys are onto something. I’ll get you on the air.”
Ethan’s face lit up. “Thank you!” he gushed. He stood up and gave Alice a firm handshake and handed her the disc. As he walked out the door, she called after him with a laugh, “Just don’t forget about us when you’re famous!”
Ethan couldn’t wait to tell Bert the good news. He swung by Bert’s house that very afternoon and recounted the entire conversation. When he got to the part about the favor, Bert chuckled. “Kind of godfatherlike, but it worked. Very well done.” Then Bert took on a serious expression. “I have to ask you this, Ethan. Are you ready to commit yourself to this band now?”
Ethan’s perspective on the world had been turned upside down. Never did he imagine that he could be schooled so completely by this street hustler. But Bert had shown him a lesson in persistence, perseverance, salesmanship, and faith. Ethan felt both humbled and inspired.
“I am,” he answered without hesitation.
Chapter 11 – The Record Company
In the weeks that ensued, the band started to develop an underground, almost cultlike following on the Berkeley campus. Alice, true to her word, had gotten the two Redeemers songs into heavy rotation and it wasn’t long before the band became the rage amongst the musical cognoscenti of the university.
Bert had dropped in on Alice one day at the station and had begun cultivating a relationship with her. The two had instantly bonded, sitting around for hours swapping stories from their music industry pasts. Alice became a regular at The Grind on Friday nights and she, Bert, and members of the Redeemers would often hang out after the shows until the staff asked them to leave so they could close up for the night.
One night Bert and Alice had remained after all the others had left for the evening. Bert was seated rather rigidly on a synthetic suede sofa, while Alice sat slumped down with her feet resting on a small table and her head tilted back on the top of the sofa cushion. She was staring up at the ceiling.
“So here we are,” Alice started, “an old lady who can’t let go of her college days and an old man trying to latch onto a music scene that’s long passed him by.” She laughed in a self-deprecating way. “Kind of amusing, isn’t it?” She rolled her head to the right to look at Bert without lifting it off the cushion.
Bert didn’t answer at first. Then he responded earnestly, “Do you enjoy what you’re doing?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess. I never really thought about doing anything different.”
“Then what does it matter?”
Alice went quiet for a long time. When she spoke, she surprised Bert with her question. “What do you think of me?”
Bert had grown fond of Alice over the last few weeks. There was a warmth between them, a casual comfort usually reserved for old friends, that he hadn’t felt since the days with Michelle. He could sense that Alice was fishing for some type of affirmation to ease an insecurity.
“I think you’re great,” he answered.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Really.”
Alice was quiet again. “Would you come home with me?” she blurted out suddenly.
Bert’s eyes fixed on hers as he struggled to give an answer in conflict with his desire. “Alice, I would love to. I really would. But I can’t.”
“Oh, I see,” she said, looking saddened.
“No. I don’t think you do. It’s just that I can’t afford to lose my focus. I’ve already seen what happens when I take my eye off the ball. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to you. I won’t be in Berkeley forever. As soon as the Redeemers find the next stepping stone, I need to climb to it with them. This band is my number one priority. My only priority.”
“And if I said I understand that and accept it, would you come then?” Her eyes twinkled.
Bert smiled at her. She really was great. “Okay,” he said. “I’d love to.”
* * *
Bert felt his optimism about the band more and more justified. Dave continued to write songs, the frustration inside him now uncorked, with song after song gushing out. He told Bert he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. A committed Ethan matched Dave, crafting lyric upon lyric to meld perfectly with Dave’s instrumentation.
The Redeemers had been recruited to play frat parties, campus bars, and other campus events, finding that while they still needed to meet in the subways to practice from time to time, they could often used these external performances as their practice sessions. While they couldn’t work and rework sections over and over again at these performances, Bert never thought twice about interrupting a song midway and announcing that the band had misfired and needed to replay it with a particular change or emphasis. It was a unique approach, but the audiences came to expect it and enjoyed being able to see the internal machinery of the Redeemers as the band grew up, leaving its cover-band childhood behind.
The performances also provided a small amount of income, which Bert used to help offset some of his costs. To date, the band hadn’t discussed money much, largely because there wasn’t much of it to discuss. Bert had told them that, as their manager and founder, he would handle their finances. He would split any income equally among the six musicians and himself after deducting expenses. The band members had agreed to the arrangement without debate, most thinking that they were a long way from having to worry about having a real income. Of the musicians, only Dave and Gene had really ever had anything approximating a reasonable, steady income anyway.
At the practice sessions, Bert used the time for the band to work on the new material in a more structured way.
The band still wasn’t bonding as much as Bert would have liked, however. Dave continued to be the one who could go either way with the band members, as comfortable with Charlie and Aaron as he was with Ethan. Abe continued to be a surly loner and Gene continued to quietly soak it all in. Ethan, despite his newfound commitment, still kept his distance from some of the band members, and his relationships with Charlie, Abe, and Aaron stayed cool at best. Bert saw that Ethan was not yet ready to accept them as they were. The inroads he’d made had only weakened, not destroyed, Ethan’s shield of elitism.
As all the gears clicked into place and the band was hitting on all cylinders, Bert confronted the decision he had been avoiding. “Gentlemen,” he announced, “I think we’re outgrowing our roots here. Berkeley has been wonderful to us, but our aspirations are higher. I think it’s time to take our act to L.A.”
“Los Angeles?!” Abe exclaimed. “Oh, no, man. That city will eat us alive.”
“Yeah, Bert,” joined in Aaron. “We’re not really ready for that, are we?”
Charlie looked surprised by Bert’s pronouncement, but he had given up second-guessing Bert. As Bert’s de facto right hand man, Charlie felt it his role to provide support for Bert’s decisions. Bert hadn’t steered them wrong yet.
As far as Ethan was concerned, Bert thought the timing was good. It was now late April, and by the time the band got on the road, the May final exams would have come and gone, and Ethan
had told him he hadn’t had much luck landing a summer job anyway.
Dave looked pale. Bert noticed immediately and was not the least bit surprised. “You’re wondering what to tell your family, Dave?” he asked.
“Oh my god,” was all Dave could manage in acknowledgment.
“You knew it would one day come to this,” Bert continued. “The dream isn’t free. There are sacrifices each of us needs to make, obstacles to overcome.”
“I know, I know,” answered Dave, holding his forehead in his hands. “It doesn’t mean that I prepared for it though.”
“Can you bring them with us?” offered Aaron who walked over and put his arm on Dave’s shoulder. “I could help entertain Jack.”
“Thanks for the offer, Aaron, but it’s not really possible. Jack needs to prepare for next year’s classes over the summer. It helps him keep pace with the other students. My own work slows down in the summer, but Ann works now. I can’t ask her to quit her job. Not yet, anyway. We couldn’t even support ourselves on what we’re making so far. Besides, they’d be in the way. I think we all know that.”
As the band talked more about the impending trip, the uneasiness about the prospect of leaving San Francisco transformed slowly into anticipation of the opportunity ahead. Even Dave’s reservations began to give way.
“What do we need to bring with us?” asked Aaron, looking around at the other band members. “And how are we going to get there with all our equipment and stuff?”
Bert was at the ready. “I’ll go down ahead, find a place for us to stay, and start making the necessary arrangements. We’ll need to travel there by Greyhound, so bring as little as you can--just your equipment and whatever clothes you can get by with. We can ship down the larger equipment like the amps and drums. With regard to clothes, remember to keep it basic. We’re a blue collar band, after all.
“You guys should prepare yourselves to leave in a couple of weeks. There’s a bus that leaves at 9:10 A.M. and gets into L.A. at 5:15 in the afternoon. I’m going to head out this Monday. Charlie will coordinate things here while I’m gone. Is that okay for everyone?” The band members nodded.
Ladies and Gentlemen...The Redeemers Page 13
