OVERHEAD PROJECTOR.
I was a ghost in High School. Coasting. Longing to be done. Eating lunch at a table best described as The Island Of Misfit Toys.
I’d become comfortable assuming the role of The Grey Man. Visible but not noticeable. Neither popular nor unpopular. Hiding in plain sight.
On the mound in my second year of Babe Ruth as a left handed pitcher it was clear I was no longer an All Star. Spending more time at first base or on the bench. Outgunned by guys with more talent and a singular focus on baseball.
I’d been drifting away for a while.
Fastballs and hanging curves replaced by sixteenth notes and lazy triplets. Under the spell of the evil powers of rock and roll.
I grew up in 1970’s Waltham listening to KISS, VAN HALEN, CHEAP TRICK and RUSH in Fitzie’s attic, Blakes’ basement, on Goob’s roof and endlessly in the room I shared with my brothers Michael and Kevin. From the time I’d heard Ringo button down the hi-hat into the bridge of “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” the dye had been cast. I wasn’t alone.
Waltham boasted an embarrassment of riches in the drum hero department. My cousin Ronald Sliney. David Manfredonia. Rich Profita. Dave Gargone. Eddie “Blakes” Blakely, Bill Apone and Mike Mangini.
Surrounded by titans.
During study block in Junior High with Rob Harnett we’d talk music over games of triangle football and three penny hockey. He had a Fender Combo amp and a Cherry Les Paul Jr. double cutaway.
Down in my parent’s basement on Sycamore Street. Just me and Rob. No vocals. No bass. No clue. We had one song. Basically a two part riff that we played endlessly. My first “band” experience.
On the second floor above “The Pub” on Main Street there was a rehearsal studio. I got together there with Jim Hache whose older brother Tom was one of the “big kids” in a local band. I learned THE CLASH version of “Brand New Cadillac” and “House Of The Rising Sun” by THE ANIMALS. My first crack at learning covers.
Jim and I kicked around a couple of original ideas at his parent’s house once and I remember being really nervous when his older brother showed up and watched us play for a few minutes. Under the microscope in the Waltham crucible!
The clink-clank of Heineken bottles shifting inside of Ed Desmond’s bass case as he ascended the stairs at Mrs. Blakely’s house signaled the beginning of many nights there. Eddie on drums. Lovable curmudgeon Ed on bass. Steven Drew on guitar. Loud as hell through the smoke in an unfinished attic with a Marshall half stack, an Ampeg SVT, and Eddie’s CB700 kit. Killing it.
First concerts captivated and mesmerized with spectacle. These early experiences in basements and attics hit a different button. A close up introduction to the magic of rock and roll teamwork and camaraderie. Empowerment. We can participate. We can do this… I can do this!
Then came a knock at the door past 9 o’clock on a school night. My father said, “Who the hell is that?” It was Steve Drew and Ed Desmond. Eddie Blakely was moving on. Joining forces with his peers from school, Dave MacDonald and Charlie Leger. Dave with his Travis Bean bass and his finger on the pulse of music that flew under the radar and over the heads of most of us. Charlie, clean cut behind glasses with a woodgrain Strat over his shoulder. One part flower power one part new wave of British metal.
I’m in my jammies. These two are out driving around in Steve’s Bronco. I go out on the porch to see what’s up. They smell like smoke. Steve asks me if I want to jam sometime. Ed doesn’t speak. That was his thing.
I can’t understate the gravity of this moment. To me this was like Eddie Van Halen and Michael Anthony showing up at my door to ask if I’d help them run through some new ideas. I’d just turned fifteen.
I said yes, of course. We met at Ed’s house to discuss what songs we wanted to learn. My first time catching a beer buzz. We did blues jams and endless missives in 6/8 . We learned…no, perfected…no, obsessed over a dozen or so covers rehearsing a couple of times a month in my parent’s basement. This goes on for two years. We name our band ENFORCER. Without a singer of course. Wouldn’t dare entertain getting a singer until the tunes were “ready”.
Senior year. Almost out.
By this time the only part of school I really enjoy is Mrs. Roberts’ creative writing class. It’s not the island of misfit toys…but it’s not the cool kids club. An eclectic group of thinkers, day dreamers, and wallflowers.
Gordon MacLachlan says he likes the sound of Stewart Copeland’s snare drum. I’ve found a new friend. We become pals in class. Routinely “shushed” by Mrs. Roberts as we commiserate and squabble over music. There’s common ground and debate. I’m bored with THE BEATLES. He thinks DIO is silly. “But…’The White Album’!” “But…’The Mob Rules’!”
We travel in different circles as Gordon is quite active and engaged in academics and school clubs and I’m, well…not. But as the school year is coming to an end Gordon’s connection to school events affords him the inside track and an idea…
“Wanna put together a band to play at The Senior Class Review?”
This is a shock. My first reaction is fear. “What!? Really? There’s no way we could do that.” Gordon’s all in. He lays it out. We can play two or three songs. He’ll sing and play keyboards and I’ll be on drums. But what about guitar and bass? Only Seniors can perform. Within five minutes I’ve gone from shock and fear to plot and plan. I propose we go with ENFORCER plus Gordon. After all…we’ve got the tunes ready!
Steve and Ed had respectively gotten out of The Vocational High School a couple of years prior. Gordon and I agree that while we might be able to sneak one of them in, having a couple of ringers who never attended Waltham High School might not pass with the powers that be. We recruit a classmate to play bass but after a couple of rehearsals in my parent’s basement it’s just not clicking.
Time is running out. We have to bring in Ed. If I close my eyes I can see myself sitting on the edge of my parent’s bed staring at the phone. Steeling myself to make that call to our classmate. I haven’t even played my first gig and I’m already firing people. In hindsight that experience portended a role I’d often play in the future. Bands are essentially interpersonal relationships. People have drama and conflicts. Someone needs to be the referee. To bring up the uncomfortable thing that no one wants to address.
I’m that guy. “Put it on my tab.”
It’s Senior Class Day.
The bottles are clinking again. Ed’s been drinking blackberry brandy and he’s sweating. I’ll never forget that. I didn’t think anything could scare that guy. It actually helped me because I was nervous too. Of course I suggest to him that it’d probably be best if he didn’t walk around amongst the crowd with booze on his breath at a school event. Put it on my tab.
Gordon is cool as a cucumber and our cheerleader. He’s been in school plays and performed in front of big crowds before. With the help of my friend Stephen Rubio we’ve loaded all our gear into The Auditorium and I’ve gotten my drums set up on a riser. Steve is quietly focused on dialing in his sound. When he’s got it set he bangs out a chord on his Sunburst Les Paul through the half stack at full volume. Turns a few heads. Sounds awesome. We’ll be introduced as OVERHEAD PROJECTOR.
Set List: Keyboard intro by Gordon. 1) U2 “Sunday Bloody Sunday”. 2) RUSH “Red Barchetta”. Drum solo. 3) OZZY OSBOURNE “I Don’t Know”.
We do a brief soundcheck. Now it’s just waiting.
I’m as anxious and nervous as I am excited. The hall is packed with everyone from school. The entire Senior Class. Teachers. Parents. Everybody.
We’re on.
From behind my drums it’s pitch black. Can’t see the crowd. Can’t see anything. Gordon begins his keyboard intro and they’ve adorned the ceiling of the hall with tiny lights like stars. I’m in show business!
There’s a long sustain of the last big synthesizer note and here I go!……. rrrrRight back to earth as I screw up the first phrase of the drum intro to “Sunday Bloody Sunday”. Not something anyone would even notice. Just didn’t hit it exactly like the record. I’m 53 now and still remember that. Musicians understand this affliction. Onward! The frustration of my “stumble” lasts about as long as the stumble itself as I nail the rest of the intro and look up to see Ed and Steve flanking me on either side of the drum riser. Steve’s started the guitar part and Gordon is stomping around the stage out front. The lights are all up now. “I can’t believe the news today. I can’t close my eyes and make it go away.” Boom! “How long?”…. Ed’s in. The bass is thunder. We’re locked. The evil powers of rock and roll have kicked the nerves to the curb and all is right with the world.
Big applause. Relief. Heart rate settling down. Deep breaths as Steve and Gordon start the intro to “Red Barchetta”. Ed nails the intro bass part and we’re off. He actually cracked a smile. Getting loose. We’ve settled in and I’m psyched to do the big drama drum fill after the guitar solo. Gordon sells the story like a pro. Tune goes great and segues right into my drum solo.
Wait…what? My “drum solo”? The nerve. The hubris! What was I thinking?
Well, actually…I was thinking “I don’t want to do a drum solo!” but Steve insisted and Ed was like, “Yeah. You should. Fuck it.”
I’m glad those guys pushed me. That trial by fire right out of the gate benefited me down the line as doing a drum solo was part of the show in a couple of bands I’d tour with years later.
A long cymbal swell and open hi-hat count as Steve does the epic guitar intro to “I Don’t Know.” He was always known around Waltham as having “the sound” and in the auditorium it’s colossal. Gordon is in full stomp around again. “People look to me and say, Is the end near when it’s the final day!” This is just pure fun now. Gordon pays a visit to the drum riser all smiles during the bridge. “Nobody ever told me I found out for myself. You gotta believe in foolish miracles.” I do! I’m looking around to take it all in. “It’s up to you!… It’s up to you!… It’s up to you!” Steve is at his pedal board getting ready. “It’s up to you!” T- Minus 2 seconds…“Go! Go! Go!”
That note! That transcendently massive first note of the guitar solo ringing out through the hall from Steve’s amp as Gordon holds court and Ed and I surge and drive the beat forward. This was magic. Rock and Roll magic. Elevation. Higher Power. Felt it fully for the very first time at that moment with those three guys.
“I Don’t Know!”… Show’s over. We did it!
A girl actually talked to me and we got invited to a party.
Seems to me that the uniqueness of musical influence when one is just starting out is best represented and found closest to home. I mean, myself and some guy I’ve never met from Bismarck North Dakota could both have shared Peter Criss and Neil Peart as influences growing up. But the people in our Cities or Towns. Our first teachers. The players we saw jamming in basements and attics. In schools and at local bars. These influences are special and unique to us. I’ve been all around America and Europe playing drums in rock bands. Fame and fortune never stepped in to complicate the fun. But, my life’s been full of awesome and crazy experiences with a never ending cast of characters playing music together as a team.
Chasing that magic is hard work. Catching it never disappoints.
So glad I grew up in Waltham with local rock+roll heroes to light the way.
Stephen Hart.
I’ve lost touch with Ed but Steve Drew is a lifelong friend and has never stopped playing guitar in bands. Gordon is living in North Carolina. He plays in a cover band called 8 TRACK MINDS and his original band THE STEEP STEEP SIDE. I currently record and perform with multiple bands around Boston and founded my own band called GIVE with friends in the early 2000's.
