A Toast to Buddy
Season 1, #3: Daytalking with music friends across the pond
“The traveller awaits the morning tide,
He doesn’t know what’s on the other side,
But something deep inside of him
Keeps telling him to go,
He hasn’t found a reason to say no.”
—The Alan Parsons Project, “Days Are Numbers (The Traveller)”
Music has shaped my life. It’s never left me.
But I left it.
I haven’t played a musical instrument in, oh, over 20 years. I’d like to change that, but I feel like I need friends (although I realize I don’t, actually), since that’s how I came into it: through the music resource department at my high school, with my music-loving buddies. The communal aspect of playing music gets seared into your brain—I’d say in a damn good way. So I’d like to change my expectations of what I’m capable of in the coming year, like getting a small keyboard for relearning it at home. That’s in the realm of possibility.
Music is Daytalking. Daytalking is music.
It’s loving something with other people, which becomes an orbit that sucks you in closer the more you do it.
So that happens next week: Flying to London (with a day trip out to Hereford to meet surviving members of a 1970s band). I’ll be within range of Denmark Street, Trident Studios, and—closer to Regents Park—EMI Abbey Road Studios. Also hoping to fit in a tour (if it’s still a studio) out west at Olympic. We’ll see. A lot to do and only a week to do it in.
I’ll try to report out via Notes using StoryShed’s handle, but leaving a daily “Guy Stevens Weather Report” as a teaser to the new publication under the StoryShed tent.
I’m drafting a first post for that pub and trying to figure out how I can finesse photo permissions on the subject matter without getting into legal hot water. I worry less about that here as I post my own photos (for the most part) but trying to break through to new territory in the forthcoming pub…
Yeah, that’s what initially “breaking through” feels like. It can be scary out there, so stealth is sometimes warranted.
This trip to London has been in the back of my mind since last fall, and so far the pieces have been locking into place. I’m not getting the ookey feeling I have any reason to say no.
So here I am: A traveller once again.
Buddy Holly was a traveller, too.
From a small town in Texas then on to all the world, he was a musical force.
But he died early the year I was born—still it felt like he was always there. Later, when I got curious about music history, I planned to write a long-form novella titled Buddy’s Scrapbook and ended up following the remaining Crickets when they toured the Upper Midwest at small venues.
Twenty-nine years after Holly was killed in a plane crash, I hung out in the greenroom with Joe B. Mauldin (on bass) and J.I. Allison (on drums) after they played a set at a Minneapolis music bar called Bunkers. We talked about my story and they were happy to share memories of Buddy.
In the greenroom, Joe B. went to break down his equipment while J.I. talked about Buddy and the early days. “Say Mike, you need something to drink? I’m gonna get a beer,” he said. “I’ll have a shot of whiskey,” I chimed in. Jerry returned with a bottle of beer and a shot glass brimming with brown liquor. We raised a toast to his old friend.
“To Buddy.”
“—To Buddy!”
Confession: Before I left I pocketed the shot glass. Bunkers, I owe you, but it’s been inscribed since for me it was such an incredibly emotional moment. I call it “The Holly Grail.” When friends come over, I’m happy for them to use it as their drinking vessel.
Jerry Allison died last August at the age of 82. I think of our conversation often. God bless you and thanks for the music, J.I.
*Raises a toast from the Holly Grail*
I’d planned to launch the new publication before the London trip but decided to just go, do what I’d planned to do, and return with a clearer view ahead about The Guy Stevens Weather Report.
Yesterday I met with the host of a local radio music program about collaborating on a Guy Stevens Weather Report podcast (to publish here on Substack using equipment from his radio station, KFAI) that we’re tentatively titling “B(e)Sides”—more to come in November!
And a big shoutout to screenwriter
of the 5AM StoryTalk Substack for sharing this amazing piece of advice from David Bowie:Particularly what made me smile in this are two things:
“Always remember that the reason you initially started working was that there was something inside yourself that you felt that if you could manifest it in some way you would understand more about yourself and how you coexist with the rest of society.”
“…Go a little bit out of your depth … and when you don’t feel that your feet are quite touching the bottom, you’re just about in the right place to do something exciting.”
Here’s what’s cool.
Coming to this big project at this time in my life (the first bullet) is that the project itself is a “big screen projection” of my early years, told from the viewpoint of people I couldn’t possibly have known at the time—workers in the shifting 1960s British music industry. I get a double whammy working through this: my own experience growing up in the 1960s, listening to music, and the “relived experience” of those folks older than I am. And remaining curious the whole time since—well, don’t you know it, mate, we all delight in surprises, don’t we?
Second, Bowie’s “depth equation” is fascinating. When I was younger (in my 20s or 30s) this would’ve terrified me, but then I remembered I took on a similar challenge with my first spec screenplay about 19th century actress Ellen Terry—again, out of my depth. So I know that feeling and, while it’s filled with ambiguity and unknowns, it’s a necessary passage toward your best work. It brings to the surface wonderful opportunities for personal growth, even if the film isn’t made or the script is never sold.
BTW, I’m bringing the Holly Grail with me to Hereford so the remaining members of Mott the Hoople can enjoy a toast to Buddy when I meet with them on Monday, October 16.
Strangely, I feel like an advance man for a 21st century rock ‘n’ roller who mysteriously died over 60 years ago—WOW. Weird. Fun.
*sigh*
“One day you’ll know where you are.”
Good lord, I wish this for everyone.
Hang in there, willya? There’s great stuff on the horizon.
Now enjoy some Buddy and toast him in your own way:
And my fave:
I always envied musicians, their talent and creativity so I became the next best thing, a roady for a couple of summers with a pub band, nightly set them up, sipped free beer at the bar and listened to fab music. Oh, if only I could have played, something, anything. Anyone share my frustration?
Glad the Bowie tip helped!