On the music industry, life and getting older

Yesterday, in the early evening, I set off to Atlanta, to the Atlantis Music Conference, to what must have been probably my 30^th, maybe more, music convention in my almost 20 years in the music industry.   Hell, I’ve been to South-by-Southwest for 17 out of the last 18 years….an old pro…an old timer…yeah, here I go again.

 

I headed out to downtown Athens to pick up my new good friend, Bruce Burch, head of the UGA Music Business Program.    As I drove, I dialed a phone number, with fingers crossed and prayers sent off to a God I hardly believe in anymore in these days of infinite turmoil, political warfare, and all the other bullshit.  As I dialed, I just said “C’mon God, give me a bone.”    There was a answer….and in a few minutes, I nailed down a date for one of my clients, The Lee Boys, to perform on Conan O’Brien.   A year in the making, this was a little victory in my life, and something that would hopefully bring some joy to others.

 

A pleasant ride to Atlanta, sharing personal triumphs, tragedies and future goals with my comrade Bruce, I ended up at a packed industry party of the young, beautiful and relevant that left me feeling out of place and well,honestly, irrelevant.    I left early to go to my friends’ Amy and Steve’s house and arrived by10:00 PM.  At this point in my life, a short time spent with my friends, The Daily show and Steven Colbert seemed to offer more satisfaction than the superficial networking that had been my option at the party.

 

I was awakened at 7:45 AM by the sound of my door opening, and a smile from a 2 ½ year old just wanting “Aunt Chelle” to get up.   Hey, no turning back now!   And after a couple of hours of coffee with mom and dad (Amy and Steve) and bonding over the comfy pillows on my bed, and some snuggling, I put my best face on and headed out the door to the conference.

 

After a nice brunch for the conference panelists, where I met some new folks and reconnected with a few old friends, I called a dear friend of mine, Traci, who worked down the street and who I had not seen for ages.   Would I like to go to Target with her for her lunch break?  Hell yeah!   I needed as many friendly faces as I could get, and even though I hadn’t seen her in probably a year, our short visit was a comfortable as an putting on a old rubber glove.   No pun intended….

 

Back at the convention, my nerves were on edge as I waited for the panel that I was participating in to begin.   After all these years, you’d think I’d be so confident, yet here I was, speaking on a panel on Digital Music Marketing to a big group of wide-eyed youngsters that probably knew more about Myspace than I do!  Hell, I’d been in the business long enough to recall life BEFORE the internet.  Wait a second, I remember when MTV premiered!   I even participated in a panel at SxSW around ‘96 or ’97 with the topic “Is the internet relevant for publicity” and now here I was about to speak as an expert on digital marketing!

 

A vodka and cranberry later, my nerves were quelled and the panel started, and next thing I knew I felt very calm, even confident amongst the 7 other all MALE panelists.  I had the audience cracking up at some of points I made (they loved my pig and lipstick reference to bad music), and certainly they were paying attention to what I said.   I, along with the whole panel, received very positive feedback afterwards.

 

While I knew I it would behoove me to stick around to “network,” I was adamant about going back to Athens after the panel.  My client, partner, and the love of my life, Ken, had a gig playing at a local brewery.   I luckily avoided the Atlanta traffic, and made it back for the last hour of the set and watched my talented guy poured his heart out in front of 100 or so beer-swilling, uncaring college students.   No one cared about his lyrics or his music, yet he tried to give it his all, for two cases of beer and $25 in tips.  Still, he tried to be appreciative.

 

We came home and I just wanted to “Veg” out.   By chance, the movie “Jerry McGuire” was the only thing worth watching on the tube, and sick of political coverage, I tuned in.   Even though I’ve seen it a few times, I cried my eyes out.   The characters had passion, inspiration, friendship, loyalty, and in the end, it all paid off.  Ironically enough, the next movie on was “Rocky Balboa.”   Okay, you can call me sentimental, but the original “Rocky” is one of my all-time faves, and while “Rocky Balboa” may be an imitation of the original, and you may think Sylvester Stallone might be cheesy, no less, the movie is inspiring and you got to give Stallone props for having the gonads and guts to make a movie such as this and have it be a success.

 

I thought to myself about that same God that I have been doubting to wonder if my coming back to Athens, and seeing these movies was a sheer coincidence, or if someone was trying to remind me  that to be successful in life, no matter how you define success, the one thing you have to have is heart.   Heart, and a resilience to the negative influences that surround us, most importantly the negative influence that our own heart and soul can inflict on us, that self-doubt that creeps up on us and makes us question our own existence, or our relevance.

 

So, as I went to bed, and my fat and happy kitten, Doyle, my youngest “son,” crawled up on my tummy and started purring and genuinely seemed glad that he was alive and that I was alive, and that I had helped rescue him from the trailer park, it made me reflect on a day well spent.  Even if I had gone into this venture with mixed emotions, in the end it made me count my blessings.  And while I might be older, I am also wiser, and I have rolled with the changes, and the punches, and can share my wisdom and experience with the younger generation, and hopefully leave an imprint on this world.   And as  Rocky said, “The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It is a very mean and nasty place It will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life. But it ain’t about how hard you hit, it is about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward, how much can you take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!”

 

Now, it is way past my bedtime, and tomorrow is another day, and another trip to Atlanta, and another chance to interact with my peers and friends, and perhaps learn something new, and for Ken to showcase his talents in front of some folks who might get it, or might not.   But none of that is as important as living your life with passion and heart, and for taking the time to appreciate true good friends, family, a job well done, and yes, comfy pillows.

Eulogy for my dad, Jack Roche

As you all can imagine, the last few weeks have been an emotional roller coaster for me and my family. When I came up to Michigan last week, I knew my Dad was very ill, but I never really thought he was going to die. It’s been hard to take. But being here, and seeing all of his friends, his family and extended family, I feel very comforted. Dad would not want us to be sad. He would want us to celebrate the time he had here, and all the love and friendship he had up until his last moment.

What can I say about my Dad? I think we would all agree when God made Jack Roche he broke the mold! He was a real character, a unique guy, a real people person. The guy never met a stranger. He loved his job at General Motors as a service manager because it involved working with people. He was totally down to Earth, and lived to make people laugh…even if you were the butt of his jokes! Dad was always the life of the party!

After my parents divorced, we five kids still spent every Christmas and lots of time in the summer with our Dad. We loved being with him, because, let’s face it! Dad knew how to be fun. Dad always had lots of buddies…a buddy with a boat, a buddy with a plane…and when we visited Dad, it was understood that what happened in Michigan, STAYED in Michigan. We have lots of stories and lots of memories of times with Dad, from road-tripping in the RV, to many trips to Frankenmuth.

Dad was blessed with his five kids and great friends, but he was really blessed when he met the love of his life, Ginny, his wife of 31 years. I think when he saw her it was love at first sight. Two days before he passed, he told Cheri that “Ginny was the best prize he ever got.” He was so devoted to her, and vice versa. Fidelity was precious to him. All you had to do was mention the name Bill Clinton and he’d go off on a rant! Dad was good at ranting!

And when Dad married Ginny, the prize we got was Dad being a happy man, and two great step-brothers, Danny and Dale. Divorce is never easy, but sometimes it works out for the best. Every summer we couldn’t wait to get up to Michigan to hang out with Dad and get to ride motorcycles and swim in the pool with Dan and Dale. They became true sons to Dad and he loved them and their families just as he loved us.
Seeing Dad in the hospital was so hard. He was always such a strong man, and he was strong up until the very end. Until the last day, he was totally there. He didn’t really complain, and he was cracking jokes, making the nurses and all of laugh! I know seeing all of his friends and family meant so much to him. And, being told by so many people that Dad talked about all of us all of the time means a lot to us. Somehow, knowing that Dad was loved by so many people makes his loss a little easier to take.

I don’t have to tell you that Dad could sometimes be hard-headed and opinionated. As they say, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. So often, I see Dad in myself. We could butt heads like nobody’s business…I’m sure you’ve heard that before. We knew how to push each other’s buttons! At least he was NEVER boring to be around. But I think Dad’s greatest asset was his ability to enjoy life, and not sweat the small stuff. As he would often say, his mantra was DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT! And after he survived a ruptured brain aneurysm in 1997, he realized that God had given him a second lease on life. It renewed and strengthened his faith in God, and these last few years his service in the church and at Genesys Medical Center meant the world to him.

So, on behalf of my sisters and my brothers, I want to thank all of his friends and extended family for all the love and support you’ve given him and us in these last trying days. And I’d like to thank Ginny for all the love and care she’s given him over the years, even when Dad was being a real pain in the rear-end!

We’re going to miss our Dad a lot. The kids are going miss their papa. But he will always be in our hearts and our memories. And I know what Dad would say now. He’s say “Stop all this crying and let’s get this party started!”

God bless us all.

Michelle Roche. April 26, 2010

On Life, Loss and Gratitude For the Gift Of Music

I didn’t know Taylor Greevers, or ever meet her family, but as I reflect upon the magical musical adventure that Ken and I embarked upon this last weekend, her apparent passion for music, and now her eminent death, and the loss for her family, have permeated my thoughts.

 This adventure began about 2 years ago when a woman named Wendy Ring ordered Ken’s  CD, “King of Coming Around.”   Having lost her address for the mailing, I gave a quick call to this new fan who had recently discovered his music on myspace.   The appreciate voice on the other end concluded the conversation with “If Ken ever plays in Phoenix, let me know.”   When Ken released 2 more CDs a year or so later, she ordered them and sent the same message via email with a list of clubs.   I emailed back and said “Well, he is available for house parties,” to which she replied, “how do we make this happen?”   Many, many emails and nine months later, Ken and I were boarding a plan to Arizona to play two club shows (which she booked), a house party and to stay with a family we had never met.   As we drove to the airport, Ken asked me all sorts of questions….do they have kids?  Dogs?  Are they complete teetotalers?  Are we staying with the Mansons?   I realized that I really didn’t know the answers!   I just told Ken to relax as different scenarios started to cross my mind.   I felt the trip was off to an fortuitious start, though, when we literally saw Santa Claus at the Atlanta airport wearing a red sweatshirt that read “Yes, I am on vacation.”

 A few plane hours later, a blue Prius pulled up to the curb and out popped a beaming, petite, blonde waif of a woman to whisk us off to only God-knew-where.   The rapport was immediate and comfortable, and the conversation easy.   We arrived at a beautiful home in Scottsdale, complete with two very well behaved young boys and a barking dog named Nellie; we were shown to our own nice room and bathroom.   The house was colorful, neat, and very artsy!   We soon discovered the gorgeous pool and proceeded to enjoy a few hours in the 100* heat before heading to the Yucca Tap Room in Tempe where Ken was scheduled to play with local heroes, the Americana band Tramps & Thieves.    As we got ready, Wendy received a very disturbing text saying Taylor, a longtime friend and supporter of the band, was in a coma.   The 47 year old mother of 3, who had sold the band’s merchandise since day one, had suffered a heart attack or stroke, and was clinging to life.  We went to the club and waited for the promised crowd to arrive.   At first, Ken played pretty much to the spillover from the happy hour crowd at the bar.  It was a bit disheartening, but then the doorman, a big burly guy of about 350 lbs., came over and said to Wendy, “I like this guy, I want to buy him a shot.”   When a sensitive songwriter like Ken wins over a guy like that, well, it can make it all worthwhile.  The hot bartendress really liked him too, which earned her a free CD!   Eventually the Tramps crowd did arrive and seemed appreciative of  Ken’s music.   Next band up was The Sugar Theives, a bluesy-rock band kind of Tom Waits meets Janis Joplin.  It was fun to watch the enthusiastic crowd and the swing dancers and observe a supportive local music scene.  Finally Tramps & Thieves took the stage.  Emmett, on vocals and guitar, started off the set with a toast and prayer to his good friend Taylor.   The crowd obviously adored this band.  I watched during the set as tear-filled women gave each other hugs and knowing looks.  As the band started to conclude their show, they  led the crowd in a thunderous, pulsating hand clapping that was surely loud enough to be heard at Desert Springs Hospital before breaking into their last song of the evening.   Only later would I learn that the title of the song they played is called “Unfortunate Souls.”   Having been up for close to 24 hours, we were delirious as our host drove us back home where we crashed long and hard.

 The next day, my old friend Happy picked us up and took us to lunch at Carlos Santana’s restaurant, Maria Maria.   As we sipped margaritas and listened to an endless loop of Santana’s music, I was reminded that there are actually people out there that have made a lot of money off of the music biz.   He had come a long way since he tripped the light fantastic at Woodstock.   After that we braved the 102* heat and visited the desert botanical gardens, marveling at the variety of cacti, rabbits, quail, bees and butterflies.   Then, we enjoyed more time by the pool before readying for that evening’s gig at the Paisley Voilin, a hip restaurant nestled within an artisan village of renovated little houses that once housed German and Italian POWs during WWII.   Shelby James opened the show with his Steve Earlesque brand of folk music.   It was a small, but appreciative, crowd primarily made up of Wendy’s friends.  Ken’s set was well received, with the highlight being when Shelby’s violinist, Jane Hilton, jumped up and accompanied Ken on a couple of songs.   Their camaraderie was instant; I could tell Ken was smitten.   Shelby made sure Ken got paid  at least $40 because “you are the traveling band.”  We ended the night with a last drink at The Bikini Room, courtesy of our new friends, who had also bought my dinner and drinks earlier.  Ah, the kindness of strangers never ceases to amaze me.

 On Sunday we slept in and rested up for the big “house party.”   For those of you not familiar with the term, house parties are the newest way singer/songwriters are getting their music to the people.   Folks open their homes, provide some refreshments, and invite their friends to come discover new talent.   It’s a musical love affair to be sure.   So, Wendy cleared out her dining room while her friend Betsy brought over and set up a small P.A.  Soon, the room was filled with about 40 or so friends and neighbors bearing appetizers and adult beverages.   My conversations with folks led me to believe that Wendy’s friends were surprised by this seemingly haphazard coupling, but glad of it.  I don’t know, there seemed to be something so American about it;  this unspoken trust based on a shared love of music.  Anyhow, Ken took the stage for about an hour and played to an almost captive crowd.   At one point, Ken thanked Wendy, pointed out her blind trust and said, “Hey, for all Wendy knew, I could’ve been Sid Vicious!”   To which I shouted out, “She could’ve been Nancy Spungeon!” ** Seeing the smile on Wendy’s face as she sat enraptured, and almost as proud as me, surely made all the whole trip worthwhile.   Afterwards, Ken sold and signed numerous CDs and snapped photos with new fans.  After the group dispersed, Wendy’s husband Bill cooked us steaks and we enjoyed a nice evening with the family.  Later, Wendy received a phone call letting her know that Taylor was probably not going to make it.   I gave my new friend a hug as she put on her game-face to try to make the best of the rest of evening.

 I woke up really early on Monday morning and couldn’t go back to sleep.  We had had such a good trip, yet I knew somewhere in Phoenix there was a devastated family preparing for the aftermath of what Ken would describe as “the frailties of life.’  It made me appreciative; appreciative for the wonderful opportunity to have experienced this unique trip in the name of music; appreciative for having had a career which has allowed me to work and meet such creative minds, including my crazy, and crazy talented, significant other.   Feeling blessed for my wonderful family and friends, old and new, and grateful to be alive for another day, whether it be pleasurable or perhaps painful.   I was just plain appreciative for such a cool weekend.   As I said, I didn’t know Taylor Greevers, but somehow, from what I was told about her, I think she would’ve been appreciative too.  My heart goes out to her family and friends.

**Sid Vicious was the heroin addicted bass player for the Sex Pistols.   He accidentally killed his crazy obsessed girlfriend, Nancy, in a drugged out haze.