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As I’ve mentioned several times in these writings, for a few years back in the early ooze* I managed an instrumental rock band called nero**. And this was no lark; it was a full-time job working for a band that played upwards of 150 shows a year throughout Canada and a good chunk of the United States, and they were good too. Like, really good.
So good in fact that I was much more pleased than I was surprised when the band got nominated for an American music award shortly after they started touring in earnest in the USA. Now, don’t get excited, I’m not talking about the American Music Awards here, no, I’m referring to The Jammys, an annual award show that was hosted (and perhaps still is, I’ll leave it to you to do the research) and promoted by Relix Magazine (I believe it was) along with impresario Peter Shapiro to honour the top bands in the jamband scene***, of which Shapiro was and remains the world’s biggest promotor.
Anyway, it was a big enough deal that the awards ceremony was held in New York City at Madison Square Garden (okay, in the smaller MSG theatre, but still…) and it happened to be miraculously timed to fall within a tiny crack in nero’s incessant touring schedule, so on March 16th, 2004 we made the trip down to the Big Apple with our eyes on picking up a trophy.
For one reason or another the drummer opted not to join us for the trip so we asked a friend of the band if he wanted to come with us. I remember this because when we got pulled into the border (as we often did) the American officer that was questioning us asked our friend if he had any cash-money on him. “No…” our chum stammered, somewhat surprised by the question. “But I have a credit card and an ATM card…” he added.
“Well, that’s not good enough,” the guard said sternly, cutting off our friend and staring the four of us down with his beady little eyes. “You can’t cross the border without any cash…”
The four of us blinked worried blinks.
“Because if you do your friends will have to buy all the drinks!” the officer exploded with glee, clapping us all on our backs and laughing hysterically at his little joke. My goodness, do I hate it when border cops make jokes. God forbid I try to make one (and I’m actually a pretty funny guy sometimes, just ask me), but these guardians of liberty are allowed to cajole and prank and tease at will? Harumph!
So after a delay that stretched to a full forty-five minutes, off we finally went down to NYC, steadfastly slogging through a prodigious snowstorm the whole way, I mean we really should have pulled over. When we got to Manhattan we found an awesome parking spot (I have excellent parking karma), jumped out of the car and raced to MSG’s Will Call to pick up our free tickets. This was my first time in The World’s Most Famous Venue and I was impressed. The show had already begun when we got there – the ever-delightful Edie Brickell was on stage when we walked into the theatre – but we had made it.
I remember there being quite a few performances during the awards ceremony, all of them just a single song, perhaps two, but it was the Jammy’s so the songs could easily run fifteen or more minutes long. I recall this being my first (and still only?) time seeing the Disco Biscuits and I remained disappointed in them, though after more scrutinous listening it occurs to me that I would have enjoyed them a lot more had their guitar player’s rig not been malfunctioning the whole time.
This was also the first (but not only) time I saw Edie – be still my heart – who sat in with Assembly of Dust and Dickey Betts. (She was the main reason why I was willing to drive eighteen hours round trip to this show in the first place…I’m a pretty big Edie Brickell fan). George Porter Jr. played with Dr. John (Right Place, Wrong Time of course), Perry Farrell sang a tune and the Robinson brothers from The Black Crowes performed together for the first time in several years. I was blown away by Solomon Burke; what a voice, and what a seasoned performer. Derek Trucks and Warren Haynes were there too, so The Allman’s must have been up for some award or two.
I also remember a devastatingly good performance featuring Victor Wooten and Oteil Burbridge (and a third impossibly great bass player who I miraculously forget). I stood there on the raked floor with my jaw agape (I never sat down the whole night, jamband-style), marvelling at the amazing talent before me. I can still see a few of those Victor Wooten riffs in my mind clearly, each phrase a two-second snippet of low-end gold that was dozens of practise-hours in the making. I was so enthralled that money and gumdrops could have fallen from the sky for all I would have noticed. It was really and truly astounding; between them those three guys had more chops than everybody else on the stage put together, they were as world class as it gets. Seeing that much talent have that much fun together…well, I hadn’t felt that way about music in years. Close, but not the bliss that that was. As soon as it ended I turned to the guys and exclaimed, “Let it freakin’ snow twice as hard on the way back, this trip was worth it.” And I was right.
I can say for sure that Phish’s bass player Mike Gordon was in attendance, though he didn’t perform. What he did do was ogle my home-made googly-eye vest all night from a dozen feet behind me. It was creepily exhilarating. Mike is well-known for his hyper-expensive fashion tastes, and the fact that my coat-of-many-eyes creation caught his eyes was a rather unexpected compliment. Could it be that inside the t-shirt-and-jeans trend-vacuum that I call “me” lives a secret fashion savant? Probably.
Anyway, getting to the point (I suppose), nero had been nominated in the Best New Groove category but that prize went to another up-and-comer called…let’s see if the internet can remember****…Ah yes, The Breakfast (formerly Psychedelic Breakfast), a very good band that included a super-hot guitar player who is still quite active in the scene named Tim Palmieri. The other bands nominated in our category were Bluestring, Hot Buttered Rum String Band, Moonshine Still, and Raisinhill, so we were in good company*****.
And no wonder, like I say, nero was a good band. Great players, a totally unique yet accessible sound, great songs, and plus they were really hard-working and super-nice guys taboot, all of ‘em. Man, if they had managed to stay together they would absolutely own the jamband scene today.
But the number one thing a band has to do to become successful is the one thing that most bands (including nero) don’t succeed at: They have to not break up, and that’s a very hard thing for a band to not do, regardless of, well, anything. It’s a mistake you only have to make once and I can promise you that anyone who makes that mistake spends a lot of time what-if-ing about what life would have been like had they not made that mistake.
I know, I’m one of them. And I wasn’t even in the band.
*”The ooze” is my very own, self-invented term for the first decade of the second millennium, which could also be written as “the 00’s”.
**Yes, nero is spelt with a lower-case “n”. And while I was vehemently against the lower-case “n” from the outset and it remained a consistent thorn in my managerial side throughout my tenure with the band, I have always appreciated how the mere mention of the phrase “lower case “n”” would make my mind harken back to one of my favourite Sesame Street songs of all time.
Lower Case N, she’s not lonely anymore!
***For the unfamiliar, the jamband scene would consist of bands like the Grateful Dead, Phish, The Allman Brothers Band, Charlie Hunter, etcetera; bands that have little in common aside from the length of their songs and the audience that follows them.
****In looking this up I discovered that these were the fourth of seven annual Jammy Awards, so no Todd, they are not going on anymore.
*****I know, I know, you’ve never heard of any of these bands before, but that’s because you’re not a jamband fan. Believe you me, jamband fans would be quite familiar with several-to-all of those acts, and about a thousand others that you’ve also never heard of. And they’ve probably seen them live a bunch of times too.
Todd Man Out 