It’s two o’clock in the morning and I’m sitting at my kitchen table here in Paris, holding a big pair of brass scissors in my hand, while on the table in front of me is a sheet of sandpaper-like skateboard grip and a pile of large thin triangular guitar picks. Each pick has my name and the logo from my Soul Surfing album imprinted on them. I started ordering these personalized picks years ago so I could have just the right size and thickness I like. I’m one of the few guitarists I know of who likes to play with thin picks with the exception of Kurt Cobain, who I once tried to contact in Rome when he was in the hospital and I was playing nearby. I’m not sure what I would have said to him if I got through; probably something about stop the drugs and stick to the music and it probably would have been a futile effort. It seems we each have our own destiny to fulfill and I guess Kurt, in Brian Jones fashion, had to go down a very talented and sad road. Maybe if I would have told him we like the same kind of picks we would have bonded and got an expresso together in Piazza Navonna …
I often give picks out after my shows if someone asks me for one. But the picks I actually use on stage have my name and logo covered over in skateboard grip so I usually have other virgin picks in my pocket for that purpose. I attach the sandpaper like grip on my picks so when my hands sweat my fingers don’t slip down on the pick while I’m strumming away because if that starts happening on too many nights then the strings start digging into the nail of my right-hand index finger and it starts bleeding and … well it’s a painful mess. I know that you can buy similar ready-made picks with a rough surface that keeps your fingers in place but they never worked for me so I do it myself. I’m a robust and vigorous strummer and my hands (and guitar) take a beating no matter what I do so in the spirit of an old-school boxer who laces up his own boots I want to make sure everything is right when I step out into the ring.
Recently I was in Bilbao, Spain and shared the elevator with the assistant of a famous bullfighter who was carrying two pairs of the toreador’s shoes. I took a good look at them and they were elegant leather slippers, actually quite delicate with ribbons that tied them tight and I could see they had ribbed rubber soles which I guess are to keep him from slipping as he moves away from a charging bull the size of a locomotive. And I related. Because that matador is as dependent on the soles on those shoes to keep him from slipping on the sand and being gored by an angry bull like I am dependent on the skate-board grip on my picks. Hell is in the details or rather hell waits for you if you neglect to take care of the details. Bullfighter or guitar slinger, we all take care of our tools of the trade.
I also carry a small satchel of harmonicas with me that rests on the small table right behind me when I’m on stage. The harmonicas are in seven keys – A, C, D, E, F, G & Bb – not that I use all of them every night but I like to know that they’re there just in case someone requests a song that needs a certain one. I have to label each harp with its key so I can see what I’m slipping into my harp holder and if the lights are low I have to hold it up to Olivier who has better eyesight then me and can tell me if it’s a C or a G. Nothing is worse then starting a song and realizing you’ve put the wrong harmonica in your rack because then you’ve got to stop the song, pick up the right one, and smile to the audience. In that same small bag I also carry a small battery tester which my late bassist Laurent Pardo told me about, a G7 capo, a set of D’Addario Phos Bronze J16 spare strings (although I rarely break them), a string twirler and cutter (the tool that allows you to quickly twirl the tuning machines when changing strings and cut off the ends) and a screwdriver for those rare times I have to adjust the truss rod that runs down the neck of my guitar. I could have someone else change my strings, bring along a guitar tech to each show, but I only carry one guitar and I like to do it myself and I usually go through that ritual every three or four shows. It’s almost a religious ceremony, a sort of communion with my black Taylor guitar laid out in front of me. After all these years I can change a full set of strings and tune them up in less than five minutes. One of my greatest achievements although I’m also good at getting the cellophane wrapper off of CD packs!
There’s a rhythm to a show that’s important not to mess with: some songs almost lead right into the next while others require breathing time from the one that came before. I try to respect all of that and when Olivier and I basically change our set each January it’s always a challenging moment. Many years ago, I had an English drummer, Jerry Shirley, who had played in the blues band Humble Pie and he would always quote his agent the late Dee Anthony (first agent to bring Led Zeppelin to America) when he’d say “Respect the boards!” each night before we’d start a show. By that he meant the boards of the stage and meaning that you should always go out there and perform as a professional. Jerry was part of an English backing band (with the exception of Billy Joel’s ex-bassist Larry Russel) that I put together to tour with after Just A Story From America came out in 1977. There was a lot of friction within the band and I never could take control of the guitar player but we were a pretty tight outfit for a while and opened shows for Electric Light Orchestra up and down the East Coast of America. Also in that band was keyboard player Peter Woods, who I really liked and sadly passed away decades ago. Peter was quite a showman and would tilt his Hammond Organ until it almost fell over. I was watching the concert film of Roger Water’s The Wall in Berlin recently and there was Peter playing in the band, just a few years before he died. You never know what you’re in for …
These days, before I go on stage I take a puff of Asthama inhaler because sometimes I get allergic to certain smoke machines and start coughing which is a real drag. And it seems to help me hold long notes. I always wash my hands and brush my teeth too. Olivier Durand’s pre-show ritual involves stretching out his hands and fingers but I just kind of shrug my shoulders a few times and then get out there on stage. I use to warm up my voice with various vocal exercises but I don’t seem to need that anymore. Also, we always try to arrange the set list so that the first few songs will warm up my voice without hitting too many high notes. Just minutes before showtime Olivier and I will make the last changes to the set list and maybe I’ll write out a “cheat sheet” with the words to a new song I might need help with. Then Olivier takes those papers out and gaffers them on the floor in front of my microphone, comes back to take a pee (his other before show ritual), and we start the gig. If everything is properly prepared before – and that includes using gaffer tape to fasten down nearly everything on stage including cables and stands that I might trip over – I go out there with confidence, perhaps the most important tool for any performer and it takes a long time to get it. But if you don’t perform regularly enough your confidence can fade away, like the callouses on my left hand from the guitar strings, and you have to start over. Maybe that’s what keeps me doing so many shows …
Now I’ve got a new album out – Ricochet – as well as a new book of short stories – Garden City Stories. Ricochet has been on Spotify for a week and the track “What The Fuck is Going On” is getting heavy play – over 20,000 in it’s first week and some folks are calling it the protest song of the 21st Century. I like that because today it’s hard to know what exactly to protest about these days. There’s so much going wrong and issues aren’t as crystal clear as they once were. Also on the album is Dharma which features one of the greatest Olivier Durand guitar solos ever. Anyway, with the help of my producer Gaspard Murphy we combed through what was left of the last few years and this is what we came up with and in some unexplainable way it really works as an album. I called it Ricochet because these were songs that were originally meant for a different destination but ended up together.
Garden City Stories is a collection of tales that were all influenced by the town where I grew up on Long Island. I even managed to track down the first story I ever wrote “Getting Away” that was published in my Junior High School literary magazine and put it in there along with the original images from the magazine.
So we’re off to the races so to speak, lots of shows coming up and Olivier and I have written over a dozen new song which will see the light of day sometime. And in the meantime, see you down the road …