Time to Back Off

I called the movers again today, and hired the guitar player for another move. Except I didn't have anything to move. Call me desperate...

So he came into my office and I asked him if he would play guitar for me. He declined, saying he wasn't inspired. I asked him about the rumor the other mover had whispered in my ear, about him being a descendant of ____ _______. He turned away. I asked him if he would sign a release so I could post the video I took. He gave me a look that would melt the strings on my Epiphone.

He asked me if I was interested in him for some reason other than his music? I told him emphatically that I was not. I implored him to continue to further his gift, and to let me help. I asked him if he had a guitar and he said he didn't. I offered him mine. He called me desperate, and left. I still tipped him.

It's time to back off, but I can't. I'm a producer. I love music. I love rock guitar music. It's who I am.

Too Excited, can't sleep!

Have you ever been so excited that you just couldn’t sleep? I only have myself to blame. After hearing this guitar player I blew up everyone’s phone telling them about my discovery. My mind and my mouth were racing all day, and when it came time to sleep, I couldn’t. I set up this blog. The name came from the only thing I could think of…that this guy was a new Rock God. Maybe I’ll change the name of it once I find out his real name and identity.

I called the movers at 8AM this morning. Don’t know what I was thinking. They were closed of course, but I was so determined to find out who this kid is that no option was out of reason. I Googled everything I could about the descendants of a certain Guitar God, and came up empty. Then I went on GoDaddy.com and bought a website: NewRockGod.com. I want to get this kid in the studio…maybe call in some session guys so they can give me a more objective opinion. I’m thinking of starting a page on Facebook, but I’m probably getting ahead of myself. Aaarrrrggghhhh!!! I’ve been in this business to long to be acting like an excited teenager!

Still in Shock

Today was a day I’d been dreading for weeks. There’s nothing I hate more than moving…especially when it’s my business office. Something always gets left behind. Usually it’s something that makes me money.

Surprisingly, the movers arrived on time, and they even looked capable for once. One guy, an African American, I think maybe about 24 years old was really focused on the job. I like that. No time wasted and no idle breaks and chitchat. He appeared strong, and task oriented…how often do you see that anymore? I would later realize that he was just painfully shy, hiding behind hair that reminded me of the guys in Milli Vanilli. Anyways it was pretty hot in my new office off Vine Avenue, after a dreary weak of rain and low temperatures. I took note of his good work ethic in less than ideal conditions. I tip well for good service, and he was certain to earn my gratitude.

One thing that didn’t get left behind was my Epiphone, Les Paul Standard electric guitar. As a music producer, and specifically Rock ‘N Roll, I wish I could say that I’m a master of the instrument. But I’m not. I know a few chords and a few riffs, but I’m certainly not good enough to make a living doing it. Those who can…do, and those who cannot - produce.

On one of the breaks, I noticed that the young African American guy had taken notice of the guitar and my Peavey amp. I asked him if he played and he replied, “A little.” So I hooked it up with a couple of effects pedals and told him he was welcome to strap it on.

Twenty minutes later, and as I write this, I was in shock. It was as if the future and the past of rock guitar had collided. I don’t even want to play my guitar anymore…I feel like I’m desecrating music. This kid was phenomenal. I was thinking of who I could compare him to, but he crossed over into so many styles that I gave up trying to put a label on him.

You would be able to see for yourself what I’m talking about, as he did allow me to record him on videotape. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t sign a release for me to use it. After the other movers and I sang his praises, he crawled back into his shy demeanor and continued with the job at hand. I couldn’t believe that his hands were moving my stuff. It should be the other way around.

I never got his name. He wouldn’t give it to me. He took my business card and I offered him whatever help he might need in fulfilling his music endeavors. Most musicians kill to hear that sort of offer from a real producer. He didn’t. It was as if my offer was the exact opposite of what he wanted. As they were leaving, one of the other movers came over and added to the aura. “Rumor is he’s either the illegitimate grandson or grand-nephew of ______ _________.” I’m not going to write the name of the legend he whispered in my ear. You know him. You know his music. If what he said is true…

I’m looking down at my hands and they’re shaking so much that I can’t type anymore. I’m still in shock.