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Category: "MIDI"
In my first column I introduced you to my practical use of midi files. Changing times and changing situations make midi files the perfect solution to help you change with the flow and continue to perform.
Back in 1969 Denny Zager set half an hour aside from his busy day and penned the song, “In The Year 2525” and had a million-selling hit on his hands. These days this one-hit-wonder is running an internet site where he sells custom-adjusted guitars. I only know this because I bought one of his guitars and it was fantastic, as claimed. Naturally I couldn’t think of the guitar without thinking of the Zager and Evans tune and it got me to thinking about the future.
A few columns back I told you about two friends of mine, Terry and Rich, who were once in my band but had branched off to do a MIDI-based duet act on their own. I told of how they were playing at a Holiday Inn when John Fogerty walked in and heard them doing some of his material. I also told how Terry invited John up on stage with them and he accepted. The story went on to say that on the second night of their two-night gig, Terry had brought along even more MIDI files when he learned that Fogerty would be staying overnight and would join them again on stage the following night.
The year was 1979 and I was watching The Tonight Show. Johnny Carson’s guest that night was George Carlin and he was doing a skit featuring Carl Closeout, a late-night record pitchman. He went on to name a few long, drawn-out Country Western song titles he’d made up. Among those titles were these gems:
- Throwin’ Barstools Through The Window Just A-Waitin’ Here For You
- Drinkin’ Beer and Passin’ Out
- Every Time I Look At You I Realize You’re Tall
- I Got You Out Of My Heart But I Can’t Get You Out Of My Apartment
November 22, 1963. (Kennedy Assassination)
February 9, 1964. (Beatles on Ed Sullivan)
June 28, 1966. (?)
December 8, 1980. (John Lennon Murdered)
And there you have it—four important dates in my life. To the rest of the world, though, it would appear that there are only three important dates to remember. Maybe so, but that's because the rest of you weren't members of The Dimensions — my first band.
It’s funny how a person perceives fame throughout their lifetime. When I started in the music business in the mid 60s I thought fame was the be-all-to-end-all. I wanted fame more than I wanted money. I wanted my name to be a household word. I wanted people to know me on sight and to whisper as I passed them on the street, not sure if they dare ask for an autograph.
A few columns ago I vented my frustration regarding amateur singers from the audience wanting to horn in on my act. You know the kind—they warble a little in the shower and think they can do in a day what I’ve been perfecting for forty years. Occasionally I allow some Tom Jones wannabe to come up and give it a try. Sometimes I do it out of curiosity to see if they really can sing. Sometimes I do it because I know they can’t and I just want to see them make a total ass of themselves and have a good silent laugh. Sometime I have no choice—the guy wanting to sing is the same guy who’s paying me. But most of the time I’d just as soon the audience members stay where they are and let me do my show by myself.
Imagine this scenario, if you will. I’m sitting in my dentist’s chair getting my teeth cleaned. When I find a gap in the work where I can talk, I tell him, “Say doc, when the next patient comes in can I pull his tooth?” You can just about imagine what my dentist would say to me.
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