In late 2009, Becky and her brother renovated a warehouse. The concept was he could clean out his garage and store his “toys” and I could have a place to play music.
Like many of my “projects,” my plans were somewhat grandiose. My vision was a place where different ages would get together to draw or paint, play music, and maybe share ideas. Discourse between ages would expand the horizons and open the minds of young and old alike -- a bridge over the “generation gap.”
That plan fell flat on its face. Jamming on weekends did not appeal to young people. Music may soothe the savage beast, but it does not necessarily bring generations together. Only a few people like to draw and even fewer will admit to drawing. Nobody seems to want to paint in a communal place. The reality was very few of my friends are bohemian enough to participate in the type of coffee house collective which I envisioned.
Something worthwhile, however, came from our attempts at jamming. We learned how good and versatile Glenn Kohlmeister was on the drums.
Glenn and I met when I was allowed to intrude upon the inner sanctum of the threesome in which he ran every Saturday morning. They would run and then, over coffee and cinnamon rolls, solve the problems of the World. They let me walk and join them for coffee. Saturday mornings became a male version of “stitch and bitch.”
We really did not “solve” anything. But we had and have lively discussions which range from current events, social issues, politics, and other esoterica to “do you remember . . . ?” The do you remembers have included such lively subjects as “Where was Harrold Ford on Broadway?” “Where exactly was the Alameda, the last burlesque house in Sacramento?” “What was the card room where Starbucks and Noah’s Bagels on J is now?” “Who was in Blind Faith?” Many times the Saturday session led to a Google search and e-mails.
Glenn is a jazz devotee. Ask him about a Blue Note performer, and he knows the answer. Until recently, his vanity license plate was “JAZZLVR.”
Glenn also was a closet drummer for 40 plus years. He started out in junior high school band. But, until we started our warehouse jams in the Fall of 2009, he had not played with a group since he was in his teens. He had not played an acoustic kit for some time.
Even though the warehouse jams center of rock and blues, Glenn became our metronome. I am sure that he would prefer playing “Take Five” or classic jazz drum rhythms and even more exotic meters. Instead, we are pretty much stuck with 4/4 rock and occasionally 12/8 blues. Glenn keeps the beat.
Glenn also learned to play drums for our surf jams or Paul’s and my renditions of surf or early rock instrumentals. For Christmas, I gave him Dusty Watson’s DVD on surf drumming. Glenn soaked up the information like a sponge.
As Paul added chords and harmony to the melodies which were kicking around in my head, Glenn gave them a drum beat. “How about a drum intro here?” “What do you want?” Paul would say, “A snare roll.” Glenn played. “Great.”
From the beginning of the “Into the Flow” concept, I knew that Glenn would be the drummer.
Once I knew that I was committed to the project, I asked, “Do you want to play on our CD?” He did not ask what CD or what kind of music. Instead, Glenn’s response was instantaneous, “Sure.”
Like many of my “projects,” my plans were somewhat grandiose. My vision was a place where different ages would get together to draw or paint, play music, and maybe share ideas. Discourse between ages would expand the horizons and open the minds of young and old alike -- a bridge over the “generation gap.”
That plan fell flat on its face. Jamming on weekends did not appeal to young people. Music may soothe the savage beast, but it does not necessarily bring generations together. Only a few people like to draw and even fewer will admit to drawing. Nobody seems to want to paint in a communal place. The reality was very few of my friends are bohemian enough to participate in the type of coffee house collective which I envisioned.
Something worthwhile, however, came from our attempts at jamming. We learned how good and versatile Glenn Kohlmeister was on the drums.
Glenn and I met when I was allowed to intrude upon the inner sanctum of the threesome in which he ran every Saturday morning. They would run and then, over coffee and cinnamon rolls, solve the problems of the World. They let me walk and join them for coffee. Saturday mornings became a male version of “stitch and bitch.”
We really did not “solve” anything. But we had and have lively discussions which range from current events, social issues, politics, and other esoterica to “do you remember . . . ?” The do you remembers have included such lively subjects as “Where was Harrold Ford on Broadway?” “Where exactly was the Alameda, the last burlesque house in Sacramento?” “What was the card room where Starbucks and Noah’s Bagels on J is now?” “Who was in Blind Faith?” Many times the Saturday session led to a Google search and e-mails.
Glenn is a jazz devotee. Ask him about a Blue Note performer, and he knows the answer. Until recently, his vanity license plate was “JAZZLVR.”
Glenn also was a closet drummer for 40 plus years. He started out in junior high school band. But, until we started our warehouse jams in the Fall of 2009, he had not played with a group since he was in his teens. He had not played an acoustic kit for some time.
Even though the warehouse jams center of rock and blues, Glenn became our metronome. I am sure that he would prefer playing “Take Five” or classic jazz drum rhythms and even more exotic meters. Instead, we are pretty much stuck with 4/4 rock and occasionally 12/8 blues. Glenn keeps the beat.
Glenn also learned to play drums for our surf jams or Paul’s and my renditions of surf or early rock instrumentals. For Christmas, I gave him Dusty Watson’s DVD on surf drumming. Glenn soaked up the information like a sponge.
As Paul added chords and harmony to the melodies which were kicking around in my head, Glenn gave them a drum beat. “How about a drum intro here?” “What do you want?” Paul would say, “A snare roll.” Glenn played. “Great.”
From the beginning of the “Into the Flow” concept, I knew that Glenn would be the drummer.
Once I knew that I was committed to the project, I asked, “Do you want to play on our CD?” He did not ask what CD or what kind of music. Instead, Glenn’s response was instantaneous, “Sure.”