Jam For Jamie - 2012

Today is the 8th anniversary of the Jam For Jamie we did at Mercy Lounge on July 14, 2012.

I posted the following to the Simmonz blog not too long after the show when Jamie was still with us, and kicking ass in his recovery after his horrible motorcycle wreck in March of 2012.

That seems like a hundred years ago, now.

So much has changed.

Before the show, I went to Facebook (you know, the social media shit show that used to be kinda fun and cool) with Jamie and our family's story after his accident.

We received such an outpouring of love and support during that time, and then with the benefit show, it was a fantastic testament to what social media can be, and to what kind of people we are friends with.

Many of my newer connections on social media did not know that six years before we lost Jamie in his 2018 car accident, that we came very close to losing him in 2012.

A few people have messaged me who have been reading along on my Tales of Metal blog about Jamie. Many didn't didn't know him or his story.

Every day is a good day to remember my little brother, Jamie, the baddest bass player, and the best person I knew, but today is a great day to remember his triumphant return to the stage, only months after he was told he may never play again. Playing with him again after that was the best gig I ever played. 

Then, Paulie set up the second-best gig of my life!

What a great night...here you go...

July 14, 2012 

Jam For Jamie

I looked across the stage at Don Airey, throwing down ad-lib licks on the house B3 organ at Mercy Lounge. I almost pinched myself to see if I was dreaming.

Don is the dude who wrote and played the iconic organ intro to Mr. Crowley on Ozzy Osbourne's breakthrough album Blizzard of Oz. He also toured with the band, which included a young guitar player who would become one of my idols and major influences: Randy Rhoads.

Don was on the tour bus, which was struck by the small plane that carried Randy, Rachel Youngblood, and the pilot to their demise in 1982 while on the Diary of a Madman tour. He has also played with a who's who of rock and Metal royalty over the years.

Don took over on keyboards in Deep Purple for the inimitable Jon Lord when he retired in 2005. 

Purple was in Nashville in the summer of 2012, recording a new record. My brother Paulie happened to be the drum tech for some of the sessions, helping another one of our childhood heroes Ian Paice to get drum sounds for the recording.

It was through this connection that I now stood on stage, living one of my dreams. I was about to fill the shoes of one of my favorite guitar players: Ritchie Blackmore.

Don started playing the unmistakable B3 intro to Space Truckin' from another one my all-time favorites, Deep Purple’s Machine Head.

I looked over at bass player Roger Glover who was smiling his big British grin as he started pummeling the bass-line. I'm just waiting, I know many guitar players play the power chords along with the intro, but that is FUCKING WRONG! Ritchie never came in until the verse, goddamnit.

Ian Paice throws down the drum fill into the verse, this is my cue, I do the fast, back and forth G to A pull off on the D string, just like Ritchie does in the live version on Made In Japan. I had already decided I'm playing it like the live version, it's much cooler and more fun, but still acceptable to the purists like me.

BAM! We are fucking rockin'! The crowd goes apeshit, Greg Mangus steps up to the mic...

"We had a lot of luck on Venus! We always had a ball on Mars!" 

I can't tell you how many times I did this as a kid with my dad's killer headphones, pretending to be Ritchie. It's much better in real life! 

I thought to myself: "I'm playing with Deep Purple. HOLY SHIT!" Spontaneous combustion was a definite possibility on my part. I'm grinning uncontrollably at this point.

At one point during the second chorus, Roger Glover came over to my side of the stage and rocked with me. Hell yeah! I looked back at Ian Paice a couple of times, and he smiled. I made sure I didn't overplay, especially when he did his fills, I was just happy to be there.

The next thing that crossed my mind was that it felt just like I was playing with my brothers. I mean, just like it. It makes sense because this music is so close to our hearts; it's like it was imprinted on our DNA.

I looked down and off stage left, and there were my two brothers with big shit-eating grins on their faces. Paulie, the mastermind of this moment, had his hand on the shoulder of Jamie, who was still in his wheelchair.

This had been an emotional day.

You would think that playing with Deep Purple would have been at the top of my favorite gigs list, but the set before that topped it.

It had not been an hour ago that we had lifted Jamie up from his wheelchair, and he stood on his rebuilt legs at the end of our set. My band SIMMONZ had just played for the first time since Jamie had nearly lost his life in a motorcycle accident four months earlier, and I had busted out crying a couple of times while we were playing, and now ... looking at them, I was about to do it again.

I thought to myself:

"Fuck, no! You are NOT going to start crying like a baby while you play Space Truckin' with Deep Purple! Somebody will come and take your Metal membership card away from you!" 

July 14, 2012, was one of the most grateful days of my life. 

Even though it had only been four months since the doctor came into the waiting room at the Vanderbilt Trauma Center on the evening of March 15 and told us that my little brother may not make it, it seemed like it was much longer ago.

The SIMMONZ set that night was so emotional because it was not only my family that was celebrating the miraculous recovery of my little brother, it was our extended "family" as well.

For weeks after his accident and his fight for his life, I kept our friends updated on Facebook. The response we got back was part of what helped us get through. The love, support, prayer, and generosity of our family of friends was amazing!

When I looked out from the stage as we were playing Days Like These and saw tears in people's eyes through my own tears, I knew I was playing the most meaningful show that I have ever played, or ever would play.

The love energy was in the air that night. You could reach out and touch it.

I even suspected that the spirit of Ronnie James Dio was in the house. There was a huge double rainbow over the Cannery at dusk. It had shown up after a day of torrential downpours and right before the start of the show. That is another story, though.

Hundreds of friends that were around in the eighties and early nineties were there, too. Many of them had been a part of the Nashville scene as long as we have. Even if we hadn't seen each other in ten years, we hugged like it was yesterday.

There were many there that were newer friends, but I would think it is safe to say, the majority of those new friends were connected to us by our music.

That is Nashville, at least for us.

I never really use the word fans when referring to people who like our music.

I always call them friends or family, because that is what we are.

When we decided to do the Jam For Jamie, a benefit concert to help offset his medical expenses, you would not believe the love we were shown!

This town, and the old school Metal community, in particular, suited up and showed up for us that day, and throughout this tough time. We are forever grateful for it.

I hope as you read this story that you can see how this magic music that saved us from ourselves also helped us forge friendships that would last a lifetime.

Jamie continues to get better. He will be standing on his own two feet playing gigs with us this summer. This world is a much better place with him in it. It sounds better too!

When I was six, and Paulie was four, we stood at the crib and stared at him forever after mom and dad had brought him home from the hospital. We were looking at him as if to say:

"What took you so long, man? We have work to do!"