Free Bird

 

I was 11 the first time I heard Free Bird.

It was the AM radio version with no solo on the end as I had yet to discover the wonderland known as FM radio and our local rock station WKDF-FM. I remember dad would listen to FM radio sometimes at night "because you could listen in stereo," I had no idea what that even meant.

He would listen to grown-up music on the big stereo receiver, which was a mystery to Paulie and me. We figured out the turntable and how to play records, mainly the Beatles, but listening to the radio was still my treasured little battery-powered AM radio. I had my own little earbuds, too! They were these flesh-colored buttons eerily similar to today's earbuds.

It was on this little radio that I first heard Alice Cooper's School's Out, and the sound of those electric guitars cranked through Marshall Amps stole my heart and set me on the life trajectory I still navigate.

It was amid this Alice fervor that I may have first heard Free Bird.

All I wanted was my own record player and my own copy of the School's Out album, but until that happened, I was stuck with the little radio. The Free Bird single caught my ear with Gary's sublime slide guitar and Ronnie's soulful, heartfelt vocals and lyrics. It became one of my favorite songs, even though I was unaware of the epic ending. That part always faded as a big-mouthed DJ would chime in or another song faded in without hinting at the magic solo Allen Collins recorded one night in 1973.

It wasn’t until well after I got my own record player and Alice Cooper album for Christmas that I heard the glorious complete masterpiece Free Bird on the FM radio one summer night in 1974.

Dad finally relented and showed me how to dial in WDKF-FM on the living room's big stereo and how to use his big-ass killer headphones to get the whole stereo experience. A cool DJ named Moby would come on at 7pm and play all the good shit. He was so laid back, unlike the loud, announcer-voice dudes on the AM stations. He was like the cool uncle who would let you smoke weed, give you a Playboy, and tell ya not to tell your mom.

Moby played the full version, of course.

I was listening along, going, "Oh yeah, I like this song," I think it reminded me of one of my first girlfriends or something, and then the part came where it would fade out on the AM stations, but it did not fade out... No, it did not fucking fade out... IT DID NOT FADE OUT AT ALL, GODDAMNIT!

How was this happening? Why was this kept from me?

Those fucking loud-mouthed, happy-ass, deep-voiced, AM radio assholes!

They had been holding out on me!

This was pure smokin' guitar badassery! It was not just a little solo in the middle of the song; this solo was almost ANOTHER SONG! This was the best song ever written! (This was shortly before I discovered Deep Purple.) I had never heard anything like it before.

God, I loved that solo. It wasn’t until much later in life that I learned it was all Allen Collins... I thought it was everybody...like six guys or something. I knew nothing about the band, but that was about to change!

Lynyrd Skynyrd Pronounced became the second album I ever owned. 

I held that solo in reverence for so long that I never even attempted to learn it note for note. Oh sure, I borrowed parts and certain licks here and there like every other aspiring guitar kid, but learning the whole thing seemed like a mountain that I could never climb.

I bought every album they made. Even though I would become obsessed with Deep Purple, Kiss, and Rainbow, Skynyrd was always in hard rotation. 

When One More From The Road came out, I was in heaven.

There were many pantomime concerts in the front room to that record. Having the crowd noise in there, I could fully immerse myself in the fantasy of playing these killer songs for thousands of people on a big stage. I even had a cut-out Explorer guitar cut from a piece of plywood scarfed from a scrap pile from houses being built in our young subdivision. Nothing was more fun than smoking a big joint after school, blasting Free Bird live, and pretending to be Allen.

One of my biggest regrets is not seeing that version of the band live. I remember seeing a flyer for Skynyrd at my first concert at Nashville Municipal Auditorium, KISS Destroyer Tour. Being only 13 at the time, it had almost taken an act of God to get mom to let Paulie and me go to the KISS show, and I knew how many mowed yards it took to buy a ticket, so I thought, "I'll catch Skynyrd the next time they come here."

There would be no next time.

Coincidentally, I listened to WKDF one afternoon, and Moby came on the air, which was weird because it wasn’t nighttime. 

He announced the news of the plane crash, obviously emotional and crying, not having the whole story yet but confirming Ronnie and Steve's deaths.

I sat there crying along with Moby. I couldn’t believe it.

Not long after that, I got my copy of Street Survivors. I loved that record so much. I had just begun my journey of playing a real guitar since getting a guitar and amp for Christmas 1976, and I remember jamming along with that record a lot.

Over the years, Free Bird became a running joke among bands and musicians primarily due to the absolutely horrible cover versions you would hear in bars, clubs, and music stores. I always knew it was no joke, and I always loved listening to the original and live versions and all of their killer songs.

They had songs, man! 

Not only that, those motherfuckers burned on guitars. 

Whether it was just Gary and Allen or them with Ed or Steve, the ensemble guitar parts they would come up with were sheer genius. Their execution was devastating. Nobody could touch them.

God help any band that had to follow them back in the day.

I was very sad when Allen passed away... he was one of my heroes and one of my biggest influences... He and Gary both, really.

I was happy to see the band carry on with Johnny later. I went to see them many times in the 90s.

Through my job at Underground Sound, I met and hung with them on many occasions during that era. It got to be a running joke when they saw me backstage at Starwood or somewhere, "Well shit, there he is again! Want a beer, Mikey?" LOL! Those guys were so awesome... and they loved their crew. It was like a big traveling family.

I loved Gary. He was always super cool to me and always talked to me just like any other bro.

I'm so glad Gary got my buddy Damon Johnson in the band this past year. He is the perfect guy to play those parts with the reverence, humility, and talent he possesses. Gary wanted the band to go on. I hope they keep Skynyrd going as long as people want to pay to see them. What a testament to their legacy and the body of work they created. Those songs will live forever.

Gary was supposed to be here at Blackbird doing overdubs the week he passed. I was looking forward to popping in to say hey.

Godspeed, Gary, you were the best. Tell the boys we love and miss them!

 

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!"

Randy

Everybody that knows me knows I love Metal. (Yes, that's capital, "M")

From the time I was thirteen, until well into my thirties... I lived, breathed, and ate Metal.

I would sit with my little record player and my favorite LP's: Deep Purple Made In Japan and Made In Europe, Rainbow On Stage, Rush 2112, Van Halen 1, Ozzy with Randy, Judas Preist Unleashed in the East, UFO Strangers In The Night, and a few other ass-kickers.

I would listen to parts, lift the needle and go back time, and again, until I would figure out a riff or a lick. I literally wore those records out. The guys on those records were my guitar teachers.

Today is March 19th, 2013. I want to talk about the Ozzy records, specifically the first two albums "Blizzard of Oz" and "Diary of a Madman."

More specifically I want to talk about Randy Rhoads. Today marks 31 years since his senseless death in a plane crash while on the "Diary" tour in Florida.

I don't want to focus on his death though, it is his life that is so important to me and his legion of fans.

Up until 1980, my main influences were Ritchie Blackmore and Edward Van Halen. 

When "Blizzard" came out, it just blew my shit away! The solo in "Mr. Crowley,” to me, was the epitome of all that was Metal. Randy had the perfect blend of the classical influence of Blackmore, and the fiery Metal attitude from Los Angeles, pioneered by Van Halen.

I immediately took up the task of learning Randy's riffs and licks. It changed me as a player. His playing opened me up to a whole world of theory that I had not touched on. He inspired me to go deeper, and learn more about what I was playing and the music theory behind it. Up until that point, being self-taught, my knowledge was very limited. All I really knew where pentatonic patterns and a basic minor pattern. I didn't even know about relative major / minor keys.

I read everything I could about Randy. His few interviews in a couple of guitar magazines revealed a very humble guy, who was a completely dedicated musician.

To say that he really inspired me is an understatement.

When "Diary" came out... Holy Shit!

I wish you could have seen my face when "Over the Mountain" started playing through my speakers for the first time. Perfection. Then it was followed by ass-kicker, after ass-kicker!

The solo on "SATO" still stands as one of the best guitar solos of all time.

The riff right before the solo in "Diary,” still makes the hair on my arms stand up to this day.

The band I was in at the time played half a set of Randy tunes. (Ok...Ozzy tunes;)

I will never forget where I was when I heard that Randy was gone. I drove a delivery truck for a print shop at that time. I had just loaded up the truck down on Capitol Ave, next to the Hyatt in downtown Nashville. I listened to talk radio in the little Nissan pickup because it only had AM radio. I got in and turned it on just as the news was starting. I was just half-listening and heard the announcer talking about a rock band and a small plane crash in Florida. He said, "Dead at the scene were the pilot, the band's seamstress, and guitarist Randy Rhoads."

I just sat there saying, "What? No!" to myself. I had been so excited because they were coming to Nashville soon and I was going to see my hero live for the first time.

It was, devastating. 

I sat in my truck and cried.

When I got home that night, I grabbed my 8 tracks, and went out driving around and listened to Randy.

He had said in an interview, that his goal was not to be a big rock star or make all kinds of money.

He simply wanted to go back to school, and get a degree in music. He was an amazing classical guitarist.

He really was an excellent role model for any musician.

I am going to share something here that I don't tell very many people.

One of the toughest times in my life was back in 2000 when I had made a decision to get off drugs and alcohol. It was a very personal decision. Partying had been fun for many years but, from 1995 until 2000 addiction reared it's ugly head and really turned on me in a bad way.

A part of the program that I was involved in, (and am to this day,) was using a higher power to talk or pray to. I was not down with any of that at the time. On the other hand, I was pretty desperate and wanted to take the suggestions and work the program to the best of my ability. I felt like my life depended on it, at the time. (It did.)

They told me it could be whatever worked for me. It did not have to be anything specific but it was suggested that this "power," be loving and caring.

It just so happened that I came across a photo around that time. It was a picture of Randy with angel wings:

Now some of you may think this is silly, and that is fine.

I printed that picture out, and put it on the wall in my office at work, right next to where I sat. For weeks, as I sat there withdrawing and detoxing, I would just talk to Randy. I would ask him to help me. If I really felt like using or going to have a drink, I would just talk to my boy.

You know what?

It worked.

I am still clean to this day, 13 years later.

(Update, 20 years! 6/4/20)

I still talk to Randy from time to time. 

He holds a very special place in my heart. 

He did way more than just teach me the guitar.

He was only here for a short time, but, what a mark he made. I can't imagine what he would have done if he were still here. I am very grateful for the part of himself he left with us.

I miss you, Randy. Rock on my brother.