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.

Holy Fucking Shit with Peter Frampton - Guitar Tech Stories #1

We have a saying around the Blackbird shop. "Namedropperbullshitterwhogivesafuck" This title is reserved for people who come in, and within the first 30 seconds of conversation, they have dropped every country star's name in the book. They are usually trying to get free gear or a "bro" rate, even though we have never seen them before in our life.
As I write in this blog, I would hope none of you think I'm a name-dropper or bullshitter. (Well, I will concede, I may be a bullshitter.)

Even if you do think that I don't care.
No, I'm just here to bring a little sunshine into your day. Working behind the scenes of the music biz for over 30 years taught me how to lighten up.
I started working for Peter Frampton in 2003. From what I was told, he had gone through the three or four guitar techs before me pretty quickly. Pete is a great guy, but when it comes to his guitar rig and his tone, he takes it very seriously. I heard about one of the dudes before me talking to his girlfriend on the phone during a show. He had his back turned to an exasperated Peter who had broken a string in the middle of a song. There was something else about a flying pewter mug and people ducking ... I'm not exactly sure.
Needless to say, they all eyed me with hope and a lot of skepticism. When I saw Peter's rig, I was skeptical too! I hoped I could figure it out.
I think my first words after looking it over were something to the effect of: "HOLY SHIT!"

Good God, it was complicated! I had never seen more pedals, rack effects, effects loops, Leslie's, pre-amps, amps, power amps, and speaker cabinets in my life! Not to mention his talkbox and its own amp.
I went over to their warehouse to go over the setup and meet some of the crew.
Scooter, (best production manager ever, God rest his soul) handed me something that looked like a bunch of spaghetti drawn on a sheet of paper and said, "Good luck, dude."
I had it all hooked up about an hour later. I grabbed PF Les Paul #1 and nervously went through the procedure like an airline pilot turning all of that shit on.
Nothing.
No matter what the set up is, I always seem to forget to plug in the speakers. Once that was taken care of, I fired it up and proceeded to rock out on the best sounding rig I had ever heard in my life!
Wow! Needless to say, I got the gig under some conditions. "We will do a few shows, see how you do, and if everybody likes you," Scooter told me, "You will also have to be able to play rhythm guitar on some songs from backstage as well." Fair enough. The first two weeks out was probably the hardest I ever worked in my life. Getting up to speed on the whole deal was gnarly. Here is a quick overview for the gear heads: Guitars - (2) PF Black Gibson Les Pauls, (1)Pensa Suhr Strat, (2) Acoustics, (1 Custom Build and 1 Taylor 810) (1) Transperformance "Robot" Les Paul, (I hated that thing!) After placing and hooking up the rig, I had to change strings, stretch, and tune before every show. I am posting a pic of a Guitargeeks diagram of the basic amp and effects setup:

This is basically the same rig we used except we used a real Leslie and drove it with a Fender head if my memory is correct. All of those little red lines oversimplify the cable situation big time, but the theory is correct. Those two small red lines that go into the bottom of the rack? Yeah...they were actually this:

When I was with him, he also had a Pedaltrain that rode on top of the effects rack with 6 or 7 pedals we put before the main Marshall. An old Mutron was the main one on the train. The "Jose" Marshall ran dry in the center 4x12 cab, and a custom effects send from that head fed back through the rack and to the Mesa Boogie power amp. The "wet" (effected.. you know..reverb, delay, etc.) signal then went stereo to the two outside 4x12's. The Leslie was mic'd separately and mixed in on the monitors and front of house.
(I realize that the eyes of non-audio people may be glazing over right about now.)
For those of you who don't know how a talkbox works, The 50 watt Marshall "Plexi" runs to a speaker driver that is in the "box." It's airtight, and a long clear plastic tube comes out of it. You attach the hose on the side of a dedicated microphone, and the pressure from the speaker driver goes through the tube into your mouth. You move your mouth to give the guitar the "talking" effect, as in Do You Feel Like I Do? and Show Me The Way. Your mouth becomes the "speaker" basically. The sound goes through the mic like a vocal. Pretty badass, huh? Let me tell you ... that 50 watt Marshall would rattle your teeth sometimes. It is a very wild sensation!
We also carried backup amps and multi-pin cables. I had a huge portable case/workbench which opened out, and a table flipped down. It had drawers loaded with strings, cables, picks, slides, rags, tubing, soldering gun, guitar parts, tools, tuners, pedals, in-ear monitors, velcro tape, shrink wrap, heat gun, chemicals, candy, and God knows what else. It had it's own lights and power. I called it the "Battle-Station."
The guitars traveled in a rolling 6'x8'x 3' guitar vault. They were held in with bungee straps inside, each with its own place in the trunk. I even had a sweet rubber mat for my feet that I ran between my station and the vault.
No matter where we went, I had my "space," and it was badass.
I did a US tour, an acoustic tour of Europe, and part of a full band tour of Europe. After I left to go back to Underground Sound, I would still go out and fill in from time to time. I even got to work with my current bosses John and Martina McBride (I know...NDBSWGAF), and Peter on the same gig once. He came and played a show for Sony Records on the General Jackson Riverboat, and they asked me to tech. I got the day off from the 'Bird because Martina was going to be singing that night and doing a song with Peter as well. That was a cool gig!

I learned a hell of a lot with Peter. He takes good care of his crew too. I can proudly say I never had a mug thrown at me! The untimely death of Bob Mayo while we were on tour in Europe really affected me. He was such a cool guy and an excellent musician. That was rough. He had stopped drinking a few months prior, and I felt like I had a recovery bud out there. For some reason, I did not want to be on the road anymore after that.
I will close with another little "Holy Shit" story. Every gig had it's "oh shit" moments... but every now and then there was some sheer terror.
We were doing a gig at the Wiltern in LA. Get this: 3am load in for some local morning radio show's Christmas Jam or something. It was George Thorogood, Pat Benetar, and Peter. We had come straight from Vegas the night before, and everyone was crispy.
I always thought George was just doing the showbiz schtick with the whole drinking thing. I was wrong. That guy was very crispy. He turned up a pint of something, grabbed his guitar, and they hit the stage at 7am.
The way that the show was set up, everything had to be on wheels. My effects rack, amp case, and Leslie were all on wheels, so that was cool. The 3 Marshall cabinets had to be placed on a long "tray" on wheels. That way, you could roll everything into place after Benetar's crew rolled their stuff off. The drums, bass, and keyboards all had their own single riser on wheels. They were all completely set up and ready. Lucky me, I had shit everywhere. I had 4 things I had to roll into place and then hook up all the cables between them. I was going to have about 7 minutes—a piece of cake.
Curtain closes.
With the last notes of Heartbreaker still ringing in my ears, I get ready as Pat's crew rolls Neil Giraldo's tiny little Line 6 on a riser, and the rest of their shit off stage. It's on! Cabinets in place...BAM! Rack...BAM! Amp Rack... BAM! Leslie... BAM! Military cable... BAM! Guitar Switcher cables... BAM! Effects send cables...BAM! Power up.
I think that's it. I grab PF Les Paul #1 and give Scooter the thumbs up.
After a quick radio transmission, Peter comes walking through with Donnie, the road manager, and in his sweet British accent says: "Good morning Michael! Is it not illegal to play rock-n-roll this fucking early in the morning, my boy?" I laugh and hand him his baby.
"Ok, let's do it!"
Usually, we will smack the strings or tap a pickup to make sure we have a signal, but they asked not to do any of that because of the radio broadcast. I hear "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN......" as Pete walks to center stage, and the curtain is rolling back.
I gaze in horror as I see three 1/4 inch jacks coiled to the right of the rack... on the floor.
ON THE FLOOR?????
I was one BAM short of a rock show.
Listen ... nothing, and I mean NOTHING is lamer than going to hit the first power chord of a rock-n-roll show, and you find out your speakers are not plugged in. If you are being PAID to plug them in? Then the lameness is multiplied exponentially. A string of GDMFSOB's spewed from my mouth as I sprung into action. I had mere seconds. The announcer was done ... The audience was cheering ... The drummer was counting off ... Spotlight shining ... mussst... prugga...EEEEN!!!
BAM!
Thank. You. God.
Peter never even turned around. Life was good.
As the band rocked into the first number, I got off the floor and came out of the stage light to stage left. There stood my smiling long-haired Samoan friend and production manager, Scooter. He saw the whole thing... He laughed and said, "Holy fuckin' shit, dude. Holy... fuckin'... shit."