Create a Bible of possible poems (60 pp). Go through the “S” directory on the computer and dig up song-like entities, including “Forgotten Melody,” which you/I don’t even remember writing.
Spend two hours with Hal and Marty Birmbach in a recording studio (Kampo, same room where we mixed The United States of Poetry) reading poems, including ten versions of “Fire: Friend or Foe?” -- some as Fire, others as Foe, per Hal. Do a version of “Forgotten Melody” as if you’re/I’m 80 years old. Remind Hal that you might like some music on there occasionally. Hal closes his eyes, the better to hear you with. He and Marty set up different microphones at different locations at different angles. He is “getting” your voice. He is teaching you how to hear yourself think.
Even though you live in New York, don’t be cheap when the Producer says maybe you should record in LA. When the Producer says you should have a band, with musicians you’d never in a million years have the courage to ask, but who Hal says are your peers, musically, say “OK.”
Producer says, “Let’s do a live gig.” Remember that Fred Dewey at Beyond Baroque, LA’s premier poetry reading emporium, has delivered an open invite to read whenever in town. Call up Fred, listen to him moan about the lack of lead time, remind him it’s rock’n’roll, get him to agree to a lo-budget, no pr event. Donate your share of the door to the door. Immediately book a bunch of great LA poets to ensure some kind of audience and to help you relax. [Thanks, S.A. Griffin, Ellyn Maybe, Rafael Alvarado, Dennis Cruz.]
Fly to LA on Frequent Flyer Miles. Set up camp at the funky lovely Highland Gardens Motel. Freak out over what you’re supposed to be doing. Hal has gone ahead and booked meetings with musicians -- what can a poor poet do ‘cept to play in a rock’n’roll band?
On Monday, give Hal a lift to another of his projects, the Lenny Bruce boxed set, and get directions to Chris Spedding’s, one of the world’s most astonishing guitarists. Hang out with Chris. It’s a little awkward since we’ve never met before, but we decide what the heck and write a melody for “Forgotten Melody,” then write a whole treatment for “That’s Why” in an hour and a half. Hal shows up and declares “That’s Why” a hit.
Next day, meet with Bob Neuwirth, self-effacing musical genius brother. Work on “Cowboy Heaven,” which will morph into “I’d Rather Be Stupid Than Crazy (So How Come I’m Crazy for You?)” and our duet, “Perfect Harmony.”
Wednesday, talk with rock hero and pal Wayne Kramer, who agrees to sit in with us and bring his drummer, Brock Avery, along. Give a call to old buddy Ken Deifik, who I knew years ago when he played harp with Kenward Elmslie, and ask if he can join us. The band is set.
