Enacting the Masque (Another free chapter from "Embracing the Gray")

Each man has a memory
Much more than the eye can see
Yet still others linger deep inside you
Haunting thoughts of pain and joy divide you
Look beyond your eyes
At the dark and moody skies
For they're standing in your way

You must find the light of day

(Kansas, “Apercu,” from Kansas, 1974)

I’ll never forget that warm Indian summer evening, when I would be introduced to something that would ultimately impact my life in many ways. It was sixteen months before my decision to renounce my faith, and I was playing sand volleyball next to one of the dormitories at Wheaton College.  Four stories above us, a student had placed both of his huge Jensen speakers against his window and began blasting some of the most stimulating music I’d heard in a long time.  Asking several in our group if they had any idea who it was, we all became curious. 

When we were finished, I climbed the stairs and sauntered down the hallway to the door of the room where the music was emanating from.  I had to knock several times in order to be heard over the symphonic rock of intricate drum patterns, blistering guitars, crisp keyboard riffs, and soaring vocals.  But what set it apart from other great bands of that time like Yes, Queen, and ELP was the distinctive use of violin as a rock instrument.

When a scruffy faced kid with a shoulder-length mane opened the door, the massive sound was made all the clearer.  So as not to make him feel like I was some goody-two shoes there to complain about his “jungle rhythm heathen rawk,” I extended my hand, and yelled “My name’s Mark.  What on earth is this great music you’re playing?”

“Cool…I’m Rich.  You dig it?!  It’s a band called Kansas.”  He handed me the cover, and I recognized it from the local record store racks.  You see, I frequented Johnny B.Goode, a music and head shop in downtown Wheaton at least once a week to check out new releases.  The proprietor, Don McLeese, went on to eventually become a pretty well known syndicated music journalist for the Chicago Sun Times.  He’d often play hip new stuff, and it helped in my quest to stay on top of all the latest trends. Earlier that spring I had seen this same album in the New Releases Bin, but because of the band’s appearance, of plaid shirts, ripped jeans, and even one of the dudes wearing bib overalls, I presumed they were some sort of country bumpkin git-fiddle band a la Charlie Daniels. Man, was I wrong.

I asked Rich if I could listen for a while, and he eagerly complied by offering me a beanbag chair and lifting the needle to start the record from the beginning.  “Check out the lyrics, too…pretty amazing stuff.”

From the very start
I screamed for the devil to let me be
I called to the heavens to set me free
Today I prayed for the answer and not one
Of your gods in the sky would rescue me

(Kansas, “Journey From Mariabronne,” from Kansas, 1974)

It was breathtaking to hear something that so immediately captured my imagination.  As a kid I had always loved the romantic era of classical music, and then as the rock explosion of the mid-late 60s came along, with my brother’s help, I was swept up into that.  And even though the progressive rock scene started to meld the two with some powerful bands like those mentioned above, there was still something missing.  I was now hearing it, and it was mesmerizing.  Incorporating elements of Hendrix, Deep Purple, Zeppelin, Mahavishnu, and even Leo Kottke with powerful arrangements and orchestrations influenced by the likes of Mahler, Wagner, Debussy, and Tchaikovsky was the perfect blend of power and serenity.  To top it off, the lyrics were at times probing, then confessional. Some angry, others contemplative.  But there was honesty and yearning to it all, and when mixed with the music, it made a delicious feast. 

The next day I promptly bought their first two releases. I tried finding out everything I could about this obscure band from Topeka that was really beginning to make noise across the country. I became especially taken with the songs by guitarist/keyboardist Kerry Livgren.  He seemed the more classically inspired of the composers, and I resonated deeply with much of what he spoke. I couldn’t help but begin praying regularly for such an ardent seeker.

Run a silent path to nowhere, everything is all
You could have a pleasant life if Summer had no Fall
Treat yourself so gently though the task is often hard
Man is not a God it seems, who holds the final card
Close your eyes and feel the darkness, speak and hear the sound,
We only catch a glimpse of all the life that is around,
The man is not alive who knows the value of his soul,
And when our lives are pulled away, there's more to fill the hole
I wonder what you'd think if all the changes didn't come?

(Kansas, “Incommudro,” from Song For America, 1975)

As my misgivings about elements of Christianity were becoming more defined, I found Kerry’s words giving me solace…even giving me strength to keep moving forward in my search for clarity.

A few months later, I was the first at Wheaton to get their third album, entitled Masque.  A French word that means “A disguise of reality created through a theatrical or musical performance.”   So much of what I was struggling with was reflected in the album art, Arcimboldo’s eerie Water. It was a surrealist painting of a native warlord’s head that on closer examination was actually a conglomeration of aquatic creatures and plants writhing about.  This is how I often felt…from a distance I was one who somehow could fit in, but in reality, there was a complex, even squeamish jumble of questions that made me and others feel uneasy.

With glory and passion no longer in fashion
The hero breaks his blade
Cast this shadow long that I may hide my face
And in this cloak of darkness the world I will embrace
In all that I endure, of one thing I am sure
Knowledge and reason change like the season
A jester's promenade

(Kansas, “The Pinnacle,” from Masque, 1975)

So during my junior year, in the six week stretch where my three friends perished, I finally saw Kansas perform twice.  In their first three years of national exposure, Kansas had become known as “the touringest band in the land,” averaging close to 250 concerts per year.  They opened for seemingly anyone and everyone, and they played around Chicagoland alone eleven times that year.  They were also gaining quite the reputation as a band that many did not want to have on the same bill because they regularly blew others off the stage with their force and skill.  For instance, at a recent gig as opener for Rory Gallagher at the infamous Aragon Ballroom, most of the sold out audience left during the Irishman’s set having been so thoroughly entertained by the sextet from the desolate heartland.
Despite a lack of a hit single, each album was selling more than the one before, and Kansas was beginning to garner headline gigs at universities and in major cities.

It was hard to imagine a group being able to pull off the intricate arrangements of their complex epics…but they did so even more convincingly on stage than their albums.  The music was more primal and urgent in person, and with creative lighting and theatrical staging to help interpret the many moods, the concerts were everything I had hoped.  In fact, at the show at College of DuPage, I met up with Doug Pinnick, the lead singer/bassist for an area hard rock outfit I’d gotten to know (and now famous with King’s X). Kansas was also his favorite band, and we were enthralled with what we experienced.
“Man, Kerry Livgren is so far into my head now.  He seems to be writing for me,” declared Doug, who had also experienced deep grief and spiritual anxiety growing up.  And with what I had been going through with my heavy losses, I had to concur.

Sweet child of innocence
Living in the present tense
Father Time will take his toll
Rack your body and steal your soul
What became of all the years?
Are you drowning in your tears?
Who will catch you when you fall?
Who will hear you when you call?

(Kansas, “Child of Innocence,” from Masque, 1975)


The leading monthly music paper in Chitown, The Illinois Entertainer, asked if I would like to become a regular contributor after seeing some of my other rock journalism.  One of the first assignments I requested was to interview Kansas.

The band had just put the finishing touches on their Leftoverture album, and was doing a quick run of dates across the Midwest to help pay some bills before the album would be released a few months later. Kansas’ popularity had grown to beyond cult status in Chicago by that point, and the small Randhurst Ice Arena in suburban Palatine was packed with 4,000 “wheatheads.” 

In a dingy, dripping, rackety locker room (abundant with the stench of sweat-soaked leather padding that hockey players are known for), I met Kerry Livgren for the first time while the Earl Slick Band pounded out senseless drivel to the impatient masses sitting above us.  It remains one of my favorite interviews ever, partially because Kerry was excited to be answering intelligent questions about his band’s music from someone who had done his homework; but also because we really started to hit it off.  In the forty- minute session, we learned we loved many of the same classical composers; knew way more than we would normally admit about detasseling corn; were influenced by many of the same writers, philosophers, and filmmakers; shared in deep-seeded distrust of the music business; could both quote Monty Python ad infinitum; and were both on a quest for truth and meaning that was paramount above all else. 

I felt so comfortable with him that at one point I asked if he were ever open to suggestions for their set.  “Normally not, but you’re more interesting than the average bear, so go ahead.”  I told him that I’d always been fond of Franz Liszt (“me, too” he interjected), and his Hungarian Rhapsody series (“Once again, me as well” he chimed).

“Have you ever thought about adapting one of those pieces somewhere in your set?  They are so fun, Robbie (Steinhardt—the band violinist) could easily pull it off, and I’m sure your crowds would love it.”

Knowing that this was their first gig on this run of dates, and that everything they would be playing that night would be new to me, Kerry sat there amazed.  “Well, as a matter of fact, we ARE playing a bit of one of Liszt’s pieces during the encore.” 

At that point, my photographer, Sam Smith, said, “this is just too strange with you two.” “Yeah,” Kerry concurred, “it’s like we’re two long lost brothers or something.”

We agreed to chat more (Kerry really wanted us to see the cover art from the new album) after the show.  We made our way out into the packed arena, and weaseled our way down to about fifteen feet in front of the stage in the general admission floor “seating.”  I have seen over 2,000 musical performances in my life, and what I was about to experience would be one of the tops on that list.

In following chapters more unfolds about the deepening friendship between Kerry and I, not the least of which was our mutual spiritual search. I continue to be humbled by the response the book is generating.  If you have read it and wish to correspond with me, I always interact with any communiqués.   You can also read many reader reviews (97% are Five Stars) at:

http://www.amazon.com/Embracing-Gray-Doubters-Resolve-ebook/dp/B004L62CN2/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top


Embracing the Gray is still available for a limited time as a 99 cent Kindle download at that same link, or as a free PDF download at my website (donations accepted):

http://markahollingsworth.com/Node

Van Halen Verities

With Van Halen returning to Nashville for the first time in over a decade this Friday, I got to thinking about some true tales of interaction with them in my past.  The first time I encountered them was March 3, 1978 deep in the bowels of the infamous Aragon Ballroom when this unknown quartet was the opener of a three act bill that also featured Ronnie Montrose’s fusion rock quintet, and the newly revamped Journey with pretty boy lead singer Steve Perry.

Van Halen’s eponymous first album had just been released a few weeks before, and their cover of The Kink’s “You Really Got Me” was garnering strong airplay due to Eddie Van Halen’s scorching six string pyrotechnics and David Lee Roth’s reimagining of Black Oak Arkansas’ Jim “Dandy” Mangrum. The boys from Pasadena only had a twenty-five minute slot, but they cranked it. My visit with them was quite short after the show as they were leaving the hall just about the time that Journey was exiting from their final encore.

However, five months later Van Halen was on a long trek opening for Black Sabbath, and on one of their off days from Ozzy and company, they were booked into a small dive near Paddock Lake in southern Wisconsin that became the source of mythic legend: did they actually play a concert at a converted dairy barn while they were the number one band in America?  The answer is yes.  It was, quite literally, a three-story cattle stable that had been converted into a biker bar.  The stage was a former second level hayloft with a huge weight-bearing timber column running vertically right down the center and bordered with rough-hewn pine slat railing to keep performers from falling fifteen feet to the main floor below. I had been at other gigs there in it’s first year of operation including shows by Eddie Money, Starcastle, and The Dictators (featuring Handsome Dick Manitoba), and I swear you could still smell remnants of manure and bovine piss when the place got heated up with wall-to-wall humanity.

By this time, Van Halen’s star had risen to the point where they were responsible for selling nearly half the tickets at the Sabbath gigs, and their debut record had already gone multi-platinum.  It seemed odd that they were playing this gig in such an obscure rural outpost, but the word had gotten out, and there were already cars from four states represented in the parking field by 5:00 PM for this rare headlining set.

Due to my relationship with Warner Brothers as a Program Director at a local rock station, and my writing gig for area magazines, I was able to hang with the guys during their sound check and meal.  Even as an opener for bigger bands, they were used to more space to work with than this cramped excuse for a stage.  Despite the close quarters, Eddie still insisted on having his replica of the Little Boy Atomic Bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima next to his Marshall stacks.  There was barely room for anyone to move more than five feet, and this was going to be especially challenging for front man Roth’s histrionics. You could see them looking at each other in bemused wonder as their crushing sound caused sawdust to filter down through the early evening sunbeams cutting through the planked walls.

After getting their levels, it was difficult getting a read on Diamond Dave as we chatted in an area that was once a horse stall. I could never tell if he was stoned, or just incredibly laid back in that Valley Boy kinda way.  His eyes were bloodshot and bleary, and he did guffaw with that stoner stammer, but then he could also sound quite erudite and clever at times in a tone that belied an altered state.  He was one of those guys that never, ever gave a straight answer to any question.  Eddie, on the other hand, was shy but genuine in his interactions.  Alex Van Halen was distracted and seemed a bit peeved about the cramped condition of his drums (I think they had to reduce his kit in order to accommodate everything that was necessary on the “stage”).  Michael Anthony was quite outgoing, and the most forthcoming and relaxed of the lot.

Despite the less than ideal circumstances, the band gave a rousing performance to the thousand or so that were packed into quarters designed for perhaps half that. They played nearly every song from the debut album, plus at least four that would be featured on their soon-to-be-released Vol. II album. And then there were Eddie’s extended “Eruption” solo and spotlight moments for drums and bass, too.   There was no doubting that this band had the goods, even under these less than ideal circumstances. And since I believe I was the only sober, non-buzzed observer or participant in attendance within that bizarre silo, I can attest that the concert did, indeed, take place.

Fast-forward several years for the second story that has remained a mystery until this moment.  Van Halen had now earned two multi-platinum albums, and every radio programmer and promoter in the planet considered them amongst the rock elite.  Anticipation for their third album, Women and Children First, was building with each passing month.  By this time, I had left the radio industry, and was now Marketing Director for Dog Ear Records, a chain of eight stores in the northern suburbs of Chicago. I was still writing for several rock rags on the side.   Part of my duties included making the rounds to the local distributorships of the major labels to pick up the latest merchandising materials for new releases, promo albums for in-store play, and commiserate with sales people on how to best position product in our stores.  At the WEA (Warner/Electra/Atlantic) warehouse in Elk Grove Village, I had good relationships with various crew throughout the building, and sometimes they would give me stuff before other folks in town.  As one of the guys was handing me some promotional copies of new discs by Blondie, Rod Stewart, Linda Ronstadt, and The Eagles, I off-handedly asked if he might have a copy of the new “Big Boys’” disc (as they referred to Van Halen). 

I was stunned when he said, “Well, if you keep it under your hat, sure…I’ll give you one so you can write up a good review for some of your publications for next month so the news will be fresh when the album hits the streets in these next few weeks.“ There was near top-secret security around this sort of thing, especially in a market as competitive as Chicago. 

I matter-of-factly said, “Of course,” as he opened a thin box with just a few of the twelve-inch discs in it, and handed me one. With my heart pumping, I exited the building as quickly as I could before anyone realized what had just happened. 

Earlier that morning I had heard DJ Sky Daniels on “The Loop” (WLUP, the number one rock station in the market) talking-up how they were going to have the exclusive premier of Women and Children First in four days.  They were in fierce ratings wars with WMET and WKQX for the baby boomer rock demographic that dominated that era.   I realized that I not only had a rarity on my hands from a journalistic perspective, but I also had potential gold in my hands from the broadcast realm to boot.

So, I took a detour back to my house and made a cassette and reel-to-reel copy of the album, and then went to my office at the back of our Northbrook store and called my boss.  Even though we were one of the leading chains in the northern suburbs of Chicago, we were probably fourth in the entire market in sales, and had to scratch for much of what we could earn, and didn’t have nearly the marketing dollars that the larger chains had.  We were the first to mass market used record sales, rent videos, and incorporate video gaming into our offerings.  And our customer loyalty was good due to our intense desire to fulfill even the most obscure special orders.  But still, media partners did not usually pick us first for many special promotions.  I suggested to Rick, the president of our little enterprise, that we could probably parlay this Van Halen disc into some substantial on-air trade-out with one of the other two stations in order for them to get the jump on “The Loop” by airing it first.  He agreed, but warned that we needed to be very careful so that the WEA folks could trace none of this back to me.

Then I called my friends at WMET first, figuring that they might be willing to play ball more readily since a major media conglomerate didn’t own them as WKQX was by NBC. I was quickly put through to the GM who was anxious to do anything to put a chink in “The Loop’s” armor.   I was somewhat audacious in my proposal for substantial and specific trade-out in advertising and promotional tie-ins for the next year, but they were so desperate for this opportunity that they agreed.  They wanted to hear a bit of it first, so I put it on our store turntable and played some through the phone so they felt assured that it was indeed Eddie, D-Roth, and the guys.  Within 40 minutes a bonded deliveryman arrived to take the non-descript sealed brown bag with the stereo reel-to-reel dub and the photocopy of the album art to WMET downtown.  They excitedly called me back when they received it, and they were nearly bouncing off the walls with excitement. Within an hour they announced to their listeners that they would be airing the new Van Halen in its entirety the next day. 

“The Loop” was furious, because they didn’t actually have their copy yet, and they angrily confronted their representative at WEA.  Within minutes major chaos reigned at their warehouse as they tried to figure out how a copy had gotten into WMET’s hands.  It wasn’t that it was just going to be previewed ahead of their competitor across town…it was going to be ahead of every other station in the world…and they were pissed. 

The lower level promotion guy who had given me the advance disc called and asked if I still had the album, and I told him I did.  He never asked if I had made a dub and forwarded that along, and, of course, I never volunteered that info.  No one ever figured it out as far as I am aware.  WMET’s lips were sealed, and they were incredibly grateful for the scoop they got on their biggest competitor. As a result,  Dog Ear Records shared in some great promotional partnerships with them over the next twelve months and beyond.

That was 32 years ago, and I am finally coming clean.  Those wondering if the mighty Van Halen ever really played in an animal shed in the rolling Kettle Moraine hills of Wisconsin, or were curious about how the scandal surrounding the Chitown radio debut for Women and Children First came to pass, well those rock ‘n’ roll mysteries can now be moved into the verities column.