Mar 5 2012

FOLLOW-UP: …I Want To Sing With the Funk Brothers!

Like a wish inscribed on a paper, slipped into a bottle and thrown into the sea, my little story about the Funk Brothers was picked up on another shore and taken to heart…I had to share it with you all.

With the Sturm und Drang that punctuates too much in the world today, it’s sometimes hard to focus on the brighter, more uplifting, elements of life; those moments that remind you of good people, the notion that someone’s paying attention, the simple hope that a little dream long held might still, inexplicably and unexpectedly, come true. Given that systemic cynicism that attempts to hijack our time and ponderings, I wanted to post this addendum as a reminder that moments of thrill and surprise can happen from time to time.

If you haven’t already read the original story, please do and then come back to this…it will make much more sense that way: Enough With Politics… I Want To Sing With the Funk Brothers!

Hummm-hum-humm (I’m humming as you get caught up with the story…but it is a Motown song I’m humming.).

OK, done? Great. So anyway, I wrote the story mainly because, as noted, I’m inspired by these guys and the music they’ve made and any chance I get to throw a little attention their way, I’m gonna do it. I mean, just yesterday I was listening to “Standing in the Shadows of Love” as loudly as my Ipod and ears could handle and as I bopped down the street like an aging Lada Edmund Jr. in Nikes and a sweatband, I was again in full thrall of the funk that is the Funk Brothers (and tell me, besides my sister Mary, how many of you can say you remember Lada Edmund, Jr.?:)

I posted the story here on Rock+Paper+Music, as well as my column at the Huffington Post (HuffingtonPost.com/Lorraine-Devon-Wilke/Funk-Brothers) where, regardless of my wish that my own blog garnered such numbers, I clearly get more play. And lo and behold, about three days after it posted there – this story that not only extolled the Brothers but went on to declare my Bucket List wish to sing with them – came this message on the comment board:

 

Lorraine-my name is David Spero and I have managed the Funk Brothers for years. I promise that the next time they play the west coast you WILL sing with them! 

Meet us at the soundcheck for a trial run, and if you have ‘the goods’ we’ll invite you up at the show as well. 

 

Pause for a moment of awed silence.

You can imagine my reaction. Message in a bottle.

David Spero is a longtime and highly respected manager and all-around music entrepreneur who has worked with a staggering list of bands and musicians we’ve all listened to over the years. Still very active in the music world, his attachment to the Funk Brothers somehow led him to my article and his unexpected and smile-inducing comment. He later contacted me via my website and we were able to have a more in-depth conversation about my background, his, mutual people we knew, etc., and it was a delightful conversation left with this:

 

Lorraine…thanks for bringing the Funks to so many people’s attention! That alone gets you a shot on stage…but then when I realized you can really sing, well…let’s fill that bucket. We may be doing (a gig) in April in LA…when it’s finalized I’ll let you know. The gigs are far and few between, the guys all have health issues now, so this would be the best shot. It is so appreciated what you did for them…the guys loved it!

 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, made my day, week, month, year….knowing “the guys loved it.”  Seriously, it does not get much better than that.

So I’ll keep my fingers crossed that the potential LA gig in April will include my humble and appreciative participation but, for this moment, Mr. Spero’s reaching out made clear that life can still surprise me. That’s really nice to know. Almost as nice as picturing the venerable old Brothers reading my piece and smiling.

More later…(but I tell ya, I’m warming up those vocal cords!).

 

Funk Brothers album cover: courtesy of The Funk Store


Feb 25 2012

Enough With Politics… I Want To Sing With the Funk Brothers!

I am politically oversaturated. I’ve written about it, read about it, thrown a sock at it when necessary (that would be TV after a minute or two of GOP debates), and I’m as sick of it as a regretful glutton following a hotdog eating contest (pull any pun out of there you’d like). It’s everywhere, in every conversation, the cover of every magazine, and so deeply embedded in the ethers that we’re never gonna get it out of our clothes. So I’m just not talking about it today, at least not in this article (don’t ask about my Facebook page!). I want to talk about something that actually inspires me:

The Funk Brothers

Don’t know who they are? Yeah…too many people don’t. Let’s see what we can do to remedy that.

I do a fairly vigorous power walk most days of the week and I typically have my Ipod going as a much needed pacer. I’ve put together a playlist for this purpose that is quite impressive; mostly dance, funk, and R&B, all with a wide range of pulsating, bass heavy beats to keep me going when I’d rather sit down and sip Snapple. Much of what comprises this playlist is Motown, glorious Motown; older, newer and all of it expertly and artfully played by the amazing Funk Brothers. Every time I listen to this collection that motivates me no matter how I’m feeling or what dusty thoughts are roiling through my head, I get a rush of appreciation and think to myself: “I love these guys!”…which is immediately followed by, “I want to sing with the Funk Brothers!” As I pound my way up the next incline I ponder all the many ways in which I can make that happen.

I have no clue. Really, none. I can’t even seem to get a damn local band to behave properly on my behalf (It’s Only Rock & Roll But, Damn...) so what on earth chance do I have with the vaunted Funk Bros?

Really, none.

But regardless, this meditation keeps me going during the more trying portions of my walk and always leads to the impulse that follows: to shine a little light on these musicians who’ve kept me company since childhood and are still doing their part to move me in all the ways I can be moved, particularly as I dance-walk to their beat in a quest to stave off encroaching decrepitude (talk about longtime companions!).

So shine a little light I will.

There was an incredible and very illuminating documentary that came out about ten years ago called Standing in the Shadows of Motown, a film that told the story of the Funk Brothers, that cadre of expert, journeymen musicians who created the iconic and electrifying sound that became known as “the Motown Sound.” This from their website:

With the tumultuous sixties as a backdrop, Motown’s unsung heroes take the viewer on a compelling journey in time as they trace the evolution of The Motown Sound from its origins in Detroit to its demise in Los Angeles during the seventies. Through the eyes of the riveting characters who ruled Hitsville’s studio by day and the club scene of Detroit by night, we enter a world of unparalleled soul and emotion as the Funk Brothers revisit the sites of their musical roots, triumphs, and eventual heartbreak.

The first weekend the movie was out I sat in a huge Hollywood theater with my friend Tina, tapping my foot to the beat of a song that was already playing in my head, and as the lights came down and that pulsating riff from “Standing in the Shadows of Love” filled the room, the rush was overwhelming as we all danced in our seats in communal exhilaration. But beyond incomparable music, the film is a brilliant and touching story about these unsung musicians who made their unforgettable contribution for little money and less recognition, essentially kept in the background until…well, until this film came out. You know that inimitable tambourine heard in most Motown songs? The Funk Brothers. The particular drum beat, the signature bass lines and those guitar riffs you’d know in your sleep? Yep, the Funk Brothers. I want you to read this description of the film on Amazon.com (which I’ve linked here for your convenient ordering!):

Detroit, Michigan, 1959. Berry Gordy gathers the best musicians from the city’s thriving jazz and blues scene for his new record company: Motown. For the next 14 years these players are the heartbeat on “My Girl,” “Baby Love,” “Ooo Baby Baby,” “Bernadette,” “I Was Made To Love Her,” “I Heard It Through The Grapevine,” “Dancing In The Street,” and every other hit from Motown’s Detroit era. By the end of their phenomenal run, the unheralded group of musicians plays on more Number One hits than the Beach Boys, the Rolling Stones, Elvis Presley, and The Beatles combined, making them the greatest hit machine in the history of popular music. They call themselves the Funk Brothers. But no one knows their names…this is their story.

And it’s a killer story. Truly. I’ve watched the film countless times, gifted the DVD to friends and family who share a passion for this seminal chapter in music; appreciated all the fine performances of the contemporary artists who appear in the film, but mostly I hold an enduring Standing Ovation for these talented, humble and underappreciated men.

And did I mention I want to sing with them?

The wonderful Joan Osborne performed in the film and did a stellar job as the blue-eyed (brown-eyed?) soul songstress doing proud justice to those kickass R&B classics. I have nothing but fandom for her as an artist and think her version of “What Becomes of the Brokenhearted” is definitive and chill inducing. But that was a while ago, Joan, and no begrudging your heartfelt and memorable contribution, this really is one of those Bucket Listy things I’ve kept afloat since then and we all know time’s a’flyin’ so forgive the nudge from a sister singer and please clear the stage!

Ack…I don’t mean that, Joan. In fact, let me know when you’re on any stage in my part of the world and I’ll be one of the fans out there mouthing the words to all your songs.

And maybe direct appeal is a better approach anyway.

Um, Funk Brothers…may I call you Funk Brothers? If you’re coming out to the West Coast anytime soon and you’d like to mix it up with a little local talent, my schedule’s pretty open these days so don’t hesitate to get in touch. I’m a quick study – hell, know most of your songs already – and just got my voice all in shape for a gig that fell through so I’m good to go. And say, I’ll even fly out to wherever you are; Virgin America just posted some cheap flights and I’ve got plenty of points to throw around. I’m not famous, I’m not that young (but you appreciate that, right?) and it’s unlikely most of my ’80′s mailing list would overcome their stated geezerdom to get out of the house for a gig. But I’ve still got a few fans who are mobile, I’ve developed some newer, younger ones (which is convenient when you need to fill seats past a 9:30 bedtime), I’m told I’ve still got some hip quotient left, and would social-media this baby right into the….well, I’ll just do what I can, promise.

Until then, know you’ve got a fan and booster out here who’s grateful for the music that has had me dancing my entire life, from childhood right up to the other day when that last mile felt insurmountable until “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” kicked in and you did just that – kept me hangin’ on.

So, thanks, Funk Brothers, seriously. And keep in mind that I’d be happy to bring mixed nuts or something sweet to rehearsal…

 

Photography credits: 

The Funk Brothers & Stevie Wonder and the Funk Brothers; artist unknown, from the website: www.SoulWalking.co.uk 

Gents in the red jackets: artist unknown, from Reuters Editorial piece

Movie poster: TheFunkStore.com

Joan Osborne: www.sueauclairpromotions.com



Jan 22 2012

Chick Singer Pt. 2: It’s Only Rock & Roll But, Damn…

If you ask almost any person what talent they’d wish for, out of any and all they currently don’t have, in most cases you’d hear: “I wish I could sing!”

That’s the one.

Which is understandable.

Because there’s just nothing quite like it, singing. That physical, visceral explosion of sound and emotion that transforms the human body into a conduit for something passionate, aural, and chill producing. An art form that’s truly as endorphin rushing as good exercise, the perfect roller coaster, great sex and full participation in The Sound of Music Sing Alongs (which has to be a high point for pretty much anyone).

Beyond just the act of singing is the performance of it. That’s a whole other layer of experience that’s not only hard to beat, but somewhere near 11 on the scale of 10 when it comes to classic wish fulfillment. Standing onstage pouring heart and soul into a microphone to the beat of a drum and the fierce, pounding intensity of a band in motion does rate high on enchantment, whether it’s singing Etta James at a B.B. King’s club, doing a stripped down version of your original set at the Good Hurt, or crooning 40 minutes of “Let’s Stay Together” for the money dance at a local wedding. I, for one, consider my abilities in the form a worthy tradeoff  for missing out on high cheek bones and a sense of direction.

I started this article about seven months ago; last summer, after a long-time friend and musical collaborator who I’d not seen in a long time got in touch to invite me to sing with his band. This was a deep and tremendous boon; it’d been years and I feared that part of my identity had abandoned me altogether. So when I got the call, excited and anticipatory, I was inspired to write about it, feeling as though a new/old chapter had opened in my life which surely merited some prose. But for some reason I put the celebration on hold back then; don’t know why. Prescient, perhaps?

But some of you have asked recently, “Hey, what happened to your band?” so I decided to finally wrap up the article in response. Besides, I like stories to have an ending. So read on, all questions will be answered.

As noted in Chick Singer, Part 1, my life as a vocalist began with a gentle foray into folk music, then bum-rushed its way to rock & roll and blues for pretty much the rest of the ride. While certainly the 80′s, part of the 90′s and a good chunk of the early 2000′s remained focused on this “calling” and the attendant ambition wrought by my laser-focus on being a successful singer/songwriter (more on that journey in later chapters), in the last five years – a tad weary and out of options – I packed up my microphones, therapied through the subsequent five stages of grief and got on with the rest of my life.

For those who’d suggest, “Couldn’t you keep doing it even as a fun hobby?” – YES. I could. And here’s what happened as I went through months of auditions simply trying to find a guitar player (damn me for not learning to play well enough to ever want me to play with me!):

1. “Love your music but I don’t want to actually play songs, I’d rather just jam.” Hello, you had my CD, those were songs.

2. “Wow, you’re great but I was hoping for something a little more developed.” Remember when I told you it was just me?

3. “So how likely do you think it is that you’ll be getting a record deal?” Not. Dealbreaker?

4. “I only work in the West LA area.” Then why are you here?

5. “How old are you?” Nope, not goin’ there.

6. “If you sang on a Jefferson Starship album, wow…you’ve been around a while!” Yep…see #5.

7. “I bet you were hot in the 80′s.” No comment.

8. “You’ve got a great bluesy thing goin’ but no one wants that anymore.” I hate you.

9. “I only work with people I can do a full chart on before we work together.” If you mean astrology as opposed to a music, pay for your Starbucks and take a hike. (It was the astrology kind.)

I could go on and on. Seriously. On and effing on. If you put it in a movie they’d say you were flogging cliches but it was like one of those bad audition montages, just without the quick-cuts and perky soundtrack. I think it was after #9 that I finally snapped and took the road less traveled. Until I got that call from my friend last June.

What followed was a buzz of identity integration, as if all my parts were once again coming together to form the full, cogent ME. Yes, I am a writer, a photographer, a mother, wife, sibling, and friend but I am also a singer and, hallelujah, get the band bag down, the microphones dusted, the stand out from behind the luggage and those vocal exercises crackin’ tout suite…we’re in a band, sister!

I felt more excited than I had in a while, particularly to be working with a dear, old friend who knew me – my chops, my style, my taste in music, my work ethic – as well as knew the stated criteria: great players, great tunes, sane people and no agendas. I figured if I’m going to bother at this wizened stage of my life, with ambition tempered and a goal to simply experience the pleasure of performance, it’s gotta be good, it’s gotta be fun. No other reason to do it. He agreed and we got started.

I spent a month whipping my voice into shape and, let me tell you, it was exhilarating to discover it was still there…one never presumes. Over the next four months, I spent hours researching material, printing lyric sheets, learning songs, driving the 50 mile round-trip to rehearsal and back, gelling beautifully with my new “band of boys” and getting nothing but positive feedback. And it was FUN!! At a time when writing demanded solitude, work required pavement pounding, and family life could be challenging (see Empty Nest Pt. 3: See You In November!Cowboy Strong and Poetry Sweet…Love In the Age of MTBI & The Mother Of My Reinvention), there was something basic and pure in this endeavor; I was singing, hanging out with musicians and eating mixed nuts…how cool is that?

But like any good story there had to be a plot twist, an inciting incident. And there was. Just as we finally got four sets worth of classic and hand-picked blues/R&B/jazz/rock material worked up, including one of my own tunes with more to come (per a request from my band leader buddy), there was a short break in the momentum. The drummer had to move, work schedules got challenged, and the keyboard player quit. “No worries,” my buddy assured, “Everyone else is still onboard and I’ll just find someone to replace him.” Before long he had a new guitarist in line to replace the keyboard player, a guy who apparently sang really well, too (“you guys’ll sound GREAT together!”), the buzz resurfaced, the keyboard player even re-emerged and, yippee, let’s get this new guy worked in and the party started!

That was October. And then came the the third act.

By December, no rehearsal had forth come. After repeated emails, texts, a few phone conversations (in which I was always assured things were still on track), and despite the unfortunate hiatus, I kept the faith…with obvious reservations. During my last phone call my buddy promised: “I’ll get a group email out to get this going again.” OK, great… nice holiday gift to look forward to, right? It never happened. Merry freakin’ Christmas.

2012 arrived and on one bright sunny day I got an email from my buddy: “I finally had a discussion with the boys in the band and the general  consensus was unhappiness with the musical direction that the project had taken on.” He went on to explain that originally they’d been more jazz/funk oriented and when I came in the direction shifted to more blues/rock. And though he still thought I was “a soulful singer and hope to work with you again in the studio or live,” no mention was made of the fact that he’d approved every song submitted, that no one indicated unhappiness with anything, no one had pushed for different material and not a mention was made of simply adding more jazz/funk into the mix (which he knew I could cover with aplomb). It appeared, for whatever reason and without preamble, I’d been summarily voted off the island.

When two of the players later contacted me it was made clear, independently and by both, that neither had been involved with any consensus or discussion; they were as surprised as I was. So it seems this was all on my buddy. Or not. Who knows? Smoke was being blown somewhere, I didn’t know where or from what direction, but I did know I had a #10 to add to the list:

10. “Yeah, you’re great and we’ve been friends for a billion years but I found a jazz singer I like better/I don’t want to do any blues/I would rather work with a guy singer/I’m too much of a chicken shit to be honest/Yes, I wasted your time/ oops, there goes the bus I’m throwing you under, thanks…bye!”

Yep. #10 takes the cake.

So that is my latest foray into rock & roll. Am I feeling a little bruised? A little sorry for myself? Yeah, a little. I didn’t deserve that. I’m a kick-ass singer, I showed up with a full plate of goods, I laughed at their jokes even when they were stupid, I was happy to carry equipment to the curb, I love swear words, I even brought mixed nuts. I know how to be a good Chick Singer.

But I tend to believe every story has a point, regardless of the tale. Even a sad and sorry debacle such as this comes with the gift of at least some learning. And in the good column?

1. My voice is still there. That was precious to discover. For whatever reason. Future reference. A sense of still having something I cherish. Whatever, it was good to know. I slay ‘em in the shower.

2. I was reminded of how much damn fun it is being in a good band with great players. No better fun…seriously.

3. I got to sing some of my favorite songs during rehearsals and that was an absolute blast. The audience was implied.

4. I can survive another creative disappointment. Good to know, particularly since that skill was hard-won. I recovered back then and I did not regress now. Look at me, Mommy, I’m all growed up!

So the moral of the story is: It’s life. And life is unpredictable. People can disappoint you. Projects can involve emotional whiplash. Not every dream comes true. There are some mountains high enough. I’m not fond of bad communicators. Rock & roll can still kick my ass. Harmony is like good frosting. The drummer makes the band. Mixed nuts are a fine snack.

And I’m doing OK…really. Thanks for asking.

 

All photographs courtesy of Lorraine Devon Wilke

 


Jul 18 2010

Fame. Cuz I’m Gonna Live Forever. Right?

I was supposed to be famous by now. At least as was indicated by a 5th grade classmate who turned to me in choir and said “You sing real good. You’re probably going to be famous someday.”  Her hedge with the “probably” went unnoticed in the destiny-rush of her larger pronouncement.  I was delighted.  At last. A Life Plan I could work with, as solid as they get, and one that informed my journey from that moment until just a few short years ago when I finally realized I was not gonna live forever or learn how to fly.  Neither did I feel it coming together and, clearly, to switch clichés, there was more than one mountain plenty high enough to keep me from gettin’ to all sorts of stuff (I’d already found the low-enough valley, thank you). I was stunned. What kind of Life Plan was this?  I mean, really; take a look at me in my choir-singing, fluffy-sleeved, stage-favorite, flouncy red dress and tell me if you don’t see a star there? Come on.

Fame is seductive and for most artists it’s part of the lure that pulls us through the gauntlet we experience in our quest for success. As I advanced in my own artist’s life, however, I also found a need to confirm that my intentions were as noble as my calling; concerned that – while Fame was essential to the goal – it must be coveted for all the right reasons: not ego, not attention, not money, not perqs.  It needed to have a higher purpose or it was simply too shallow a pursuit (I was a ponderer from way back).

So in the dark of night I examined my own intent and authentically came to this: Fame meant being able to continue. Continue with work you love, continue to create; continue to get jobs and enough attention that others continued to want to give you those jobs, gigs, shows, films, etc. Fame offered a pulpit, a place from which to espouse worthy ideas and artful craft; wisdom, reason, inspiration.  Frankly, especially pre-Internet/blog/Facebook/etc., without Fame there were typically not all that many people listening, watching, reading or being inspired by much of anything you could say or do. With it, the audience was exponentially larger. All good points.  Satisfied with my appropriate enough reasons to covet Fame and relieved to have integrity squarely situated in my Life Plan, I moved forward unburdened, ready to embrace my destiny.

It was all so enticing, so plausible and assuring.  So many opportunities along the way, real moments when the Lure of Fame seemed to brush right over me and say, “Almost…here it comes…hang in there.”  Soaps on the Road, a touring rock n’ roll extravaganza with big soap stars of the day:  I sang with Richard Dean Anderson, David Hasselhoff and Wings Hauser…just one breath away when you’re actually gigging with celebs, right? Richard was famous, David was famous, Wings was famous at the time. Me? Who the hell is that girl singing with Rick and David and Wings? I know, but they gave me the spotlight, I got to feel like a rock star singing in big venues with screaming fans and we did cause quite a ruckus in Arizona at some point.  All the stuff famous people do.  Proof I was gettin’ close.

My own bands got me closer.  Those chapters are chockful of worthy anecdotes and near misses and best saved for their own entries to come but, suffice it to say, I could smell Fame’s breath in those years many more times than one.

Then there was To Cross the Rubicon.  Look at this picture. Who do you see? That’s me on the right, eye-mooning with famed singer/songwriter, J.D. Souther, who was slumming with us indie filmmakers at a time when he was intent on an acting career.  He’d done a stint on “thirtysomething,” he was hot, and when the woman on the left, Patricia Royce, and I co-wrote this script and The Lensman Company, her film company with partner Barry Caillier, decided to produce it, J.D. was quite the “get.”  He was handsome.  He was famous.  He still is.  And he’s still making beautiful music: (http://www.jdsouther.net/). Yep, I know, closer still…in fact, when I got engaged to Pete Wilke (the The Lensman Company attorney at the time) while we were shooting the film, J.D. actually said to me one night, “Why would you want to get married right before you’re gonna get famous?”  I dunno. Still married. Not famous. Go figure.

Look at the fellow up there on the left.  At the time he was just a “little leather thing” (as we so amusingly stereotyped him in our script), an up and coming rocker/actor who Pat and Barry had cast in an earlier film of theirs, Daredreamer. Billy Burke. Think you know him? You do. He’s made a gazillion TV shows and films and he’s now Bella’s father in the Twilight series.  He’s got a new series coming out (“Rizzoli & Isles”), and his latest CD is going viral (http://www.billyburke.net/). He’s famous. Damn famous.  (The guy in front, Wade Madsen, so prominently featured on this one-sheet and yet I’m not sure he ever even wanted to be famous, was a talented Seattle dancer and a great guy.) Other people who had cameos in this little, teeny, tiny film? David Crosby, really famous, and Jeffrey Dean Morgan, gooey famous now after dying on Grey’s Anatomy and Weeds.  You know him, I promise.  What an amazing company of artists we employed…we couldn’t miss! Right?

Me and Patricia and Barry, we who wrote, performed in, directed, produced and worked this film for years? We’re not famous.  Should we be? I don’t know.  You’d kinda think.  And though you do know something of me at this point, consider this about Pat: beyond her role as the filmmaker – along with Barry – of several award-winning films (including To Cross the Rubicon), she is a talented fine-artist who has shown in well-established galleries in the Florida Keys and has an amazing collection, much of which can be perused at her site: (http://www.90milestocuba.com/).  She is also deeply involved as a director, director of photography, editor and general all-around producer of a fascinating and very popular web series called Capturing Carmine (www.capturingcarmine.net). She’s a powerhouse. And Barry Caillier, the Still Not Famous guy who directed our little film?  He flies around the world producing mega-industrial shows, is working on a script and is currently meeting with investors on a fascinating historical film, Shoot, Minnie, Shoot: (http://www.shootminnieshoot.com/).He’s also working as a development partner with Penny Perry and Gene Davis of Gabriel Pictures (http://www.gabrielentertainmentgroup.com/) on a slate of film projects, including one of mine called The Theory of Almost Everything (click “Gabriel Pictures” on the home page and scroll down to Films in Development). Suffice it to say, Fame or No Fame, these two are both extraordinary and you should know them if you don’t.

Which compels me, at this point in the story, to inject the intended take-away: remember that creaky adage, “the cream always rises to the top”? Well, that hard little pearl led many of us young artists to believe that IF you were good enough, IF you were talented enough, IF you were deserving enough, you couldn’t help but rise to those creamy heights and the inevitable Success, Stardom and Fame that would follow.  Conversely, IF for some reason you didn’t, well, then, somehow you just weren’t creamy enough. Now in our wizened and life-battered maturity, we know this to be one of those hateful little fairy tales like the ones that said blindness follows self-pleasure or inopportune crack-stepping cripples mothers or anybody can achieve anything if they just put their mind to it.  Sometimes that just ain’t true. My vision is fine, my Mom is still walking and I know too many unbelievably talented artists who put their minds to it all over the damn place and still ended up selling real estate or having to reinvent a career when they least expected to.  There’s a lot of randomness and whimsy in how all this plays out.  That’s important to remember. While many of the people who do rise to Fame are deserving (see above), many of the Truly Talented don’t get there for reasons that remain inexplicable: slipped through the cracks, missed opportunities, didn’t know the right people or get to the right places; fate, destiny, karma, I don’t know. What I do know is that Fame alone is not the arbiter or proof of talent, particularly when we are forced to accept cranky chefs, psychotic housewives, slutty bachelors and bachelorettes, shameless wife swappers and tone-deaf pop stars as our New Celebrities. With the dawn of digital technology and Reality TV and its many subsequent “stars,” Fame lost much of its panache, its value, and like plummeting currency, is no longer worth quite what it was when talent, accomplishment and great achievement were prerequisites.  But still…its Lure remains strong, doesn’t it?  And there are still so many who deserve just a bit more of it than they got:

Tina Romanus.  She’s mentioned in a previous entry. She’s that kind of memorable. She even inspired a few of the songs I’ve written. A tremendous friend, a talented actress and a brilliant singer who broke out in the ’60′s with The Bitter End Singers, the namesake band of that famous New York club,Tina Romanus at The Bitter End and was about to be launched into her solo career when the choice to move west interrupted the rise. In her hey-day, Tina appeared with countless stars of the day on that vaunted stage, sang for Lyndon Johnson at the White House, made records and traveled the world performing. Earl Wilson of the New York Post wrote about her as the Next Big Thing.  She shoulda been. She had the goods.  She remains one of those electric people with a wicked smart mind and wry sense of humor.  And though she doesn’t sing much anymore, she will if someone makes her and when she does, she can still bring a tear.

Gigi Bermingham:  I first saw Gigi in a brilliant production of The House of Blue Leaves, beautifully directed by Nancy Locke Capers at the Alliance Repertory Company in Burbank, CA. Gigi was playing Bunny and she blew my mind. Gut-clutching funny, clever as a whip, gorgeous, yet filled with so much character she could play almost any part.  And she did. Her tour de force came in her one-woman show, Non-Vital Organs, which was the single most brilliant piece of theater I may have ever seen. Not your typical one-woman-standing-on-stage-changing-costumes-and-accents-and-telling-a-story kind of one-woman show, this was a mind-bending full-on play with a spectrum of characters of varying ages, backgrounds, and, yes, accents; all of whom somehow miraculously related to one another as individuals, seamlessly and without special effects, in a piece that should have flown straight from equity-waver LA to Broadway.  Really.  That brilliant.  I believe it won an Ovation. It should have won a Tony. I became Gigi’s biggest fan (though I’m surely in a legion of many) and would follow her to whatever show she was doing that I could make.  If there is anyone who should be world-famous, this chick is it.  She appears often at The Anteaus Theater and if you can, go see her. In anything.  (http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0083654/).  

And Nancy Locke Capers, the talented director of The House of Blue Leaves? She’s an accomplished teacher, writer and actor in her own right, but several years back facilitated a major life change to become a successful family therapist in La Jolla. An all around supporter of her artist friends, she has posted on her site an interview she did with me about my just-finished novel, The Pros and Cons of Neighbors…she’s that kind of person: http://www.nancycapers.com/.

And not to short shrift the male gender, meet Steve Brackenbury, a studied musician and writer who hails originally from Utah where he taught music, wrote symphonies and discovered his true self, an epiphany which led him to California. He’s shy, humble and welcoming, one of those people you can’t help but fall in love with, and his support of friends, community and art in its many forms is enthusiastic and unlimited. He currently lives in sunny Fortuna, a quaint burg in gorgeous Humboldt County, where he’s become a poet laureate of sorts, writing pieces that so evocatively depict the people and places of that enigmatic region that publishers continually put his work into print. His way with words even inspired talented local artist, Susan Cooper, (http://susandillcooper.com/) to name a piece for him and his poem “Observation” was just published:  (http://www.northcoastjournal.com/arts/2010/07/15/observation/).  Steve is a lovely Not Famous man who works in a particular genre, poetry, in which it is profoundly difficult to wrangle Fame.  See that smile on his face? It’s always there anyway.

Louise Amandes is a relatively new filmmaker but a veteran artist.  Starting in architecture, continuing in music, moving into web design, completing a degree in motion graphics and recently immersing herself in filmmaking, Louise is a true Renaissance woman.  After exhibiting her first film short, Hula Zoo, on the web, her next film, Making Noise, a documentary short on “noise music” made with her filmmaking partner, Ron Austin, was invited to premiere at the Seattle True Independent Film Festival in June, where it was met with enthusiastic response from both audiences and fellow filmmakers. To view:  http://www.imdb.com/video/wab/vi2173371417/.She and Ron have just begun photography on their next film.  I’ve known Louise all her life…she’s my sister, one of my 10 siblings, and a person who shows such support and unconditional friendship to the people she cares about  (including me!), that she naturally engenders the kind of applause and encouragement reserved for artists who can truly look outside themselves, something she does as a matter of course.  A woman of many talents, she is also an extraordinary massage therapist (ask for her at The Hothouse Spa – http://hothousespa.com/ – you’ll get the best massage you’ve probably ever had and, yes, she did design the website!).  There aren’t too many people I know who have been as dedicated, indefatigable and authentically driven by their Creative Muse as Louise. Her work has played a part in the careers of many people (she designed my original website and the artwork for my CD cover) and she is relentless in her pursuit of a life filled with artistic expression. Famous, no; One of A Kind, definitely.

There are plenty of others to write about; my list of Not Famous People You Should Know could go on and on and it will.  I will return with other notable candidates in the near future, this is a good start.  If nothing else, I hope to inspire some curiosity in the brilliant, unlimited trove of talent and creativity that can be found just beyond the wall of Fame. If you dig not all that deep, in a bookstore, a small gallery, a local theater, the many obscure artists’ sites that are so ubiquitous on the web, I guarantee you will find gems that need only the light of appreciation to shine as brightly as some of what’s already illuminated. I’m not sure what makes people live forever, but it ain’t Fame.  More likely it’s the quiet legacy of Creation left by those who passionately create, however small their audience. These are just a few lifers.  Enjoy them.

[As for our "little film," To Cross the Rubicon, if you'd like to read a bit about it you can check out reviews, etc., on this page on my website, (http://www.lorrainedevonwilke.com/ldwfilms.html).  I believe you can still find it on Netflix...it's dated, sometimes clumsy, and not always compelling but it has heart, a few laughs, and songs by the Now Famous Billy Burke and the Not Famous me, including one of my personal favorites: I Surrender (by Lorraine Devon Wilke & David Resnik)...click for a listen!]

 

Photo credits:

Richard Dean Anderson, Wings Hauser & Lorraine Devon, Soaps On the Road @ www.lorrainedevonwilke.com

To Cross the Rubicon @ www.imdb.com

Patricia Royce painting @ www.90MilesToCuba.com

Shoot, Minnie Shoot poster @ www.shootminnieshoot.com

All other photos by permission of parties.