There is an origin story for my band Fuchsprellen, but there is a longer, weirder story behind the work that went into building the band concept.
I’ll link back to those earlier posts, but I blogged a bit about my experiences at Rochefort en Accords 2011. I was asked to play this gig on short notice, as a sub for an artist who could not make the date. Seems simple. Go to France, they said. Play Beefheart in France! They said… We have an airline ticket and accomodations for you. They said. No question, I am going.
Fine Print (not read): You might be the only person to ever be the only electric bass player at a festival in France. What are the odds of that? Ever. Zero. Like Brave Sir Robin I was figuring I was in for a bit of spanking and well, “Robert, il est ton oncle”.
Job 1: Bassist du jour for Napoleon Murphy Brock. I understand that some Bongo Fury material might be played. I have no other real data except Chris Garcia passing me the code phrase “beef heart”. Chris Garcia is a no-BS cat, so what could possibly go wrong?!?! Verdict: Napoleon is one of my favorite people in a musical context, and the non-musical contexts as well. He runs the show the way I would run it: Work hard, get good, kick ass at the show. No friction, even when I blissed out through a motif change and added about 16 bars to the evening. You are welcome, Rochefort. (The members of Peach Noise took me in and treated me like a lost puppy. In the good way. The best hosts a lost bass player could hope to have)
First side job: Blues guitarist Innes Sibun, influenced by an old influence (Rory Gallagher records at times in heavy rotation) and we play two sets of originals and Hendrix tunes. EASY. I have put in the hours at open mic nights and my initial learning tool was learning every track on the Blues Brothers record… erg… Verdict: Great rhythm section, on the spot feel, great ears…
Addendum: while other folks were snacking and chatting, he was putting in the work, rounding up a band, and if he had told me that the fact that the only bass I brought to the gig was a fretless 5 is means for disqualification, I would have understood. With Bruno Bertrand and Or Solomon we had a killer backing section. Thanks for not holding my choice in basses against me.
Second Side Job: Bassist for Jeff Morris Tepper, of the last and not in any way least version of the Magic Band. Great, Great Band. As soon as I had agreed to take the gig He contacted me, I was in, but honest that I felt that his parts relied on my weakest skill set as a player. We met somewhere in the middle, and I gained a respect for and knowledge of his music.
Anything out of place? Like “Where is the Beef?”
Oh yeah, Nicolas Mingot had a list of Beefheart tunes, and it was not a small list. Like, er… “if that is a setlist we are going to have words” kind of not small. But peace was made! A truly fitting Finalé was executed, and in good form. Only in France would you get a festival finalé consisting entirely of Beefheart. Wow.
About that clam / brainfart in the final performance. Napoleon kept giving me this odd vibe, like a question in vibe form. And when he told me what the problem was, it was a blunt: “Pete, do you see how these other guys have notes?” (See Footnote 1). … Point taken. I can play it and rehearse it, but carrying that back to the stage in my head, without losing a piece or two along the way, is not in my skill set. And as much as I love the music of Zappa and Hendrix, and Beefheart for that matter, I needed to be playing in clean sand for a while. Playing where there were no established lines. Napi kicked off a line leading from there to my band Fuchsprellen. We don’t really do the “notes” thing. While I could stand to be more organized, I decided to let my music flow from my process instead of flowing my process around some other music.
My partially successful and wholly unintended attempt to bring a free music approach to a festival setting was complete and I ran back to the States like a scladed dog. The finalé was truly final. The dancing harmonica solo, selfie-free. My restraint in savaging the local huitre population, regrettable. The cognac! Mon dieu! The Pineau! (No. the other, other, Pinot). I saw the Eiffel from the back of a car driven by my new favorite French trumpeter, which means my favorite trumpeter, Nicolas Genest, on the way into Montreuil. It was awful.
Footnote – 1 Er, no. It never occured to me. I will chart pieces if I am recording, rarely. So yeah, I was making a hard job harder. But almost all of my playing has been in improvised or some kind of modal concept. And I was suddenly aware that yeah, everyone else had these killer notes. I talked Charlie Doll into letting me have one. Brilliant set of notes with cues, bar counts, rhythms charted-ish…