I had a conversation with Larry Milburn about what I do. The podcast is linked below…
http://www.roadiefreeradio.com/podcast-1/2017/11/6/aron-michalski
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There are people who show up in our lives that a bond is made, it grows and it never seems to drift apart. Often you hear the term “brother” used in war, in sports and on the road. For roadies, we often build the family we never had with people that we are placed together with on a tour. An artificial family to be sure but it often becomes a truer unit than the ones we were born to. Race, creed, politics, countries, planets… none of these things seem to matter.
I am blessed to have a few truly remarkable men who have been there for me over hours, days and years. I have learned from them, shared with them, laughed with them, sometimes even fought with them. When they are no longer there it seems like a resource has been lost, the library is closed and I’m left to have the last laugh by myself.
My friend Gary Williams just seemed to appear in my life in the late ’90’s, probably when I began to work for Kenneth “Babyface” Edmonds. I was in a drum/ percussion tech position for Ricky Lawson and Shelia E; he was doing the bosses guitars as well as the extremely talented Reggie Griffin. We were part of the live DVD MTV Unplugged . It took a short time for me to get on the other side of the gruff-no nonsense act he was good at playing up. Some of the mutual music that we shared opened that door wider: King’s X, Weather Report, Miles, Hendrix, D’Angelo, so many others. I didn’t have to explain any of it because he was already there. I can only think of one other  person in my life where all the musical paths were shared. My habit of having some speakers on my workbox playing what moved me didn’t annoy him because he dug 98% of it.
He was the type of guy you wanted on your side when the shit hit the fan. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, especially if he didn’t have to get up from the couch to do it. He had a habit of answering the door when religious types came a knockin’ with these feline contact lenses in that made him look demonic. He would give them a sec to spot his scary eyes and then say “Ive been waiting for you to come”.
He teched for a lot of really amazing artists including the Isley Brothers and was on the D’Angelo VooDoo tour where the band played as much in hotel rooms as they did on stage. I had the chance to work with him again in 2001, again with Babyface. We started the run with some promo and a busy few days in New York City, a showcase and TV appearances. We were loading into the Apollo Theatre the morning of September 11th, the release date of the new album. The gig didn’t happen as you might expect and we made our way to New Jersey to grab a cut rate tour bus for the ride to LA. I got off the bus in Little Rock and rented a car to get home. We reassembled for further rehearsal  and the tour became a run to Japan for 2 weeks. While I was in Tokyo I found the Michael Landau album “Live 2000” which became daily listening for us, a healing recording that helped me get on the other side of the attacks.
Tours happen and don’t. We kept in touch, sent each other music, cat photos and the like. Next thing I know he was living in France and sounding happy. There had been some talk of health problems but he brushed it away like so much cigarette ash. A bit of Facebook interaction, sharing the newest stuff. Life gets busy and you never give it another thought that your brother will just be there on the other end of the line.
Nope.
A tough lesson to learn yet again. My love extends to the family and all the other brothers who knew him.
I used to be a writer. I could be found with a pen, keyboard or a phone, chugging away on a topic or trying to capture the moment. Thrown into action by a photo, music or nature’s ability to keep you right sized. Maybe it was poetry, which visited me regularly.
I don’t know what happened. I’m sure that long form communications have become uninteresting in the time of 140 characters. Too much of an investment, beaten to death by soundbytes, name-that-tune, chapter marathons, streaming interruptions… we have too much to catch up on and most of it is already lost in the menu of another remote.
Then it happened. My long running bit of luck came to an end. My favorite job became someone else’s filler. I’d never been let go before, at least I don’t think so. I didn’t mind the drapes or the carpet. Like many jobs there was a certain time when it was the most important thing going on. Lucky for me it was about a half hour and then I’d turn them over to the other guys for the rest of the night.
It’s been a very long time to process it. Conspiracy theories aside, it made sense in a real world way, stripping away the luxury to make room for the next detail, whatever that was gonna be. The new austerity was just two of us, the herd thinned like the head of an aging roadie. I kept trying to focus on having some dignity and grace in my departure, as the afternoon of my contract’s expiration made it so there were no goodbyes, no retaliation, no nothing.
I spent a few months waiting for a phone call, Â the one where they admit they made a mistake and I should come back right away. Not only did it not happen but I realized that call would go to someone younger, stronger and cheaper. The family carries on, new faces, new stories shared. The social media sharing of them all at the Great Wall of China was the only real gut punch. It was like seeing pictures from a wedding you weren’t invited to, smiles all around.
I luckily had another job to turn to, one where there would be no code words to decipher. I am so grateful to have something to do and it being at a different scale, the monstrous machine replaced with a 16 foot trailer. Doing the show was good for me, keeping those performance chops that had not been flexed for a while. My ego, taken a hit, was actually pretty right sized.
Six months later, I’m just another bozo on the bus, falling asleep in the front lounge. I miss my metal family but we still send silly pictures to each other and my spies report all the juicy gossip they gather. I really hope that this little exercise will kick start the writing bug and provide me with a free one way therapy I need. Life as a luxury item is risky to say the least; living in the moment may be hard but the fall is rarely life threatening.
Soft Target – a person or thing that is relatively unprotected or vulnerable, especially to military or terrorist attack.
It’s not like we haven’t thought about it. We’ve all done gigs with bomb sniffing dogs and even some with snipers in the roof. Of course these are arena/stadium type shows where the size of the crowd makes for a major event, which would be attractive to those wanting to cause major damage, especially if live TV is occurring.
Paris had both large and small targets. The bombers at the Stade de France didn’t make it inside all the way. Security at concerts is often focused on protecting the crowd from itself and also the performers from the ultra exuberant. Many larger venues use metal detectors. Sadly the smaller venues have less protection, a concert hall or a crowded restaurant. What chance does a Maitre D or a bouncer have against a squad of men with automatic weapons? What good is a Leatherman tool against them?
This attack felt personal to me as the concert hall is my workspace. A line has been crossed. As markets, shopping malls, pubs, schools and other meeting places have been attacked before, the terrorist creates fear and doubt within the usual. As we are exposed to more of these attacks in the western world we join these places that seem so far away and we are no longer untouchable.
It won’t be just Paris, just France, just Europe; it will be there in every town. The doubt, the fear, the seeds sown. How can we regain our safety? By banning certain groups ability to migrate? Do we make parking lots out of their homes? Where do they go then?
Within us all is the ability and choice to move forward. I have never been around another type of group which has such a “Can-do” attitude like a road family. Perhaps military or ocean-going crews do too. We get sent to places that don’t have the infrastructure to accomplish the jobs we do every day and find a way to do it. We don’t have to be suicidal or hyper aggressive; we can just do our jobs, keep our eyes and ears open and watch each others backs.
By the way, I’m not above saying screw these murderous douche bags. They get what they deserve. I just don’t think they know what it is waiting for them in Paradise. Hopefully it’s real hot and it sounds like Justin Biber 24 hours a day.
I guess that one of the things about having a blog is busting yourself. You can share experiences, state opinions and pass the word onward to others. In some cases you can print retractions, apologize and correct yourself. You don’t see it very often but the chance is there.
This Valentine’s Day my wife and I went to the movies and saw “Still Alice”, a drama starring Julianne Moore. It tells the story of a 50-year-old Linguistics professor who finds out she has early onset Alzheimers disease. It starts off with a few missing words and deteriorates to a truly heartbreaking state of which there is no cure for yet. Miss Moore’s performance is spot on (I believe she won the Golden Globe for this role); she goes from an agile public speaker to not being able to say more than a single word.
If you have experienced Alzheimers or dementia within your family or circle of friends you know that it is difficult to handle seeing a vibrant able person slip away into the twilight before their time. My Grandmother had a slow progression which went from lucid moments followed by complete loss of memory as to who her family was. I visited her in the last few years and it was just hard to handle.
I guess this is where the part about busting myself comes in. I have a friend who I used to work with who was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimers. He had come out of a rough patch in his life where he was making changes in his behavior in order to improve his situation. Some of our other co-workers were catty and cruel to him behind his back, calling him “burned out”, “space cadet” and other things. I found it ironic as one of the changes he made was not drinking or using anything. I spent time with him as he tried to get back to a level playing field and like many of us, just trying to keep the next job coming into view. There were tests. There was a possible diagnosis of multiple mini-strokes which had left him slightly altered.
All he wanted was to keep working. As the diagnosis became clear, his main skill, rigging was out of the question. It is too dangerous to have someone who is forgetting things hanging great weights over others heads. He also had worked as a guitar tech and the danger of giving someone an out-of-tune guitar was less life threatening. We kinda lost touch around the time I had my heart issues as I quit my stressful position with the ESB.
I had other friends occasionally mention him, having seen him as they passed through southern California and suggest I write or call. I didn’t. I’d see traces of him on the internet. I didn’t reach out. Finally I got a message from his wife asking for us, his other family, to help financially with his needs or he would probably have to be made a ward of the state. I pledged but didn’t send.
What happens when our friends get cancer, lose the ability to work, have difficult illnesses? Why do some of us just become like people avoiding eye contact with the homeless? Are these people contagious or dangerous to us? Of course not. By averting our gaze we don’t have to see their unfortunately different state. Am I the only one who does this? I must guess no.
I fear that the same thing will happen to me, finding out who my real friends are and those who keep their eyes to the horizon. I don’t know if this is the right forum for this but the movie bugged me enough to want to do this. Perhaps in the future I’ll be more of a friend to others, giving what I can and not making the broken ones invisible as well. I pledge to be better about this as my generation wanders into the bonus round and things like this become more likely.
And to my friend? I cherished our friendship. From the days at Danker and Donahue with your bike or the band’s van to the biggest stadium tour I ever did, you were someone who I counted on, hoped that you saw me as a worthy co-worker. Later in our time together you reached back to me and I was glad to be there. I hope you know peace. I hope you still know love.