Merl Saunders & The Rainforest Band 1995-10-21
Private Party, Clinch Mountain, TN
Set 1
Welcome To The Basement
The Harder They Come
My Funny Valentine
Dark Star
Boogie On Reggae Woman
Paris Blues >
It's In The Air
Blues From The Rainforest
Space > Fire On The Mountain
Let's Go Get Stoned >
Bertha
The Harder They Come
My Funny Valentine
Dark Star
Boogie On Reggae Woman
Paris Blues >
It's In The Air
Blues From The Rainforest
Space > Fire On The Mountain
Let's Go Get Stoned >
Bertha
Set 2
Set 3
Comment
Merle Saunders - keyboards
Michael Hinton - guitar
Michael Warren - bass
Vince Littleton - drums
“The Merl Showâ€
The idea was born at a Merl show just across the mountains from us in Ashville. Steve and I drove over
from Knoxville to catch the show at the Be Here Now in 1993. The crowd could not have been more
than a hundred or so folks and Merl had everyone cutting the rug to pieces. We were glowing when we
left. We talked about how small the crowd was and how great it was to see a legend in such an intimate
setting. We wondered how much the band could possibly have asked for playing a gig with that small of
a crowd. We could muster a crowd twice that size just inviting our friends. Carrying on about farfetched
fantasies as we wound down the evening, we were inspired: we should ask Merl and the band to come
play for us on our side of the mountains.
Earlier that year Steve found 40 acres to rent on the side of Clinch Mountain in Luttrell – hill country.
Home to some of the best folks you can ever meet. The kind of folks that do everything for themselves.
The house was up a dirt road called Mynatt Lane that bent around the base of the mountain. It did have
a street sign marking it that was manufactured and placed by the State of Tennessee. It was brown dirt
and gravel with a bend halfway down it. There were two houses on it: the Mynatt place at the bend and
then at the end of it was this little A-frame with huge glass windows looking up to the top of a deeply
forested Appalachian hill.
The property had a pasture, but the horses and fence were gone. There was an old shop at the top of
the pasture about 200 yards away from the house and 50-75 feet up the hill. Continuing up the hill was
lush deciduous oak forest for the remaining 600 feet in elevation to the top. We spent a lot of time
around fires in the old pasture with guitars and nonsense at hand. The woods were a venue for lots of
fun too. Our circle of friends and hangers-on played back there, hidden from the world around us – or
so we felt.
During all this time we played on the mountain side, we all - or at least most of the circle in that time
and place – would leave the hills regularly to go play in the circus that was Dead Tour. And, as was the
custom, friendships were formed. Friends that often travelled down roads leading back to the hill
country with us. Some of those among us were more transitory in nature than others who stayed in the
hills and tended the grounds, but for the most part all were lovable crazies, if not just a tad unusual.
Speaking of Tad, at some point he moved in with Steve. In the spring of 95, they were up on the hill and
Tom had a place down on the French Broad which itself was on a bend in the road with only one or two
other houses on it, but down by the river instead of up on the hill. That spring we made up our mind;
we were all going to work on the building, so to speak: Merl and the band should come play in the hills.
It took just a bit of chutzpah and a streak of naïveté to pick up my copy of Blues from The Rainforest and
call the record label listed on the insert – Sumertone Records. I didn’t even know enough about him to
know that the record label was Merl’s own label named for his kids: Susan, Merl and Tony. A kind but
anonymous voice answered the phone – not voicemail, not automated messages, just a “hello?†– and I
explained myself.
I was given the name and number of a fellow named Bunky Odom. Again, being uninitiated and
ignorant of anything in the music business other than my need for a ticket to tonight’s show, I did not
know - for many years to come in fact – that this man was, among many things beyond my pay grade,
the manager of legends – a giant in the business. History with the likes of the Allman Brothers,
handpicked by Duane himself. Co-host of the Watkins Glen Summer Jam with Sam Cutler; the festival
that drew 600,000 to see the Dead, the Allmans and The Band. Of course, I had heard of the events. I
had fanatically listened to the recordings and cherished the history, but the name I had never heard. It
was an unknown to me, as were many things that I didn’t even know enough to know that I didn’t know
about the music business.
He answered the phone and I said boldly, but humbly, “We are up in the hills in east Tennessee and
would love to have Merl and his band come out here and play a show on the mountain side.†I can only
think, knowing what I now know, that he must have had a chuckle to himself on the other end of the
line. He must have felt something was right though; he ended up booking it. Maybe he felt that here
was a young man that handled himself well enough to find his way this far into the business on his own
to deserve a shot; or maybe, being from the other side of the mountains in North Carolina, he knew the
scenery and how people there handled themselves and thought Merl would dig it; or maybe he just
thought that the enthusiastic “we can do that†response when he said it would be three grand for a 90
minute set was all he needed? Whatever it was, he said we could have a weekend date on the late
summer tour he was putting together. We booked it: September 23, 1995. The weather is beautiful in
Appalachia that time of year. Merl will love it!
I had booked the date – wow. I promoted myself to promoter; just like Bill Graham, but without the
experience – any experience, whatsoever. So not really like Bill Graham, in any way at all really, except
perhaps for the fact that, when something went wrong, others would hold their hand out for money or
maybe their fist up in anger. But I knew nothing of that; again, I didn’t even know enough to know that I
didn’t know.
One thing we all knew though was that we were charging forward without considering the potential for
disaster. There was no question for us; this was going to happen. There were others among us who
questioned it: “How are you going to pull that off way out there?â€; “You’re doing what?â€; “How many
people are coming?â€; “That’s fall tour man, we can’t do that.†And then the bomb dropped. Jerry died.
Uncertainty about everything set in. “The Merl Show†as the whole plan that constantly teetered on the
edge of debacle had become known to us, would certainly be affected too. Merl would surely be with
his circle to grieve. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to tour for a while was what we were thinking at that
point, but we got the call to reschedule. Merl was going to delay the tour for a few weeks, but for Merl
the tour would carry on … no matter what, as is the way with dedicated musicians. Bunky offered us an
October date – the 21st. The weather can be a little cooler then, but the fall colors peak at that time of
year. All seasons in Appalachia have their charm and peaking colors was certainly something we were
enthusiastic about. Not ever having been overly pragmatic about the endeavor, I gave Bunky another
enthusiastic “we can do thatâ€.
Without the experience to know that we should have them, we had no doubts what-so-ever that we
could in fact do “thatâ€, whatever “that†was. The full extent of what “that†entailed became clearer
over the following weeks, but at the point of rescheduling, we had done shockingly little to prepare. We
did have the contract rider. We were determined to exceed the band’s expectations for
accommodations and equipment in every way; that goal was paramount. At this point in the effort,
however, questions like “Should we get a port-o-john, there are only two bathrooms in the house?â€
received responses along the lines of “Yeah, I didn’t really think about that.â€
Can we get to “that†was a question that never came up though; we never questioned our own ability to
pull it off, however naïve that may have been. This is where the circle of friends communally embraced
the enterprise. They all circled the wagons and put up the best they had to offer; and by all of them,
that means everyone, no matter what their ability to contribute.
Jeremy and Wes ran the kitchen at the Old College Inn. They volunteered to cook for the band. Jeremy
kept saying “If you build it, they will come!†Mike worked in the concert production business and
hooked us up with the place to rent stage materials. Burton had just torn down a barn with huge, long
timbers that he hauled over to build a tarped roof over the stage. “Oh yeah, it might rain, thanks for
thinking of that and pulling it together Burton!†Everything started falling in place, but not by
happenstance; it was a group commitment to a common objective and some serious collective thought
given to the matter. Everyone believed that we could pull it off and did their dead set best to make it
happen. It just had to happen.
Something else happened as we approached critical mass. After Jerry’s death, everything changed for
all of us. From fundamental changes in lifestyle to customary vacation plans and right down to the plain
simple logistical fact that no one had any better place to be or thing to do. And by no one, that meant
everyone; all the friends from the travelling circus, friends from across the state, everyone in town that
cared anything about our kind of music and our way of life – they all wanted to come to The Merl Show.
This was turning into our wake for Jerry. The first time for us to come together and celebrate after the
shock. Coming together for live music, fellowship, and the realization that life goes on and all is
anything but lost.
An issue that had been addressed by management – using the term as loosely as possible – was the
guest list, but things were not settled even at the point of rescheduling. We always knew it was going to
be a private party. We were after an intimate experience. We knew we were going to lose money.
While it was nice to think that the egalitarian cause would be self-funded, the hope was that expenses
could be defrayed. We determined that we would ask for donations. That was in the spirit of the whole
endeavor. Take what you want, do what you can. There would be no ticket sales. The plan was to send
out invitations.
We wanted it to be intimate, not exclusive. We just didn’t want it to get out of hand. Word went out
with the invitations: if you have friends and family you want to bring just ask us. Permission was freely
given relying on peoples’ good judgement and our common vision of the experience. I don’t think anyone
that asked was denied. The only “no, not allowed†that was expressed was for dogs; the dogs had to
stay home. Everyone else was coming; the Indianapolis crowd, the folks from the northeast, the Florida
contingent, a passel of folks from the Delta country – they all headed to the hills for The Merl Show.
The anticipation was such that the gathering effectively began the weekend before. There was much to
do, grass to cut, the stage to build and why not get the proceedings going; this was after all a
momentous occasion on the mountain. It all continued to unfold in the most delightful way. People
came ready to make it happen. Supplies were plentiful and participants were willing. Everyone asked
for guidance on what to do to help. There was no shortage of labor; it was fun for everyone to make it
come together. The stage went up, the pasture was cleared for camping, the green room was prepared
– it all came together. Even the weather was right; it was all just right.
Saturday morning, October 21, 1995, was upon us – finally. The all-volunteer production company
continued to function well. Everyone busied themselves with preparations. Campsites were set up.
The cooks were in the kitchen. Steve and Tad were about seeing that everyone had what they needed.
Tom helped park cars down at the bend shuttling them in a pickup. He was relieved from time to time
to seek refreshment. Alan and Mike helped with the load in; they knew the stagehand business.
The sound company arrived in a fully loaded truck. We hired the best company in the region. Second
only to the band’s accommodations, we were determined to hire the best sound crew with the highest
fidelity equipment. And they brought it - every bit of it. Too much of it in fact. The guys hopped off the
truck saying how cool this was for them. Apparently, there was some jockeying within their ranks about
who was going to be on the job. They knew it was a private party that was likely to be a bit more fun
than the average gig, but they also appreciated Merl and his reputation. They had never seen him
perform.
The sound guys were grinning as they approached. They explained that the B rig was suitable for the
terms of our rider, but they had the full A rig on the truck. Chick Corea played in town the night before.
They had the A rig loaded on the truck for that show and talked the boss into letting them leave it on
there to bring up for the party. When they finished loading in, we had to get them to put two of the
eight huge cabinets lining the front of the stage back on the truck. It was so packed with gear that there
was not enough space for the band per the dimensions in the rider.
These guys were professionals. The system was up and humming by mid-day cranking Steely Dan tunes
on the PA to everyone’s delight. They were proud of their system and with good reason. They
explained some of the technical details and pointed out that the sound would be crisp throughout the
grounds, but to fully experience it, you really need to get up and a few hundred feet away from it to
hear the fully developed spectrum of sound. They, as with everybody that weekend, delivered.
A little later in the afternoon, the band’s gear showed up in a truck with Boots Jaffee jumping down
from the driver’s seat. I didn’t place his face as the guy lighting pyrotechnics at Winterland in 1974
captured on film in Jerry’s movie. I had watched it a hundred times but didn’t recognize him. I didn’t
know anything about his history with Merl or the Dead until long after I saw him for the last time. I
could recognize without knowing anything about him though, that he knew what he was doing. I also
recognized that he knew when he hopped out of the truck that I didn’t know what I was doing.
He expressed some surprise that we were able to book the gig “way out hereâ€. When we walked
around the corner and he saw the set up, I could sense some relief. We didn’t know what we were
doing, but we were doing it anyway; and doing it up in fine form. It didn’t take long for Boots to get into
the moment with the rest of us.
While loading in with Boots I shared my one concern that I couldn’t do much about – the difference
between September and October evening weather in hill country. Although it was a brilliant calm sunny
65-degree afternoon at that moment, to forecast was for it to get down in the low 50s by end of the
show. We rented kerosene heaters that looked like little jet engines to set around the stage, but that
would only do so much. It was out of our hands though. Boots said he would let the band know to bring
some warm clothes.
After the band’s load in, I showed Boots around the site. He seemed impressed in a way, but mostly
amused. All that really mattered though was that he approved. Merl and the band were on the way.
Later in the afternoon, Exit 65 warmed up the stage. Local boys with an acoustic inclination. Natural
born Appalachian product. Perfect for a few hours of authentic twang and harmony.
By this point the grounds were busy with people walking all about the various little campsites. It is hard
to say how many folks came to stay, but a couple of hundred would not be an exaggeration. Some came
for the show but didn’t plan to stay. Many of those with plans to leave were converted to ones with
plans to stay as the night progressed. They didn’t care if they came without a sleeping bag; they realized
that there was no place they would rather be either. And who needs a sleeping bag on a night like this
anyhow.
It was dark when Merl and the band arrived. They were as amused as Boots was at the sight. When
they came in the house and stepped down the two steps into the green room we set up for them, the
relief and gratitude was palpable. I could tell that they were pleased to see that this was a special
occasion for their hosts and guests and not another night at the mill.
A full ten by ten table with white tablecloth was spread out before them. On it was not only the fried
chicken that was suggested when I asked what Merl would like for dinner, but every other conceivable
homemade dish on the table that Jeremy and Wes could cook up. It was Wes’ mom’s special fried
chicken recipe, and it was special indeed. Kent, another local culinarian, made a gorgeous double
chocolate cake for dessert. Laura provided a proper set of dishes and baked a cherry pie. Of everything
that came together during all of this, that meal was given the most attention and effort of any single line
item on the itinerary. Everyone wanted the band to be glad to be there.
And they did seem glad to be there - for the most part. Merl was a bit withdrawn; he had seen scenes
come and go and this was probably just another sideways trip among a backdrop of so many nights to
remember. Very kind and humble, certainly grateful for the fuss being made to please him, but he was
subdued. Michael Hinton and Michael Warren were delighted and enthusiastic. They made mounded
plates and happily enjoyed everything we had to offer. We fell over ourselves to please them and they
were easy to please. We were having fun getting to know each other. Vince Littleton, the drummer,
was a bit reserved. He certainly seemed to enjoy the accommodations and the atmosphere, but it also seemed
like he had something on his mind.
I could tell that they were all a little puzzled by the whole thing. How far out here are we anyway? Do I
need to worry about what may have been in that cake? How did these guys pull this off; they’re kids?!
But there was delight in their reaction too. They saw that the rider was honored to the letter. The
sound equipment and comfort food were as good as it gets. And just look around at the place.
Show time was at hand. Boots pulled Steve and I aside and asked if we were going to introduce the
band. I pointed to Steve and said, “It’s his house.†Boots told me that he would get the band on stage
and then, after the introduction and the band started playing, I was to meet him in the office we set up
over the green room to hand over the other half of the money.
We walked up the stage steps and the band filtered in behind us. It was just two small rows of lights,
but it’s true, you can’t see anything from up there. Steve took the microphone and thanked a few folks.
Many were left out; you only have so much time to get on with the show. I, the “gun-shy friendâ€, stood
there squinting in the light as Steve proceeded, “Something we’ve waited to say for a really, really, really
long time. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Merl Saunders and the Rainforest Band!†Funny
what constituted a “really†- times three - long time when you are young … a couple of years. We both
had the same thing in mind when he said that though; that night in Ashville at the Be Here Now.
I went back down the stage stairs with Steve and Boots. We went upstairs and settled the account.
Boots was congratulatory, grateful and, above all, continually amused. It was a very fine time indeed.
Boots was perhaps the biggest personality I met that day. We had fun together.
The show was on and the next two hours were remarkably fun. The temperature dropped as the band
heated up. Merl was cold. The temperature dropped into the 50s, but it was clear and crisp with no
wind. The kind of weather that became more comfortable the more you moved about and warmed
yourself up. Then it became quite refreshing. As the band continued to heat up, they outpaced the
temperature drop. Both Michaels were in their t-shirts by the end - sweaty and steam rising off them
that you could see in the lights. They were contracted to play ninety minutes and ended up playing for
two hours and some change. Everyone was together in the moment by the end of it.
Steve and I hiked up the hill to the porch of the old shop at the top of the pasture to check out the long-
range fidelity that the sound guys described. The Rainforest Band was playing their anthem – Blues
from the Rainforest. Magenta light emanated from the stage lighting up the old pasture on the hillside
below us. It was clear and the moon was out. Half a dozen or so small campfires glowed orange as they
smoldered. The sound guys were right; it was like wearing headphones up there. Steve and I had a
satisfying moment taking that scene in – so worth it all.
After the show we gathered in the house with the band and assorted guests. Not a mob, but it was
indeed a party. Merl hung on the back porch with a couple of young ladies that were pleased to meet
him. Michael Hinton and Michael Warren talked about how much they wished they could stay the night
and see the place in the daylight. Of course, they were welcome to stay and mingle, but when Merl was
ready to go they were due at the van to leave; the road goes on and on. Vince loosened up quite a bit
after the workday was over for him. I think he may have even had a drink or two. Merl seemed to enjoy
the scene; it was a reasonably laid-back affair. Not chaotic at all, but it was revelatory. The party was
reasonably dispersed on 40 acres. The band stayed for about an hour and then Merl was ready to go.
Gratitude was abundantly expressed as everyone said goodbye. Merl asked if he could take the rest of
Laura’s cherry pie with him.
The next couple of hours were spent on the equipment load out. The band and the sound gear. There
were reasonably coherent if not capable hands available. It was fun to work with Boots at the helm. He
was of the psychedelic cowboy generation. Quite a character. The stage was cleared off under his
direction and the trucks were out and gone by two in the morning.
The next day the stage was clear and a circle of a couple of dozen folks sat cross legged on it talking
about how great it all went down. That was a lot of fun. So much could have gone so wrong, but it
didn’t. Being young, we didn’t even really consider that; sure, it could go wrong but since when has that
stopped anyone was our mindset. Whether it was up to good faith and fair dealing, karma, or plain luck,
it all worked out perfectly in almost every way. No one was hurt, no one got in trouble, and everyone
that stayed there for the weekend had the time of their lives.
Their lives had all now changed and changed for good in ways not even contemplated at the time. And
they would change again, regularly as is the way of things. At that time, we were just beginning to
understand. But this occasion was, as much as anything, a therapeutic way to say goodbye to an era
and the visionary that we had to thank for it.
While it may have taken single minded fool-hardy determination to organize the lark, it took the willing
generosity of many to pull it off. Unsuspecting but always enthusiastic support was given by a whole
bunch of interested parties to make the party interesting for all the right reasons and none of the bad
ones. Thanks, Alfred for making the tape for us to enjoy. Jeremy and Wes you guys were key to making
the band happy. The cake was awesome Kent. Burton and Mike made the stage come together. It was
perfect – ragged but right. Laura who brought the swag cameras to hand out for people to play with
and for the delicious cherry pie that Merl loved. Thanks, Jason, for having the presence of mind to take
pictures too; it is easy to take that for granted in an age that we all always have cameras in our pockets.
Tad, Steve, Tom – you worked as much as anyone on it from beginning to end; it was fun all the way
through. Alan and Larry were particularly helpful loading in and out, but there were others, I just don’t
remember who. Ron, Steph, the Indy crew and the folks from Florida – the batik and tie-dye backdrops
were beautiful. Exit 65 who played without tangible remuneration; thanks for that. Everyone did so
much to make it so much fun; it was a group project, and the results were indeed satisfying. Thanks
everyone for the cherished memories.
Michael Hinton - guitar
Michael Warren - bass
Vince Littleton - drums
“The Merl Showâ€
The idea was born at a Merl show just across the mountains from us in Ashville. Steve and I drove over
from Knoxville to catch the show at the Be Here Now in 1993. The crowd could not have been more
than a hundred or so folks and Merl had everyone cutting the rug to pieces. We were glowing when we
left. We talked about how small the crowd was and how great it was to see a legend in such an intimate
setting. We wondered how much the band could possibly have asked for playing a gig with that small of
a crowd. We could muster a crowd twice that size just inviting our friends. Carrying on about farfetched
fantasies as we wound down the evening, we were inspired: we should ask Merl and the band to come
play for us on our side of the mountains.
Earlier that year Steve found 40 acres to rent on the side of Clinch Mountain in Luttrell – hill country.
Home to some of the best folks you can ever meet. The kind of folks that do everything for themselves.
The house was up a dirt road called Mynatt Lane that bent around the base of the mountain. It did have
a street sign marking it that was manufactured and placed by the State of Tennessee. It was brown dirt
and gravel with a bend halfway down it. There were two houses on it: the Mynatt place at the bend and
then at the end of it was this little A-frame with huge glass windows looking up to the top of a deeply
forested Appalachian hill.
The property had a pasture, but the horses and fence were gone. There was an old shop at the top of
the pasture about 200 yards away from the house and 50-75 feet up the hill. Continuing up the hill was
lush deciduous oak forest for the remaining 600 feet in elevation to the top. We spent a lot of time
around fires in the old pasture with guitars and nonsense at hand. The woods were a venue for lots of
fun too. Our circle of friends and hangers-on played back there, hidden from the world around us – or
so we felt.
During all this time we played on the mountain side, we all - or at least most of the circle in that time
and place – would leave the hills regularly to go play in the circus that was Dead Tour. And, as was the
custom, friendships were formed. Friends that often travelled down roads leading back to the hill
country with us. Some of those among us were more transitory in nature than others who stayed in the
hills and tended the grounds, but for the most part all were lovable crazies, if not just a tad unusual.
Speaking of Tad, at some point he moved in with Steve. In the spring of 95, they were up on the hill and
Tom had a place down on the French Broad which itself was on a bend in the road with only one or two
other houses on it, but down by the river instead of up on the hill. That spring we made up our mind;
we were all going to work on the building, so to speak: Merl and the band should come play in the hills.
It took just a bit of chutzpah and a streak of naïveté to pick up my copy of Blues from The Rainforest and
call the record label listed on the insert – Sumertone Records. I didn’t even know enough about him to
know that the record label was Merl’s own label named for his kids: Susan, Merl and Tony. A kind but
anonymous voice answered the phone – not voicemail, not automated messages, just a “hello?†– and I
explained myself.
I was given the name and number of a fellow named Bunky Odom. Again, being uninitiated and
ignorant of anything in the music business other than my need for a ticket to tonight’s show, I did not
know - for many years to come in fact – that this man was, among many things beyond my pay grade,
the manager of legends – a giant in the business. History with the likes of the Allman Brothers,
handpicked by Duane himself. Co-host of the Watkins Glen Summer Jam with Sam Cutler; the festival
that drew 600,000 to see the Dead, the Allmans and The Band. Of course, I had heard of the events. I
had fanatically listened to the recordings and cherished the history, but the name I had never heard. It
was an unknown to me, as were many things that I didn’t even know enough to know that I didn’t know
about the music business.
He answered the phone and I said boldly, but humbly, “We are up in the hills in east Tennessee and
would love to have Merl and his band come out here and play a show on the mountain side.†I can only
think, knowing what I now know, that he must have had a chuckle to himself on the other end of the
line. He must have felt something was right though; he ended up booking it. Maybe he felt that here
was a young man that handled himself well enough to find his way this far into the business on his own
to deserve a shot; or maybe, being from the other side of the mountains in North Carolina, he knew the
scenery and how people there handled themselves and thought Merl would dig it; or maybe he just
thought that the enthusiastic “we can do that†response when he said it would be three grand for a 90
minute set was all he needed? Whatever it was, he said we could have a weekend date on the late
summer tour he was putting together. We booked it: September 23, 1995. The weather is beautiful in
Appalachia that time of year. Merl will love it!
I had booked the date – wow. I promoted myself to promoter; just like Bill Graham, but without the
experience – any experience, whatsoever. So not really like Bill Graham, in any way at all really, except
perhaps for the fact that, when something went wrong, others would hold their hand out for money or
maybe their fist up in anger. But I knew nothing of that; again, I didn’t even know enough to know that I
didn’t know.
One thing we all knew though was that we were charging forward without considering the potential for
disaster. There was no question for us; this was going to happen. There were others among us who
questioned it: “How are you going to pull that off way out there?â€; “You’re doing what?â€; “How many
people are coming?â€; “That’s fall tour man, we can’t do that.†And then the bomb dropped. Jerry died.
Uncertainty about everything set in. “The Merl Show†as the whole plan that constantly teetered on the
edge of debacle had become known to us, would certainly be affected too. Merl would surely be with
his circle to grieve. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to tour for a while was what we were thinking at that
point, but we got the call to reschedule. Merl was going to delay the tour for a few weeks, but for Merl
the tour would carry on … no matter what, as is the way with dedicated musicians. Bunky offered us an
October date – the 21st. The weather can be a little cooler then, but the fall colors peak at that time of
year. All seasons in Appalachia have their charm and peaking colors was certainly something we were
enthusiastic about. Not ever having been overly pragmatic about the endeavor, I gave Bunky another
enthusiastic “we can do thatâ€.
Without the experience to know that we should have them, we had no doubts what-so-ever that we
could in fact do “thatâ€, whatever “that†was. The full extent of what “that†entailed became clearer
over the following weeks, but at the point of rescheduling, we had done shockingly little to prepare. We
did have the contract rider. We were determined to exceed the band’s expectations for
accommodations and equipment in every way; that goal was paramount. At this point in the effort,
however, questions like “Should we get a port-o-john, there are only two bathrooms in the house?â€
received responses along the lines of “Yeah, I didn’t really think about that.â€
Can we get to “that†was a question that never came up though; we never questioned our own ability to
pull it off, however naïve that may have been. This is where the circle of friends communally embraced
the enterprise. They all circled the wagons and put up the best they had to offer; and by all of them,
that means everyone, no matter what their ability to contribute.
Jeremy and Wes ran the kitchen at the Old College Inn. They volunteered to cook for the band. Jeremy
kept saying “If you build it, they will come!†Mike worked in the concert production business and
hooked us up with the place to rent stage materials. Burton had just torn down a barn with huge, long
timbers that he hauled over to build a tarped roof over the stage. “Oh yeah, it might rain, thanks for
thinking of that and pulling it together Burton!†Everything started falling in place, but not by
happenstance; it was a group commitment to a common objective and some serious collective thought
given to the matter. Everyone believed that we could pull it off and did their dead set best to make it
happen. It just had to happen.
Something else happened as we approached critical mass. After Jerry’s death, everything changed for
all of us. From fundamental changes in lifestyle to customary vacation plans and right down to the plain
simple logistical fact that no one had any better place to be or thing to do. And by no one, that meant
everyone; all the friends from the travelling circus, friends from across the state, everyone in town that
cared anything about our kind of music and our way of life – they all wanted to come to The Merl Show.
This was turning into our wake for Jerry. The first time for us to come together and celebrate after the
shock. Coming together for live music, fellowship, and the realization that life goes on and all is
anything but lost.
An issue that had been addressed by management – using the term as loosely as possible – was the
guest list, but things were not settled even at the point of rescheduling. We always knew it was going to
be a private party. We were after an intimate experience. We knew we were going to lose money.
While it was nice to think that the egalitarian cause would be self-funded, the hope was that expenses
could be defrayed. We determined that we would ask for donations. That was in the spirit of the whole
endeavor. Take what you want, do what you can. There would be no ticket sales. The plan was to send
out invitations.
We wanted it to be intimate, not exclusive. We just didn’t want it to get out of hand. Word went out
with the invitations: if you have friends and family you want to bring just ask us. Permission was freely
given relying on peoples’ good judgement and our common vision of the experience. I don’t think anyone
that asked was denied. The only “no, not allowed†that was expressed was for dogs; the dogs had to
stay home. Everyone else was coming; the Indianapolis crowd, the folks from the northeast, the Florida
contingent, a passel of folks from the Delta country – they all headed to the hills for The Merl Show.
The anticipation was such that the gathering effectively began the weekend before. There was much to
do, grass to cut, the stage to build and why not get the proceedings going; this was after all a
momentous occasion on the mountain. It all continued to unfold in the most delightful way. People
came ready to make it happen. Supplies were plentiful and participants were willing. Everyone asked
for guidance on what to do to help. There was no shortage of labor; it was fun for everyone to make it
come together. The stage went up, the pasture was cleared for camping, the green room was prepared
– it all came together. Even the weather was right; it was all just right.
Saturday morning, October 21, 1995, was upon us – finally. The all-volunteer production company
continued to function well. Everyone busied themselves with preparations. Campsites were set up.
The cooks were in the kitchen. Steve and Tad were about seeing that everyone had what they needed.
Tom helped park cars down at the bend shuttling them in a pickup. He was relieved from time to time
to seek refreshment. Alan and Mike helped with the load in; they knew the stagehand business.
The sound company arrived in a fully loaded truck. We hired the best company in the region. Second
only to the band’s accommodations, we were determined to hire the best sound crew with the highest
fidelity equipment. And they brought it - every bit of it. Too much of it in fact. The guys hopped off the
truck saying how cool this was for them. Apparently, there was some jockeying within their ranks about
who was going to be on the job. They knew it was a private party that was likely to be a bit more fun
than the average gig, but they also appreciated Merl and his reputation. They had never seen him
perform.
The sound guys were grinning as they approached. They explained that the B rig was suitable for the
terms of our rider, but they had the full A rig on the truck. Chick Corea played in town the night before.
They had the A rig loaded on the truck for that show and talked the boss into letting them leave it on
there to bring up for the party. When they finished loading in, we had to get them to put two of the
eight huge cabinets lining the front of the stage back on the truck. It was so packed with gear that there
was not enough space for the band per the dimensions in the rider.
These guys were professionals. The system was up and humming by mid-day cranking Steely Dan tunes
on the PA to everyone’s delight. They were proud of their system and with good reason. They
explained some of the technical details and pointed out that the sound would be crisp throughout the
grounds, but to fully experience it, you really need to get up and a few hundred feet away from it to
hear the fully developed spectrum of sound. They, as with everybody that weekend, delivered.
A little later in the afternoon, the band’s gear showed up in a truck with Boots Jaffee jumping down
from the driver’s seat. I didn’t place his face as the guy lighting pyrotechnics at Winterland in 1974
captured on film in Jerry’s movie. I had watched it a hundred times but didn’t recognize him. I didn’t
know anything about his history with Merl or the Dead until long after I saw him for the last time. I
could recognize without knowing anything about him though, that he knew what he was doing. I also
recognized that he knew when he hopped out of the truck that I didn’t know what I was doing.
He expressed some surprise that we were able to book the gig “way out hereâ€. When we walked
around the corner and he saw the set up, I could sense some relief. We didn’t know what we were
doing, but we were doing it anyway; and doing it up in fine form. It didn’t take long for Boots to get into
the moment with the rest of us.
While loading in with Boots I shared my one concern that I couldn’t do much about – the difference
between September and October evening weather in hill country. Although it was a brilliant calm sunny
65-degree afternoon at that moment, to forecast was for it to get down in the low 50s by end of the
show. We rented kerosene heaters that looked like little jet engines to set around the stage, but that
would only do so much. It was out of our hands though. Boots said he would let the band know to bring
some warm clothes.
After the band’s load in, I showed Boots around the site. He seemed impressed in a way, but mostly
amused. All that really mattered though was that he approved. Merl and the band were on the way.
Later in the afternoon, Exit 65 warmed up the stage. Local boys with an acoustic inclination. Natural
born Appalachian product. Perfect for a few hours of authentic twang and harmony.
By this point the grounds were busy with people walking all about the various little campsites. It is hard
to say how many folks came to stay, but a couple of hundred would not be an exaggeration. Some came
for the show but didn’t plan to stay. Many of those with plans to leave were converted to ones with
plans to stay as the night progressed. They didn’t care if they came without a sleeping bag; they realized
that there was no place they would rather be either. And who needs a sleeping bag on a night like this
anyhow.
It was dark when Merl and the band arrived. They were as amused as Boots was at the sight. When
they came in the house and stepped down the two steps into the green room we set up for them, the
relief and gratitude was palpable. I could tell that they were pleased to see that this was a special
occasion for their hosts and guests and not another night at the mill.
A full ten by ten table with white tablecloth was spread out before them. On it was not only the fried
chicken that was suggested when I asked what Merl would like for dinner, but every other conceivable
homemade dish on the table that Jeremy and Wes could cook up. It was Wes’ mom’s special fried
chicken recipe, and it was special indeed. Kent, another local culinarian, made a gorgeous double
chocolate cake for dessert. Laura provided a proper set of dishes and baked a cherry pie. Of everything
that came together during all of this, that meal was given the most attention and effort of any single line
item on the itinerary. Everyone wanted the band to be glad to be there.
And they did seem glad to be there - for the most part. Merl was a bit withdrawn; he had seen scenes
come and go and this was probably just another sideways trip among a backdrop of so many nights to
remember. Very kind and humble, certainly grateful for the fuss being made to please him, but he was
subdued. Michael Hinton and Michael Warren were delighted and enthusiastic. They made mounded
plates and happily enjoyed everything we had to offer. We fell over ourselves to please them and they
were easy to please. We were having fun getting to know each other. Vince Littleton, the drummer,
was a bit reserved. He certainly seemed to enjoy the accommodations and the atmosphere, but it also seemed
like he had something on his mind.
I could tell that they were all a little puzzled by the whole thing. How far out here are we anyway? Do I
need to worry about what may have been in that cake? How did these guys pull this off; they’re kids?!
But there was delight in their reaction too. They saw that the rider was honored to the letter. The
sound equipment and comfort food were as good as it gets. And just look around at the place.
Show time was at hand. Boots pulled Steve and I aside and asked if we were going to introduce the
band. I pointed to Steve and said, “It’s his house.†Boots told me that he would get the band on stage
and then, after the introduction and the band started playing, I was to meet him in the office we set up
over the green room to hand over the other half of the money.
We walked up the stage steps and the band filtered in behind us. It was just two small rows of lights,
but it’s true, you can’t see anything from up there. Steve took the microphone and thanked a few folks.
Many were left out; you only have so much time to get on with the show. I, the “gun-shy friendâ€, stood
there squinting in the light as Steve proceeded, “Something we’ve waited to say for a really, really, really
long time. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Merl Saunders and the Rainforest Band!†Funny
what constituted a “really†- times three - long time when you are young … a couple of years. We both
had the same thing in mind when he said that though; that night in Ashville at the Be Here Now.
I went back down the stage stairs with Steve and Boots. We went upstairs and settled the account.
Boots was congratulatory, grateful and, above all, continually amused. It was a very fine time indeed.
Boots was perhaps the biggest personality I met that day. We had fun together.
The show was on and the next two hours were remarkably fun. The temperature dropped as the band
heated up. Merl was cold. The temperature dropped into the 50s, but it was clear and crisp with no
wind. The kind of weather that became more comfortable the more you moved about and warmed
yourself up. Then it became quite refreshing. As the band continued to heat up, they outpaced the
temperature drop. Both Michaels were in their t-shirts by the end - sweaty and steam rising off them
that you could see in the lights. They were contracted to play ninety minutes and ended up playing for
two hours and some change. Everyone was together in the moment by the end of it.
Steve and I hiked up the hill to the porch of the old shop at the top of the pasture to check out the long-
range fidelity that the sound guys described. The Rainforest Band was playing their anthem – Blues
from the Rainforest. Magenta light emanated from the stage lighting up the old pasture on the hillside
below us. It was clear and the moon was out. Half a dozen or so small campfires glowed orange as they
smoldered. The sound guys were right; it was like wearing headphones up there. Steve and I had a
satisfying moment taking that scene in – so worth it all.
After the show we gathered in the house with the band and assorted guests. Not a mob, but it was
indeed a party. Merl hung on the back porch with a couple of young ladies that were pleased to meet
him. Michael Hinton and Michael Warren talked about how much they wished they could stay the night
and see the place in the daylight. Of course, they were welcome to stay and mingle, but when Merl was
ready to go they were due at the van to leave; the road goes on and on. Vince loosened up quite a bit
after the workday was over for him. I think he may have even had a drink or two. Merl seemed to enjoy
the scene; it was a reasonably laid-back affair. Not chaotic at all, but it was revelatory. The party was
reasonably dispersed on 40 acres. The band stayed for about an hour and then Merl was ready to go.
Gratitude was abundantly expressed as everyone said goodbye. Merl asked if he could take the rest of
Laura’s cherry pie with him.
The next couple of hours were spent on the equipment load out. The band and the sound gear. There
were reasonably coherent if not capable hands available. It was fun to work with Boots at the helm. He
was of the psychedelic cowboy generation. Quite a character. The stage was cleared off under his
direction and the trucks were out and gone by two in the morning.
The next day the stage was clear and a circle of a couple of dozen folks sat cross legged on it talking
about how great it all went down. That was a lot of fun. So much could have gone so wrong, but it
didn’t. Being young, we didn’t even really consider that; sure, it could go wrong but since when has that
stopped anyone was our mindset. Whether it was up to good faith and fair dealing, karma, or plain luck,
it all worked out perfectly in almost every way. No one was hurt, no one got in trouble, and everyone
that stayed there for the weekend had the time of their lives.
Their lives had all now changed and changed for good in ways not even contemplated at the time. And
they would change again, regularly as is the way of things. At that time, we were just beginning to
understand. But this occasion was, as much as anything, a therapeutic way to say goodbye to an era
and the visionary that we had to thank for it.
While it may have taken single minded fool-hardy determination to organize the lark, it took the willing
generosity of many to pull it off. Unsuspecting but always enthusiastic support was given by a whole
bunch of interested parties to make the party interesting for all the right reasons and none of the bad
ones. Thanks, Alfred for making the tape for us to enjoy. Jeremy and Wes you guys were key to making
the band happy. The cake was awesome Kent. Burton and Mike made the stage come together. It was
perfect – ragged but right. Laura who brought the swag cameras to hand out for people to play with
and for the delicious cherry pie that Merl loved. Thanks, Jason, for having the presence of mind to take
pictures too; it is easy to take that for granted in an age that we all always have cameras in our pockets.
Tad, Steve, Tom – you worked as much as anyone on it from beginning to end; it was fun all the way
through. Alan and Larry were particularly helpful loading in and out, but there were others, I just don’t
remember who. Ron, Steph, the Indy crew and the folks from Florida – the batik and tie-dye backdrops
were beautiful. Exit 65 who played without tangible remuneration; thanks for that. Everyone did so
much to make it so much fun; it was a group project, and the results were indeed satisfying. Thanks
everyone for the cherished memories.
Sources
| SHNID | Date | Venue | City | State | Archive Identifier |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 40150 | 1995-10-21 | Private Party | Clinch Mountain | TN | |
| Source: SBD > MAC > C > C > SHN > CD | |||||
| 95225 | 1995-10-21 | Private Party | Clinch Mountain | TN | |
| source: dsbd, DAT(1) provided by shawn c. transfer: DAT(2)>cd(1)>eac>flac>you, by john m 2007-05-28 | |||||
| 152730 | 1995-10-21 | Private Party | Clinch Mountain | TN | |
| Recording Info: SBD > DAT Master (Sony 59-ES/48k) Transfer Info: DAT Master (Tascam DA-40) > Tascam DA-3000 > Samplitude Pro X5 Suite > FLAC/48k | |||||
| 136047 | 1995-10-21 | Private Party | Clinch Mountain | TN | |
| source: DSBD transfer: DAT(2)/sony pcm r500>marantz pmd661>cdwave>tlh(flac) | |||||
Created At
Sun Mar 17 2013 16:29:05 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time)
Updated At
Wed Feb 04 2004 02:08:43 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time)
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