| Identifier | 7252263 |
| Created At | Tue May 23 2023 23:54:00 GMT+0000 (Coordinated Universal Time) |
| Reference Number | 322 |
| Media Type | FLAC |
| Media Count | 1 |
| Sound Rating | SBD |
| Trades Allowed |
Performance
| 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 |
| Set 2 | |
| Set 3 | |
| Comment | Merle Saunders - keyboards Michael Hinton - guitar Michael Warren - bass Vince Littleton - drums “The Merl Show†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?†received responses along the lines of “Yeah, I didn’t really think about that.†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. |