Unraveling the Raneys

Recently at least a few people asked me if I was playing anymore. I said no, because well, it’s the truth. I don’t really know how it happened. It just happened. Some physical things, a lot of mental things and boom, C’est fini.

People ask me to sit in but I usually refuse and the more I don’t do it … the more I don’t do it. Jerry Bergonzi, though I adore his playing, basically had to drag me onstage to sit in. I was in the front row at his gig and there was no piano player so there was zero excuse. It was a great experience but honestly believed I was just going to suck every second, but he told me to play the entire set. He even gave me a little hug (see below video). But that is now 6 years ago now. Where does the time go?

My father from the late 80s to the end of his life played very little. Most of this of course was his hearing issue, but I there was also a reluctance to go thru the motions of “bringing it” like he used to even when his hearing issue cleared up periodically.

He often said that he disliked playing too frequently, that his ideal was to play for a week or two then stop and then pick it up again later. He also preferred staying within the confines of small clubs in Louisville. Or even doing club dates away from the spotlight. New York, though in his heart, just became too fast-paced for him. He had a comfortable life in Louisville and he was around my age now. His favorite pastimes were watching CNN on a continuous loop, his cats and his Scientific American subscription.

He would come to New York sometimes, but only if someone else booked his gigs, be it Attila Zoller or Jack Wilkins. He would enjoy playing, but eventually he would get pissy and reclusive on his gigs, sitting at a table by himself or smoking outside.

In Louisville he had a regular solo guitar gigs where he would play some arrangements he worked on. To him it didn’t matter whether people listened or not. Below is a sample. Some of the tunes he worked on became the tunes for his last record, But Beautiful (“He Loves, She Loves” and the title tune for example).

And he was content with that. And in a way, was sort of a funny full circle. He recounted to me early in his career how he suddenly found himself hired to play solo guitar in the “high society” apartment circuit. He could play his favorite standards for a few hours and get paid. As he recounted, It was great, until one evening, the guy running the party ran up to me and said, “Hey we can’t dance to that!! Play something we can dance to!” In a huff he packed up his guitar and said, you know what, forget it, you don’t have to pay me. And that was that, No more solo guitar. C’est fini.

Later on, I recall him distinctly talking about the “Guitar Show”. How they use great solo guitarists on his show (like Joe Pass for example) and how he doesn’t do that. I don’t know. Pacing the apartment. Back and forth. Talking to me and his girlfriend. It was both disheartening and funny at the same time. Here he was an invited major artist, wearing a hole in the carpet fretting that he was not the kind of solo guitarist Christian, the host wanted. Of course it went fine as you know.

My brother was pretty ballsy. But it required a lot of alcohol to maintain that bravado which eventually faded. Underneath the tough guy facade Doug felt inadequate. He always felt he was “catching up to Dad”. The more he drank and would confide in me the more he would say things like that. And drink some more to the point where his health gave out. We all know how great he was. If only he did, just a little bit more.

So in the end why are all the Raney so damn reluctant to believe in our abilities despite evidence to the contrary? What is our problem? Are we too critical of ourselves or do we truly just can’t enjoy being us? How is that we tried to master a profession that demands so much public attention and despise it while it’s happening?

This is the paradox of being an artist I guess. Some people I know are quite at home with the whole thing. The Raneys, not so sure. We all understand what really great music is about but for whatever reason have issues with the reality of being the person making it on a constant basis. It is a shame but you can’t really force a Stuart Smalley on those of us hell bent on being Larry David.

That being said, there is no excuse for falling off the planet completely and sorry for the mopey blog.

(It wasn’t my best blog, but that’s okayyyy)

Happy Birthday Dad. As usual, just round the corner from ya...