Memoirs of Nobody Famous
A Five-Part Series about Being in an All-Women Rock Band

Copyright 2008 Mary Guthrie

Part One: Stumbling into Bliss

Never underestimate the power of an invitation.

What started as a neighborly dinner at Diane Harris’ house ended up with an invitation that changed my life.

We were in her kitchen waiting for pasta to boil. Our kids played in the rec room; hubbies hovered over the grill outside. A small acoustic guitar in the corner caught my eye, so I began strumming and softly singing while the pasta burbled in the pot. Diane’s eyebrows shot up.

“Wait --you play?” she said. “I didn’t know you played!” Diane had recently invited me to sing with her and neighbor Doug Potts at Lake Highlands’ Highlands Cafe, where they played flute and keyboard while I crooned to oldies like “My Funny Valentine.” I never thought to mention that I also played guitar, had played since I was 12. Diane had played in bands for more than 20 years.

She inched closer. “So, what do you know?”

“This and that,” I said, and showed her a few chords from a handful of dusty songs from the 1970s.

She inched even closer. “You have got to come and try out for our band,” she said. “We just lost our rhythm guitar player.”

It was a frozen-to-the-spot moment. Play with her band? Are you kidding? That’s like asking me if I’d like to have a million dollars. “I’d love to!” I said, “but...I don’t have an electric guitar…”

“No problem. We’ll fix you up with a loaner from my friend Sandra. Practice is next Saturday, just come on and play and you’ll fit right in. It’ll be fun!”

Just. Like. That.

I floated through dinner that night. A shot to play with an actual rock band! It’s only the one secret wish I’d had for, oh, 30 years. All my playing and singing to date had been church-related or confined to the bathroom. (Bathroom acoustics, by the way, are fantastic. The tiles makes the sound ring out, and it keeps the kids happy while they’re in the tub.) But playing in a band was a far cry from playing in the john. Over the next few days I tried to not get my hopes up -- after all, they were probably going to try out dozens of people.

Diane showed me the chords to a couple of the band’s songs and I practiced like a maniac. Then tryout day finally came. It was time to relax and let the music flow. Playing those couple of songs with the band was sheer bliss -- drums pumping up the beat, bass filling the room, Diane’s sax wailing away, the lead singer attacking the notes like a pro skier on moguls -- and I was part of it! This was heavenly, and I didn’t want it to end.  It was like I’d been inside one store at the mall all my life and had suddenly stepped out into the hallway: Shazam! There’s so much more…

Diane was enthusiastic, the other band members quietly so; the bandleader...reserved. She gently suggested I might be a good stand-in, but let’s schedule a lunch and talk things over.

The lunch never came -- that band imploded a week later, buckling under the pressure of too many control issues. Diane immediately called and said that she and I should start our own band. A second incredible invitation! I jumped on it and we began practicing, tentatively at first, noodling around on classics such as the Eagles’ “Best of My Love.” (Believe me, Eagles guitarwork is harder than it sounds.) For the next few weeks we’d get together and play music and sing in our living rooms. Then, she got a call from Mary Hestand, the lead singer from the imploded band, who, along with bass player Lucy Galey, wanted to join forces. That next Saturday we set up shop in my living room and things started to click. All we needed was a drummer, and we’d be on our way. The only problem was we wanted a woman, and female drummers are as common as cats with feathers.

Nevertheless, what started out as a doubtful search quickly became a lucky find. A local drum teacher happened to have one student in his tutelage that fit the bill: Martha Germann, who started taking lessons only two months earlier. We pounced on her, and the band was complete: Merry and the Mood Swings was born.

We worked on mostly original songs (songs we make up on our own) and a smattering of covers (songs by other bands that people are familiar with). The only hiccup was that Mary Hestand landed us a gig before we were ready to perform -- a big gig. Local entertainer Jerry Haynes was having a big birthday bash at the Granada Theater in two months, and we were to open for the Grammy award-winning Brave Combo.

Our fledgling band with its beginner drummer and green rhythm guitarist had a lot of work to do.


Next: The Mood Swings Hit the Stage:
First the Granada, then New York City

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com

Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

 

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The airport security guard eyed my guitar case. “You with the Temptations?” he said. “They’re on this flight, you know.” Wink-wink. Yeah, right, buddy. How can someone jerk my chain so early in the day? It's only 6 a.m.

I had raced from the remote parking at DFW Airport to catch my 6:30 a.m. flight to Indianapolis. I was on my first music pilgrimage, a trip to see my brother Jack, who would take me to the next level in my quest to learn how to write a song and play a better guitar. Just as I raced up to the attendant at the American Eagle ticket counter, she eyed me and walked away. “You’re too late,” she said dispassionately. “You’ll have to take the next flight.”

“What? The plane is still here!” I protested. As she walked away she let me know my wait would be five hours. “But the plane is still here!” I insisted. No matter, she said. I was to wait in the frickin’ terminal for the entire morning.

I walked slowly to the gate, shielding my eyes from the glare of the sun exploding off the silver metal of the jet, which had yet to pull away. Twenty minutes later the same attendant walked by with an 8 x 10 glossy photo in her hand of the Temptations, all of whom had given her their autographs -- all of who had just boarded the very plane that she had denied me, and which was just now pulling away from the terminal.

What kismet got knocked off-kilter by missing that flight with the Temptations?!!? What if I had had a chance to sit next to one of them -- what better way could there have been to start my music pilgrimage? I was robbed. I settled into my dismal fortune and pulled out my guitar. Soon a lovely chord progression came to me, and for the next four hours I teased out a new song. I had the chords and the melody...but the elusive words, as usual, did not surface.

Once at Jack’s, the pilgrimage continued to limp along. He was unexpectedly placed on call with his job as an IT specialist with the Veterans Administration system, which meant that he spent nearly the entire weekend fielding calls from dudes and damsels in techno-distress from VA hospitals all over the country. His music instruction was fleeting, but he did give me a “Songwriting for Dummies” book which I practically inhaled.

Late that Saturday afternoon I woke up from a nap with a brand-new tune in my head with the words “biddy barlor” running through my mind. Biddy barlor? What the heck is that? It made no sense. But the words and rhythm and melody wouldn’t let go, and I ran the syllables over and over in my mouth like tasting peas and carrots in a soup. Soon more syllables came, and before I knew it, I was running my fingers across the fretboard to this new, bluesy-funky melody. “Biddy barlor” soon morphed in to “Busy body,” and in short order the words emerged: “I’ll be your busybody, won’t you come and dance with me? No need to talk about it, get up baby dance with me...”

I’d done it! I’d finally written words to a song! I raced downstairs to tell my brother the good news. He took me down to his basement home studio, where he recorded the results of the weekend-- the slow, sweeping Song-Without-Words that came to me in the airport, and a prototype version “Busy Body.” I couldn’t wait to get back to Dallas and share these new fruits with the other members of the band.

Next: Now We’re Cookin’
Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com
Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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“It’ll take you three years,” said Melody Palmer, the pretty blonde vocalist from the local band Heimlich and the Maneuvers. We were standing in guitar player Kevin Moran’s backyard, where the Maneuvers were playing his birthday party. The Maneuvers had been together for ten years, and she was offering sage advice. “Three years until you start to gel -- then you’ll take off.”

I wandered away with my margarita, thinking three years was too long to gel. I wanted gel now. The Mood Swings had returned from New York’s Mamapalooza ready to work hard and start lining up gigs. But how to break into the Dallas gig scene?

I turned to veteran club owner David Card, owner of Poor David’s Pub, for help. Over lunch at Ay Chihuahua’s in the Cedars section of town, I plied him with tacos and questions about the nature of playing clubs. Although he offered plenty of advice, and a chance to play at Poor David’s on a future weeknight, the best bit of advice he gave was this: Do it for fun. When it isn’t fun anymore, it’s time to quit.

We started putting feelers out for any venue or event who would have us. We played a running marathon at Bachman Lake -- great exposure, except they had us play at the start of the race -- once the starter gun went off, the crowd ran away. We spent the next half-hour playing for the few remaining race staff members who were manning the check-in tables.

Then we landed a Mother’s Day gig at Biker Hall (not it’s real name), which is located in a part of town known for dicey people, druggies and new urban pioneers. Biker Hall is a small joint with a torn felt pool table in the front room and a dimly lit, sweaty-walled back room. A handful of people showed up to hear us play (some friends are angels); one customer with recent beer experience sized us up and gurgled, “Wow! Ten breasts and a guitar!”

We had brought along some of our family members for support, which, on second thought, may not have been the best idea -- my daughter burst out in tears because that large man at the bar looked at her (“Which one, honey? The one with the skulls tattooed all down his neck and the spike through his nose?”). When our gig was done, we held a band meeting, and it was unanimous: we’d never play there again.

In the meanwhile our big weeknight gig at Poor David’s had arrived. It happened to coincide with a milestone birthday of mine, so family members from Illinois and Arizona flew in for the big occasion. My brother, who had taught me how to play guitar when I was 12, came up on stage and sang “Janie B. Goode.” It was a send-up he wrote for my 80-year-old mom, Jane Goode, who had flown in from Tucson. It was a fabulous night! The band was coming together, songs were starting to sound tighter, family and friends encouraged us, and we were on our way: We started lining up regular gigs at clubs, festivals and private parties.

And yet...I had an itch I needed to scratch. I had always, always wanted to write a song but could never pull it off. Chords and melodies came easily enough, but the words seemed stuck, locked away. If ever there was reason to write a song, it was now while I was living out my dream of playing and singing in a rock band.

It was time to make a music pilgrimage to my hometown, to my brother’s house in Danville, Illinois. Jack would show me the way.

Next: Walls Come Tumblin’ Down

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com
Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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Part Two:
The Mood Swings Hit the Stage:
First the Granada, then New York City

“Soak it in, gals, it’ll never be this good again!” Diane, the veteran performer in our new band of five women rock n’ roll musicians, spoke from experience. “They have a stage, they have lights, they have pro sound guys -- we probably won’t see this great a setup again, so enjoy!”

It was easy for her to say. I was jittery. I had changed my clothes five times before leaving the house -- what, in my closetful of office clothes and sweats, did I have to wear that even approached a rock n’ roll look? I settled on a black, white and red jacket I had picked up at a thrift shop the previous week. Hey, guy bands wear grungy T-shirts and Keds, how bad could a thrift store jacket be?

Arriving at the Granada Theater for our first gig, a birthday bash for local entertainer Jerry Haynes (host of the long-running “Mr. Peppermint” TV show) did nothing to calm my nerves. This was going to be a full house. We had to play for 30 minutes, and one of the songs, a special arrangement we made up to the “Mr. Peppermint” theme song, was barely out of the oven before we had to serve it up on stage. Musicians -- established musicians, namely the Grammy-winning Brave Combo, would be waiting in the wings. Not only that, the drum kit the event coordinator set up for our band had only one tom -- and our never-performed-before fledgling drummer Martha was used to two toms. I had a sense of dread -- just how awful would we be?

I barely remember the comedian who was on before us. All I knew is that we were on, and we started playing, kicking off with a version of “Peter Gunn” that we threaded with 1960s TV show themes (“Twilight Zone,” “Beverly Hillbillies,” and a crystalline-voiced version of the “Star Trek” aria). I was flooded with relief -- people clapped for us! I began to relax and look around. Hey, there are some friends from the office! By the time it was my turn to sing “Stormy Monday,” all nervousness was gone and I sang to the crowd. There near the front row I spotted a woman with her eyes closed, singing along, gently swaying to the beat. I’d never seen anything so wonderful in my life.

Other than losing sound on my amplifier during our cover of Everclear’s “Local God,” our set went smoothly. I was ecstatic for Martha, who played on her shortchanged drum kit like a champ. I could barely contain myself after the show. In a singsong voice I hadn’t used since I was 15, I waggled up to my husband and exclaimed, “THAT was FUNNNN!” I couldn’t wait for the next gig.

Which was rapidly approaching. The band was due to play in New York City for the annual Mamapalooza, a month-long fest showcasing performers who also happened to be mothers. Four out of five Mood Swings are veteran moms, so, we headed to the Big Apple to The Cutting Room, a venue in the Chelsea district featuring entertainers such as Norah Jones, Sheryl Crow and Joan Rivers.

New York was fantastic, a real bonding experience for our new band. Mamapalooza was an education. During an ASCAP seminar, a mousey-looking woman with big glasses and sloped shoulders leaned over and meekly offered how she was looking forward to hearing our band later that night. I nodded, exchanged a similar sentiment just to be polite, and made a mental note to be sure and clap for this poor gal and her band when they got on stage -- surely they were going to need a lot of encouragement. Later that night, her band not only hit the stage, they throttled it. Mousey-girl was front and center ripping it up with her guitar, with a voice that rocked like Gibraltar.

Clearly I had a lot to learn.

Next: Building the Band

Band website: www.merryandthemoodswings.com

Hear the Mood Swings: www.myspace.com/merrythemoodswings

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