MARC LEE SHANNON (via SUBSTACK)
What happens when the dream shifts? When it’s no longer about trophies, but about the feel of the guitar, the friends, the songs, and the life that still sings back? This is about that.
I turned in my first round of votes on the Grammy nominations yesterday. As I reviewed the vast amount of hopefuls, which categories to choose for my voting and where to begin, I had a flashback to a Ford commercial cattle call audition back in the day for a “Rock Guitar Guy Type”. After arriving and explaining that I didn’t have an 8×10 headshot (um – embarrassing) in the registration room, I proceeded past the waiting area, turned the corner, and opened the door to a room filled with about 75 people. Filled with fresh, shiny, young faces, everyone was cuter, thinner, had tanned bodies that seemed to live at the beach all day, killer hair, and, of course, an agent and manager. The only person who was friendly to me was Rick Vito, the future fill-in guitarist for Fleetwood Mac. He recognized me from the LA club scene, offered me a piece of gum, and gave me his seat when he stood to be called in.
Neither of us got the gig.
I knew then I was out of my league. It was the same feeling yesterday.
It has been my honor for the past years to be a member of the Recording Academy (formerly the National Academy of the Recording Arts and Sciences). You have to be nominated and accepted based on your work in the industry, and selected before being accepted. As a member with voting privileges, I am allowed to pick 16 selections from three different categories. It isn’t very easy, but it’s a reasonable process, and there is one thing I am absolutely 100% sure of about this year’s Grammy nominations.
I am not getting one.
I cannot care about this anymore. The days of “jousting at windmills with Fender guitars” are over for me. (God, I wish I had come up with that line, but it’s James McMurtry), And it is so true for some of us Hometown’ers. The lights are dimmed in the stadium, and it’s Ok. We are still here and having a great time in our own backyards playing music. It’s still fun.
Many of us senior league players remember a different time when music was at the center of our generation’s lives. It was our WD40 for social lubrication, our way of getting out, getting around, and becoming part of the fabric of our living world. Music was the vehicle that was the cause for us to gather and graze on the feast that was our youth, and feast we did. For me, it was fabulous — rehearsals in dingy basements in Highland Square, Concerts at Blossom Music Center, the bar scene in Kent, Ohio, that I snuck into with a fake draft card that my cousin Phil got me when I was 16, and got sick on 3.2 beer. It was all there as a gathering place because of the bands and the music. Later, it was the original music club scene in LA in my 20s, and I was there in the thick of it all. The Roxy, the Starwood, Madame Wong’s West and East, and the Lingerie Club —
I was there, man, and it was electric.
It still lives in my memories, but of course, times have changed. Many decades have passed for guys like me —the veteran session and touring players of that era —but the joy of playing music continues for many of us quietly, without a Grammy nomination, in so many ways. Let me tell you—
For me:
It’s the way the guitar feels in my hands, the strum of an open G chord when perfectly in tune, and the resonant feel of my Gibson J45, which I bought in the fall of 2013. That beauty endured the winter cold of -22 below zero in February. I almost lost that one because a lack of moisture in my house dried up the wood, and the neck humped so severely I was lucky it came back at all.
It’s the Vintage Gold Top Les Paul I played onstage with Michael Stanley all those years, which I almost sold in a grief-filled moment a few months back to a wealthy fan. I was so tired of missing the band and Mr. Stanley that it was all too much, but thankfully, I did not. It’s in every YouTube video that will live on through the ages, serving as a testament that we did live as a band, and I was there. I can take that out of the case and still touch the nights backstage, the fantastic magic of the walkout when the lights went up, and the crowd as they stood cheering. A feeling I will most likely never have again, but I am so damn lucky to have ever had it in the first place.
I love that guitar. I took it out last night and put new Ernie Ball .09 Super Slinky Strings on it. I held it like a child.
Every instrument has its own voice, its own story, and they whisper to me, “Pick me up,” cmon man! Me, me, me!” I love making noise with them all because it’s profound joy.
No Grammy needed, thanks.
Like the other night at the end of my first set, when I played my Gibson 1954 ES-125 on the song “One” (Song for my Father), which I wrote for my dad. After the night was over, a lovely, gentle man came up to tell me a story of his father. We shared something human and binding, a bond between two guys, almost in tears, talking about their pops and missing them. There is no category in any award platform for that kind of connection.
The life of a working and creating musician has changed, but I will never quit. That being said, it’s also ok to pivot. Somehow, I found this Substack place. This platform and experience have been enriching, and it is so heartwarming and satisfying to me. I will continue to explore and find ways to use this creaky soapbox and create a unique experience here for my subscribers.
I hope you feel a little Better-er when you read my stuff.
Time to Pivot. Hmmm. So I ask you.
What changes have occurred in your life as you have progressed along the aging continuum? What is one thing (or more) that you once packed away that maybe it’s time to rediscover and to “not care too much” about? Perhaps it’s that crafting skill that gave you so much joy in college or that hobby you so enjoyed when the kids were small? How about those golf clubs you purchased a few years ago, and the friend who calls now and then, asking you to play a nine? Maybe it’s that old Yamaha six-string that’s been in the cardboard case in the front closet, begging for a new set of strings and a YouTube brush-up lesson? Grandma’s old Singer Sewing machine in the basement? The brand new set of garden tools still in the box?
I beg you.
Try not to worry too much about how much time has passed, how things have changed, what others think, or whether you’re too old to do that anymore. Just give it a whirl.
$%&@ it! Grammy or no Grammy — See how it feels to remember how good it felt to feel good doing something you loved doing.
The “life” Grammy is in being good to yourself.
Till next time, Steady on.
mls
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