Labor Day 1992 with “The Band”

Overheard Backstage.

I had the honor and privilege on Labor Day of 1992 to open for “The Band.” We (George Gilmore and the Giblets) were third on the bill at an outdoor show at the South Street Seaport Pier. It was a gorgeous end of the summer day, and I personally couldn’t have been more excited at the opportunity to open for my boyhood heroes. The Band in 1992 consisted of three original members Levon Helm, Rick Danko, and Garth Hudson, augmented by some Woodstock stalwart players like Jimmy Weider,Richard Bell,and Randy Ciarlante to Give them some heft after the departure of the reviled Robbie Robertson and the tragic death of Richard Manuel.

Also on the bill was the grandson of Albert King “Little Jimmy King,” a Memphis bluesman in the tradition of his Grandpa. The show was organized and produced by my old friend and band manager Art Edelstein who managed to squeeze us on to the bill. We were up first, and there was a decent crowd size, but mostly tourists drifting around the Seaport. I was so excited that I got there more than two hours early just to get everything just so. I was trying to be cool about it all, but I was practically squealing like a little girl meeting David Cassidy in 1972. The stage was a typical outdoor soundstage about fifteen feet above the pier and rigged out with all the PA trimmings. The Band’s road crew had already been there and had them set up. Our gear was to be set up in front for quick removal after we finished. It was all pretty routine. There were lots of tech crew puttering around, and no sign of my guys. I was there first as I was the leader of my operation. Being third on a bill meant that we were there to just fill in the time for a half-hour. Outside of NYC, we were completely unknown. I didn’t expect to draw very many of my friends or fans as it was Labor Day weekend and unlikely anyone was around. The gig itself just called for us to get on and get off without getting in the way and be mildly entertaining the picnicking crowd. We would accomplish that much, but the exciting part of the whole process was waiting around in a small backstage area standing around bull shitting.

I was so early that only the tech dudes and the stage manager could give me the stage plot. Still, I noticed that up on stage surrounded by a mass of keyboards and electronica was the venerable “Garth Hudson” Mister “Chest Fever” himself. He was puttering around testing plugs and patches and outlets and trilling around on the Lowry organ set up. I stood back in awe as he fiddled endlessly until he finally left the stage and came down to where I was standing. He looked pretty much the same as he had on all those records I had pored over with perhaps a sprinkle of gray in his beard. He was a few years older than the other fella’s in the Band and had that Pedagogical look of a college professor gone to seed. He walked toward me and asked if I was part of the Tech crew. I said I wasn’t and sheepishly told him that I was on the bill that day with my Band. He nodded and smiled and started off on some deep tech talk about electrical polarity and the dangers of outdoor stages. As he spoke, I realized that he wasn’t really talking to me so much as talking out loud to himself. He muttered away in a technical language that was far out of my ken and perhaps anyone’s. When he took a breath, I interjected something that I had thought that made him unique in him, specifically in the rock and roll world. After I introduced my self and told him what an honor it was to be a part of the event.I said: “Weren’t you one of the first artists to introduce accordion in a rock and roll setting.” His eyes opened wide, and a smile crept across his face. “Well, sir, I’m glad you noticed that! It would seem so. I use to go around to different pawnshops in NY and LA looking for different sounds.” I had opened the door and launched an equally technical monologue about accordions. I would nod along appreciatively, but having no idea what he was talking about. A stagehand finally broke in with a question that allowed me to peel off respectfully.

No sound checks were going to happen, and we were certainly used to that. The opening act IS the sound check ! Jimmy King and The Band (Besides Garth) did not bother with one. The crew was all grizzled veterans and got the whole thing up and running, and I just tried not to piss them off. My guys had arrived and were excited to do our thing. We had formed just a year before after I had returned from my disastrous Texas living adventure and was trying to reintegrate myself into the local scene. A decent crowd had formed of maybe a hundred folks. My goal was to not embarrass myself and do a good job entertaining the early arrivals for about a half-hour. Normally a high profile gig would be something you would want to go out Guns Blazing, but there wasn’t anyone there from the” Industry,” so the best thing to do was go out and have fun, which we did. We appointed ourselves well and didn’t break anything, so it was a win! Little Jimmy King went on with his Memphis Blues band that was made up of five African American fellows of varying ages. All of his band had Gerri-curled perms and played straight-up electric blues Chicago Style. They went through his Grandfather’s hits like “Born Under a Bad Sign” and “Crosscut Saw.” They were infinitely authentic and were sweet guys backstage and had that gentle southern politeness. They were amazed and slightly overwhelmed by the view of the Brooklyn Bridge and the Manhattan Skyline. Jimmy himself would turn slowly in a circle and exclaim at the view, “Goddamn!” The crowd very much enjoyed their spot, and Little Jimmy engaged them like a true Memphis soul man. Little Jimmy wasn’t little at all that little he was long and thin and kind of feline compared to his giant of a man Grand Dad. Albert King was 6 foot eight and easily three hundred pounds. He was notorious for having a bad temper and not suffering fools at all. He had come up at tough times in the south was completely intolerant of anything he perceived as bullshit. His legend was infamous. After Jimmy finished his set to the appreciative crowd, that’s when Levon, Rick, and their crew joined us all backstage. They were easygoing and had spent their time lounging on their bus partying. Levon was congenial and walked around us all like an old-time southern politician. He greeted everyone shaking hands and smiling wide and seemingly happy to be there. He made little positive asides like “It’s all about the music boys!” and that kind of thing. Rick Danko was super jovial and a real raconteur and chatted to the whole group of us telling stories. He pointed to little Jimmy and said, “Hey man, I met your Gran Dad years ago at the Old “Lone star Café.” “Is that right?” Little Jimmy said.. Rick continued “I went to see him with my Buddy Paul Butterfield.(whom of course we all knew of) “Paul knew Albert from Chicago when we got there. Paul tells me, ‘Albert’s gonna have us sit in’ I think okay, that’s cool! So I go upstairs with Paul to the dressing room, and Albert’s not there, but there’s a big deli platter, and I’m starving,’ so I go ahead and make myself a sandwich.”

To which Jimmy Smiles and says, “Uh Oh.” Rick recognizing that Jimmy is well aware of his Grandpa’s reputation as a tough dude.

Rick laughs, and says, “Wait, check this out- so, I build this giant ham sandwich, and just as I finish making it, we get the call from Albert’s Musical Director to come down and sit in at that moment, Albert has already started the show! So Butter and I get on the stage with him, and I brought my sandwich with me. I set it down on the amplifier behind me. Albert introduces us and we do a couple of songs and everything is peachy. No problem. He thanks us and we leave the stage and I take my sandwich with me. Great Night!”

“Now a few years later we appear on the same bill at an ancient coliseum amphitheater in Italy. We show up for a sound check , and there’s Albert with his Band doing their thing, so I walk up to him and say, “Hello Albert. I’m Rick. We met a few years ago at the Lone Star Café in New York. I’m a friend of Paul Butterfield. To which Albert looks at me and frowns. ‘I remember you. You the motherfucker with the ham sandwich’ and he turns around and ignores me for the rest of the gig.” Rick Busts out laughing as the rest of us do. Jimmy shakes his Gerri curled locks and says, “That’s my Grandpa! He doesn’t forget Nuthin.’