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American Fiction Release Debut Album with Eddie Kramer

“This guy worked with Zeppelin and now he’s yelling at me,” thought Landon Moore, guitarist for American Fiction, a Memphis band celebrating the vinyl release of its debut album at Lafayette’s on Tuesday, November 25th. That record, Dumb Luck, was produced and engineered by Eddie Kramer, the renowned recording engineer who engineered the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and the Rolling Stones at Olympic Studios in London, as well as Led Zeppelin, more Hendrix, and David Bowie in the late 1960s and early ’70s.

The title has something to it. American Fiction is composed of seasoned Memphis musicians: Chris Johnson (Ingram Hill), Blake Rhea (the Gamble Brothers, CYC), Landon Moore (Fast Planet, Patrick Dodd Band), and musically promiscuous jazz pianist Pat Fusco. Peewee Jackson recently replaced Zach Logan on drums.

On a lark, they sent a demo to Kramer’s email address. Why not?

“The genesis of the story is this,” Kramer said last spring during a break from tracking the record at Ardent Studios with engineers Jeff Powell and Lucas Peterson. “There’s a lot of stuff that comes to my computer. Very fortunately, my better half was scrolling through some of the stuff [and said] ‘Honey, This is pretty good. Come check it out.’ I listened to it, just the first few bars of what Chris had sent. I said, ‘That’s pretty damn good.’ I went through the whole thing and got very interested with his voice and what he had sent. So I called him up. He almost had a heart attack and needed several pairs of Depends and all the rest.”

Upon learning that they would work with one of rock’s best engineers, Fusco told Moore, who usually plays bass, “You realize the first time you play guitar in front of anybody, it’s going to be a dude that cut Hendrix, Zeppelin, the Beatles, the Stones, Traffic.” No pressure. Fortunately, Kramer has a wicked sense of humor and knows talent when he hears it.

“It was fun,” Kramer said. “I really liked the songs, and I liked what he was trying to do and what the band was trying to do. It’s not often that I hear something right off the bat that I instinctively go to. It’s happened a few times, and this was one of those. I really felt that they were a band in the making that had the makings of something really good. That started the process. The original concept was to film the process of the band coming from Memphis to Nashville or L.A. or wherever it was going to be, that whole sort of journey. I said, then forget about L.A., I’ll fly to Nashville. There are a great couple of studios there, one that I like called 16 Ton. I said, ‘Why don’t you just have the band come to Nashville, and we will rehearse there and track there?’ I remember working with the band for the first time. They were on this big stage that we had rented. It was pretty magical. It seemed to work right from the get-go.”

While he agreed to produce American Fiction, there was still work to do. I was fortunate to witness Kramer working the band through an arrangement. Tearing up someone’s musical work — even for the better — can be emotionally difficult. Kramer kept things moving, mainly through his sense of humor and an energy level that is rare in a man his age.

“The coolest part to me about something like that is that you don’t see it,” Fusco says. “You don’t hear it. You didn’t think of it. Then when he brings it up, you’re kind of shocked at first. Then you try it, and you’re like, ‘He’s right.'”

“He also produced this band more than I have ever been produced,” Moore adds. “But he didn’t really change much. The first song on the record is called ‘Mercy on Me.’ We played the song down for him. Blake, our bass player, is playing this line at the end. He flipped out about that and said, ‘I want to center that at the beginning.’ It’s like a feature. It’s really cool: It’s melodic, but it’s really tight. He didn’t rewrite anything. He just changed focus points. His attention to detail on every instrument is so focused. Sometimes, you think a guy gets older and he softens. No. He’s turning up distortions, telling Pat, ‘Make the B-3, dirty it up.’ He’s still very much a rock-and-roll producer.”

“I’m not going to take on a band that doesn’t have their act together, Kramer said. “I’m not going to take on a band that can’t play. That would be impossible. I’ve been there, done that. It’s not very pleasing. They have great musicianship. That’s for sure. It’s only getting better. This time around, they are way tighter than they were before. They’ve learned an awful lot. In the recording process, when we were recording in Nashville and then going to L.A. to do the overdubs, I beat them up pretty severely. Not physically. But it’s a tough process making a record. I think they learned the discipline, or at least the basic disciplines, of how to make a record. The wonderful thing about them that I did notice from the get-go — even from the early stuff a few months back —they were very ready to take new information in, and they were curious about my direction. Fortunately, it all worked out. It is a band decision. But it’s mine in the middle of all of that. I try not to say, ‘You have to do it this way.’ I love to hear all of the various parts from all of the various directions that each individual has. I try to guide it gently along a path. Sometimes, I have to put my foot down. But for the most part, I try not to put a two-by-four over their heads. Although, as I said, I would like to.”

As much as Kramer longs to put a two-by-four over their heads, he remains impressed by these young Memphians.

“Landon is a master of quirkiness,” Kramer said. “Pat, our keyboard player, is phenomenal at keeping parts of the blues going. Chris has a wonderful voice. He has a gift, a fabulous voice. I try to guide him as much as possible in terms of not being too repetitive in a certain range and all that sort of thing. But that’s all the technical thing. The bottom line is he sings his ass off. Great guitar player. And Blake is superb about being understated and playing just the right thing on bass. Our drummer is phenomenal. It’s a great band now. Before, they were just sort of parts that were trying to fit together. Now they are fitting together. It’s really gratifying for me to work with these guys. They have done their homework. When I walked in here, it made it very easy for me to go, ‘OK, there, there, and there; we need to do some editing. We need a better bridge. We need a better thing.’ Within minutes, we are there. That’s fantastic. Some bands you work with, you could be frickin’ hours trying to pull things together.”

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Music Music Features

Memphian Launches the Roots Channel

On November 3rd, Taylor Swift pulled her entire catalog, including the week-old album 1989, from the streaming service Spotify to protest her compensation. Her Nashville label boss bickered in the media with Spotify CEO. Of course, Dave Grohl had to chime in, and nobody has figured anything out. That’s the state of contemporary mass-market music: a mess. But a former Memphian has a better idea.

Michael Connolly launched The Roots Channel two weeks ago. He graduated from White Station High School in 2000 and had played in and recorded a few local bands before he left Memphis to attend the University of Michigan. The Roots Channel — a collection of streaming shows including concerts and instructional programs — is a first step toward a better relationship between musicians and their marketplace.

Amy Flesicher

Michael Connolly

“I think [we need] to get to the point socially that the educated media consumer feels at a moral level that they should have labeling on what they are consuming,” Connolly says. “Just like what happened in the food movement. My fantasy is that you have this video and off to the side there is this little tab that’s styled after the nutrition facts. There it is, in black and white, how these people get paid. If you’re in the media business and you’re not willing to say where the money goes, it’s socially embarrassing.”

That’s Connolly’s long-term hope. Unlike many dreamers in a chaotic music industry, Connolly has a unique background that has led him to a possible solution: an advertising-free, subscription service offering lifestyle and entertainment programming to a community of like-minded media consumers. Subscribers can watch anything from a Donovan concert to instrument lessons.

“I almost went to college for clarinet performance,” Connolly says. “I was super serious about that. But I decided to do computer stuff and got into medical device software for seven years. I was trying to do something good there and was shocked at how difficult that is to do. The fact is that they are for-profit companies. You can make something, but that does not mean that everyone has access to it. That was frustrating. Meanwhile, I kept recording people and playing in bands. I got asked to come out on tour, and, eventually, I was in a position to quit my day job about five years ago. Since then, I have been doing music full time. I was in a band called Coyote Grace. We spent a lot of 2010 opening for the Indigo Girls. That was eye opening: to see someone of that level of fame still struggling to make money. I was like, ‘Man, this is kind of broken.’ It was disillusioning about what kind of big time I thought I was going to achieve.”

Connolly’s model partially grew out of a community-oriented musical experience he had growing up in Memphis. He owns Empty Sea Studios in Seattle, where he built a 40-seat listening room and films his own concert series.

“My band played at Otherlands, and my English teacher Judy Kitts was in the Memphis Acoustic Music Association,” Connolly says. “She hooked me into that world, and I got hooked on the listening-room thing. The studio has an active concert series. The programs are shot at my studio, and we do those as four-camera HD shoots. So my first attempt at doing this three years ago was just my own subscription channel for my own stuff. I realized that a lot of people were fighting to have their own proprietary subscriptions services, but nobody could generate enough content fast enough.”

At that point, Connolly made the move from content creator to content aggregator, or — more precisely in his case — curator.

“I know the people who I’m trying to help out with this,” he says. “On the patron side, it’s the people who come to these shows. Maybe they don’t come to the shows, but they are the people I meet at the farmers’ market. I know how to speak to this specific niche of people. The Fretboard Journal [a contributor] is a great example. They are kind of a Cook’s Illustrated, a glossy magazine for acoustic guitar people. They have over 100,000 Facebook people. Their demographic is very well aligned.”

Some content is available for free, but free music is not worth it to connoisseurs.

“You’re wading through the ads and the bad amount of signal to noise, Connolly says. “The idea is to curate it and put it behind a socially responsible financial model. That’s my long-term plan.”

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Music Music Blog

3 Doors Down Gives Back, Digs Rush

After forming in 1996, south Mississippi natives 3 Doors Down hit the big time starting in 2000 with their debut album The Better Life. That album was certified platinum six times. Away from the Sun went double platinum in 2003, making the band one of the most successful groups of the aughts.

When you attain fame and fortune, people ask for help. 3 Doors Down started the Better Life Foundation to manage the confusion and take control of how they give back. The band will host its annual Better Life concert on Saturday, November 15th, at Horseshoe Casino in Tunica. We spoke with guitarist Chris Henderson about giving back, watching younger bands try to succeed in today’s market, and about the band Rush as mentors and menders of broken hearts. Yes, this includes a Rush love story.

What’s going on with the Better Life concert?
This is our 11th year. It started in response to a show we played. When you’re in a band like this, everyone is asking you to donate. We’re always happy to give. But in the beginning, we did shows for a lot of different people. At first, it $was just us in a van. But the bigger we got, the bigger these charities wanted te shows to be. It got to be where it was costing us $40,000-60,000 to put a show on. We said, ‘ Let’s figure out how much money we made for these charities and how much good we did. We started seeing how much money the other people made besides the charity, how much it cost us to put a show on, this wasn’t working out. Let’s start our own charity where we can control every penny. So we started asking for volunteers and that’s how the Better Life Foundation was born.

We wanted to find charities that most people overlook. We decided to give to women’s shelters and children’s charities to begin with. People typically won’t gve to childhood diabetes unless they have a child with diabetes. Those people really need the money. Over the years, it’s grown into everything we can think of. Dream racers are video game consoles that fit in the hospital room. Kids can get in them in the hospital bed, but they look like race cars. This guy builds them. The kids can sit in there while they are getting chemotherapy or a treament. They are really cool.

You achieved success in music on a level that’s impossible today. What’s it like seeing younger musicians attempt to make a living?
It’s kind of a double-edged sword, it’s good because we can sit back and think about how good it was to get in early. We go into the record business when records were still a big part of an artist’s income. You didn’t have to go out and tour like crazy. You can’t do it with record sales and publishing like you used to. But, I think bands that are trying to start today have such a harder time trying yo make a living. Ten or 15 years ago, a record label — knowing that you were going to sell records — would give you money based on projected sales. You could get $500,000 record deal, put money in the bank and feed your family. Record labels don’t do that anymore. Now they come in and say, ‘I’m not going to give you anything. In fact, I’m going to take something from you. It’s not because they are evil. They are in the business to make money. The business has changed. It’s a different animal out there. A lot of bands don’t have a chance.

You got to work in the studio with Alex LIfeson from Rush. What was that like?
That was one of the coolest experiences I ever had. I’m from south Mississippi. We grew up with Rush. I’m a huge fan. Matter of fact, I’ll tell you a Rush story. I had a girlfriend. I was engaged to her. We broke up after five years of being together. She went off and did whatever to get over it. I put in Rush Chronicles, got in my truck and drove around for five days. That’s how I got over that relationship. After I listened to that record, I said, ‘I don’t need this crap. I’ve got Rush.’ So needless to say, when Alex Lifeson’s name came up as a producer, I was in, Jack. I didn’t need to hear anybody else’s name. I can’t explain how nice a guy and how smart he was. How cultured he was and how great a musician he is. I can’t put into words how much his influence brought to my life before I met him and after I met him. There’s not a week that goes by that I don’t think of that experience. I spent three weeks with him in the studio.

He taught me that the technical aspect of being a producer is not th most important part. THe most important part is the song and how to delegate. If you want to change someone’s art, they are going to fight you on it. If it’s all about the art becoming better, you’ve got to get your point across. That’s what Alex taught me. Instead of saying ‘I’m a producer. I’m from Rush. You need to listen to me.’ He wasn’t like that. He came in and was like,’ Think about it like this: What does the fan think? From a radio listener’s perspective, you have about 13 seconds. They hit that seek button. That’s the way it works. He taught us that.

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Music Music Blog

Memphis Music Hall of Fame 2014: Lil Hardin

Memphian Lil Hardin Armstrong (1898-1971) will be inducted into the Memphis Music Hall of Fame this evening. She was already at the top the jazz world in 1922 when Louis Armstrong showed up in Chicago to play for King Oliver. She had been the piano player for a year. Hardin thought Armstrong looked country and clothed him. She also helped him work through his divorce. Then she married him. She played piano and composed songs for what are arguably the most important recordings in American musical history: The Hot Five and Hot Seven sessions. Hardin wrote “Struttin With Some Barbecue,” probably the most Memphis song ever. She became a solo artist and eventually led her own all female orchestra. She collapsed at the piano in 1971.

Memphis Music Hall of Fame 2014: Lil Hardin

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Music Music Features

Big Star Bassist Hummel’s Son on Hall of Fame Induction

Drew Hummel wasn’t raised in a house that played much Big Star. That’s understandable. His father, Andy Hummel, who passed away in 2010, was the bassist for the band on #1 Record and Radio City. Big Star will be inducted into the Memphis Music Hall of Fame on Thursday, November 6th. John Fry, owner of Ardent Studios and engineer on Big Star’s three albums, will also be inducted in the class of 2014. Other inductees include Lil Hardin Armstrong, Al Bell, Furry Lewis, Carl Perkins, Jesse Winchester, Ann Peebles, and Chips Moman.

Flyer: How old were you when you realized your father was in Big Star?

Drew Hummel: I was born in 1989. I’m 25 years old. Ever since I was little, I knew that he was in a band in the 1970s. That was the extent of my knowledge. He didn’t really listen to Big Star much. That would have been a little weird. The first thing I remember is I was 9 years old in ’99 when That ’70s Show came out. My sister came downstairs and said, ‘Hey, one of your songs is the theme song for that show.’ Since then, I’ve had a little generational connection to it. I remember being in junior high, and my mom and dad having to go to Memphis for ceremonies and Big Star performances. But just occasionally. My dad wasn’t too involved.

Andrew Hummel

Did your dad play after Big Star?

My dad would always play guitar when I was little. There were always guitars around the house. As he got older, he started a work band and let me join. I played drums with him for a while. So growing up musically and listening to music everywhere got me into music. After he passed away, I inherited all of his instruments and his vinyl. So I got a few hundred vinyl [records] of bands I’d never heard of. It was great music: all of the Alex Chilton vinyl, the Chris Bell vinyl. I could just go through and listen to all of that, and it’s just a blast into his past.

Are you in a band?

I really just play a lot. I have friends from high school and college that I’ll jam with occasionally, but nothing too serious. I play a lot of guitar and like guitar the most. I’ve got a bass I play occasionally and a drum kit, but it’s pretty worthless. Whenever he had his cover band, we’d play at work or family events and weddings. But nothing major.

What did your dad do after Big Star?

He came to Texas [and met my mother]. They were together for 25 or 26 years before he passed. Ever since I was born, he was an aerospace engineer and manager at Lockheed-Martin. So he was a very professional business and suit-and-tie kind of guy. As far as music he listened to, I remember him listening to the Beatles and Led Zeppelin a lot. He loved Joni Mitchell. He loved Allison Kraus a whole lot. There was a year or two when he just played Allison Kraus nonstop for hours and hours. It was beautiful, but, you know.

Did he have a band?

A couple of guys from work and a couple of neighborhood friends would do a couple of cover songs. We had one or two originals. There was a place outside of our hometown where you could rent the studio for a couple of hours. We went in there for a few hours and recorded a few songs. I’m not even sure why we did that. I wouldn’t call it serious recording.

Did he keep up with the other members?

As far as Alex [Chilton] and Jody [Stephens]. We’d go to Memphis to see his mom every once and a while. We never saw Jody a whole lot. But after That 70s Show came out, everything started coming back. I started hearing names like John Fry and Alex. I really didn’t know who those people were. They got bigger. He went to New Orleans at one time and hung out with Alex. That was right before Katrina happened. Alex was still living down in the 9th Ward. He said it was a pretty cool place. Jody kind of came back around. John Fry did the eulogy at his memorial.

Will you play at the ceremony?

I’m going to fly in to rehearse with Jody and the guys and hopefully play a Big Star song onstage that day for the ceremony. I’ll play the guitar. I can’t wait to hang out with those guys.

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Music Music Features

Nots at the Buccaneer

Nots is a gathering storm. The punk quartet has steadily gained strength on several fronts since their debut single about a year ago. Drawing from a wellspring of punk-driven fury, Nots has coalesced in sound and intent into one of Memphis’ fast-track bands. The four members bring an array of musical experiences that combine into a twister of synths, shrieks, and forceful rhythms. Their set on Beale Street for a Goner event last year sent jaws to the floor. Their new album, We Are Nots, brings their force into focus.

Geoffery Brent Shrewsbury

Nots

The previous EP on Goner, Dust Red, found the group testing out the weaponry. There is an unsettling drive to their early material. Not only do Charlotte Watson drums move the front forward, singer Natalie Hoffmann belts a fractured urgency into the din. It’s fine punk rock. Nots has made strides in producing their latest record. We Are Nots is better bolted-down than the early stuff. That’s a good thing. Engineer Doug Easley knows precisely how to direct the energy, especially Alexandra Eastburn’s synths, which add an important depth to the often-bland palette of punk sounds. Pitchfork and Stereogum have taken notice and featured the single “Decadence.” If their trajectory seems similar to that of former Goner band Ex-Cult, there may be some truth to it. Hoffmann was formerly in Ex-Cult. Bassist Madison Farmer is the publicist for Goner. Adding Easley and the Goner machine to the band’s stirring live shows sums up to a potent force. Look out.

Nots is headed out on tour. They will get a lot of attention and deserve it. They kick things off on Saturday, November 8th, at the Buccaneer. We Are Nots comes out on November 11th on Goner Records.

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

Jerry Lee Lewis at the Cannon Center

There’s a whole lotta writing about the Killer going on. The greatest performer in the history of American music is going to perform and talk with his official biographer Rick Bragg on Friday night at the Cannon Center. See this week’s Flyer for Leonard Gill’s interview with Bragg. As for Jerry Lee, you can watch this video of him playing at a casino back in July of this year. He’s old as Hell. But watch the face of his longtime guitar player Kenny Lovelace, who watches over Lewis’ performance like someone helping an elderly person walk. But there is a moment when the old man swells the piano up like a wave at Mavericks. It’s a volcano of sound that many piano players would feel ashamed to try. It’s purely improvised and catches Lovelace off guard. You can watch him smile and marvel at the wild spirit that animates this elderly incarnation of Huck Finn. You can’t do that. 

Jerry Lee Lewis at the Cannon Center

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

Ross Rice at the Blue Monkey Friday

Ross Rice has backed the Killer, played with Duck Dunn, Steve Earle, and written for Adrian Belew. He plays the Blue Monkey Friday night. One thing is for certain, Rice will have a great band.

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Rice is a degreed Memphis Tiger, perhaps best know for his work in Human Radio, a band that signed to Columbia and was a big deal in the days of MTV and videos. Rice is a daunting multi-instrumentalist whose curiosity for the recording process led to work as a producer and sideman for countless records made here during the 1990s and 2000s. He has two solo records, Umpteen from 1997 and Dwight from 2006.  Rice moved to New York State in the 2000s and recently returned South to Nashville. He plays the Blue Monkey Friday night. Rice will have a great band. 

Ross Rice at the Blue Monkey Friday

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

Halloween? Moloch!

It’s Halloween. Nothing is scarier than some creepy old god trying to eat your babies. Parents, don’t forget: 

Leviticus 18:21: “And thou shalt not let any of thy seed pass through the fire to Moloch”

Unless it’s the dark-horse entry for greatest Memphis rock band ever – the blues rock band Moloch – don’t let the trick-or-treaters near the real Moloch or any Ammonite gods this holiday season. Be safe out there. 

Want a list of things to do? Boo cares? Merry Christmas.

Halloween? Moloch!

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Sing All Kinds We Recommend

“Memphis Rocks” Book Signing Friday

On Friday at Bookseller of Laurelwood, author and archivist Ron Hall will sign his latest book, Memphis Rocks: A Concert History: 1955-1985. Hall is well known in town for his work on archiving garage bands (Playing for a Piece of the Door and The Memphis Garage Rock Yearbook) and on Memphis wrestling (Sputnik, Masked Men, & Midgets). But Hall is uniquely qualified to gather information on concerts from Memphis’ golden years of music. Hall worked in record distribution and tried his hand at promoting shows. But as the number of great bands that would come through Memphis in the 1960s and 1970s shows, that was a different time.

“There used to be business magazines that had all of the concerts nationwide in there, like Amusement Business,” Hall says. “So you knew what the capacity of the halls was and how much money came in. I was studying that stuff and trying to get an idea on what I could do. It would have circus stuff. And in the back it was arcade machines. Anybody that dealt with the actual business of show business, from Broadway to the Fillmore, was in there. There used to be a good news stand where you could get stuff.”

Hall did not find success in the concert promotion world, but he developed a passion for the music that drives his archival work.

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“When you see the groups that came down this way, you think we got some great shows,” he says. “People always wanted to come back here. I think with the whole Memphis Sound thing, with Sun and Stax, people felt it was almost like going to a shrine. And this summer, when Roseanne Cash played the Shell she said when you come here, you can just feel the vibe. A lot of other people said that. The first time I saw Springsteen at the Auditorium, it was one of the first things he said. Then later, he brought out Eddie Floyd. Then there are a lot of people we didn’t get. I would have like to have seen the Doors. Pink Floyd never played here.”

Not everyone wanted to play here.

“Some of them had this thing about civil rights,” Hall says. “I think they had a bad vibe toward Memphis. But then there are the groups that somehow we got. Like the Sex Pistols. You would have thought, why in the hell would the Sex Pistols play Memphis?”

Even though times have changed and great venues like the Auditorium North Hall have met the wrecking ball, Hall and his friends

“I can’t say how many times I was sitting around with old friends talking about pop festivals or concerts here in town and arguing over whether say Curved Air ever played here. B.B. King, Wadsworth Mansion, and Cheech & Chong. The oddest lineup. I think Wadsworth Mansion never showed up, and NRBQ played in their place. That was always a cool thing. You were disappointed that someone you thought you’d see wasn’t going to be there. But then you would see someone who years later, like NRBQ, would become a cult legend.”

‘Memphis Rocks’ Book Signing Friday

Hall and his publisher Sherman Willmott of Shangri-La Projects share a dogged enthusiasm for preserving Memphis’ musical heritage even though they came of age in different eras.

“Sherman’s most important thing was that we got the punk thing in there,” Hall says. “I’m sure there were lots of people who played at Pogo’s. But these club owners didn’t spend a lot on advertising. I found so much stuff going through the old Tiger Rag from Memphis State. You go back to the ’70s, and those things were really good. They would say who was playing in the punk clubs and who was playing at Highland. It was a big help.”

Much of the work going into promoting a concert has been taken online, where there is no real record of what happened.

“Another cool thing from back then was that people spent time making up cool flyers. Now you don’t even see concert posters anymore. That’s just sad.”