The title is loosely quoting Mr. Jonathan Richman and the youthful drive and energy in a time in one’s life where rock and roll held all the answers. When rock and roll was the driving force in one’s life. When rock and roll meant do or die to all of us. Bruce Springsteen still tries to put that vibe out there but somewhere along the line he turned from Jesus himself (Darkness era) then migrated into the carnival-style preacher/barker (Born in the USA era and currently) trying to save souls and sell bottles of the latest oils and if you didn’t bite to hell with ya’s and off to the next burgh. But that is another story… Where once we fought over headlining status we now eagerly volunteer to open shows, and please Fridays and Saturdays only! Getting older in rock and roll is an occupational hazard. So is dying.
Rock and roll is in my blood. I couldn’t stop playing even if I wanted to. Well, actually I did stop for a while (carpal tunnel in both wrists and mentally tired of pigheaded band mates thinking they knew all about making the big time and what it took) but a couple phone calls from peers and I was thrust back into the game. But a brief history, when I was a three year old, I saw The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. So growing up, I would fake sickness to stay home from school and bang away on trashcans, an old set of bongo drums and a WWII era Zildjian cymbal. In high school, I finally got a real drum set. Strictly self-taught, this foolhardy dream lead to being in cover bands with my older brother Jack and then finally to my first real band, Copper 7. Time passed, played in a slew of Orange County and Los Angeles bands, recorded a few CD’s, even toured the world where for over four months of extensive travel and intense gig schedules and a top ten Euro hit, this 35 year old came home with aching wrists, a broken dream and about 600 bucks in his pocket and a sore back from sleeping on insect lively floors. But don’t cry for me Argentina, I got to see a little bit of the world that a lower middle class kid could never do on his own. Plus, I chose to play music and then I chose to get a real job.
Oh yeah, Ed Huerta sold out and made the decision to have a roof over his head and a car and food and a weekly paycheck. Fast forward, I am in my forties and toy with the drum set every once in awhile. I go to see my friends play and sort of envy them up there on that stage…missing the adulation, the drugs, the sex…HA! Harsh reality is, the drummer is usually the first one at a gig to set up and the last one to leave, breaking the kit down and all sweaty and you know, chicks dig stench, and unfortunately girls, I am married. And drugs are really a waste of time and for sure a waste of hard earned cash, the wonder of drugs are a thing of the past, at least at my age.
But back to the story, a couple of years ago, I get a call from a couple musicians that I really respect who also took a break from music to start their own businesses and to have kids. So lo and behold, I am in my early 50’s and the rest of the band is in their upper 40’s but we have this urge to get this music out of our souls still. We have already been through the verge on being the next big thing and the pillaging of record companies on one’s hearts so the pursuit of fame is not an issue here.
What makes these lions, called Rockford, in winter tick? And I am not talking The Rolling Stones here. We do NOT make millions a gig. It is considered a great night when the club buys us a couple drinks. I see other musical compadres at my age still out there in the trenches. We have a common bond. It seems that the love of making music burns in our blood and to come up with the perfect riff, the perfect rhyme, the perfect turn of the phrase, the perfect beat, spurs us on.
In the 1960’s movie, “The Endless Summer”, two California surfers went around the world to search for that perfect wave. We, meaning my fellow mid-life musicians, are still searching for that perfect wave or show. We have approached it many times recently and it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. The musical communication between five people for that brief moment in time makes all of the years of playing, the hours of practice, the missed events, the sparse crowds, the pissed off club owners, the beating on your soul caused by your real paying job, for that brief instant, it is all worth while, and hopefully, we will stop when the outside forces weigh heavier than the inner satisfactions or when Charlton Heston pries our guitars and drum sticks from our cold, dead hands.
By the way, Mr. Club Owner, we will open the show. We want to school these kids on the bill or at least warn them like that Twilight Zone episode, “Spur of the Moment”, where a scary, middle-aged horse back rider tries to warn a young girl (herself) about impending doom!
Yes, I’m in love with rock and roll and I need to drive by the Stop and Shop for some Ben-Gay.
(Editor’s Note: Edward Huerta is the accomplished painter and also drummer with SoCal rock band Rockford)
