Basking in the Afterglow of... AFTERGLOW
We all have to get our start somewhere. Why not in a basement, underage, in a wedding band named Afterglow?
I consider my music career as having many starts. Long before Jeff Michaels Band, my first real gig was playing as the original keyboard for San Francisco pop rock band, Luce. Then my first band I formed, Even Elroy. Long before that, I was a dueling pianist, a wedding pianist, a cocktail pianist (they're different), and played in the obligatory cover bands, including my friend's dad's oldies band Kickback (good name), and my first wedding band at the age of 18, Afterglow (more questionable name).
At the time, I don't believe I knew what Afterglow referred to. It seemed a nice name, and I was the youngest member of the band--by far, so that left me little room to negotiate. (I since learned the importance of band names, arguing quite strongly I didn't want my own band to be called Robots! (with the !), hence landing on two words that sounded fine together, Even Elroy. Wasn't my first choice, but it definitely beat AFTERGLOW. (Always capitalized, for extra effect.)
Our lead singer was named Ted, and Ted was an incredible guitar player who had a love of Stevie Ray Vaughan (Crossfire topped our set list nightly), but not much else screamed successful wedding band, other than our name. Nonetheless, when the black and white band photos came out, I was sure we were on the way to high-profile bookings and celebrity weddings where I would spotted by an A&R rep who had one too many highballs. He would offer me a recording contract--and a ticket out of Ted's basement--before we even launched into our almost-accurate rendition of Hava Nagila Hava.
As it were, we played precisely one wedding before the band broke up.
I actually enjoyed rehearsals in Ted's basement far more than our shows. Our most successful gig was a four-night-a-week stand at a Chinese food restaurant in Quincy, MA, where we played from 8pm to 2am for $60 a night. That was a steady paycheck, but the exhaustion of that Sunday night set still haunts me to this day. "We can skip the forth set and go home at midnight, right? There is only one guy at the bar..."
Not a chance.
One guy at the bar or not, Ted was stickler for professionalism, and we never skipped out on a single song or left a gig early, nor did we skip a single rehearsal. I discovered his dedication the night I got fired from my day job and called Ted to tell him I couldn't make rehearsal that night.
"Why not? You don't have a job to wake up for," he replied.
I wanted to argue that my collegiate future was spiraling in uncertainty and worrying about keeping my keyboard volume low to not drown out the guitar solo on Crossfire was the last thing on my mind, but he taught me an important lesson that night: the show must go on. I walked into rehearsal and as I set up my keyboard I got a nod from our drummer and bass player. "Sucks about the job, kid."
I nodded. I got a nice hug from our female lead singer as Ted has duly prepped the entire band, and that was that. I pushed the day aside and focused on the music, realizing with some horror that this was now my sole source of income, and here I had almost skipped rehearsal and risked being replaced.
Treating music with as much professionalism as a "real" job (or more, actually, which was part of the reason I was fired) was only one of the lessons I learned in Afterglow. As cheesy as the set lists may have been--we played "I Will Survive" as often as we played "Crossfire," I learned how to read a crowd, follow a band leader's ques, dial up just the right organ sound (again, Crossfire every night) and that I was one of the only keyboard players under the age of fifty who could play The Doors "Light My Fire" organ solo note for note, something that gave me hope I actually had a future in this business. I could also play every Elton John song note for note, and for a short time during those late Sunday evening shows, Ted even let me sing lead on a few Elton songs, long before I had learned to sing. The one guy at the bar did clap, occasionally. At least I think he did. Another time I remember someone peering around the curtain to see who was singing, then nodding as they saw my appendages visibly shaking, terrified I wouldn't remember the third verse of Candle in the Wind. To this day I'm not sure if that nod meant they were impressed by the young kid in the band, or if was more of "yup, that's what we expected--a lanky teenager with glasses whose voice sounds like he's still going through puberty."
Afterglow as a good band. At least, I knew we all knew how to play music, and we all respected each other and wanted to put on the best show possible. Would I have ever hired us for a wedding? Hard no. But I would certainly consider Afterglow for the late-night Sunday night slot for a Chinese food restaurant as a given. There was no other band playing with more gusto to an open dance floor, and likely never will be.
I'd love to dig up some old cassette tapes at some point of those blazing organ solos and post them. In the meantime, feel free to stream our new album LUCKIEST BY FAR on Spotify. You won't hear Crossfire, but you might catch a bit of my earlier influences in my writing, and certainly that dedication and professionalism, learned at a young age.
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