|
 Greetings,
my friends in music!
Well, there was some big excitement over the winter here at River
Music.
On Monday Feb. 6th, my 13 year old son and I set out on a glorious
adventure. We drove 5 hours to Boston from our home on the coast
of Maine, and from there we flew to LA, which is about as far from
Maine, in every sense, as you can possibly go .
We were on our way to attend the Grammy Awards Ceremony, because
I had been nominated to receive one a few months before. I was nominated
as part of the Paul Winter Consort for our recent CD, “Silver
Solstice”, which was one of the finalists for the “Best
New Age Album” category. “Silver Solstice” is
a collection of recordings made during our Winter Solstice concerts
in New York over the last several years. As a member of the band,
I played on most of the songs, and was lucky enough to be featured
in a solo performance of my own song, “The Rising Moon”.
THE BUILDUP
I found out about the nomination during a winter concert I was
leading at the Brooklin School. As you may have read in my previous
newsletter, I've been teaching music
four days a week at the local public elementary school. Last December
we were putting on our annual Winter Concert. All fifty kids (the
entire student population) were festooned in red satin and huge
neckties and belting out Frosty the Snowman for all they were worth.
At one point between songs, the Principal stood up to make a few
remarks and announced that “Mr. Sullivan doesn't even know
this yet, but he has just been nominated for a Grammy Award”
It was an unusual way to learn about such a remarkable development
in my life, and amid the thunderous applause that followed I found
myself as bewildered as I was happy. I suppose “"stunned"
is the word. Nevertheless, I took a bow and pulled myself together.
Then I kicked off a punchy tempo for “"Holly Jolly Christmas",
and got back to work.
In a town of 500 souls, word spreads fast. And in fact, half of
the townspeople were already there at the concert, so the word didn’t
actually have very far to go. By the next morning, my fame and celebrity
had fanned out like a forest fire across the Greater Brooklin area.
The General Store was completely engulfed and the flames licked
out even to the ships at sea, where the lobstermen passed the news
on their radios. By sunset my back was raw from continual slapping
and my right wrist ached from all the hearty shaking.
A couple of days later I was attending the weekly meeting of the
Brooklin Oddfellows Society, of which I am a proud member. I’m
an odd fellow among Oddfellows there. Many of the other men are
huge burly fishermen in flannel shirts, with weather-beaten faces
and beards without mustaches. Some carry long knives on their belts
and look as though they could scrape barnacles with their bare hands.
In a quiet moment during the secret proceedings of the meeting,
one of the men stood up and asked the record to show that “As
far as I’m concerned, this is probably one of the only Lodges
in the State of Maine that’s got a Grammy Award nominee for
a piano player, and I think we ought to be damned proud of that!”
Whereupon the usually reserved band of brothers erupted into a unanimous,
sustained standing ovation, beaming at me with wide grins in various
stages of disrepair. I was touched to the core, and I told them
so.
On the last day of school before I headed West to seek my fortune,
I had a music class during the last period of the day. From the
beginning of it, I sensed that something was afoot, though I was
too dense to figure it out. There were odd glances among the kids,
and unexpected comings and goings by teachers. At one point I tried
to go and get something from my office down the hall, only to find
the classroom door physically blocked by 5 or 6 hysterical kids
who yelled “No! No! you can’t go out there” as
the rest of them pleaded, “We all want to sing some more-right
now”. With that ham-fisted lie, it was clear that something
was definitely up, but I didn’t discover it until the bell
rang. When it did, the kids all fled, as usual. As I turned off
the lights and left the quiet classroom, I stepped out into what
had what once had been the school hallway. Only now it had been
transformed into the “Star’s Entrance” to the
Grammy Celebrations. The tile floor was now a glamorous red carpet,
made of red construction paper rolled out from the art room. Everyone
in the school, the 56 students, teachers, support staff and parents,
lined the walls on both side. When I stepped into the hall, they
all broke out into wild cheering and applause and singing. They
told me to walk the red carpet like a star and as I did, several
of the kids pretended they were paparazzi and journalists, and pressed
toward me with imaginary cameras and reporters’ note pads.
It was a scene of wild excitement and joy, and after I had walked
the gauntlet of “hi-fives” from the big kids and shy
little ”Congratulations Mr. Sullivan” from the little
kids, I stopped and gave a brief “press conference”.
I told them that nothing that happened in LA could ever surpass
the beauty of seeing all their bright faces so happy and excited
for me. And I was right.
OFF TO L.A.
The next day, my son and I headed off to Boston to catch a flight
to L.A. There we rented a car. I splurged on the car and had it
equipped with a GPS unit to guide us through the confusing freeways
and ramps and boulevards of LA. We typed in the address of my friend
Brad, with whom we were staying, and set forth. Brad is an old college
friend who went on to become one of the most respected musicians
in the Hollywood movie world. We cruised serenely through the crazy
speeding traffic, confidently following the calm attractive voice
of the GPS lady, who dutifully told us to prepare for a left turn
in .08 miles. After 45 minutes or so of that, we found ourselves
sitting in front of an enormous iron gate. The GPS lady said,”You
have arrived at your destination”
I knew Brad was a very successful musician, but I had no idea
he was this successful. We double checked the address and started
looking for a doorbell to ring when suddenly the gate started opening
majestically on its own. It parted, and we started slowly up the
drive. It felt as though we were going to see the Wizard of Oz.
The driveway was lined with beautiful shrubs and flowers and orange
trees laden with fruit. Then the house hove into view. A gorgeous
modern mansion, with terraces and balconies and windows everywhere,
all aglow in the Pacific sunset. Inside we could see soft lamps
and artwork and flowers. In front of the house was a quiet, glimmering
swimming pool which overlooked miles of twinkling lights below and
shadowy mountains in the distance.
After a wonderful reunion and a delicious meal in a room that
looked like an exquisite little Mexican restaurant, we made our
plans for the next day. I had to check in at the Grammy office,
but otherwise it was a free day. Brad said he had to be at a recording
session, but we were welcome to join him if we were interested.
The next morning we drove with him to the Twentieth Century Fox
Studios lot. We strolled around the campus and saw several blocks
of New York City circa 1965 over there, and over here was a tidy
suburban neighborhood, with white colonial houses and picket fences.
Close behind us was an ornate stucco Italian villa, with mosaic
tiles and a huge bubbling fountain in front of it. Everywhere there
were perfect lawns, topiary trees shaped like animals and fairy
tale characters, and busy people whisking around on golf carts with
the names of various shows and movies on them instead of license
plates. We were almost run over by the Simpsons.
The recording studio was in a plain looking building. By this
time I was half expecting it to be in the shape of a giant microphone
or a guitar. As we approached, a friendly man in casual clothes
smiled broadly and opened the door for us. He exchanged a few friendly
words with Brad and we continued on down the hallway toward the
studio. “A friendly doorman?” I asked Brad. “No,
the director of the movie we’re about to work on”, he
answered patiently.
Passing through a few more doors, we entered the control room
of the studio. It looked like Mission Control in Houston. It was
a large room, filled with three long, crescent work tables. Each
table was filled with individual work spaces. Swivel chairs, computers,
headsets, notepads, coffee cups and cell phones were everywhere.
The first table was the domain of the actual recording engineer.
He presided over an enormous array of buttons, knobs, sliders, computer
screens and assistants who scurried around pushing and turning and
adjusting everything.
All the seats in the room were on one side of the tables, and
all of them faced the enormous glass wall that formed one side of
the room. On the other side of the glass was a large hall in which
a 96 piece orchestra was warming up. In addition to the musicians,
there were teams of people sitting at desks in the orchestra room
as well, orchestrators and copyists and assistants. All there just
in case there might be any question at all about what the correct
note for the second oboe in measure 49 might be.
Along another wall in the orchestra room was an elegant and elaborate
buffet table for all the players. It was easy to see that they were
all real musicians because most of them were hanging around at the
food tables.
In a few minutes the work began. We went back into the control
room and found seats. The next thing we knew the conductor gave
a cue and the orchestra roared to life. It would have been thrilling
enough just to listen to such a massive, wonderful sound. But it
was twice as exciting because we could watch the movie on large
screens in the control room and listen as the soundtrack met the
visual track for the first time. The movie was Ice Age Two, an animated
movie set in prehistoric times. So when the orchestra made a dramatic,sudden
swoop downward, I’d look up just in time to see a huge boulder
tumbling off a cliff and landing in the valley below with a mighty
thud supplied by the bass drum and tympani in the other room. It
was like a modern day silent film with live accompaniment. and what
made it particularly exciting was the fact that we were witnessing
the marriage of the video and audio. No one had ever seen the two
together yet. The composer certainly had a good idea of how it would
sound, but even he had to imagine how his mock-up would actually
sound when played by an enormous real orchestra. And my friend Brad,
who had written all the orchestra parts, now got to hear exactly
how that bassoon line would fit with the snake wriggling across
the screen. It was exhilarating and hair-raising for everyone involved.
And beneath the quiet, convivial murmur was a palpable electric
charge as all these men and women, masters of their professions,
tried to guide this enormously complicated and unwieldy project
involving hundreds of people and millions of dollars, to a safe
and successful birth. And though I haven’t seen it yet, I’ve
heard they pulled it off beautifully.
THE MAIN EVENT
The Grammy ceremonies themselves took place on the following day.
There were two other members of the Paul Winter band, cellist Eugene
Friesen and bassist Eliot Wadopian, who had come to LA as well.
And coincidentally, they had each brought one of their teenage children
with them . We all agreed to meet in Eliot’s hotel room, which
was just up the street from the Convention Center where the ceremonies
were to be held. We met just after lunch, got into our tuxedoes,
combed what little hair we had left, and headed over to the Grammys.
Along with our stylish and handsome kids, we made quite a glamorous
parade down Figuera St. in the hot afternoon sun.
You might wonder why we arrived so early in the day. Most people
are unaware that there are actually two Grammy ceremonies. One is
in the afternoon and is not televised. The second is the one you
see on television.. There are just over one hundred Grammys given
out per year, and more than 90 of them are awarded during the first
ceremony, which is for the musicians only. It also features a house
band, performances, celebrity presenters and acceptance speeches,
and in a way it’s even a bit more intense because it’s
for “insiders” only.
All six of us took our seats in a row not far from the stage.
We sat in a “father-child, father-child” sequence. I
sat back and enjoyed the proceedings, happily watching others win
their Grammys and drinking in the constant parade of exotic looking
characters and the wide variety of fashion statements being made.
For each award presentation, they flash a list of the names of all
the nominees for that award on a huge video screen above the stage.
When our category was finally called, I was excited because I knew
most of the other nominees and was eager to find out who would win.
I thought about how happy I would be for the winner, and how much
fun it would be to congratulate him at the party afterwards. I wasn’t
the slightest bit nervous, because it didn’t occur to me for
a moment that we would actually win. It was almost as if we weren’t
even nominees. I had insulated myself from disappointment to such
a degree that I had forgotten that we were actually a part of the
contest. What I thought I was doing in LA in a tuxedo, I don’t
know. But I do remember sitting there with an imbecile grin on my
face, waiting to see what was going to happen. It wasn’t until
the presenter got to the part about “And the Grammy Award
goes to...” that things got serious. Suddenly I felt a big
strong hand reach out for mine, and I realized that we three musicians
had all instinctively reached out for support at the critical moment.
Our kids, between us, held our arms.
The presenter called our name, and I went numb. I snapped my head,
mouth agape, toward my son. He snapped his head, mouth agape, toward
me. It wasn’t a look of joy and triumph, exactly. It was more
like we had just been in a car crash. I was in the aisle seat and
by this point the other two guys were pushing toward the aisle for
our walk up to the stage. I stumbled to my feet and found myself
staring into the bosom of a marvelous supermodel. Supermodels constitute
most of the workforce in LA, as far as I could discern. They serve
the hamburgers, drive the shuttle busses, and serve as Spirit Guides
to the sacred mountain of the Grammys. Our lovely guide flashed
a perfect smile at us and invited us to follow her. She led us up
onto the stage, where we were met by another supermodel who handed
us each our Grammy trophies--golden Victrolas on heavy black pedestals
that felt like marble. The plates were not engraved. They were all
blank. We gathered rather sheepishly around the microphone, where
we were expected to make our acceptance speeches. Eugene spoke first,
and thankfully he had enough composure to be at least generally
coherent. He thanked Paul Winter, who was, after all, the reason
we were there in the first place. And he also had the grace to thank
many of the other people who had made the project a success, such
as the recording engineers and the other musicians who had played
on the CD. Then he yielded the mike to me.
Now, being a purebred Irishman, I am seldom at a loss for words.
In fact, shutting it off is far more of a problem than getting started.
But at that moment I was absolutely tongue-tied. After babbling
for a few seconds about how surprised I was, I offered a big hello
to all my friends back in Brooklin Maine, completely forgetting
that we were not on TV. When I finally realized that none of my
friends back in Brooklin Maine would ever get my greeting, I set
my sights a little lower and instead started waving to Henry out
in the audience, though I learned later that he was no longer out
there, so in fact I was waving to no one. At this point I realized
I had bottomed out and handed the mike to my friend Eliot, who made
a better go of it than I had, although he too, was a long way from
delivering the Gettysburg address.
When this triumphant episode was over, I was eager to head back
to my seat and recover in the dark anonymity of the theater. But
no. We were headed off by another supermodel and told to follow
her backstage. Our first encounter was with the President of the
Grammy organization, who smiled warmly and congratulated us. We
were then led to another area for more instructions. I decided to
go get our kids so we wouldn’t become separated. I slipped
through a side curtain and back out into the audience. Groping awkwardly
up the aisle, and squinting in the darkness, I began wondering why
the kids didn’t seem to be where we had left them. The winners
in the next category were already onstage delivering their speeches,
so I hunched over as I walked, as though that would somehow make
me invisible. Sensing a presence, I turned around and once again
encountered the smiling radiance of our supermodel guide, who had
been dispatched to get me out of there. “Please follow me,
Mr. Sullivan,” she whispered firmly through her clenched smile.
“But the kids...” I stammered weakly. She told me they
were already waiting for me backstage, and led me quickly through
another curtain.
Reunited with the kids, we entered into a rapid succession of
media interviews. As we jogged along behind our guide we were briefed
on each next appointment: “Now you’ll be going to room
C, where you’ll do a three and a half minute interview for
Satellite Radio”. After that, it was room D for print journalists,
E for Foreign media, F for US photographers. When we’d enter
a photography room there was a blinding blizzard of flash bulbs
and shouted directions. “Turn slightly to your left, please”
“Look directly at me, please”.”Over here!”,
“Hold your statue up higher please”! I felt like I was
Marilyn Monroe.
Finally we were through. We were exhausted and hungry. I asked
our guide if we could have a bite to eat. “Oh no”, she
gasped, “We need to get you into your seats for the television
broadcast. Follow me”, she said, and hurried off to another
building. Then things really got overwhelming.
THE BIG SHOW
We found ourselves backstage in the 15,000 seat Staples Center,
a huge arena where the Lakers play and where mammoth shows take
place. Like the Grammys.
After passing through some security checks and a series of large
plate glass doorways, we entered what looked like a huge airport
terminal; a vast, airy space with comfortable couches, easy chairs,
lamps, and potted trees and flowers. It was full of people laughing
and murmuring, and waiters and attendants scurried eagerly around.
On the right was a long row of doors, like a hotel hallway. Casually,
I glanced at a few as we raced by. A little sign on the first door
read “"Mariah Carey" , the next one was Madonna,
then Gwen Stefani and Sting and Stevie Wonder and Bruce Springsteen
and Paul McCartney, and...well, you get the picture. These were
the dressing rooms, and they stretched out for what seemed like
a quarter of a mile. This was the inner sanctum, the backstage lounge
and dressing rooms of many of the biggest music stars on the planet.
It was really the first time I had calmed down enough to understand
what was happening to us. I exchanged a friendly nod with James
Taylor and realized I wasn't in Maine anymore.
We were ushered into our seats. We were positioned near the stage
on the left hand side of the hall, about 10 rows up. This gave us
a prime view, not only of the stage itself, but also of the seats
right in front of the stage, where all the biggest stars and their
entourages sit. As the evening progressed, I kept a list of all
the famous people we spied. I didn’t know half of them, but
luckily our teenage children knew them all.”There’s
Little Kim!” they’d squeal. “There’s Dr.
Ice Kool!” I dutifully wrote them all down. It was like a
bird-watching expedition. By the end, I had collected about 60 specimens.
The show itself was thrilling and spectacular, and although I
didn’t have much purely musical interest in most of the pop
superstars, their mastery of the art of showbiz was unassailable.
They absolutely owned that stage, as well as all the 15,000 people
watching them. And remember, these were 15,000 insiders, many of
whom had themselves entertained 15,000 people. But these performers
were not intimidated in the least. One after another they got out
on that stage and just mowed us all down with their intensity. I
didn’t end up liking the music any better, but I sure gained
a lot of respect for what a pop star can do.
THE AFTERGLOW
After the concert, several hundred of us went back to the adjacent
Civic Center for the Official Grammy Party. It, too, was intense.
We entered the enormous ballroom and were transported to a sort
of fairy land. The light was autumnal--reds and dark orange. There
was a slight mist in the air, which gave it an enchanted feel. There
were buffet tables and bars everywhere, interspersed among the couches
and chairs and raised platforms with fountains and more seating
areas. A large shelf, about ten feet wide, ran around the entire
edge of the hall, about twenty feet up. On this shelf were at least
50 trees; mature trees that looked to be about the size of an apple
tree. They were evenly spaced around the ballroom. I glanced up
at them as we entered and saw that they had autumn leaves on them,
glowing in the reddish light.
I didn’t have much time to consider the trees. The activities
on the floor were completely absorbing. Along a distant wall was
the music stage. As we entered the room, we heard a current hit
from country radio. That was followed by another one, and a few
minutes later a hit rock song. It was like having a DJ playing a
top-40 countdown set. The only difference was that this was all
live, and all performed by the original artists.
After a while, I happened to glance up at the trees again, and
I almost dropped my champagne glass. The trees had shed all their
leaves, and instead were now covered with snow, piled up about an
inch high on every single branch and twig.
The light in the hall had changed imperceptibly to a soft wintery
white. There was no one up on the ledge, just 50 trees which had
become covered with snow as the party raged on below. And when I
looked up later, the trees had tiny green spring leaves on all their
branches. Not a drop of snow was to be seen. Nor had anyone drawn
our attention to any of this. It was as though the Grammy Association
had recreated life itself just for our casual amusement. I was starting
to feel like it was time to come home from L.A.
During all this time we were exchanging air molecules with some
of the world’s biggest music stars, though we didn’t
exchange much else. Even though the party was for all Grammy nominees
and winners, there was still an invisible but rigid separation between
the superstars and the rest of us. We got to nod and smile at them,
but no e-mails were exchanged.
There were some exciting encounters, though. My son had one, in
fact. He had been dying to meet his favorite band, Green Day. And
though they had performed onstage, we hadn’t had a chance
to get close to them.
At one point in the proceedings my son had gone off to the bathroom.
He returned about a half hour later, visibly shaken. “Dad!
Dad!” he panted, “There was a huge long line at the
urinals and I was standing right in front of the lead singer of
Green Day the whole time!” I guess we savor our moments of
glory wherever we might find them.
After a few hours we had had enough. The exhaustion, the jet-lag
and the abundant food and drink had just about done us in. I didn’t
even stay to watch summer come to the tree balcony. I’m sure
there were fireflies!
We gathered up our complimentary “goody bags” (hair
care products for us three bald Grammy winners), and headed back
to the hotel, past the 4 acre parking lot reserved exclusively for
limos. Hundreds of them. Back in our rental car, my son entered
in our destination to the GPS Lady and her reassuring voice said,
“Freeway entrance on the left in .5 miles”. I breathed
a sigh of relief. Our Spirit Guide back to the real world.
The next morning we headed back to Boston and then took a bus
back to Maine. When we arrived, the whole town gave us a hero’s
welcome home.The lobstermen were back on their radios, congratulatory
lines formed at the grocery store, and my mailbox was positively
overflowing with so many cards and letters that I am still trying
to answer them to this day.
Has the Grammy changed my life? Yes, of course it has. It puts
me into an elite group of musicians. It’s a powerful credential
that saves a lot of resume space. It cuts a lot of ice.
And yet in most ways my life hasn’t changed a bit. As Jerome
T. Jerome once said, “Life tastes pretty much the same, whether
you sip it from a crystal goblet or gulp it from a stone mug”.
I’ve tried it both ways , and he’s right.
Your musical correspondent,
Paul Sullivan
Return to Newsletter
Archives Menu
|
