Music As A Means To Self-Realization 

 

Rob Chiarelli (far left) & Michael James (far right) presenting a master class on mixing at Pro Audio LA.

“That’s a great idea! We should do it. If only…”

When inspiration strikes, do you ever think you should make your idea a reality? Why don’t you make it happen? If only you had more time, more money or less stress…

Don’t worry–you’re not alone. Our first-world lifestyles are in many respects defined by the myriad responsibilities that compete for our life force. Most of us cannot afford to commit to a grand endeavor simply because of its inherent coolness factor, so we tend to factor ROI (return on investment) into our risk-based decisions. There is nothing wrong with that–it’s simply reality. But it is also a huge obstacle to self-realization, the fulfillment of one’s own potential.

While there are many strong reasons to not take action, some intrepid souls find a way to rise above the words “if only” and then do something terrific. They do it not for the money, but rather because it’s cool…and because they can.

I’m writing this blog post with the hope that it may inspire some of us to step outside our comfort zones and make something beautiful before our lives become even more complicated and our burdens even heavier. Whatever you choose to do, do it because you want to, not because you need a payday. Its manifestation should be its own reward. That way, you can’t lose. Plus, you just might win. Maybe win big.

Here’s a brief list of self-realized things that some of my friends are currently doing, just because they can.

Zoo Labs is a music and tech “incubator” founded by altruists/philanthropists Vinitha and Dave Watson. Their excellent two-week music residency at their state-of-the-art, in-house recording studio not only results in a record release, but also in “scaffolding” from which recording artists can launch their next career phase in a meaningful accelerated manner. The Watson crew has put together a team of forward thinking geniuses who provide highly relevant workshops along with a resident gourmet chef. Their ROI is not measured in dollars–it’s all about doing something special for the good of humanity.

Rob Chiarelli has approximately 100 Gold Records and 16 Grammy nominations on his discography. He works as a producer and/or mix engineer with superstar artists ranging from Christina Aguilera and Will Smith to Janet Jackson and Madonna. While Rob is in constant demand, he somehow manages to do things that are important to his family–and to up-and-coming recording professionals in need of guidance. Rob and I both believe in giving back (or paying forward), so we frequently team up to do workshops, seminars, master classes and Q&A sessions for music schools, pro audio retailers and manufacturers. We do it because we can, and because the act of service to others is a vital part of our spiritual and philosophical belief system.

The relationship of Walter Heath to his music is an excellent example of doing something because it is intrinsically cool. He was signed to a major label record deal in the early ’70s, and recorded a funky soulful album, You Know You’re Wrong Don’t Ya Brother, produced by L.A. session ace Louis Shelton, featuring the hottest studio cats of the era. Today Walter performs and records music with the express goal of inspiring himself and others to deepen their spirituality by setting Baha’i prayers, meditations and virtues to melodic tunes. Music weaves through his life like DNA through his body. I have seen firsthand how powerful a unifying tool his singing is as it draws together seemingly disparate cultural groups. Check out his tasty home-brewed CD from 2009, Praise His Name, for some nourishment for the soul.

The Invisible Man (Sam Martinez, Jaben Pennell and Tim Torgerson) is a Contemporary Christian band whose ministry takes it literally around the world, instruments in hand. The darlings of the 1998 EAT’M Festival, its members have since found a balance of secular and spiritual pursuits. Torgerson and Martinez are local-hero, working-class family men who enrich their communities with not only their musicality, but also their mentoring skills. Pennell juggles being a single father of two with his fulltime gig as a record producer and session musician. A human vortex of energy, he also teaches recording techniques and A/V courses at Judson University as an adjunct professor. Pennell founded Vibehouse Productions as a passion to serve indie artists outside the metropolitan Chicago area, but thanks to one of his records winning 2013 Golden Melody Awards (Chinese equivalent of Grammy) Album Of The Year, it turned into his bread and butter.

The underlying theme of these four examples is that they were all done without financial reward as a consideration. Therefore, they were done with a purity of purpose and, one might say, artistic integrity. Inspiration happened, and these folks sprung into action. They created their own unique musical versions of the Watts Towers: the creation may look crazy to an outside investor, but the artistic manifestation is its own reward.  Just like a life well lived!

 

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Chain Reaction

Photo by Frank Bevans

Boom! At first, you see nothing special. Then you open your mind and see that everything is connected, perfectly balanced, ripe with endless possibilities.

I sat down to write a post about a valuable life lesson that I learned from Robben Ford while mixing a tune for him.  In order to put myself back in that moment, which took place approximately 15 years ago, I thought about the chain reaction that brought us together.  It’s inherently interesting enough to deserve its own post, independent of the lesson, so here we go!

The genesis of the chain reaction was simple enough.  It’s similar to the “begats” of the Old Testament: someone begat somebody, who begat more children who begat even more kids. In my case, I can connect the dots all the way back to 1993–and they’ve come full circle in 2015. I was in a meeting with music publisher Jan Seedman, who played me a demo from an indie rock band out of Boston.  I was immediately smitten with the band, who were known as Sidewalk Gallery.  They were influenced by The Beatles, they had a cellist, and they were fronted by twin brothers David and Brian Charles.  I asked Jan to make an introduction because I was convinced that I could develop the band and get them signed to a major label.  Brian, was–and is–a musical genius who inspired me to hop on several redeye flights from Los Angeles to work with him.  I could write a book about our exploits in the studio, about getting deals with A&M and Interscope, about getting backstabbed by duplicitous management, about accidentally being “invited” to dine with the mob in Boston’s North End, etc., but I’ll try to remain on the chain reaction track.

Having shared a wealth of experiences in a relatively short time, Brian and I became good friends.  We decided to produce Zen Lunatic’s Eleven Days In May album at Charles’ Zippah Recording studio in 1997.  During the recording sessions, the band’s publicist Elissa Rogovin visited the studio to facilitate an interview with The Boston Globe.  Seizing the opportunity to leverage my discography to increase the buzz, Elissa convinced The Globe to interview me for a special sidebar feature about being a hotshot “L.A. record producer” working with Boston’s local heroes.  Needless to say, I was grateful to Elissa for generating the good press.

Elissa was friends with an L.A. manager named Mark Lampe, so she introduced us.  Mark was representing A.J. Croce, son of the legendary Jim Croce.  A.J. was a Blues and Americana critical darling, but still hadn’t scored the elusive Pop or Rock hit.  His new label, Higher Octave, was a joint venture with Virgin Records, who had the infrastructure to support a hit.  A.J. and I were confident that we could credibly expand his horizons to incorporate a tip of the hat to his influences: The Beatles, Zombies, Elvis Costello, et al. We cowrote some new songs (that still to this day generate royalty revenue!), made a terrific album titled Transit, and became friends.

One day I asked A.J. how it was to work with his previous studio guitarist, Robben Ford, who happened to be one of may all-time favorite blues/jazz artists.  Michael Bizar (Croce’s fantastic live guitarist) and I (a producer who happens to play guitar) had the intimidating privilege of filling Ford’s unfillable shoes, so we wisely chose to sound good doing our own thing instead of struggling to emulate the living legend.  Anyway… A.J. tells me, “Robben is great! You should call him–you guys are two peas in a pod. He’s a spiritual cat who practices his beliefs.  You’ll love each other!”

Meanwhile… A&R man Jed Ojeda and I are in a meeting at Hollywood Records.  He plays me a demo tape (that’s right, tape, as in cassette) of a San Diego band named Everyday Joe.  Although the recordings sound spectacular, the label wants the insurance of having a “name” producer attached to the album.  As much as I dig the music, I honestly believe that the demo producer nailed it–plus he was able to manage Joe’s idiosyncratic personality, which is a big deal, given that Joe chooses to be homeless because he enjoys the pure, surf-infused lifestyle!  I tell Ojeda that the demo producer should keep the gig, and that the guy (the producer) was so talented that I’d like to meet him.  Ojeda then tells me that I confirmed his own feelings, and that he would pass on the compliment to the producer, who happens to be Nicklas Sample, son of one of my musical heroes, Joe Sample of the funky jazz unit, Crusaders.  As the meeting ends, Ojeda invites me to be his guest at a Robben Ford & Larry Carlton gig, where my wife and I ultimately shared a table–and a good rapport–with Robben’s wife, Anne Kerry Ford.

Fast forward a year or so… Tim Torgerson, frontman of The Invisible Man, and I take a drive and listen to Ford’s Supernatural album.  Tim, who’s a total Ford geek, says, “Man, Robben had a heavy spiritual thing happening!”  The album resonates with both of us, and we imagine how awesome it would be to work with the master.  The next day, I’m searching for a contact in the “F” section of my phone book, and I see “Robben Ford” and his phone number.  I’m just about to erase it because there’s really no reason for me to call him, but instead I dial the number.  I leave a voice message, saying, “Hey, this is Michael James, A.J. Croce’s new guitarist… A.J. told me to phone you because we’re apparently two peas in a pod… I love Supernatural, so give me a shout if you want to hear why… I promise I won’t stalk you.”  I don’t expect to hear from Ford.

A few hours later, Tim and I are at FedEx picking up my four new Empirical Labs EL8 Distressors. My hands are full when my cell phone rings, so I ask Tim to check the caller ID. He says, “Dude, it’s Robben Ford!” I said, “Dude, gimme that!”

Here’s the way the conversation with Robben began:

MJ: Hello.  RF: Hi, may I speak with Michael James?  MJ: This is Michael.  RF:  This is Robben Ford.  MJ: Cool. (More accurately, “Coooooooool!”)

After I switched away from fanboy mode, the conversation got real, and we booked some writing and mixing sessions, but that’s another story altogether.

Re: this story, it interests me not only because the genesis of the relationship was a mundane moment, but also because of all the many tangential serendipities and connections.  Jan Seedman became one of my A&R reps at Warner Music Discovery before getting me the gig that led to my work with New Radicals; he later founded Cadium Music and, in 2015, became my manager.  Mark Lampe, along with Interscope VP of A&R Tony Ferguson (who introduced me to Gwen Stefani and No Doubt with the goal of having me produce the first album before he signed the aforementioned Sidewalk Gallery), jointly managed me in the early 2000’s. Nicklas Sample brought me in to cowrite and produce Monroe, Alison Sudol’s predecessor to A Fine Frenzy, and he later toured the world with his father.  Coincidentally, I happen to love the song “Chain Reaction”, which was written by Joe Sample.

Connections are the currency of opportunity.

While none of this may seem earth shattering, the truth is that connections are the currency of opportunity.  If folks don’t become aware of you, they won’t have the chance to witness your talents.  There’s a good chance that none of these events would have happened if I wasn’t in the right place at the right time.  You never know when an ordinary everyday moment might become pivotal, so I guess it’s important to be in the right place enough times to get lucky.

As a postscript, I will share another moment of beauty that arose from that business-as-usual meeting in ’93 with Jan. Around 2002, shortly after the release of Transit, A.J. and I were dining at his mother’s restaurant, Croce’s, in the historic gaslight district of San Diego. We shared our table with Waylon Jennings and his ex-wife, but steadfast companion, Jessi Colter. Waylon told us all the reasons that he loved Transit, that he thought we made an excellent team, and that he would like us to produce his next album. His words resonated with us. We were blown away.

That alone would have made the evening memorable, but the true beauty was in what happened next. Sure, the thumbs-up from the big guy was a nice pat on the back and it had the potential to put some more dollars into my bank account, but the real reward was witnessing a moment of tenderness that would remain with me for the rest of my life.

Waylon had a habit of calling everyone “Hoss”, presumably inspired by Dan Blocker’s character from the old school TV Western show, Bonanza. On the surface it was both amusing and pretty cool because, if you think about it, Hoss was a great wingman, exactly the type of person you could count on if you needed some mojo on the Ponderosa. To me, it was a term of endearment, but when Waylon slipped up and called Jessi “Hoss”, she sternly replied, “Hey! I’m not Hoss, I’m your wife!” She then smiled, kissed him, and cut his food into smaller, more manageable pieces.

Jessi was a force of nature in her own right, but there she was, regal and elegant in her role as caretaker for the legendary but feeble country music Outlaw, who unbeknownst to the rest of us, would die shortly thereafter. She was a country music star, but her higher purpose, her servitude, is what resonated with me.

Sometimes these seemingly ordinary, mundane moments ultimately prove to be pivotal, and can set in motion a chain reaction that can change your life. In spending just a couple hours with Waylon and Jessi, I got a glimpse into the true meaning of life. It all comes down to the connections we make and the bonds we forge with our loved ones. At the end of the day, the importance of your trophy case pales in comparison to the importance of love. All the money in the world cannot buy you another minute when your time is up, but love can make a single moment feel like an eternity.