|
"WHAT IF?"
GINZBURG'S GAB # 14
I want to tell you all about an individual who passed almost 2 years ago to this day.
His name was Frederick Geobold
and he was a radio host on 50,000 watt WBAI-FM (Pacifica Radio) in NYC (99.5).
He was my radio mentor, and more importantly, my beloved friend.
Over the years Fred never cared if the singers/songwriters/bands
he featured were famous/unknown/on a major label or even unsigned. This was almost unheard of in the mid-afternoon New York
market.
He certainly never cared about an artist's race or even the genre of music. In fact, we booked every possible
musical style.
As his co-host, I saw incredibly brilliant artists walk in and out of our studio to perform live, and
many had far more talent than others whose careers ascended to greater heights.
But, frankly, there was quite often something within themselves that held them back and
ultimately defeated them.
There was the night, for example, when one singer was so high that she forgot the name
of each and every band member. And later in the show she forgot them once again. This very same artist- a BRILLIANT singer-
told me she once had a major producer behind her, but was so stressed that the night before her recording session
she was up all night doing coke. Sadly, she was too messed up at the session to do what she was capable
of doing, and they ultimately passed on her.
Then there were the ones who compromised their art- trying for that "commercial sound" rather then their own. Inevitably
they failed by going the generic route.
But others compromised in different ways. Some took that 9 to 5
(and relentlessly chased that overtime) in jobs they hated. Simply put, there was nothing left in the gas tank- they didn't have
the strength left over to follow their muse. "Are you performing?" I'd ask them. "No, I'm too burnt," they'd admit. Hey, everyone
has to pay their bills- I certainly understand that. But maybe a few hours of overtime can be passed up. That's a choice,
too.
Then there were the ones who couldn't handle the business end at all and didn't bother to learn from their mistakes.
Egos often come into play as well; I witnessed great bands tragically disintegrate, and some artists couldn't handle even
the most heartfelt constructive criticism.
So my point is, take control of your own life. Like Bob Davis always says, PUT YOUR FATE IN YOUR OWN HANDS. Because sadly,
there are very few Fred Geobold's in the world who will champion you and ask nothing in return. And, frankly, it's
not about race or anyone giving or owing you anything; blaming an admitedly unfair "system" just isn't
going to do a thing for you either.
Hey, I don't know him well, but I'm pretty sure Bob Davis built Soul-Patrol from the ground up and if he can succeed
on this level by doing something he loves and believes in, why can't you? And talk to singer Carlton J. Smith about having
to leave the country to perform for long months at a time. You see, singing is what makes him feel truly alive, and he's
doing just what he was meant to do right here on Earth- even if it's on the other side of the planet.
It's all about having a vision, looking inside yourself, and following your dreams until you "make it."
And if this is coming across as too "New Age" or simplistic, I've spoken to major artists, directors, and producers in
a variety of the arts. Inevitably they tell me the same things:
"I knew what I wanted."
"I paid my dues."
"I wouldn't take no for an answer."
They rolled the dice, took big chances, and never gave up.
And I've certainly tried to learn from them. Because,
hey, the saddest thing in life is to one day look back and say, "What if?"
Evan Ginzburg
Host- Legends Radio
GINZBURG'S GAB # 13
ON CHOICES
With so much talk about Imus, race, rap music, and such going on this week, I thought that as an educator and
someone involved in the arts, I might chime in.
A good buddy of mine is a top rap director, working with many of the biggest names in the industry. When I asked why
the images/language is so often incredibly negative, he straight out told me that the orders come down from the record companies.
If they're throwing down big money to shoot, then there's most definitely going to be plenty of scantilly clad women, souped
up cars, and "bling." You know, that "same" video we keep seeing over and over.
But then again, I doubt I'm telling you anything you don't already know...
So, sure, you can blame the bombardment of negative messages going out to our nation's youth on the fat cat record
execs. But artists must take responsibility as well. As must BET and MTV and VIBE and any other media giant who state that
it's about "freedom of expression/freedom of speech" when we know it's about the almighty dollar. Hell, is anything good going
to come of a picture of Lil Wayne (in the latest issue of VIBE) sitting in a chair, dripping in jewelry, with his drawers
hanging out, with a damn GUN in his lap? It was in a piece called "V Icons" no less. Just what is the
youth of America supposed to make of this? Have we come from Curtis Mayfield and Smokey Robinson and Marvin Gaye to THIS?
Please understand, I'm not one to endorse censorship of any kind, but how about positive choices? How about substituting
the gun-toting Lil Wayne picture with a piece on someone like pro football and wrestling legend/humanitarian Ernie
"Big Cat' Ladd who just passed? Someone who truly contributed to society and was an inspiration to many? And whom the
vast amount of younger kids probably never heard of and could learn from? Choices...these are choices...
Recently I had both Grandmaster Mele Mel and Paradise on my radio show. Both spoke of sending out positive messages
in their music that's intended to enlighten listeners. That's another choice. And one we should applaud and support.
They may not sell as many CDs as the latest gangsta rapper, but they know that they are, in fact, role models and that their
words MATTER. And INFLUENCE. And unlike the latest gangsta rapper who pulls up to his house in the 'burbs after that video
shoot, they choose their words well...
Evan Ginzburg
Legends Radio
www.evanginzburg.com
GINZBURG’S GAB # 12
THE REAL BIG CHILL
A childhood buddy died the other day.
He was all of 48.
Having moved from the tough streets of East Flatbush Brooklyn to the very new
world of suburban Bayside, Queens
in 1974, I was a then fourteen year old struggling to adapt to my surroundings like a fish out of water.
And Marc Rubin
was one of the first teens to welcome me and help break me out of my shell.
A tall, white, beefy, Jewish kid with glasses and an Afro, he was a happy enough
fellow in spite of a heart problem that had recently been discovered. Always cracking jokes, he’d sometimes laugh at
his own, even ‘till he cried.
One of the most intelligent people I’d ever met, he was a voracious reader,
but quite the character as well.
I couldn’t help but like him.
Welcoming me in his home in the apartment building directly across from my
own, we’d play games for hours. Thanks to Marc, I no longer felt like a stranger in a strange land.
And when my cab driver Dad was stricken with cancer a few years later, we had
no money coming into the house. Reduced to selling furniture and anything not nailed down as Dad lay there dying, Marc was
once again there for me; he sold some of my sports memorabilia for a desperately needed quick influx of cash. While many
of my parents’ friends abandoned us in our time of need, Marc even refused to take a commission on the sale.
He was, as they say in Yiddish, a mensch (man).
As young adults we stayed good friends, but eventually he soured on selling
rare coins and moved to Vegas to work as a card dealer at a casino. It seemed to me at the time very brave, as he left everything
and everyone he knew here on the East Coast. I was truly saddened at his leaving and we spoke fairly regularly afterwards.
Visiting him on a four day vacation in the early ‘90s, he graciously
put me up in his modest apartment, and although he worked three of the four nights I was there, I was nonetheless grateful
for his hospitality.
Returning back home to my own life as both an Adult ESL teacher, radio DJ,
and struggling writer, things got busy and I didn’t call for quite a while, although I probably should have.
No, I definitely should have, because in Marc Rubin I had a true friend,
The next time I phoned him there was a chilly vibe on the other side of line.
And it felt the same the next few times I called after that.
Rationalizing that the friendship had been irrevocably damaged and that we
were 3,000 miles apart and leading our own lives anyway, I just let it slip away.
Ironically, I was reading a wonderful short story called The Letter with one of my classes yesterday morning, mere hours before I found out the news about Marc. In the
story a heartsick cab driver bemoans the fact that he didn’t stay in touch with an old friend who had just passed. The
cabbie held a letter in his hand that he had intended to mail to his late pal, but that he’d never gotten around to
sending.
“What’s the main idea of the story?” I asked the two dozen
or so Asian seniors who clearly related to what we had just read.
“Keep in touch with your friends” several responded with emotion
in their voices.
I only wish I had.
GINZBURG'S GAB # 11
HEY, MAYBE I'M POOR...
I'm going to be 47 years old this Friday.
Maybe that's not old, but it's old enough to take into account what you've done with your life and where you
want to go the rest of it.
But when I read in one of the local papers the other day about "affordable middle class housing" coming to
Long Island City, Queens, I was taken aback.
At $1200-$2500 a month, the rental apartments would be for middle class residents earning $60,000-$150,000
a year.
Hell, as a part-time teacher, writer, talent agent, and jack of all offbeat trades, I've never once broken 60K
a year.
And I don't clear $2500 a month, let alone have it for rent.
Now, I never thought of myself as a failure. Because if you measure my life in f-u-n, I'm pretty darn
rich. And being involved in Adult Education, the arts in general, and even the insane sport of pro wrestling, I can say
that each and every day is different and creative.
But it just never hit me that I was a flop in the dollars department.
So what exactly am I? Lower middle-class? Or maybe even on some statistical level- gasp- poor?
Now oddly enough, I've never once felt poor. Am I as poor as my buddies with the far bigger incomes,
nice suburban houses, and horrible marriages?
Or am I as poor as the friends who shlep themselves to work every day, dreading
what awaits them at their 9 to 5?
Or am I even as poor as the Wall Street broker with the average salary of $290,000 a year?
You see, a retired stock broker in my building told me that he's seen several guys drop dead right there on
the floor of the market. Meanwhile, colleagues continued their frantic bidding as they carted the body out.
Lovely.
So I may not be middle-class or destined for that nice LIC apartment on the river overlooking Manhattan. But
I chose this path and it's been quite a ride. And when the smoke clears, I'll still somehow pay my bills, and have a damn
good time earning the money to do it.
So enjoy that new apartment, my middle class friends. Just make sure the price you pay isn't your health,
happiness, and peace of mind.
ON GET UP AND GO
GINZBURG'S GAB # 10
In regard to the Archie Bell show, Bob Davis of Soul-Patrol.com stated, "BOTTOM
LINE: If it was important to them, then they would have been there...."
Bravo.
There's really no excuse short of an extreme weather condition (i.e.
major snowstorm) or illness not to get to shows by people like Archie Bell, Candi Staton, and Billy Paul who are not
only great, but appear less frequently than we'd like.
Yes, we live in a society where people generally work too hard and
too long at jobs that pay too little. In fact, a newspaper poll years ago said that 84% of Americans hate their jobs.
That is a sad statistic indeed. But that shouldn't kill our "get up and go." Or beat us down to where we walk zombie
like through life and spend virtually every evening staring at the idiot box or at a computer screen.
I commute 3 hours a day total to teach adults English. At age 46 I
am physically exhausted by Friday. But I can damn sure guarantee that when there's a legendary artist that I want
to see, that I will somehow summon up the strength to get there. By the way, I don't own a car, so I generally take buses
and trains to get to these gigs.
Sometimes I'll even bring my 73 year old Mom who lives over in the
next town. She isn't in the greatest of health, but music is so very important to her as well. As a young woman
she'd go see Billie Holliday, Bud Powell, Slim Gaillard, Tito Puente, Lionel Hampton, and many, many others. She
taught me to love music and for that I am forever in her debt. In spite of never having much money, she
also showed me the importance of going out and supporting it, bringing me to see people like Nancy Wilson, Mel Torme,
Ella Fitzgerald, Count Basie, Gerry Mulligan, Carmen McCrae, Sarah Vaughn and others at a tender age.
Quite recently, one of my dearest friends died at age 33 as did
my beloved pet the very same weekend. I was just devastated. But seeing artists like The Spinners, Al Green, Candi Staton,
Archie Bell, The Radiators, Bill Paul, Liza Minelli, Eddie Floyd and Percy Sledge and others this summer most certainly
helped to lift my spirits. Music is a healing force. It is not a hobby for me, but a way of life.
And the simple fact is, that seeing artists of this stature should
be a priority. It makes your life "better," and frankly, you don't know when or even if they'll be back your way again.
Make the effort, folks. Please make that effort. You certainly won't
regret it.
| The Late, great Shmoop Ginzburg 1999-2006 |
|
|
| Ginzburg's Gab #9- Back from a Dark Place |
It's been like waking up out of a bad dream...
After 7 years of perfect health, my beloved pet rabbit suddenly became sick, hospitalized, and died.
The $2,500 vet bill and some unpleasant treatment by said institution didn't help matters much either.
Yes, $2,500. It's great for middle-class folk to scrimp and try to save and then get punched between the eyes with something
like this.
Far worse, I got the news 3 days later that one of my dearest friends had passed away at the age of 33 (see Tiger
Khan Memorial Page on this site).
I didn't know it was possible to cry for a week straight.
So being an educator on summer vacation, I sort of woke up mid-July to realize that in spite of the pain, you need to
continue. I started to go out again.
As I watched trumpet great Fred Wesley (formerly of James Brown and P-Funk) at Iridium, it dawned on me that I wasn't
exactly absorbing what I was listening to. In fact, I was barely hearing what was coming from that stage. My late friend kept
swirling around in my head and what I could have, should have said and done for this troubled young man while he was still
around. The same stuff that had been tormenting me since the day I heard of his passing...
But then, Fred did Pass the Peas, one of his funky numbers and it was like my bunny when her ears perked up.
I miraculously heard it. And even enjoyed it.
Imagine that.
And when my buddy Scott the dentist threw me a ticket to The Producers on Broadway, I wondered, "Could I laugh
again? Could I possibly enjoy something so soon after all this?"
And I did. In spots, anyway.
But it was at the Al Green show at Seagate Park Brooklyn last Thursday that it really happened. Al came
out and the first two numbers his voice just wasn't there. And I thought, "Man, even Al isn't what he was," and I went into
melancholy mode as he's my all-time favorite live performer. But by the third number he had warmed up. And for over an hour
after that, he put on one of the greatest performances one could ever hope to see.
Not only had I enjoyed it, I had loved it, been thrilled by it, was grateful to be there, and grateful to be alive.
Yes, you lose money, you lose pets, you lose loved ones, and life is filled with pain that sometimes seems insurmountable.
But there's a helluva lot of joy if you just open yourself up to it.
And after one of the worst months of my life, I'm back.
|
