Tag Archives: Matt Perry

Usual Rubbish

Stages in the ascent (or descent) of Big Green

Get Music Here

You know, when I was a boy, my pappy said to me …. what’s that? How the hell did you know that? Oh, right. He’s your pappy, too. Easy to forget little details like that when you get to be MY age. Get off my lawn!

Yikes, well … welcome to geezerville … I mean, the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, our adopted squat house. It is, after all, just a rest stop in the long journey that is our story. Not exactly the best appointed rest stop on the Thruway, mind you – there’s no Cinnabon, no Chick Fillet. There’s no 1960s style automat where you can grab a soggy hours-old tuna sandwich if you’re in a hurry. But I digress.

Phase one: the first phase

Sure, we go way back. Big Green’s founding was a scattershot affair, spread over several decades. We count our age in geologic time, as our official story will attest, but as far as start dates are concerned, we’re probably talking 1979. That’s the first year Matt and I played in a band together. Sure, we sucked, but give us a chance! We had only just grown our guitar hands, our pump organ feet, our harmonica teeth. (Ever seen harmonica teeth? Trick question – most harp players don’t have teeth.)

I mean, if you want a more compelling genesis story, look elsewhere. (Genesis, perhaps.) The fact is, we picked up our cheap guitars, went to some cheap venues, and started playing our cheap repertoire. Matt and I did some duo gigs, but we mostly played as a four-piece, with our first drummer Mark K (no last name – YOU know who you are!) and our first lead guitarist, Tim Walsh. So there was pounding and there was twanging, but no screeching quite yet. Big Green was still in the protozoan stage.

Phase two: the one that came after one

As was my habit, I took a year off, this time in New Paltz, NY, living in the worst dorm on campus at the SUNY college there. Across the hall from me lived our soon-to-be second drummer, Phil Ross, who’s still playing gigs, last I heard. Phil and I used to sit in his room and listen to his truly impressive LP collection – lots of old Dylan sides, Phil Ochs, etc., and some new stuff by this Elvis Costello dude. Phil and I shared an apartment for a semester, then a house outside of Albany, NY, along with my other bandmates, Matt and Tim, and my partner at the time, Ellen.

Phases of Big Green
Phases two, three, and three and a half of Big Green

So, the nameless band that one might call proto-Big Green went under a variety of monikers, from Slapstick to Mearth to Duck and Cover. We played some gigs around Albany, did some recording, then kind of ran out of gas as a band. That’s when Matt dug into writing in a big way. (Fun fact: his song Sweet Treason is partly about our year in Castleton-On-Hudson. See if you can guess which part!)

Phase three: a name and a phase

What came after that? Well, Tim and Phil went off to do other stuff, and Matt and I teamed up with Ned Danison (author of A Name and A Face) and a bunch of random drummers – and eventually John White, our forever drummer – to put together the band that would be called Big Green. So it was musical drummers for a while, then musical guitarists for a longer while, but ultimately we landed in an abandoned hammer mill and started telling you this long, shaggy-dog story of failure and hardship.

You know the rest. Five or six more phases, and we’re here. Any questions?

Usual Rubbish

Eric the Half a Song. Sing it with me!

Get Music Here

Should we do another Big Green album? I don’t know … why not? Have you got any songs? Oh, good. I’ve got some, too. How many do you have? Sixty? That’s pretty good. I’ve got half. No, not half of sixty …. half of one. Song.

Well, one of us came prepared. In the past, that was what made the difference – that one person who was ready for anything. Every great band has someone who’s ready to lead, even when the going gets tough. Even shit-bum bands like us have their point person. You know – that guy who gets you up in the morning for rehearsal on a Saturday after a three-day bender. Yeah, we got rid of that jerk-ass. Who needs him?

Holding up standards

Now, I know Big Green has what may be termed a reputation. Some say we hold ourselves to a very low standard of behavior. Others say that we’re a bunch of lazy vagabonds whose only virtue is that of anonymity and ignominious failure. To this last criticism I can only say, that is not one virtue … it is clearly two. Before you condemn, my friend, learn to count. It is not hard, and it will pay you dividends long into the future.

That’s a roundabout way of saying that we don’t do stuff right. It’s hard to maintain a standard when you even maintain your abandoned hammer mill. If our standard as a band is to put out an album every five, ten, sometimes thirteen years, we should be able to meet it. That at least gives us a little time to compose, to rehearse, to record, to take five years off for an extended nature walk, and so on. But even this is becoming too high a bar to clear.

Birdman strikes again

We have about as many strikes against us as any band ever thought of having. For one thing, we’re old. I’m pushing a thousand, I’m pretty sure. We also have broken down equipment and a total lack of recording skills beyond just the basics. (“Record” button is red. Got it!) And our personnel is constantly changing. Sometimes antimatter Lincoln has to sit in on guitar, and we occasionally rope Marvin (my personal robot assistant) into banging on those drums.

How many songs you got, Joe? Hey, back off, man.

The one strike we don’t have against us is material. Got lots of tunes, thanks to my illustrious brother Matt, a.k.a. bird man, a.k.a. the songwriting machine of the great north country. Since the last recordings we did for Ned Trek (mostly Matt’s songs) three years ago, he has written by his own count about fifty or sixty more. I think that might be enough for an album. The man is prolific. I’m pretty sure he wrote three or four songs in the time it took me to type that.

Some people think the hardest part of making an album is thinking of the name. Common misconception. The hardest part for us is deciding which of Matt’s 47 songs we should leave off the album. And THEN having to name it.

Holding up my end

But what the hell am I doing, standing here and yakking? I should be writing songs, damn it. If I start now, I might have thirty or forty in the hopper by … I don’t know … the year 2525. Hey … that’s an idea for a song! In the year 2525 …

Usual Rubbish

Jamming along with the little screen box

Get Music Here

Well now, I can’t hear you. Can you hear me? Say again. Once more. Nope, no … bad luck. Plunk your guitar a couple of times. I said … oh, damn it, just pick up your phone and call me. Cheese and crackers!

Now, I know there are a lot of musicians out there who are more conversant with technology than we are here in Big Green. True, we were relatively early adopters of the internets and mp3 music files. But frankly we’ve been standing still since, oh, I don’t know … the early 2000s or so. And while our friends in other bands have been connecting from across the continent using all manner of web-based gizmo, we’ve been sitting in adjacent rooms with two paper cups and a string.

Well, my friends, that’s about to change. I don’t know whether the change will be better or worse, but whatever happens, no more cups, no more strings.

Serious upgrade … seriously

Now, before you use a new technology to perform or record, you want to make sure it works, right? Sure you do. Think of all the times we ran off half cocked with some new piece of gear, only to learn much later how foolish we had been. You know how it is. The gizmo arrives in a big cardboard box hauled in by the UPS guy. You pull the box open, plug it in, and watch the pretty lights flash on and off. All is well until you try to insert some sounds into it. That’s when the wheels come off. (Did I mention there were wheels?)

I’m thinking of back when we bought that Roland VS-2480 deck with the landau roof and a belt in the back. We plugged a bunch of wires into it and spun it around a couple of times, but it was no good. The batter had only barely begun to set, and the top didn’t look nearly brown enough. Marvin (my personal robot assistant) had already whipped up the icing, and here we were, cake still in the oven, not even close to …. Oh, wait. I’ve mixed up that Roland deck with our new convection oven. My apologies.

Dude, I can't hear anything.

Matt on the horn (or Matt-o-horn)

Anyhow, we decided that in this time of social distancing it would be a good idea to try out one of these remote jamming platforms. Matt and I installed JamKazam on our computer things, hooked up some mics, and went to town. (I mean, we literally went to town to pick up some stuff.) He was in one building, I in another, and yet somehow we magically linked up so that we could hear each other swearing at our crappy internet connections.

It wasn’t all bad. Matt taught me a couple of his new songs, which I promptly forgot. We couldn’t record anything, because we’re using the free account, but when we stop being cheapskates at some point, we might just be able to do that as well. Live performances? Perhaps. Stranger things have happened, certainly. Oh the possibilities.

There’s a place …

Now, I know what you’re thinking. Something like: “Why the hell don’t we just play in the same room?” Good question, disembodied or even non-existent reader. You know what Alexander Graham Bell said: Never do something simple when you can invent something complicated. (Okay, he never said anything remotely like that. I’m just trying to add a little gravitas here – let it pass, let it pass!)