My Complex Relationship With Music

 We've had a very complicated relationship, me and music. So this is going to be a long and complicated story. 

I'll start off with the obvious: I love music. My life is richer and better because I picked up a bass guitar and learned to play it way back in 1975. It still brings me great joy to this day to pick up a guitar and strum a few chords. That will never change. 

The complications come from the classic argument: art vs. commerce. Which is it?

When I started with my cousin, Dom Albanese, in the mid-70s, it was all about songwriting. We had a blue scholastic notebook filled with song lyrics (he still has it), and that was our sole focus. 

Because you can really play out without, ya know, playing an instrument (duh), Dom insisted I learn one. The bass seemed to be the easiest obvious path to playing in a band, so I spent $50 on a no-name, "bent-neck bass," as my Uncle Ming called it, and off I went to learn. 

I took a few lessons with Jack Deal at Audubon School of Music, and then spent a lot of time doing my best to learn the damned thing for real. 

We learned a bunch of songs together, just me and him, and we played our first "real" gig in the Fall of 1976 at a frat party at LaSalle College. 

We were so nervous that we spent the pre-gig moments in the john there! I can remember playing Go Your Own Way, Poor Poor Pitiful Me, and Palisades Park, and I have no memory of the rest, other than to note that I can't remember playing any original songs. 

After that, we spent the winter of '76 and the early-to-middle parts of '77 trying to find a third band member, never an easy task. 

We finally did settle on Chris Rutecki (rest well, old friend), and we called ourselves Alba-Freeze, possibly one of the worst bands names in history, and there have been a LOT of those!

Our very first gig was at The Pine Hill Tavern on Halloween. Lots of our friends came, and it was a success. Again, I do not remember us playing any original music, though we might have, I guess. 

Chris had a relative who held a position at The Broadway Theatre in Pitman. They were just starting to get back into live music after years of existing as a movie theater, and they needed an opening act for their very first headliner, Donna Fargo.

We got the gig after adding a drummer (can't remember his name) and lead guitarist (Pat Byrne). It was Thanksgiving Weekend of 1977.

So we were the VERY first band to appear on the stage of that venerable theater in their very first live music show in some 40-50 years, which is a pretty neat distinction. 

I can't remember very much of what we played in our short set. Certainty The Beatles' "I've Just Seen A Face" was one, and I have a feeling "Daisy Jane" by America was another. Still no originals that I can recall.

As an aside, Donna Fargo was a sweetheart, and was very nice to us despite the fact that we were likely in way over our heads at that early stage of our musical lives. He band was also very cool, inviting us back to their Gloucester City hotel to hang with them (we stupidly declined).

So what happens? Why, the band immediately breaks up, of course. "You can't keep a band together! Bands come and go!" Thank you, Del Paxton from "That Thing You Do."

I can't remember the specific reasons. I'm sure egos and logistics were involved. But I never played with Chris, Pat, or the drummer again. 

Dom and me were like brothers, and we pressed on with the writing, and began an insane scheme to play a "concert" at our school, Glassboro State College. 

We were nuts.

So we gathered together a bunch of musicians we knew, including Michael DiDomenico (RIP), Joanie DiDomenico (RIP, backing vocals), Linda Ristan (backing vocals), our other cousin Paul Presto, Sr. (keyboards), Lou Valardo (sax) and Mario Flamini (drums) and began rehearsing our original music at the college in one of the rehearsal rooms at the Wilson Center.

There WAS a raw recording of one of these sessions, but I have no clue if a copy still exists. 

We went ahead and began promoting the gig. We posted flyers. We went on the radio. We talked to people. We went crazy doing this stuff. 

And guess what? The night of the concert came, guessing it was late winter or spring of '78, March, and the place was PACKED.

Unfortunately, there were a couple of major problems: 1) the sound system was god-awful; 2) the sound engineer, a nice guy and friend named John Butterworth, might have been over his head; and 3) WE were absolutely over OUR heads, still lacking the great songs and performing experience to maximize this big opportunity. 

The show was lackluster at best, though it had it moments, and it was a one-and-done for us. 

But out of it came a new band with Joanie, Michael, me and Dom. We started learning pop material and looking for work. 

After months of rehearsal, we somehow landed a summer gig, four nights per week, at the Whitebrier Hotel in Avalon, NJ fire the summer of '78.

So we rented a little A frame house in Mays Landing for the summer, right across the street from Joanie and Michael's place to make the commute easier. And we got ready for Avalon.

The Whitebrier was great. Slightly upscale, but not enough where there wasn't good Jersey Shore fun to be had. 

There was a duo who played the earlier sets before we want on. They were called Frank & Linda Jay. Nice folks. 

We were playing an the popular songs of the day, plus a special Motown Medley that REALLY went over well there. I think we were one of the first bands in the area to really mine that well. 

We went back-and-forth about the name of the band, and had reluctantly agreed upon "Swingtown" after the current Steve Miller Band hit of the same name.

Well, when Frank Jay introduced us for the very first time at the hotel, he called us "The Swingtowners!"

It was so jive sounding that Joanie on-the-spot changed our name to Another Star, one of the other names we had considered. And that's what we became due eternity.

It was a fun summer. We were young, resilient, liked each other, were n love with music, and very popular on the island. 

Although we played zero original music in this band, Dom and me continued to write and record music at Ed Candelora's studio in Glassboro, NJ. 

During this two-year period with Another Star, we wrote some cool and interesting songs such as "Let Me Walk You Home," "My Love Is Real," "Let It Be Me," "701," and "I Don't Know Why." It was the very beginning of the whole New Wave thing, and looking back, we were right on top of the curve with this material. 

"Let Me Walk You Home" in particular could have been an early Madness tune. Should have been an FM hit, but nobody knew who we were nor cared, and we did not have an actual band anyway. So it all went for naught.

Now, by this time, it should be noted that I was already a married man, and as of June 17, 1978, would have a child, the beautiful Nicole Renee Frese. So for the winter of 1978-79, I took a year off from full-time college (took a few night classes) and got a very low-paying and difficult job at Albert E. Price Industries in Bellmawr, NJ.

Obviously, my priorities HAD to shift to making a living. 

I worked like a dog for that year, looking forward to another summer at the shore playing music. 

The Foreman at Albert E. Price was a big, tough guy named Joe, and he kindly agreed to lay me off in June, knowing I wanted to return to college full-time the following Fall and complete my degree. 

We played one more summer in Avalon in 1979. I lived in Wildwood that summer, collected unemployment illegally, and really had a pretty chill experience. 

It was at this time that I sold the Hofner bass and bought a new black Rickenbacker 4001 bass for $400. I was still not very good on the instrument, but I was at least improving. 

Things did not go quite as well at The Whitebrier this summer. We did a Sgt. Pepper Show with costumes and everything, but it did not in any way equal the response to the Motown thing from the prior summer. Things were changing, and the handwriting was on the wall yet again. 

I went back to school full time in '79-'80, still illegally collecting unemployment while attending school, and still playing some gigs with the band, which was fading rapidly.

I proudly got my BA in May 1980, graduating Cum Laude from GSC. But I had come to the musical crossroads.

Dom and me started a new four-piece band called Secret Service that winter with Brett Robinson on keyboards and Drew Hoffman on drums. Again, no originals, just pop covers. We somehow managed to get booked for a New Years' Eve show at the Echelon Tavern. This was likely 1980 going into 1981, I think. 

This became the first-ever gig in the career of a Jersey Shore legendary band, Secret Service, one that I would eventually not be a part of.

I believe SIX people showed up for our debut show, and this INCLUDED our wives and girlfriends. Yes, SIX. It was an epic disaster. It was the beginning and the end. 

At this point, Dom had dropped out of college and wanted to continue on to a career in music. Being a married man with a college degree, I saw no path for me to do the same. 

So I got ba "real" job, at first working at the Sewell Post Office. Dom and me played as a duo for a time, most notably at the Silver Lake Inn and one New Years' Eve gig at the Holly Inn in Pitman. But it was short-lived.

Dom departs the story at this time. He went on to join with Craig Phillips and continue Secret Service as a duo. They scuffled for maybe a year or so, but then landed a gig at The Shamrock Cafe in Wildwood and took off on a profitable 40+ year run as Jersey Shore icons. Still going strong to this very day. 

Let me be clear: this would have never happened with me on board. I was simply not cut out for that life, and I would have been miserable in it. Dom and Craig were on the same page, they knew what they were doing and what they wanted, and they made it happen. I have ZERO regrets in choosing a different path, one that was on my terms. 

So now what? With Brett Robinson and Mario Flamini, we joined a wedding band that was the house band at Shannon Caterers in Berlin, NJ. Those two can really play, but the band as a whole was a bit shaky, and lasted maybe a year or so. 

Then the three of us formed a little trio thing and kinda became the house band at the Silver Lake Inn for a while. We sounded good, but it was one boring-arse gig. We were basically playing to an empty room most of time, doing ballads. Mario once actually fell asleep in mid-song, and I woke him up by tapping him with the head stock of my black Rickenbacker 4001 bass. Yes, really. 

But it was a money nonetheless, and it helped me live. 

The trio went on for a year or so, until I guess we couldn't take it any longer. Brett Robinson departs from the story at this time; Mario went off with a metal band called Ivory Tower, but I never fully lost touch with him, and he would reappear down the road a bit. 

I wandered aimlessly for a few years at this point. I played some shows with Cousin Presto Sr., tried out for some other bands, filled in with a few (including a memorable show in Folsom, PA during which we played for an old stripper named "Chessy Colt & Her 45s;" the keyboard guy had played in a movie theaters for silent films; Don Tolefson was there with his hot girlfriend). 

But nothing really took.

In about 1982 or 1983, I joined a band doing original music and met Bob Leonetti, who along with guitarist Bob Weinland, were the writers. The songs were good, but the band was lacking a real direction. We rehearsed in the grungy basement of the Audubon Park Municipal Building, which was conveniently a one-minute walk from my front door. 

We rehearsed a LOT, but got only a single gig, playing for free at The Galaxy in Somerdale, just one set. This show was memorable because a) we were doing pop soul in a heavy metal room, which did NOT go over well; and b) the band Cinderella, still not famous, was upstairs rehearsing WHILE we did our set, and they were probably louder than we were.

I tore my parachute pants that night, and the band faded into the ether not long after. But I did stay in touch with both Bobs.

In 1984, a seminal development: Presto Sr. had been playing on a casino boat in LBI that took gamblers to Trump Castle in Atlantic City, and he needed help because it was becoming too much for he and his partner, Jackie Vee, to cover. Those two were working seven nights and two afternoons at the Surf City Hotel, plus five days on the boat. They were nuts!

So he recruited his son, Presto Jr., who I barely knew at this point, and me to cover assume of the dates. He taught us both his shtick, which involved a lot of old sing-along stuff. We added some Motown and other stuff and brought a little of ourselves into it, and off we went. 

At this point, I had barely ever spoken into a microphone. Presto Jr. hadn't either. I was shy and scared, and here both of us were thrown to the wolves as basically co-front men!

A weird thing happened: we got really good at it. We plied this trade for four years, working out asses off. Presto Jr. REALLY worked hard, sometimes doing seven days a week in the boat and making really good money.  I was doing as many as five days per week, this while still working a full-time job in Philly.

It was a grind for both of us. I brought Bob Leonetti into it for a few shows; Paulie brought a high school friend named Bill Hornibrook, a guitarist, into the family. 

We had to have sounded pretty awful on the boat, with Paulie playing a bent VKO-9 keyboard, me on a Hofner bass, through a Shure Vocalmaster PA that had seen better days and was rusted badly from the salt air. 

There were good times and there were bad times. There was money made, and there was very pretty much zero creative outlet. We all longed for more musically, but we became close like brothers through the shared craziness of the gig. I got stories, but I'll save them for another tale.

As things were winding down on The Black Whale, Bob, Paulie and me decided to form a trio called The Big Chill. We were fans of the music from that movie, and we wanted to do something that sounded good and that we would enjoy. 

Our first gig was at a small dive bar in Northeast Philly. It was memorable because the PA head was behind us, literally in the unused kitchen sink. We went over very well, and began a journey that would continue to this very day. 

We played at a bunch of places, but got two "regular" gigs that would sustain us for a while. I've was at Tom Smylie's American Cafe in Northeast Philly; the other was at Josh & Molly's in Edgewater Park, NJ. 

The three of us jumped into Paulie's Ford Ranger just about every weekend and lit out for those places (and others) for a few years. 

There was a brief interruption when Paulie joined the decaying carcass of the band Money briefly, but fact is that they did not make any of their namesake. The band leader, Rob Margulies, nice guy, booked a gig in WEST VIRGINIA that paid them $60 each. 

That was enough for Presto, and he walked. 

Around this time, the idea of getting Bill Hornibrook as a regular member was agreed upon. We all loved Billy's playing and singing, and we thought b he'd add a rock edge to the soul music. We rehearsed a bit with him, changed the name of the band to Heart & Soul after thebrock/soul Huey Lewis song of the same name, and worked just about every weekend.

We were making about $75 per man in these days, playing for sets a night ending at 11 pm or midnight. The band was very good. We were doing songs no other bands were doing, and we were writing original music, recording it, and actually performing some of the stuff in the act. It was a nice mixture, and we were all really into it. 

We met some really nice fans on this journey, the McSweeney family prominent among them (along with a girl named Paula, another huge fan of ours).

Terry & Ginny would come see us all the time at Josh & Molly's, and we became fast friends with them and their daughters, who came in with them from time to time. They made the sometimes boring nights at the club much more enjoyable for us all. 

In a tremendous act of kismet, Billy would fall in love with their eldest daughter, Shannon, and bulid a family together and live happily every after. That alone kinda made the whole enterprise profitable!

We went along this way for a number of years, recording two eight-song projects (one on cassette, one on CD) before deciding we needed to start making more money. 

Profit over art. 

The theory was, why are we working four gigs to make $400 each when we could make that in ONE gig playing weddings? So we started trying to book weddings. We picked up a few, but it became clear to us that for guys with a drum machine wasn't going to cut it in that market. 

So the first order of business was a) get a drummer and b) find a girl singer. 

There was only ONE drummer on my mind, and that was Flamini. Fortunately, he was open to it, which has happened several times with me and him. Fate?

We held auditions for a lead singer, and settled upon a girl named Nancy Denton. She was an okay singer, and I think "settled" was the operative word at the time: we needed a female singer; she was that. Done. 

I'm not sure how long she lasted, but we never really got a ton of work, and whole thing just never felt 100% right. We decided to make a change, and while we were at it, Paulie felt we needed a horn player to step up in the market. 

We held auditions, hearing a bunch of girls. But we were all taken by the sweet voice of a young lady named Jamie Vitale. She had an innocent quality to her voice that no one else could match, particularly evident in her rendition of Bonnie Raitt's "Something to Talk About." When she sang "I'll Be There" with us, it was pure magic. 

She got the gig. 

Meanwhile, Paulie found a great sax player, Jason Shapiro. Jay is a jazz player, and he easily  jumped into the fold and was awesome from the very first gig. 

But Jamie was a little problematic, especially for Paulie. She was a bit too young and unseasoned unlike the rest of b us. She didn't drive, so Paulie had to get her and take her home before and after the gigs, and she really struggled to learn material on-the-fly, which was kinda important for a band that loathed rehearsal. 

Paulie wanted to replace her with a friend of his family named Stacey Goerdetzer. We agree to this to save his sanity, but I will admit that we did it somewhat reluctantly because we loved Jamie and her voice. 

But business is business. We took on Stacey with a promise from Paulie that she, too, would have to go if it didn't work out. 

Well, it didn't. 

Stacey had a very big voice, but she lacked the subtlety and control to handle the wide variety of material we needed to do. And to be perfectly frank, she was a large girl, and her appearance on stage did not help. That is not my opinion; simply a reality of what we were dealing with in the market. 

We used to do a lot of wedding showcases in those days, and when we started doing them with Stacey, her voice would crack on tough, gentle songs like "Because You Loved Me," and we did not book a single gig from any of the showcases we played. Simple fact. 

So the three of us, me, Bob and Billy agreed she had to go. This put poor Paulie in a very tough spot, being she and her parents were family friends. 

But her did what he had to do. 

Her mother had a major blowout with Paulie's mother during which she "ordered" Paulie to fire the three of us instead of her daughter, a ridiculous request. It was apparently an ugly scene, and the whole thing destroyed that friendship forever. Stacey's parents sadly both died before anything was ever patched up. It was a shame. 

But to be clear, this was purely a business decision on our part. Stacey was not capable of doing the job for several reasons; she was let go. Facts. No one wished her any ill will beyond that. Sometimes things just don't work out. 

Bob, Billy and me were now driving to the Black Tie Orchestra shows together, Paulie having married and moved to Lumberton. We would occasionally stop for a cocktail after the gigs to decompress, and of course, during this period there was much discussion about the lead singer. 

One night we stopped into Reggie's Bar in Blackwood, then basically a dive bar. On stage performing was a duo, a guitarist and female vocalist. 

I was immediately taken by her performance and vibe, and after talking with her for a few minutes, I instantly knew that Deb Chamberlin would be the perfect fit for the band. If I have ANY real talent, it's my ability to detect those types of things. 

I don't think Paulie loved her voice at first, but I know he loved her professionalism and ability to sing harmony on the fly. And so she entered the picture in this final chapter of Black Tie.

Also entering was Danny Colonna, a fabulous trumpet and trombone player who also for like a glove. 

And so the "classic lineup" of Black Tie Orchestra was now complete. 

Deb commuted to the gigs with the four of us, and we always had a fun time, often learning material together while driving to the gigs. Paulie had been traveling to the gigs with Mario, and that continued as well.

We mostly played in Delaware, as our agent, the wonderful Amy Leach, had lots of connections down there. 

Dupont Country Club. Brantwyn Mansion. Brandywine Country Club. Hercules Country Club. You name it, we played our. We advertised in Bridal Magazine during these years, a not-cheap (about $4k power ad!) proposition that got us some work. 

So with Deb on board, I would guess we were doing maybe 30 weddings per year at our peak.

We NEVER practiced. Well, let's say very minimally, maybe five times the entire time the band was together. If we had to learn any new songs for first dances and things like that, Paulie assigned a vocalist, charted the chords out for everyone, and we learned the tunes on our own and showed up and played them. 

It was awesome. 

When the wedding band started to really get regular work, Heart & Soul kinda faded away. We did a second CD of original music in the late 80s, but from then on, the focus was on making money, which was fine.

But it was business. As Flamini liked to say, "when the tux goes on, the fun stops." And that was pretty much true. 

We made good money during those days, a lot more than we would have made slogging through late-night club dates. It was less grueling, and the fact that we ALL liked each other and understood the assignment made it pretty easy. 

I'll pause here to tell one crazy story. 

One frigid January evening, me, Bob and Billy were driving home from a gig somewhere in Delaware. It had to have been before Deb joined the band because otherwise she would have been with us. So this puts us in the very late 1980s or early 1990s.

When approaching the almost deserted Commodore Barry Bridge sometime after midnight, we began to hear a clanking sound coming from somewhere at the front of the vehicle. 

We had no clue what it was, but decided to slow to a crawl and try to nurse Bob's Bronco II back home to safety. 

We didn't make it. 

Just after crossing the bridge, the left front tire ripped right off the car. We crashed to roadbed and came to an abrupt stop. The tire took off down a virtually deserted Route 322 and into the distance as we sat there stunned. 

Understand that this was a classic freezing cold, wind whipping, January night in Jersey in a fairly remote spot (at that time of the morning).

Lo and behold, a kind citizen had seen our tire bouncing down the highway, retrieved it, and kindly brought it back to us. The lug bolts were sheared completely off, and we would later learn that a local tire place had rotated Bob's tires despite the fact that the front and back drums on that particular vehicle do not match! 

So we were actually pretty lucky we were nor hurt and the vehicle was not damaged further. 

Bob called AAA and a wrecker eventually rescued us from the arctic conditions. 

But there was a problem: the wrecker only had room for one person up front. 

Hilariously, Bob got to ride with the driver and his partner while me and Billy had to suck it up and "enjoy" the trip to Bob's sitting up there on the flat bed in the disabled vehicle in the freezing cold. 

It has become quite the story and memory over the years, and now I've shared it with the world. A classic moment in my musical life. 

Where was I? Back to our timeline.

Black Tie powered into the new millennium running on fumes. Work was being harder and harder to come by, as the major music conglomerates like Eddie Bruce Orchestras and others began to merge and pool resources. They simply out-advertised us in the trades, and that $4k tab started to be problematic for us, as we just weren't making enough to offset it. 

We played at the (dear departed) Concordeville Inn on New Years' Eve 1999. It was the big blowout party everyone had been building up to, and we rocked it and had fun and made great money. 

And the work dried up like THAT.

 It seemed that the turn of the century signaled the death, or at least the chronic illness, of live music. Our bookings dwindled to a scant few, the ads became pointless and unaffordable, and by 2006, the band had run its course. 

I don't think there were a ton of regrets at that time. The music itself was changing, and we were old dogs who had no interest in learning new tricks. All things must pass, and our time as a wedding band was done. 

What now?

Around 2005-6, when I knew the wedding band was about to die, I had begun looking for something in the original music area. I had learned the mandolin a few years prior, and I wanted to build my skill set in that instrument. 

I hooked up with a guy named Jeff Selby and his Quixote Project. Selby wrote really nice "roots" music, and the mandolin and my backing vocal fit in will. 

The "band" was Selby on guitar, a nice guy named "H" (RIP) on bass, and a fellow named Jim Oakley on drums. The latter would factor heavily in our story going forward. 

It became obvious to me that we needed a lead guitarist to complete the puzzle, and I knew just the guy. I coerced Hornibrook to join us, and he did just that. 

We began to play regularly at La Campagnola Restaurant in Shamong. REALLY good food, and a nice place to play. We also had the chance to play a gig at The Tin Angel in Philly, which was a thrill for me given the many acts that had stood on that stage.

And though this project would prove to be short-lived fitter various reasons, it would lead me to other, bigger, better things. 

When we were auditioning musicians for Quiote Project, a female vocalist/guitarist came into the basement. I distinctly remember singing harmony with her on John Prine's "Angel From Montgomery," and my Spider Sense again was activated.

Though she did not join that band, there was something there and I knew it. This was Lynn King.

It was obvious this band was not gonna be a long-term deal for any of us. Selby was quite a bit younger than the rest of us, a bit head-strong, and the material, though very good, was not exactly conducive to a rocking party.

When we moved on, I immediately tracked down Lynn, and started rehearsing her original material, at first with me on mandolin and two of her friends on bass and drums.

It soon became obvious that lineup was shaky, and I again recruited Hornibrook to play lead guitar. The bass player left, and it was obvious that I was gonna have to transition back to that instrument if this was gonna work. So that's what I did. The first song we played together: "Love Alive" by Heart.

This would be significant later.

At this point, we were doing virtually all original material. And we had some fun shows. I remember playing in Manayunk, at a place in Audubon, NJ, some GREAT original music shows at Lynn's home in Glendora, and a big show at the Haddon Heights amphitheater. There is a great video on YouTube of us doing "Love Alive" at that show. Look it up. 

At this point, we were already plotting ways to grow the band's following. We decided to learn a bunch of cover material to build a clearing and weave the original material in to showcase it. 

As we went down this path, it became obvious that the drummer, a really nice guy, wasn't going to be able to keep up with us in learning the covers. Also, he did not sing. 

Re-enter Jim Oakley.

We added Oakley, branded the band as Love Alive, learned a bunch of cool material, and started to look for work. 

I believe Billy had some connection with a place called Carolina Blue in Pitman, NJ. He managed to convince them to hire us for some Sunday afternoon shows, usually 4-8 or 5-9 PM.

Things went very well there. We usually did two acoustic sets and two electric sets. We could all sing very well, and that format began to bear fruit. We developed a loyal following that began to grow. 

At this point, I felt like we needed to add another element to the band, and I had a feeling I knew who that was. 

Joe Lam had played with Mario in several original bands (Ivory Tower, Buff The Musket, Love Revolution) over the years. I had also seen him play bass many times with a disco band in the late 80s. GREAT rock singer, and also now a solid guitarist. 

I suggested to the guys that we add him to the band, and we did around 2008, I think. 

The combo of Joey and Lynn on lead vocals, with me, Billy, and Oakley on harmonies, was gold. Our devoted and wonderful following began to grow exponentially, and before long, Sundays at The Blue were packed and became a "happening."

The owners of The Blue also owned a bar in Pennsville called The Riverview, and we began to play there as well, and developed a big following down south, too.

These were fun days. 

In 2009, we recorded and released a CD of original material called "Love at 2nd Sight." We recorded it at Lynn's home on Mays Landing, and Billy did the engineering on his computer. It was a great project, lots of work for Billy, but the result was excellent, and I think the songs, mostly Lynn's, stand the test of time. Still sounds good today. 

I tried to put together a big concert that year in September at The Flying W in Medford, where I had a connection, an old friend named Frankie DeNinno who was managing the place. He took a chance in me. 

At the time, I was acquainted with The Refugees, a trio of seasoned pros (Wendy Waldman, Cindy Bullens, and Deborah Holland) and I managed to convince DeNinno to pay them to headline the show. I also asked Michael Tearson to MC, and he agreed. I got another local act to join the bill in the hopes that we'd be able to fill the place. 

It was a disaster. The weather murdered us. 

It poured from morning until night. The poor Refugees (living up to their moniker perhaps) had to drive many hundreds of miles to make the gig only to play before a meager crowd under a tent in the deluge. God bless them, they showed up and did their thing anyway. 

The Flying W lost money. We all survived, but I never tried anything on that scale again. The CD was the only major project we ever did together, which is a shame. 

But we continued on for a decade, blowing out The Riverview and The Blue most weekends from March through October. 

One of my favorite gigs was at The Bus Stop in Pitman. I had become enamored with Susan Cowsill and her CD "Lighthouse" after seeing the documentary on The Cowsills called "Family Band."

I saw that they had a gig scheduled for Atlantic City, and I somehow tracked down Susan's husband, Russ Broussard, and managed to talk them into doing a show in Pitman while they were in the area. I knew we could pull a big Love Alive crowd in for this and we could pay them decently from ticket sales. As I recall, we did the gig for free. 

This time things worked out. 

Russ and Susan were two of the nicest, coolest people I've ever met, and we stay in touch to this day. They did a wonderful show, Billy sat in with them during their set, and a great time was had by all. 

A big win for me, I'd say. 

Love Alivev continued on at The Blue and Riverview, and at a few other places from time to time. None of us really wanted to work late into the evenings often, and  there simply are not a lot of places to play in the afternoon in South Jersey/Philly.

Things began to stagnate for me. We were no longer producing any original material, playing at the same clubs day in and day out became a grind, and there were some internal tensions from time to time, as is bound to happen with any band.

"You can't get a band together. Bands come and go."

Thank you again, Del Paxton.

By 2017, I said farewell to the  band I had created, Love Alive. Fortunately for you fools in South Jersey, the guys quickly found a great replacement bassist in George Thompson, and they continue on to this day, which makes me very happy. 

I know they miss my harmony parts sometimes, and that is bittersweet. Although I still do miss playing with them and still love them, it was time for me to move on and I don't regret leaving. 

Next chapter.

As my Love Alive experience was somewhat souring, I began to look for a way to play bigger venues like theaters. The only way for a schmuck line me to do this was a tribute band. I figured I might be able to somewhat fund my impending retirement that way. 

But before leaving Love Alive, I want to say a heartfelt "thank you" to all our loyal fans. During my entire career, I don't know that I've ever enjoyed such a connection between a band and their followers as I did with you guys. 

I appreciated every moment with every one of you, and leaving that was, without question, the hardest part of moving on.

You know who you are. I salute you all. 

So around 2016 or so, I saw an ad on Bandmix placed by someone trying to form a Linda Ronstadt tribute. 

I had been in LOVE with Linda during my teen years and followed her religiously throughout the 70s. I knew the material intimately, but wondered if anyone besides her could plausibly pull it off. 

Gesenia Gerena could, as it turns out. 

I heard her demo on Bandmix ("Easy For You to Say," I believe, was the tune) and then sat down and sang with her at her sister's house in Lindenwold.

It sounded like it could work, especially when I recruited my old friend Bob Leonetti to join. 

Now mind you, I had reservations right from the start. As mentioned, I LOVED Linda, and I could never see myself going to a tribute show of her music. If it wasn't actually her singing, it just wouldn't have interested me because it was HER I loved.

But I put those doubts aside in the hopes that it was just me. 

The three of us searched for additional musicians to complete the band, and it was not an easy task. It never is. 

Things took a turn for the better When I found Jim Cohen.

Lots of Linda's material needs a pedal steel, and I felt like it would be virtually impossible to find one in the Philly area. But I did a search and Cohen's website came up. 

I could see right away that he was probably too accomplished to jump into something at such an early stage with little hope of success. 

So I soft-pedaled it. I told him I knew he was probably too good for this (true), and asked if he knew anyone who might have interest. 

Lo and behold, Jim loved Linda, too. He agreed to come play with us, but he later admitted he was also reluctant to believe that we had a singer who pull this off.

As with me, Gess proved him wrong with her vocal talents, and he came into the fold. This was a huge development because Jim had very good musical connections.

The first guy he put us on to was lead guitarist David Lenat. Jim had done some studio stuff with Dave and loved his playing. The feeling was mutual, and Lenat quickly agreed to join. 

Fortunately, one of Dave's dear friends is an excellent drummer named Tim Reeder, and he brought Tim into the fold. We had already been through a few  drummers (including Jim Oakley), but none seemed to be the perfect fit until Tim.

Next and finally, Jim suggested we contact Dave Hartl to handle the keyboards, another key component. I had never heard of him at this point, but turns out he is a master and perhaps THE best keyboard player in the Philly area.

None of us thought he would go for it, but he apparently saw something in us and agreed to join. The 7-piece Ronstadt Revue was now complete. 

It was not easy breaking into the tribute scene, and it took us several years to get started. As bad luck would have it, just as we got rolling, a former American Idol finalist decided to do the same thing.

She had a huge internet following thanks to the show, an excellent agent who got her lots of work (we heard they worked chair than us, too), and subsequently closed us out of a LOT of rooms we might have booked. The only b thing we had going at this point was a great band and an internet connection (thanks to Leonetti's schmoozing) with Linda Robstadt's former guitarist, John Beland, who hated tribute bands but loved our band. 

Then COVID hit and the world stopped dead. 

Nothing happened for us for several years thereafter. We remotely recorded a CD during this period, with Beland producing one track, "Can't Find My Way Home" by Traffic, and Dan Dugmore doing pedal steel on another, "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan. These were tunes that Linda had considered recording but never got around to. And that kinda became the theme of the CD.

Cohen, who apparently knows EVERYBODY, got Linda's nephew, Michael Ronstadt, to play cello on a few of the tracks, and he even got studio legend Dean Parksb to play mandolin on one. 

So though I never met Dugmore nor Parks, my name got to be beside some legendary musicians on a CD, which is pretty otherworldly. 

Beland, I did meet. 

Several of Ronstadt Revue's best and most fun shows were the gigs we did with Beland in Texas and California.

JB was living near Brenham, TX when he first came into our universe, and we booked a show there with him opening at the Barnhill Center.

It was a sellout and a blowout, as we brought the house down. 

Fortunately, the sound engineer had recorded the entire thing, which we didn't know about until after. He kindly gave Jim the digital recording stems and he took them to a local studio, mixed them, and produced an amazing live CD which stands as a permanent record of our show.

Also during this period, the late 2010s, the Heart & Soul boys decided to record another CD of original music after many years of nothing. 

We began to write and record stuff at Paulie's house, mostly between meals, as usual. I was just now starting to come into my own as a writer, and this work contained four songs written or co-written by me, which was neat for me. 

I am very proud of this CD, called "The Long Ride" after a song on it written mostly by Hornibrook, with me contributing the lyrics to a verse and bridge. It was a fun project, brought us together in the studio after many years apart, and has led us to doing more recording together, albeit remotely, which has yet to be released. Stay tuned. 

But of course, nobody but us cares a lick. 

Meanwhile, Ronstadt Revue was, for the most part, an uphill battle. Linda had not performed live since the early 2000s and sadly, an entire generation had never heard of her. And the ones who have, our audience, was rapidly aging and not buying concert tickets. 

We had additional highlights including: two sold out shows at the Algonquin Arts Center in Manaquan, NJ, two magical shows at the Bankhead Theatre in Livermore, CA, and the crowning achievement, a performance at the 7,000+ seat Miller Amphitheater in Houston, TX. 

There were many more shows, but never enough to provide any real income to us. We might have made $10k each max in our best year, and Gessy's promotional efforts were pushing her quickly into big-time debt and understandably stressing her out. 

It was unsustainable, and her health was suffering. When the usual and inevitable band-ish drama reared its head, the writing was again on the wall. 

She ended the band in July of 2026. We never even got the chance to do a farewell show, which was hugely disappointing. 

In the last couple of years, I had begun working a duo down here in North Carolina, where we moved in November of 2020 during the tail end of COVID. It was strictly for the money, and to keep up my bass playing and singing chops in case something else develops in the future.

I work down here pretty much weekly. We've met some very nice fans, but I'd be lying if I said it brought me any musical fulfillment. It simply doesn't. 

I'm used to playing with top level musicians and vocalists, people who are BETTER on their instruments than I am on mine, and that simply ain't the case down here. It can be annoying for me, but it's a living, of sorts. Or at least extra cash of sorts, I suppose.

So there's the dichotomy with me and music. What I really want at this point, some 50 years down the line, is not to be HEARD, but to be LISTENED TO. There's a difference. 

I write. I record by myself and remotely with the Heart & Soul boys. I play out, often pretending I'm having fun, sometimes actually having some, though most days it's work, with people barely listening. Such is the fate of every "bar band" in the world. 

It's not the worst thing I've done musically in my life, but frankly, it's close. I've had the chance to play and sing with MANY super talented people over the years, all named in this narrative. Those days may be over forever for me; I hope not.

I just don't know.