Time to get your JAMMYs on.

It’s widely known that I grew up in Sayreville, New Jersey. And in great musical company, I have to add. Back in the ’70s our little town was raising some heavy hitters – Dave “Snake” Sabo of Skid Row (my schoolmate), Greg Evigan (my neighbor), and of course Jon Bon Jovi (my sister’s … best friend’s … next-door neighbor). [eye roll]

There was no budding music scene in Middlesex County, no Charter High School for the Performing Arts, no School of Rock, not even a bohemian arts community within 50 miles, and yet, these guys went on to be *stars*. They ate, slept and breathed their art. I remember plenty of those “Battle of the Bands” at S.W.M.H.S. in the early ’80s.

The closest I got to that was hanging out at my friend Lisa’s house in Hopelawn. We taught each other those signature Joan Jett and Pat Benatar songs, trying to one-up each other’s Stevie Nicks imitation. Good times, I remember so well.

I moved to Pennsylvania in 1987, began to raise a family, but the music kept nagging at me. By 1998, I was back at it – for real this time. Partnered with Nina Peterson, I found myself playing in New Jersey again. We teamed up with Beth Sherby in 2001, formed Jackknife Betty and kept on going. We hit Long Beach Island, Asbury Park, Philadelphia, Allentown, Bethlehem, the Poconos and all those places in between that I can’t remember any more. It was fantastic.

Geez, I digress.

Now I’m doing this singer/songwriter thing. Wow. I’m probably more surprised than anyone. With the release of Logic and the Heart, I’ve been inspired to write more, and perform more. I’m constantly on the lookout for those great little listening rooms where the artist can connect with the audience on an intimate level, and you never know what direction the show’s gonna go. Throw the set list to the wind, I say! [Mike Fritz eye roll]

So, onward, and upward. This week I was nominated in two categories of the 2012 Jersey Acoustic Music Awards (JAMMYs). Best Song – Woman in Me, and Top Female Performer. I have no grand illusions of actually winning either award, but the recognition alone has me blown away. Thank you to the fabulous New Jersey music community – especially the Asbury Park scene. The energy there is comparable to what we have here in the Lehigh Valley. I just wish I had known about it 20 years ago!

More about the JAMMYs:

Awards show spotlights low-profile performers

Published: Tuesday, March 15, 2011, 8:00 AM

  By Jim Testa/For The Star-Ledger The Star-Ledger

“The second annual Jersey Acoustic Music awards show not only drew twice the audience as the previous year, but more important, provided ample evidence of the impressive breadth of talent that brings original acoustic music to the Jersey Shore all year long.” …  Read More

 

 

My mother’s voice.

We’re all familiar with the magic that happens when siblings or other family members sing together. Genetic similarities in vocal activity can cause amazing harmonics. For a good portion of my life I listened to my sister and my mother sing, but I never really heard any similarities among our voices – until now.

Oh sure, I’ve often said I heard my mother’s voice when I would scold my children. And it was kinda scary. In fact, I fought it with all I had. But it was more about the words and the enunciation – not the voice. Recently, I’ve been noticing tiny inflections in my voice that remind me of my mother’s voice. It usually happens when I’m singing, not talking.

Dolores "Dee" (Canevari) Berardicelli

This past week, I’ve been recording my vocal tracks in the studio. The strangest thing happened. I felt my mother’s voice come out of my body. Little particles of vocal energy, sound waves, organic matter – whatever it is, it sparkled around me and then it was gone. Just like that.

I’ve listened to the recording many times, and I don’t hear anything that even remotely sounds like my mother. At least not like she sounds now. But perhaps I’m hearing her voice from years ago, when she was my age, and we sang in the alto section of the choir together. The altos get all the schmalzy parts you know.

So, I’m glad I’m recording my voice. I have two children. They’re boys and they don’t sing much. Maybe I’ll have a granddaughter who will hear my voice when she sings.

Work vs. ….work

We all need money to survive. Most of us have to earn a living in one manner or another. (personally, I don’t know anyone who doesn’t have to earn money) Some of us have the benefit of education. I say some of us, because when I was in high school, college was a casual option – not an expectation. I started but never completed community college.

My very first job was at the brand-new Amboys Cinemas multi-plex in South Amboy, NJ. I had a couple of warehouse jobs after that. In the late 80s, I was the folk music director at St. Joseph’s Catholic Church in Keyport, NJ. When I was a young mother I worked part time as a cashier and as a pizza maker at a ski resort in the Poconos. I’ve worked in a tie dye shop. I’ve planted bushes, taken down trees, installed vinyl graphics on buses, ambulances, tractor trailers, even cement trucks – yep you should have seen me on top of those giant mixers.

Amidst all of that, I’ve spent my entire adult life as a professional graphic designer. I’ve worked for small businesses and large corporations. And I’ve been independent, servicing my own clients. I’ve worked for jackasses and sweethearts.

I’ve also worked as a professional musician. Worked. When I leave the house I say “I’m going to work.” It sounds like an oxymoron, because when I meet people on the street they ask, “Where are you playing?” I think I can explain it this way. Playing the gigs – that’s fun. (most of the time, anyway) Even songwriting is fun. Learning new cover songs, rehearsing, making connections, researching venues, booking gigs, marketing, loading in and loading out, driving to and from – that’s work.

So, every morning I get up ready to work. Whatever it is that day, I’m ready for it. Rock on.

Greetings From Asbury Park

I actually wrote this on Apr. 16, the day after a late night gig at Georgie’s in Asbury Park, NJ. I haven’t been to Georgie’s in over a year, but I look forward to it every time.

Every time I make this periodic pilgrimage to the motherland, (central New Jersey), I fill my itinerary with idealistic thoughts of meeting up with old friends and every single member of my family. And then I sleep late. And then it rains. And then I can’t wait to go home. And there go the best laid plans.

So this  morning I set out to find a filling breakfast and real good coffee. It’s widely known that I’m a self-professed coffee snob. I just can’t get it dark enough or strong enough. (The same goes for beer) I’ve been known to travel with my own french press, but I haven’t packed a cooler of Imperial Stout – yet. But I digress. I ended up at My Kitchen Witch in the quaint little shore town of Monmouth Beach, NJ. Whole grain pancakes with a side of bacon. and when they say side of bacon, they mean a side of pig. There was enough bacon to to feed a family of four. Again I digress.

I’ve been meaning to send a copy of my live CD, Free, to the radio station at Brookdale Community College, where I spent at least three years and never earned an Associates degree. Since the disc was still in my car, I decided to take a detour and drop it off in person.

There are no signs on campus directing one to the radio station. Instead, I looked for an antenna tower, and quickly realized the cluster of satellite dishes would be my best clue. I scurried around in the rain, found an open door and eagerly looked for the station. After repeating four flights of stairs two times, and wandering around the Math/Science building (which feels like chewing on tin foil) I looked for someone who could help me.

From out of a doorway, down a long hallway, emerged a man. A tall man, almost seven feet tall, snacking on a bag of M&Ms and wearing multi-colored warm-up suit, walked toward me. After soliciting his help, and as we strolled towards the elevator, I looked up – way up – at his familiar face.

I said boldly, “What’s your name?” He replied, “Howard Finkle…” I couldn’t really hear the rest, because I blurted out, “You were one of my instructors when I was student here in 1984.” I continued to tell him how I never completed my education, but I have managed to earn a living as a graphic designer, my field of study. I don’t know if he thought that was cool or a complete slam on the system of higher education.

There are two instructors that I remember. Dan Schroll, my communication design teacher. He was good. And this guy. He was tall. Really tall.

I dropped off the CD. I hope to get an interview in a few months. I’ll let you know how that turns out.