A long-time-dream came true when, after knowing the gents in Little Feat and loving their music for many years, I sat in with them in - gosh, when was it? 2000? 2001? I may have forgotten the date, but I'll never forget how it felt to lay back against that fat, sensuous groove.
I don't have that moment on film. However, thanks to Chris Cafiero (Feat's archivist), we do have this clip, filmed when band members Fred Tackett and Paul Barrere toured as an accoustic duo in 2002, and I joined them on a few dates in western Massachusetts and upstate New York. This video is from the Towne Crier, in Pawling, NY. The song is Lowell George's classic Sailin' Shoes.
I met Gary Moore briefly in Australia in October, 1978. The Manhattan Transfer was doing a long engagement at the ballroom of the Sydney Hilton, and Thin Lizzy hit town to do a big outdoor concert at the Sydney Opera House. Back in L.A., I'd heard the first riffs of "The Boys Are Back in Town" roaring out of the radio speakers of my '65 Mustang, pulled over to the curb to listen, and then driven straight to the record store (remember them?) to buy the album (remember them?). So I was already a fan. The energy of that track was tremendous.
Lizzy and the Transfer had crossed paths in a TV studio somewhere at some point, without making much of a connection, but when it happened again in Sydney, an invitation to the concert was proffered. The Transfer was off that night, so I was happy to put on my rock & roll shoes and enjoy the show.
Lizzy, live, was a blast. Phil Lynott had a cool charisma, Scott Gorham and Gary Moore wove serpentine double guitar leads, the drummer, Mark Nauseef (subbing for Brian Downey), was great. The band would build a tune to a reckless peak, then yank the volume down, keeping the intensity, and rumble and growl till another build. I have always loved that push and pull, whether it shows up in the Basie Band or Little Feat. Power, restrained.
Moore was so young, racing around the stage, leaping, playing to the crowds, and he had a singing, muscular tone on his pretty Les Paul. As he aged, he just played better - that's what good musicians do - and his tone grew ever more rich.
Our paths did not cross again. The Transfer wasn't long back in L.A. before I fell asleep driving that Mustang. Everything changed.
But everything always changes, for everyone - Thin Lizzy disbanded in 1983, Lynott died in 1986. The other musicians I saw on the stage that day carried on in the business, sometimes working together. Moore established himself solidly as a solo artist, continuing to rock through good times and bad until this past weekend, when he died while on vacation in Spain. We were only just beginning to know him as an elder. The last chorus came unexpectedly, and there's a sadness on me about that.
I am thinking about my friend Richie, and remembering. He once told me that as a child he had seen Sonny Payne on TV, probably with the Basie band. Sonny's cymbals flashed in the light, and mesmerized that little boy watching in Iowa. Over the years, whenever I recognized a particular cymbal sound and style on a recording, I knew I was hearing Richie play. I'd check the credits, and yup, that was him. When Little Feat broke up after Lowell George died, I thought that was the end of it, but one day, years later, I was driving in upstate NY, and a new song exploded from my radio. The singer was unfamiliar, I had never heard the tune before, but it was Richie on the drums, I just knew it, and that's how I learned the band had reformed.
He had what I think of as the performing artist's temperament, that combination of confidence and self-doubt that leads us into trouble and the dark, but also allows us to set foot into the pool of light on the stage and drives us, whether we are musicians, actors, or dancers to strive to be better every time than we were the last time.
In the 70s I was married for a few years to a terrific drummer, from whom I learned a lot, so when I heard Richie, I knew I was hearing something unique. To this day, I don't think there is anyone who captures the particular blend of musical influences he netted - swing, New Orleans second line, funk, country, southern rock - or mixes up quite the relentless groove that was his trademark. It breathed, that groove, like a living thing. Some of the LIttle Feat concerts I attended over the years are among the best I have ever experienced, and when I was asked to sit in, oh boy, I could hardly bear how my face hurt from smiling so much. The whole band was/is terrific, but this day I am thinking of my friend, of his kindness and humor and passion for the music. Of his wife Shauna and family, with whom he seemed to have found deep happiness at last. And I am thinking of the beat - and the backbeat, and the flashing cymbals - that were Richie Hayward at his best. One in a million. Out chorus, coda. R.I.P.
Richie Hayward died about three hours ago, in his wife Shauna's arms. He had battled liver cancer, and been cleared for a transplant, but when he was slammed with pneumonia, he did not improve in spite of treatment. Tests then revealed that he also had suffered many years (unknowing) from adult respiratory fibrosis. His body gave out.
He was a one-of-a-kind musician, and a good man with a loving heart. Hats off, everyone. Wrap his family with prayer and love.
RIchie and Shauna
(If you are the photographer, please leave me a comment so I can credit you properly for this photo)
A long time ago (1972) in a galaxy far away (Max's Kansas City, I think), I saw Little Feat for the first time. A music writer friend (Ron Ross, whatever happened to you?) took me to see them, knowing I would love the music and the folks making that music. He was right on both counts. Those gents are among my oldest friends in the business, and truly it was not until Lowell George and Bill Payne told me the Transfer was great that I really began to believe it. Over the years our paths have crossed and recrossed, I have on occasion been invited to sit in and sing (and scat!) with them (a thrill!), and I still love them all.
The group started in 1969, and the original drummer, Richie Hayward, is still a member of the band. But Richie has been on hiatus in the past year, following a diagnosis of liver cancer. He has been waiting to be well enough, through treatment, for a transplant, but is now battling double pneumonia. His treatment options for that are constrained by the fact that his liver is so far gone that many drugs are off-limits. But there is no limit on prayer and hope and good wishes, and so I am asking you all now to hit your knees, or stand in the light or just be - whatever your personal practice is - for Richie, his courageous wife Shauna, and their kids.
And... if you are a drummer, you know who the man is. His groove may have helped to shape your playing. Hit the skins in tribute.
You can contribute to the fund for Richie's medical expenses here.
The story so far
The story so far
Born into a singing family. Church choirs, school chorus, rock band, then founding Manhattan Transfer and recording and touring from 1972 - 1979. Car accident, recovery, solo career. Jazz, pop, folk, standards, bagpipe tunes, Anglican chant, Ukrainian Catholic liturgy, gospel, art songs, improvisation. Writing. And acting. And along the way, trained dogs, wrangled horses, and moved 53 times. Still learning, still growing, life is unbearably sweet and everything, everything! is holy.
