Shinybass journal entry 10/04/22

And the stories continue…

In 1994 I was an ‘intern’ at MCA Records in Nashville. I use that term loosely because I was out of college, so there was no course credit, and MCA got a LOT of free labor out of myself and half a dozen others. It seems the common practice of the day was to be an unpaid intern somewhere, and much like being raised in an Italian family, you metaphorically waited for someone to die before you could move up to the big table at Thanksgiving. And that was the thing. I could have waited forever, in theory, and I sort of did. I worked at something, even not knowing what I was doing. I didn’t even have a mentor at one point; I came to the office 3 times a week and sent posters and promo CDs out to stores, and helped the marketing department do whatever it needed.

Interns weren’t really allowed at label functions, which was one of the reasons we do this, right? I mean, if we can’t be in with the cool kids, what the hell are we doing as we work for free? I worked really hard on a campaign for a forgotten tribute album, and my new mentor finally allowed me to come to a party. I was not far out of college, so everything is still a puffed-up show, right? I owned one ‘cool’ shirt, and maybe some boots. I was 23 and dammit, I was going to make an impression. It rained like hell that night, and I couldn’t find parking, and I think my sad Honda was not running right, but hell or literal high water, I was getting downtown for this event.

The downbeat was supposed to be 7, and I was running through the rain at about twenty after. I show up soaking wet, and tried to look cool and mingle with the one person I knew: my mentor. I spent a lot of time just trying to blend in, and hopefully talk with someone from the office. (And although I did have a degree, no one in college ever talked to me about networking, how to ‘get in’ or any of that. It seemed everyone else had it all figured out. Turns out they were just as rudderless as I).

I don’t have a country music background. At this stage I am fresh from college where the soundtrack to my life was a blend of The Cult, Public Enemy, Chick Corea, Pat Matheny, and Black Crowes. I was given some country CDs at my interview at MCA as ‘homework’, but I certainly didn’t study. So all I know are my childhood crossover country references like Charlie Daniels, Kenny Rogers, and yep, Loretta Lynn.

I’m standing at the mixing console at the party, having just said hello to Tony Brown (who politely said hi and walked away), and a young, way-pre Eagles Vince Gill is on stage and announces ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, The First Lady of Country Music, Miss Loretta Lynn!’.

Well poop my pants. It’s her. The Coal Miner’s Daughter from my youth. Well this is about the coolest thing ever for me. I mean, my shirt is still wet, and I have no money for a beer, and I am making no headway in my office career, but wow. Just wow.

On a side note, I took my shirt off at home later than night, and it turns out I had stepped in a huge mud puddle while running in the rain, so I was actually walking around the party with a HUGE mud splatter up my back. How to make a great impression. Ah well, too bad everyone there was more worried about themselves…

Fast forward a few years, and here I sit typing. I just learned about Loretta’s passing about an hour ago.

I called my brother and told him, and he retold me a story that I forgot from about 2007. My brother came to visit one night we played the Grand Ole Opry, and our performance time slot was sandwiched between Loretta and Lorrie Morgan. I snuck my brother in to the pews behind the drum kit on stage for the set. He says later I texted him a pic with me standing with Loretta, but dammit, I just don’t remember, and I have no idea where it is located. I’m glad he is there to remember things I’ve forgotten.

The story I do remember is meeting Loretta backstage at the Hodag Festival in 2010. If you know, then you know. (HI STEVE!) I asked her handler if I could say hi before she performed. He said no problem, so as her band played a song before she came out, Loretta and I made small talk about music or maybe even motorcycles because of her ranch or something, and it was a very sweet few moments. She heard her cue, and turned to me and said ‘Well, darling, I’ve got to go sing now”, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and walked onstage.

I didn’t start playing bass to become a country bass player. I honestly don’t consider myself as such, to be honest. I like saying I just play bass. Just like meeting luminaries in the rock world, country music has let me peek in and see and do some pretty amazing things that as a wide eyed kid, I just never thought possible. For that glimpse I am thankful.

Making it until 90 is a heck of a ride, and Loretta has had one heck of a life. Her story is one of hope for all: music pulled her out of extreme poverty and rocketed her to worldwide notoriety. There isn’t a better song you can write, really. She did it and she lived it.

So goodbye Loretta, and please accept this heartfelt thank you for being gracious.

I guess you have to go sing somewhere else now.