​“I’ve been playing rock and roll since I was a 16-year-old, and now I have a 16-year-old.”
-Billy Joe Armstrong
 
“If you think you are too old to rock ‘n’ roll, then you are.”
-Lemmy Kilmister
 
“Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64?” I think that question has been answered in spades. Paul McCartney is now 72, and apparently, we do still need him. Who’d have thought so many true pioneers of rock and roll would not only be alive but entertaining us all these years later.
 
There’s a joke going around the Internet. Something along the lines of, “Breaking News just in. Keith Richards found alive.” I must admit, after following his self-medicinal exploits over the last five decades, I too am baffled by his longevity, but that’s rock for ya.
 
The creative shelf-life of a teen heartthrob used to be measured in months, or at most, a few years because fans are fickle, grow up, have teenagers of their own, and drift away to less raucous forms of music like country and jazz, only to decry this new generation’s music as crap.
 
Not so for the rock-and-roll fans. Barring major health issues, infighting/break-up and bad material, rock bands are measured in decades, and their fans are a loyal bunch; hence, the fact that 60s bands and solo artists like The Rolling Stones, The Who, and Paul McCartney have continued to fill arenas worldwide for over 50 years. Even less iconic bands like Styx, Def Leppard and The Doobie Brothers are still touring.
 
Even if you can’t see the original band in all its glory, most of these 70s groups still have enough key members to justify a $50 ticket and an iPhone/lighter wave. The “Silver Spender” fans are so eager to relive their youthful musical lusts that even tribute bands, - a cover band that only plays material by one group- are pulling in big crowds.
 
Though significantly less venerated than the above artists, I, like so many other unsung rockers that haunt the seedy, beer-stained bars and clubs of America, continue to carry the torch. We live for nothing more than the squeal of loud guitars and the love of rock music that only comes from giving a particularly skillful performance to a small, but appreciative audience.
 
We also struggle to fit into skinny jeans while our contemporaries are enjoying a round of golf or the early-bird-special at Denny’s. Or is that just me?
 
Okay, that’s a bit of a generalization. I have nothing against Denny’s.
 
The point I was trying to so eloquently make is that the ability to make music well into one’s golden years is a blessing. Perhaps even a reward for the years spent practicing in the bedroom before graduating to playing four hours a night for two drunks and a dog. The dog part was a joke, but you get the idea. I would estimate that 99% of rock-and-roll musicians never make it out of the bedroom, but who cares?
 
A week ago, at a concert we opened, I watched 81-year-old Jefferson Starship singer, David Freiberg, belt out song after song to an adoring audience. Did it matter that he wasn’t a skinny, 20-something teen heartthrob? Not to the crowd. Can the fella still sing? Youbetcha. Like a champ. I don’t know if when he was younger, he ever envisioned himself being on stage at 81. I sure didn’t imagine rockin’ at 64, but here we both are.
 
Are we still crazy after all these years? Uh-huh.
 
Will I still be rockin’ a Les Paul through a cranked Marshall when I’m 81?
 
I sure the heck hope so.

Rock is about finding out who you are. You don’t necessarily have to play your instrument very well. You can just barely get by and you can be in a rock band.
-Gene Simmons
 
At the age of 11, I remember lip syncing in front of a mirror, tennis racket strung low, flailing away like a banshee. The only thing that’s changed is my racket is heavier and has fewer strings.
-Kenneth Goorabian
 
One night as I was recalling all the bands I’ve played in, my imagination soared to the hundreds. The reality is I’ve played in about 20. Some of these groups lasted years, and some merely days. Musicians are very strange, fickle creatures with fragile egos and usually convinced they’re right about everything pertaining to music. I like to think I’m a bit different. I’m not right about everything, just most things.

I’ve been a bass player --short lived-- not my thing. Did a stint as a drummer --my father and three brothers are drummers-- too much gear to hump and too noisy. My favorite place? As the guitarist. This was my first choice, but every kid on my block played guitar, so if I wanted to get out of my room, I had to fill the empty spot. It wasn’t too bad, except when a cute girl found out I was in a band and asked what instrument I played. My mumbled answer was something like, “I’m a lead guitarist, but I’m sitting in on bass.” Now, I have nothing against being a bassist, but come on, what’s cooler than a lead guitarist? Okay, the singer gets all the accolades and chicks, but the lead guitar player is a close, if not invisible second. Make that third if there’s a drum solo.
 
Being in musical groups through the decades has taught me many lessons.  Like, there’s no such thing as an A-sharp. Why this matters no one seems to know, but there’s definitely a B-flat. I think. Being self-taught, I can’t read music, so I just go along with it. Another lesson is singers don’t have to tear down gear at the end of the gig. They say they’re doing PR, but really, they’re just too busy hitting on cute chicks. Thirdly, you’ve got to get lots of blackmail info on family and friends. This way, they’ll sit through a gig, cuz no venue owner likes an empty club.  Last and most important, playing in a band is the GREATEST THING EVER.

Whether it’s the Houston Astrodome (ah, the memories), or the beer-soaked dive bar with the broken A/C and a doorman who smoked so much weed he forgot to tell the band onstage their set had ended ten minutes earlier, it’s all good. Although, in that instance, we packed up our gear and left because the gig was a freebie, it was hot standing outside on the sidewalk, and we still had a smidgen of self-respect. Oh, and he wanted us to cut half our set. NEVER.
​
For all future rocker wannabes, please go study the film, “This Is Spinal Tap.”  This will be your life story. Well, except for the famous part. Take lots of video and photos on your journey. You will likely not remember half of it.
Rock on.
 
 
 
 

​What is SMALLTIME?
 
What do you do when you've got a band packed with talent, charisma, and chemistry? Well, you name it, of course.
 
But, this whole naming the band thing doesn't have to end up like a deleted scene from Spinal Tap. After all,  we didn’t want as serious a moniker as Black Sabbath, or as silly as The Monkees, so where’s the middle ground?
 
 In our case, we ended up taking this another way. A paradox, if you will, and this is how it went: The rock-and-roll dream is the BIG TIME, so why not name the band sMALLTIME? It’s like calling a giant, Tiny.
 
All four of us music-lovin' men have been around the block more than a few times, and we want to be cool. More importantly, we’ve learned that with experience comes wisdom (or so we hope). Having lived through what we consider the heyday of rock music (1964-1975), we also understand it's all about the art of the song, and we're crazy enough to believe we still have something left to say.
 

• Fact: We're a bit more distinguished than other rock bands making the scene.
• Fact: We never want to leave the stage until we've given everything to the audience.
• Fact: WE ROCK LIKE it’s 1969.

• Fact: Pop stars will come and go, but honest, simply delivered rock-and-roll will never go out of style.

 
Rock-and-roll music has always been perceived as rebellious. The trend setters say, “Go this way.” The rebellious spirit of a true rocker replies, "Kiss my a**.” Rock music epitomizes the stand for freedom of speech; people emoting through a song what they believe to be true, even if it flies in the face of conventional wisdom.
 
sMALLTIME slams against the wall of conventional wisdom. The world says, “You're too old to start an original rock band. We say… (see above quote).
 

​Ho, ho, how’re ya doin’? Christmas is upon us and the quest for the Holy Grail of guitar sounds continues. Now, you wives and girlfriends of rock and rollers have surely heard the moans of frustration and wiped the tears from your partners eyes as he spent thousands of dollars and hours watching youtube in search of the elusive creature called TONE. Ah, but he is a wily little fella. It appears only those musically gifted, with the most noble of hearts (and a blank check), have what it takes to obtain the unobtainable. That which is rarer that a rainbow unicorn and more desirable than a date with Heidi Klum… great tone.

I once caught a glimpse back in the 70’s when I plugged my ’68 Les Paul Black Custom into a Marshall stack. The feel of my bell-bottoms flapping against my boots as 100 watts of raw power exploded from the speakers was life changing. But was it perfect? Was it THE tone? Hmmm.  Later I switched to a ’59 Les Paul Jr. and a Fender tweed deluxe. This set-up screamed rock and roll. Was I happy? Not really.

Years later many, many guitars and amps have come and gone. I suppose if I still had them all I could retire (vintage guitar prices are ridiculous). But I have tried to be realistic. I now buy inexpensive guitars that play well and remove everything I don’t like. Okay, I basically gut them like a deer and replace all the electronics.  As for the 100-watt thing? Well, I must conclude that my back, and my ears are much more suited to a Telecaster, a 22 -watt Fender Deluxe Reverb and a tub full of pedals.

Has the itch been scratched? Are you kidding me? As we speak I’m carousing the internet in search of a lovely 50-watt English lass who will ruffle my pant legs as in the days of my youth.

This isn’t a quest, my friends, it’s a sickness.

Just sayin’.

Today, we’re talking songwriting.

If a song touches people, it will live beyond its years, perhaps become timeless.  I aspire to create that kind of emotion in a three-minute rock ‘n roll song. Some of the great songwriters I admire, John Hiatt, Tom Petty, and The Beatles, set the bar, very high.

Selling a story in less time than it takes to write a Twitter post is a difficult task, as most musicians will attest. Every great song possesses a memorable hook, a melody you soon find yourself unconsciously humming, mixed with honest, heartfelt lyrics. I find simple chord progressions are best. When it comes to an unforgettable lyric, visual is the key; paint the picture for the listener.  I've got four lines in a verse to suck you in, hold you captive until the chorus, so it better be killer.

Tom Petty’s, Even the Losers,  is a four-line movie trailer.

Well, it was nearly all summer we sat on your roof
Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon
And I'd show you stars you never could see
Baby, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me
© Universal Music Publishing Group

I hear those lyrics and immediately I'm sittin’ rooftop.

When sMALLTIME collaborates on a song, it's all about the song, no ego's. In my youth, when I was less wise, shall I say, I would die on the hill to keep a bad song idea. These days, if your collaborators are not getting the gist of your soon to be chart-topping ditty, ditch it.  Move on. You’ll know when it’s right. Nothing will feel forced, and the song will magically write itself.

Remember it’s not about your shreading guitar solo or how many cymbals you can pound in four counts…
It's all about the song, 'bout the song, no egos. Sorry Megan Trainor.  

My two cents.
Just after writing this one of my songwriting heroes, Tom Petty,  passed away. The world of music will be a lesser place without him.
Danny Van

​February 9th, 1964, I sat with my brother and our teenage babysitter, Bunny, and watched a television show that would change my life forever. I had no idea what I was in for. Probably hundreds of thousands of young boys had the same experience. That was the night The Beatles made their first American appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show. We were just three of the 73 million people that tuned in that evening. I was severely bitten by the musical bug. 

That show that birthed countless bands all over the world and my neighborhood. Overnight everyone was either starting or playing in a band, my brother and I included. Suddenly the market was flooded with Japanese import guitars that promised rock stardom at a low, low price of $29.00. What? Okay, they were mostly unplayable crap (those same pieces of crap go for hundreds of dollars now, but still play like crap) but everybody I knew had one. Not to play mind you, but because it was cool. And so, it was. 

The 60’s was the golden era pf rock music and I’m glad I experienced it. All right, I stuffed myself to the gills with all things rock and roll. After all, the banquet table was overflowing with revolutionary music the likes of which will probably never be seen again. The times were a changin’ and the bands as diverse and original as the colors on a “love bead” necklace. 

My very first live concert was a triple header that consisted of The Beau Brummels, The Lovin’ Spoonful, (Yes, I believe in magic) and headlining the concert… dum dum dum dum… The Yardbirds with guitarist extraordinaire Jeff Beck. 

Of course, this was my introduction into all things Beck (my love for the Fender Telecaster started right here and continues to this day).

I went on to play in dozens of bands and see many of my musical heroes live. Perhaps I will wax nostalgic in future posts about some of the guitarists who influenced me. Or maybe not. Perhaps the past belongs where it is. 

Kenny

As I sat pondering this new blogging endeavor, I thought it deserved a fitting launch name. Since this first post is intended to get your attention, I thought the title was apropos. 

Together we shall explore music, trends, band life and general silliness. After all, the world of rock and roll is chock full  of excess and quirky personalities. It's full of other things, but I will attempt to be nice. 

​Stay tuned, more to come....