…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column

…2..3..4 – An Xperience Column – by Chris Busone.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time.”

So says Leo Tolstoy, a man who knew a thing or two about warriors, war … and, well … peace.

When I came across this quote I began to think about time. It’s what we desire most, but too often waste. And it made me think about how I use this time, my time and space in this publication, and how I can use it in the most significant, albeit occasionally sarcastic, way.

I have previously written about people who have passed on and influenced me in my life and musical endeavors. But Tolstoy’s words about patience and time started me thinking that I should spend some time paying tribute to those influences who are still in the here and in the now, and deserve my acknowledgment.

That’s so lengthy a list that it may be confused with the local Troy city census. So, as I did in my previous tribute piece, I’ve narrowed it down to a manageable number who had the patience and the time to have a positive impact on my musical, and for lack of a better term, real life. I decided to go chronologically, because well, why not?

I am the youngest sibling of six. Three boys, three girls. And as inherently annoying as I can be (yea I know it, how could I not?), my sibs were the kindest, most patient, most encouraging group of folks that anyone could ever ask for. They all took time with their little brother in their own way. But it was my eldest brother Philip, ten years my senior, who started me down the musical path.

It was the late sixties, a time full of peace, love, long hair, funny political slogans (did we ever figure out how many kids LBJ killed today?), even funnier cigarettes, and more guitar players than you could shake a G-clef at. My brother Philip was one of those players, along with a group of his friends. They would have impromptu jam sessions in our house sometimes when my parents were out of earshot, and my brother would play alone most nights while I watched intently, yet covertly, trying to memorize the fingering madness he was perpetrating upon that guitar neck. Then, when there was a clear coast and the opportunity availed itself, I would sneak into the room where his guitar lay, a veritable prepubescent ninja, and try to mimic these digital calisthenics.

It was a good plan; I mean, the plan was working. It was. Until my brother woke up uncharacteristically early one fateful morn. But happening upon his little brother purposefully strumming a makeshift C chord on his treasured nylon 6-stringer did not send him into a full-blown berserk as you might think. He studied me with an earnest gaze of curiosity and said, “Do that again.”

My 9-year-old fingers shook as I pressed down the notes in a deliberate sequence and gave them a strum, squinting in hope upon hope that they produced a somewhat acceptable sound that might justify this breach of instrumental etiquette. When, to my complete astonishment, the sound emerged, my big brother said, “Do you even know what that is?” I shook my head quickly in the negative. “It’s a C chord. Where did you learn it?”

“From watching you,” I answered. “I try to remember where your fingers are when you play, then … well … I do that.” His gaze now turned to a quizzical grin.

“Well, first, that’s just ridiculous,” he snickered, “and I’m not even gonna ask how you could possibly pull that off. Do you know any others?”

“I know upside-down triangle!” I proclaimed, and quickly (well, relatively quickly) contorted my hand on the guitar neck.

“There are those of us, in certain circles, who call that a D chord,” he grinned. “Let me show you some others.”

And so, our lessons began. Passing his guitar back and forth at first, until he bought a new one and gifted me that one. And in between lessons, I practiced and practiced, and my siblings never complained; at least not to me anyway. The very idea that my brother, this guy I looked up to and admired so much, was actually taking the time and patience and had this belief in me was enough to feed my relentless drive to practice.

When I tell it, Philip likes to end this story by saying that in six months I could play as well as he, but that’s of course not the case; it was a solid eight (remember the phrase … inherently annoying?).

In truth, anything and everything I possess in the way of talent began with him and his time, patience, and belief in me. I love you bro.

Less than a decade after my first C chord, I was in a band. It was comprised of my lifelong friends, for as much life as we had lived at 15. We called it Chaser.

The members, as follows, were a rag-tag group of Green Islanders who assembled in the cellar of a bowling alley with a dream and a couple quarts of Genny Cream Ale: Rod Choppy (guitar), Jim Lazzaro (drums), Joe Cocca (bass) and literally the glue that held us together and kept us somewhat in line, our soundman/road manager/guy who could fix anything, John Degen.

We were together every night, either playing in some club or rehearsing until we couldn’t stand upright any longer. We would plan our future and chart our course into fame, fortune, and world domination. Ya know, regular teenage stuff.

It was great fun, but make no mistake, it was hard work. Eventually, we would travel 27 to 30 days at a clip from state to state for 1, 2, 3 nighters, sometimes 5 if we got lucky. Sleeping mostly in the van, but in the luckier times we’d get a band house or two hotel rooms for eight of us, roadcrew included. We spent most of the money we made after all the overhead expenses on booze, but sometimes we’d splurge on the fixins for bologna sandwiches. And we loved every single moment of it. It was all more than worth it when we got up on the stage a counted it off … well, you know … but it’s too early for that.

We were a unit in the truest sense, transfixed on a common goal, and we fed off our commitment to each other and our love of what we were doing.

I was the singer/guitarist/songwriter of the bunch, and until we formed this group, I had had no aspirations to be in a band such as this or had even dreamed of playing and singing in any venue larger than my parents’ living room (I tried to book the sun porch, but they never got back to me).

But the time, the patience (there’s those warriors again), and the belief that my first bandmates bestowed upon me spirited me into creative heights that I never imagined I was capable of. Their belief in me not only inspired me to be a better musician and a better singer-songwriter, but they also made me a better person and gave me confidence in my real life that I honestly don’t think I would have today if not for them. My first bandmates were, in the very truest sense of the word, my friends, and still are today.

And for a kid who could barely talk to anyone, to have these great friends behind him, believing in him, giving him the space to stretch out and see what he was capable of, meant the world to me. I truly wish that for every kid who can’t find an outlet to articulate what’s burning inside of them. I wish them friends like Rod, Jimmy, Joe, and John who started me down the collaborative path of my musical life, and the lifelong path living outside myself. I couldn’t have asked for better bandmates, better friends, and better times. Thanks guys, love you all.

It wasn’t long before we had begun to make a name for ourselves in the local scene, even though some of us weren’t old enough to be in clubs yet (a mere technicality). But by some unexplainable twist of music and time and fate, the most sought-after, the most eminent booking agent/manager in this area and beyond took notice of us.

Bill Rezey has many talents, among them the ability to speak to you as if you are the only person in the room, the only person on his mind, and that you’ve been on his mind the entire time since your last conversation. That’s less of a talent and more of the genuine man he really is. I truly believe he is that focused on his friends, family, and clients and wants nothing but the success for us all. He personifies patience, time, and belief. He lives Tolstoy’s warriors.

He was simply the best at what he did at the time we met, and we were awestruck that he was interested in us. The playing schedule he put us on and his guidance transformed us from a young band with raw, frenetic talent into a seasoned act that he could place in the number one club in any region. We worked (a lot), made money (a little), traveled the states and beyond, and opened up for major acts for a couple of decades, all due to Bill’s expertise and tireless hard work.

That’s the business side of the man. But that’s not even half the man Bill Rezey is. His total, unwavering friendship and belief in me and my abilities, to this day, leave me at a loss to find words to thank him. He is someone whose opinion I respect so enormously, particularly in all things professional, that the fact that he believes in and supports my efforts is a source of pride for me beyond measure.

But moreover, he is my friend. And has been for the last four decades. He can buoy my spirits when they’re sinking and tell me the hard truths that sometimes need telling. He fought for me in the years we were trying to score a record deal like his life depended on it. And when I felt like I let him down, let everyone down, just wasn’t good enough, he made sure to tell me that we were all in this together, and as long as we were, we could never let each other down.

There’s no way I could ever repay Bill for the time, the patience, the actual monetary expense, and the blood, sweat, and whatever else he spilt for me. I can only offer him my undying friendship and thanks, for everything. Thank you, my friend.

I am acutely aware that I am not the only person who has had influences who have shaped their lives. I’m sure anyone who reads this can make their own list, and I encourage you to do so. Let’s let those folks know what they mean to us while we can, while the so-called gettin’ is good, and get the goods out there. I know I want these people and many more to know how much I appreciate their (you guessed it) patience and time and belief in me that propelled me up on stages all over God’s green to count it off (now’s the time to say it!), 2…3…4.

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