I was looking for something else and came upon this instead.
It’s the bio I wrote for the band Dave and I had in South Florida. He named us The Medicis after the Italian family known for its patronage of the arts (as well as lots of political doings).
Using my home “studio” (a primitive four-track cassette recorder), plus time in home studios by two musician friends, we recorded around 8 of Dave’s wonderful power pop songs. WIth thoughts of distributing them as a DIY cassette (popular at the time), we sent initial copies to several trusted friends.
The response was unanimous: Don’t quit your day job.
So, I might be the only one who still has a copy of the recordings (Dave passed away in November 1999; I still miss him each and every day). I have posted a few (links TK).
In the meantime, here’s the bio. I’m still proud of it, though there are likely too many in-jokes for most folks to appreciate.
It took an extra month or six, but the Medicis are finally in the studio, preparing tracks for what will eventually be the debut album.
Following demos recorded at Arthur Dent Studios (where things go wrong regardless of whether you’ve brought your towel), the Medicis aimed at getting the right Perspect on it all.
The group is quickly learning about 8-track recording and what it means to start and stop at the same time.
It doesn’t matter, though — only the songs do.
***
Raycell took time out before recording began to visit Key West and fall off a 50-foot pier — all in the name of the James Bond movie. They didn’t like it the first time he jumped, so he had to do it again.
What the hell, says Raycell, the accommodations were good even if Key West was a drag. And maybe you’ll even see his face onscreen when “License Revoked” comes out next summer.
Dave almost missed an Arthur Dent session, after working on his car and slicing open one of his more important appendages. Fortunately, his car is red so the blood didn’t show much. Flesh is now healed and Dave is thumping away once more, secure in the knowledge that his future does not lie in auto repair.
L.K. hasn’t caused any serious injuries yet, though withdrawal symptoms continue. Financiers are advised to invest heavily in Lifesavers.
And the songs matter.
***
For the uninitiated: since April 1987, The Medicis have wandered the length and bredth of South Florida, united in the quest of playing Dave’s songs and annoying everyone else on the local music scene.
Only a few rules came up:
First (and foremost), the songs matter — not ’cause they say anything earth-shattering (or shattering to any other being, heavenly or otherwise); but because they’re great tunes, man. Great beat and you can even dance to it. Woody proved so.
Second, the songs matter, even when there’s no solo or it turns into “Ohio” for two bars or the whole damn thing only goes for a minute five.
And third, the songs matter, more than haircuts, more than air-conditioning, more, even, than Dave’s collection of tacky T-shirts.
Sort-of-fourth, the Medicis won’t use any keyboards. There isn’t any reason to.
***
Twenty years after the Summer of Love, with goals firmly in hand and visions of audience abuse in mind, the search began for more Medici.
Pointless auditions for bass players ended when Dave became a bass player. Almost pointless auditions for guitarists then began.
Raycell answered the call somewhere around Thanksgiving 1987, intrigued by the idea of learning how to tune.
Thus, the Medicis were set, despite the sporadic brainstorm of “let’s get a fourth member!” This aberration usually dissipates quickly, as all concerned grow fed up with late-night calls from metal maniacs or “progressive” types whose musical roots go all the way back to 1980.
***
But hopes remained high for the recording project. Raycell even traded in his Kramer for a guitar that stays in tune. Sometimes.
The debut will likely include about eight songs (with a “bonus” track on the cassette and vinyl versions) and be called “I Think Jim Morrison Is Dead.”
Which he is.
Performance plans are shakier. The impromptu gig on Hollywood Beach went well — no one got arrested and some German tourists came over to pose for a photo.
A party for the opening of Graceland (no, not that one) gave the Medicis the chance to perform for 25 minutes in near-total darkness. Not counting the three minutes when the group wanted the lights on so Dave could read the words to “Pretty Woman.”
It served well as a tribute to Roy Orbison. Who, like Jim Morrison, is dead.
Raycell made a guest appearance at Graceland, having returned after a month of home-searching in New York City. Semi-Medici Richard exposed his Marshall stack for the occasion.
***
No one’s gotta wear shades at present.
As 1989 rears its so-far-undefined head, the Medicis look at pending unemployment, the Bush administration, Raycell’s return to New York (with home, this time) and Richard’s pending indoctrination (hasn’t locked his keys in his car yet).
Just getting four or six more songs down, just getting a whole show right, just doing a gig would be enough.
You too?