Author: terrinakamura

Memories of a DJ

/ terrinakamura / Leave a comment

ImageThird of an eight-part featuring the legendary rock group, The Kingsmen

Brian Beirne, “Mr. Rock ‘N Roll,” Reminisces

My dad took me to a radio station when I was 10, and I watched a guy spin the records, cue them up and talk about them. Elvis had just hit and was the rage of the day, and of course all of us kids wanted to pick up a guitar and be the next Elvis Presley. I played piano and guitar, but once I watched the guy in the studio, that was it.

I was a record collector from the time I was four. The magic words for me were, “Hey kid, see the records underneath the console? When we get done with them on the playlist, we get to take them home. And I thought “Wow, this is great. I’d get to play the records on the radio, talk about the artist, physically handle the records, and then I’d get FREE records!”

What’s interesting is, when my dad passed away several years ago, I opened the family trunk and saw my birth announcement. It was a baby holding a microphone. It was prophetic. Blew me away. I guess that was my calling. And I enjoyed every day I was on the radio in my 40+ years, and of course I got to meet great people along the way—got to have them on my radio shows wherever I was in the country—got to work with them, book them on shows, hang out with them and have fun. It was a fabulous career.

It was the “Golden Age of Rock,” and to a great degree, the second golden age of radio. We had freedom as disc jockeys. Today it is extremely controlled. You’re given a playlist. You’re told don’t talk over so many seconds, don’t do this, don’t do that. Back then, the personality of the DJ was really important. Now people seem very interchangeable. It was an exciting time to be on the radio. It really was.

When I got into radio, stations were owned by “moms and pops.” There were only a few major companies that owned radio stations, and there were restrictions—you could only own so many AM and FM stations, and so many television stations. I think there was a lot of freedom in the industry. Disc jockeys were stars. We were talent. We had a following like celebrities. It was exciting, too, because somebody would walk in the door that afternoon and say, “Hey, we’re The Kingsmen, and we have a brand-new record out, and do you want to give it a spin?”

I started in radio by accident when I was 13. I hung around the radio station from the time I was 10. Three days a week I’d take the bus there after school. I’d hang around and watch the guys, get them coffee, pull their records, and they would teach me the ropes.

One evening there was a live broadcast from the YWCA. Though I was shy, I’d go and hang around with the DJs. About a half hour into the broadcast, the jock said, “I’m sick. I’m going home. You take it.” And I said, “What do you mean, ‘me take it? I’m a 13-year-old kid!’” And he said, “You know how to run this!” So, the next thing I knew, I was on the radio. That lasted until my mother thought I actually was going to find girls down there at the radio station and put the kibosh on it. I went back into radio full time when I was about 17 and moved around the country to various cities. I was working in a major market by the time I was 21 and eventually settled in Los Angeles for 29 years at The Earth 101.

When The Kingsmen started to hit big I was 17. I remember when they recorded the live album at The Chase. I was on the air and the guys came by with a new record—they were always trying to crack me up, and I remember all of them, probably led by Mike Mitchell, when I opened the mike, they were in the production room across from me, all mooning me at the same time. In those days we had to read a five-minute newscast at the top of the hour, even Top-40 stations. I’d find myself reading the newscast and these guys are mooning me across the way to see if they could break me up. We had a lot of good times and I think that whole sound they produced at that time with “Money,” “Little Latin Lupe Lu,” “Jolly Green Giant,” were all really, as I said, not a polished sound, but it was exciting. It was new.

So many great memories and it all happened so fast, because right after that I started to do a lot of package shows that had five to 10 acts together. One day The Dave Clark Five are on your radio show, the next day it’s The Mamas and The Papas, then The Kingsmen drop by with a new record—it was kind of a whirlwind—the experiences and people I met during that period of time.

In terms of most amazing moment, there wasn’t a particular event, but more like the cumulative experience of being in that business at that point in time. Lots of exciting things happened. The Kingsmen were swell people and it was wonderful to be a part of their career at that time.

_________________________

Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designer: http://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura
© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura

Following the Muse

/ terrinakamura / Leave a comment

Second of an eight-part featuring the legendary rock group, The Kingsmen

Image

“Louie Louie” Gold Record Ceremony, New York, NY, April 1964. Standing, rear, left to right: Bob Levinson (Scepter/Wand distributor), Pete Garris (Scepter/Wand National Promotion Director); Kneeling, front, left to right: Norm, Mike, Lynn, Dick, Barry

As told by Barry Curtis, The Kingsmen Keyboard Player, 1963-2005

Everyone in The Kingsman had been playing music for quite a while in various capacities. I’d been in other bands in junior and senior high school, and studied piano since I was a little kid. And in high school I was in various vocal ensembles and things like that. I was totally aware of rock and roll — Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Buddy Holly…  I was that young teenager buying those records. I even dreamed of seeing someone famous like that.  I was in these bands learning those tunes and playing them at sock hops, etc.

I was 19 years old. At the pinnacle, our managers were making a lot of money and the record companies were making a lot of money, and the booking agents were making a lot and we were making more than any of us had made before. Management, booking agency, record companies—these entities have their legitimate place and take their amounts. They were well-established entities. William Morris is huge. We were paid decently for that time, I think. When we were doing gigs it was before Credence Clearwater, Led Zeppelin and others who in the later ’60s were making really awesome money. We were before that era. But I had no complaints.

Later on in our career we started questioning, like maybe we should be getting a greater percentage for our record sales, which we eventually did. But by then, our record sales weren’t as huge as they were before. None of us became millionaires doing that.

Five years ago I retired from The Kingsmen. During some time before that, I took computer-oriented classes in community college. Now I have a job in Seattle doing data quality control and processing for an AIDS study in Africa, dealing with data they collect during clinic procedures and interviews.

I was connected to The Kingsmen through a person I played in bands with in high school and who had been Lynn Easton’s (one of the original band members) roommate. That’s how I got involved. I didn’t even audition. Lynn called me on the phone and said, “Well, you play organ, right?”  So I got hired on the phone.

I’d been playing at least as long as the rest of the guys had—maybe longer. So I knew most of the tunes they were doing. It wasn’t a huge learning curve. I liked the groove and sound we had. It was good solid R&B rock and roll, so that worked, and we just went on the road.

What happened to all of us, perhaps in different ways is that we experienced something of a delayed maturation process. “Normal” people in their early 20s start becoming adults. I think we kind of stayed where we were at 19. As the jobs got into bigger venues and we had more and more record sales, did interviews and TV, etc., we were, in various ways, affected by that.  I personally got into the space that this was reality. And it WAS reality. I began to think of that reality not changing. And I think that’s what most anyone in this kind of successful situation might experience.

There are phases of music, different kinds and different eras. Cream, Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane and the Grateful Dead became the dominant San Francisco, psychedelic kinds of bands, and certainly the WHO, Rolling Stones, and Beatles kept going and kept innovating. We didn’t have a lot of opportunity to take time off for extensive recording, rehearsing and writing. The booking agents thought we should be playing constantly because it was good for the income. So we basically were run dry. That’s how I look at it.

In early 1966, I was drafted and went to Viet Nam and came back in late 1967 into a Jefferson Airplane-dominated, era which was quite different. The Kingsmen hadn’t transitioned into that. There were some decent original recordings, but by that time the focus had changed to these other kinds of bands. After a while we kind of became dormant.

Currently, Steve Peterson and I are members of The Daily Flash in Seattle. (Steve is also still an active member of The Kingsmen).  All the Flash members have a lot of musical background and knowledge.  We can quickly communicate musical ideas — transposing, modulations, chord substitutions, vocal harmony arrangements, tempo changes, etc.

The Daily Flash is kind of like Utopia for us. It’s all about the music and what each of us can bring to it. We all love it. We’re all good friends. We trust each other—None of the BS that happens in so many other bands.

This is the musical environment I’ve always wanted and needed. It’s so expansive and collaborative.  We’re free to explore wherever the muse takes us.  It is always interesting and sometimes surprising where that goes.

My gold record is in a cardboard box next to my computer desk. If I had it on the wall it would freak me out.  I don’t have to live under that now. Now, that expectation is not put on me. “Louie Louie” was a magnificent thing, but it so dominated us we found it difficult to break out of garage rock mode. Other kinds of stuff weren’t what we became known for.

We took it seriously but we had a lot of fun doing it. We felt we were like American rock and roll ambassadors. Agents would say we were the answer to the British Invasion, but we loved the Beatles, Stones, Kinks, Animals… We were just serious about putting on a good rocking show, and we did.

____________________________________________________________

Barry Curtis has found happiness in The Daily Flash. Having seen the band perform numerous times, I can vouch for the fact they put on an incredible show each and every time.

____________________________________________________

Above photo © 2006 Richard Peterson 

Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designer: http://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura

© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura

The Beat Goes On

/ terrinakamura / 7 Comments

First of an eight-part series featuring legendary rock band, The Kingsmen

Photo by Raphael during our stay in L.A. shooting ‘How to Stuff a Wild Bikini.’ Pictured L – R: Mike Mitchell, Barry Curtis, Dick Peterson, Lynn Easton, Norm Sundholm

As told by Dick Peterson, The Kingsmen drummer, 1963-present

When I was young, I found everything on the radio influences you.

The Kingsmen started as kind of a “hootenanny” group, with acoustic guitars and a stand-up base. And as that music changed — when the electronic stuff came in; The Ventures and surf music started to take off — then the band got electrified and did that for a while.

When the Wailers became popular in the Northwest and put out an album called “The Fabulous Wailers at the Castle,” it became an album that all bands from the day learned. Our band was sort of a butterfly that was being molded by all the influence around it. And then it gained its own recognition — and its own sound.

We recorded the quintessential version of “Louie Louie.” Because of our naiveté with regards to why kids were coming to see us (the lyrics of “Louie Louie” were allegedly obscene), we thought it was comical when the F.B.I. started to investigate us. I was 17 at the time.

I cannot believe we hit the road and had absolutely no clue what we were doing, especially regarding the business. We just had no clue. And the impact that “Louie Louie” was having nationally — we just didn’t even see it. We were playing a different show in a different town night every single night and we were really out of touch except for what people kept saying, you know — “What about the FBI? What about this word? What about that word? What about these lyrics?” We kept denying it. We thought it was funny. It was like, “You think it says WHAT? Are you kidding?” We were the bad boys of rock and roll, but we were naive and innocent.

We were on the road all the time and had to find ways to amuse ourselves. We destroyed a hotel room once, out of fun. It wasn’t because we were drunk or drugged out. No one’s been into that stuff. Our worst moment was, we shot up a hotel room. We had been on the road playing double days for six months—a morning concert in one city and an evening concert in another. It would often be a high school assembly in the afternoon, then a dance in the evening a hundred miles away. We were going crazy and wanted some time off.

We finally got a day off and were in a hotel — a Holiday Inn, actually. It was right across the street from a gun shop. So, someone, I think Jimmy (our road man) bought a dart set. Then it escalated and someone bought a pellet gun. Then it was like, “Let’s open the door and see how far away we can get from that target and still hit it. You couldn’t get very far, but hey! A 22-calibre rifle could shoot from further away! With the doors open and across the parking lot, we wanted to see if we could hit something. We didn’t know it destroyed anything until we went to check it out.

You know those cinder block walls? Yeah, oh boy. When we checked it out and Jimmy removed the target, the only place that was not hit was where the target was. We checked out and left. Our managers called and were angry with us. It cost us a little bit of money to repair things. There was not a sign on the highway that we didn’t hit with a pellet gun, bottles or bottle caps.

When you think of what we were making and how hard we were working, it came to almost $2 million per year. When we decided we weren’t going to play psychedelic music and it was time to leave the road, there was nothing left. Our handlers had taken everything. We had worked really hard for five years and had nothing.

We initiated a lawsuit when we suspected the record company might have victimized us. We knew our recordings were released on other labels and felt we should be receiving royalties, but without management or legal representation, we had no idea how to collect them. We went into the lawsuit not only for the royalties, but with the claim to all rights associated with the master recordings. Winning that case was earth shaking. All sorts of acts have filed and now own their own material. They’re making a fortune. We’re making a lot of money, but the problem is, it’s all going to the attorneys, still. We’re close, though.

It makes me feel great to have Rolling Stone magazine called “Louie Louie” the fourth most influential recording of all time, and I completely agree with them. Beside the cultural significance, I think for anyone who wants to play an instrument, you play “Louie Louie” and you would be encouraged. Here something that’s sold who knows how many millions copies, and it has three chords. Anyone in the world can play it.

We’re one of the few acts of that era that are still performing nationally. The Kingsmen have always just played, not arranged and practiced stuff. You could play the same song 10 times and it would be different each time. We don’t rehearse. We talk about rehearsing. It’s like, someone will say, “Do you know this song? Do you know what key it’s in?” I’ve heard it before and we talk about it and it’s fine. Our attitude is — have fun. •

Above photo © 2006 Richard Peterson

____________________________________________________

Dick Peterson joined The Kingsmen in 1963 and has written a book,
“Louie Louie Me Gotta Go Now”

____________________________________________________

Terri Nakamura is a professional graphic designer who loves social media, music and writing. Follow her on Twitter: @terrinakamura; Read her blog, Confessions of a Graphic Designer: http://seattledesigner.blogspot.com/ or find her connections on xeeme: http://xeeme.com/terrinakamura

© 2010-12 Terri Nakamura

Baseball Heaven

/ terrinakamura / 2 Comments

(Originally posted March 1, 2012)

I’m writing this as I sit in my car in the Seattle Keiro parking lot.

The receptionist just told me David died at 7:40 this morning.

I don’t know how anyone can get used to watching the slow process of the body shutting down. I hope never to have to make that decision, but David could see the road he was on and wanted to get off, so he decided to stop dialysis a week ago.

For decades David, a bibliophile, owned a legendary bookstore in the historic Pioneer Square area of downtown Seattle. It closed 10 years ago, so it’s becoming a hazy memory for some. But in what I describe as the Golden Age of Pioneers Square, his shop was frequented by writers, artists actors, musicians and other creative and interesting people. Where else could anyone find a first edition of James Joyce’s “Ulysses,” but in David’s bookstore.

He was an amazing person who led an extraordinary life, and he was always surrounded by extraordinary people.

David was a devoted Mariners fan. He hasn’t been able to make it the past two years, but I hope he is getting ready spring training. He lived for it, and if he’s there, I know he will truly be in heaven.

______________________________________

Note: in 2010, David was featured in an advertising campaign for Swedish Medical Center. Thanks to Larry Asher of Worker Bees and the School for Visual Concepts, for allowing me the use of the following ad and television spot.

.


.
A story about David appeared on the front page of The Seattle Times, the day following his death:

http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/thearts/2017642033_ishii02.html

Tell Someone You Love Them

/ terrinakamura / 4 Comments

Dear Ken,

I wish you were alive to read this.

When Phil sent me the email this weekend, I felt so sad that we hadn’t talked for a while.

Now it’s too late.

Why is it people always think there is time?

In September when you were diagnosed, I knew it was a bad thing. Two other friends have died of ALS in the past 5 years. I’ve never seen a more swift and destructive disease. So I knew how fleeting life could be, yet I didn’t call. Why?

I think in my mind, I believed you to be positive and strong, and that you would hang in there long enough to check off all the things on your bucket list. And I was SURE I would see you again.

Now I think of you doing what you most loved—camping, fishing, sleeping under the stars. Is that where you are now? I really hope so.

I’m going to miss our long conversations about everything under the sun. There is a handful of friends I can do that with, and you were one of them.

If  there a lesson to learn here, it’s this—life won’t wait. So when I’m THINKING of someone, I need to reach out instead of expecting there will always be time down the road.

Because all of a sudden, it runs out.

Sending a virtual hug from afar—

Love, Terri

Serendipity

/ terrinakamura / 9 Comments

Stacy Rosen, founder of Story Scarves

Have you ever had a remarkable day where a number of unrelated things converge?

Stacey Rosen is a Twitter friend, who lives in South Africa, and like me, is a graphic designer. In addition to graphic design, she founded and devotes energy to Story Scarves, an organization whose aim is to teach tolerance through expressive arts.

Stacy was traveling to Seattle as the special guest speaker for Art With Heart’s annual fundraising benefit. Although Art with Heart is located only a few minutes from where I work, I only became aware of it through someone who lives in South Africa!

Stacey isn’t on Twitter very often but she happened to be following the timeline the day I posted my blog entry, Friendship in the Digital Age. When I write a blog post, usually about once a month, it’s out there, and then, *poof*—it’s gone.

The fact that she actually caught it the day I was sharing it, and then READ it, is a minor miracle in and of itself. But then after reading it, she sent me a tweet as she was boarding her plane to say that she was going to be in Seattle and would I like to get together?

When she arrived, she called me from her hotel room on Queen Anne Hill, and we decided since she was going to be at the Pike Place Market, we would meet there.

The Pike Place Market

In my rush out the door, I didn’t have her email address or her Twitter moniker with me, and I couldn’t find any way to reach her except at the hotel.

As I was getting ready to call the hotel, I took out my iPhone, and saw a message from one of her Art with Heart colleagues was waiting for me, letting me know their group was leaving The Pink Door, the restaurant where they’d had lunch. She let me know Stacey was planning to walk through the market.

I was beginning to think our meeting wasn’t going to come together, but I again contacted Stacy’s colleague to let her know I would be parked at the bottom of the market Hill Climb on Western Avenue. Then I waited.

Ten minutes later, seeing her walk down the Hill Climb stairs was a miraculous moment, and all of the goodness about her just radiated from her face.

We hugged and talked for 15 minutes, and it felt like I was chatting with a long-time friend — a fantastic moment made possible because of the serendipity of Twitter.

___________

Stacy can be found on Twitter @StacyStories or @StoryScarves

The Good Samaritan

/ terrinakamura / 1 Comment

Today was a beautiful, sunny day in Seattle, which isn’t in and of itself an odd thing. But being that it was November 3, it was a stunner.

This afternoon I had planned to attend a paper show sponsored by Neenah Paper. Every now and then, various paper mills put together shows and events for graphic designers, packaging specialists and others who specify paper for myriad projects.

In this case, Neenah chose BalMar, a very cool watering hole in an area of Seattle people refer to as Old Ballard.

Being directionally challenged, naturally I got lost. Even with an iPhone in hand (GPS was in another car) I managed to find myself near the Ballard Locks — clearly not near the venue.

I pulled in to a Taco TIme parking lot and was ready to walk in to ask someone where Ballard Avenue NW was? But I saw a guy walking on the sidewalk toward me, so I jumped out of my car and said, “Excuse me, but do you know where Ballard Avenue is?”

He took out his smart phone and started showing me maps, and tried to describe where I needed to go. But to be honest, I didn’t really “get” what he was talking about.

I asked him where he was headed? And he said, “No place in particular. I’m on a walk, doing a loop.” So I asked if he’d be willing to get in my car and show me?

He said “Sure. You don’t exactly look dangerous!”

So we drove back up the same street, looped around a one-way street (side note: there are entirely too many one-way streets here), and while we were driving I asked him (his name is Eric) if he’d like to go to the paper show with me since my other friend wasn’t going to be able to make it, and he said, “OK, why not?”

We found a parking spot not far from the destination.

I was planning to meet two members of the “Sansei Lunch Club,” but one of them couldn’t make it. As it was, I was arriving 15 minutes later than expected, so when Eric, my good Samaritan, and I jumped out of my car, Glen (one of the people I was going to meet) was walking toward us — paper samples in tow.

I introduced Glen to Eric, then told Glen the story of meeting Eric.

Glen looked incredulous, but knowing me, I don’t think he was terribly surprised. (I’ve been known to make friends standing in line at the post office.) Glen said he’d walk with us back to BalMar, and on the way I said, Hey, can I take a picture of you guys and tweet it later?

Glen suggested it might make a bit more sense if HE took a picture of me with Eric, and Eric agreed it did seem to make more sense. So Eric and I stood while Glen shot this:

Inside BalMar, we checked out the various new lines and products and viewed some terrific samples show the papers in use while chatting with the paper reps there. Then I noticed a promo for people with QR readers to enter to win a new car. So I entered, then asked Eric if he had a QR reader (he did) and encouraged him to enter, too.

I had this crazy thought: What if Eric wins the car?

There was a beautiful spread of food and and drinks, but knowing I had dinner plans, I drank my glass of water and was on my way — but not before giving my business card to Eric so I could email him this photo.

It was so utterly random, yet was one of the most fun things to happen to me in a while. It felt good to know perfect strangers can still trust one another, and for once, getting lost really made my day.