The Audition

Rural Minnesota, a basement house, and a bottle of Southern Comfort.

Sounds like the plot for a mumble-core movie or, perhaps, a recipe for despair.

It was the winter of ‘75-‘76. I was single and recently freed from four years of a loveless affair. Jimmy, one of the guys in a band that I had been following, had moved to rural Minnesota, near Cambridge, where his wife worked in an educational institution. A group of us has taken a train to the small town and then were ferried to his digs, literally digs in that he lived in an underground house, a basement that the upperfloors were awaiting construction.

We were suitably entertained, lots of smoking and drinking, and when it was time to go home Jimmy suggested that I come up next weekend to discuss a recording project he was doing. By chance, I had access to a friend’s van and returned, alone, to his hovel on the prairie. His sister-in-law and her friends came up as well, we spent the day in wholesome fun, skating on a pond that we cleared of snow. after they left, Jimmy had a number of audio questions and I had a smattering of knowledge (and had already produced acceptable recordings for his band.)

Eight hours and a bottle of Southern Comfort later, we both passed out but this was no routine bender. For both of our lives had changed that night. I went on to join his band which had a meteoric rise and fall over the next 5 years which ended when, crying in my arms, he told me he had to leave the group.

We both went on to raise families, creating more sustainable lives, with all that that entails. He moved out west but we stay in touch; a phone call every year or so.

Thanks for the audition.