Saved by Eric Svensson

The years between the Gear Daddies' final shows in the early '90s and the release of my first solo album, Born Under, were rough, emotionally and financially. The Gear Daddies' parting was amicable, but a huge adjustment. My wife and I had also just had our first child, another sea change. There was excitement but also a lot of uncertainty during that period. 

The roll-out for my post-GD career was clunky. I had the material written for Born Under, plus a few more songs that would go on to make my second solo CD, but that amounted to an hour or less of music—not near enough to fill a headlining set (I avoided playing Gear Daddies songs until my solo career had gained some traction). The hectic recording schedule for Born Under also made it challenging to maintain a decent schedule of live shows. 

The inability to play live and the long delay before Born Under's release put us in a tight spot financially. 

The costs of a new baby are not insignificant. Also, being an uninsured musician, we had paid for the birth of our son with cash. Long story short, our meager savings were quickly depleted. 

Still, semi-desperate as we were, it didn't seem like a good idea when my agent called with an offer to open for the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band solo acoustically in Bemidji, MN. Over the years, my instincts have been pretty good on these things, so I turned it down. A week later, my agent called to say that the promoter had called again to see if I might have changed my mind. I hadn't.

Fast-forward another week or so. Looking at our bank account, I realized that making our mortgage payment at the end of the month would be tough. With a queasy feeling, I called my agent back to ask if the offer might still be open. Unfortunately, as it turned out, it was.

My instincts had been right. That set ended up being one of the worst 45 minutes of my career. I’m not sure how I would have made it through it if my good friend, Eric Svensson, hadn’t been along,

From the moment we arrived, things felt off. I had no dressing room, so we awkwardly shared space with the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band. We felt out of place and in the way, so we left and loitered off stage until my set time.

If I remember right, it was a high school gym-type venue. As I watched the crowd stream in, my trepidation began to escalate. It sure didn't look like my target demographic. 

That initial impression of the audience turned out to be right. A relatively small but very vocal percentage of them were not interested in me being on stage. They had no idea who I was; they wanted the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, and they let me know it before I strummed my first chord. In retrospect, that fact might have helped buffer my ego a bit. It wasn't a matter of them judging my music before giving me the thumbs down; they just started with their thumbs down.

It was an interminable 45 minutes, and I managed to block out much of it. I remember that a small group of guys began to heckle me, and then started throwing coins and other objects. The brand new (and expensive) guitar I was playing still has two big chunks taken out of the soundboard from that night. 

The thought that I wouldn't get paid, and therefore not be able to make our mortgage payment, unless I finished the set kept looping through my head. I closed my eyes and continued on as best I could. To have suffered that humiliation and not gotten paid would have been doubly devastating.

Eric grabbed my guitar as I walked off stage, quickly ushered me out a side door, and told me to wait in the car while he packed my gear and collected the paycheck.

I sat alone in the parking lot, very seriously considering a career change. I know that if I had experienced another show even half that horrible over the next year, I would have called it quits. It was a low point in my career. And it was a long drive back to the Twin Cities.

Eric saved me that night. There have been more than a few nights since then that I wished he had been there. He was, and continues to be, a great friend.

I've experienced a few unappreciative crowds since that night, but thankfully, none that threw shit at me. Knock on wood, that steak continues.