Category: Music that doesn’t suck

R.I.P., Frank Beard

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
He’s bad … he’s nationwide.

Frank Beard has followed Dusty Hill backstage, leaving Billy Gibbons as the Last OG Standing in ZZ Top.

I don’t remember who put me hip to ZZ Top. Could’ve been my old newsie bro the M-dogg, back in our Bibleburg daze, after the release of their sixth album, “Degüello.”

Whatever. I soon backtracked through their catalog, adding “Tres Hombres” and “Tejas” to my box of road-trip tunes. “El Loco” would join them.

I never caught them live, but their MTV videos were killer. It’s always a pleasure to watch folks who enjoy their work.

It wasn’t always fun, of course. I recall one of the ZZs, asked for the secret to the trio’s longevity, replying: “Three tour buses.”

And Frank sure had his issues with the fabled party favors. The band took a three-year break while he got his shit together, which he did, as you can see from the video up top, a clip from the documentary “ZZ Top — That Little Ol’ Band From Texas.”

Billy, Dusty and Frank were my co-conspirators on many a road trip, and I’ll always be grateful for their company. Peace to Frank, his family, friends, and fans.

Another Saga unwritten

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 24 Comments
My Soma Saga touring bike (rim-brake edition).

Well, the good news is, I won’t need fenders and a rain jacket for the ride downtown to collect my Subie from the shop.

The better news is, it is raining.

Reincarnation (the shop, not my hope for higher rebirth) just texted to say the old bucket of bolts is still deep into its semiannual wellness check and won’t be ready to come home until tomorrow.

It should go without saying that I had just pulled a fendered Soma Saga off its hook, aired up the tires, and lubed the chain.

But no matter. That needed doing anyway. And I got a couple hours of saddle time in this morning when it was still windless, cool, and dry, noodling home from the shop on the fenderless Soma Double Cross.

Besides, I may need the Saga tomorrow. The weather wizards are calling for a 70 percent chance of rain.

FIngers crossed.

Rain, dawg

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 7 Comments
Take it to “The Bridge,” Sonny.

When it rains, it pours, as the fella says.

I bet a lot of backyard ’Burque barbecues wound up in the kitchen yesterday. The rain started in midafternoon, laid about a half inch on us in four hours, then took five for the holiday.

When I stumbled out of bed this morning at stupid-thirty our weather gizmo reported (drum roll, please) another half inch overnight. No wonder I slept so well. Rain is a fine thing for sleeping. Also for farms, forests, and other living things, as long as they’re not sleeping rough in an arroyo.

Any morning you wake up on the right side of a damp lawn is a good one.

Sonny Rollins didn’t make it to Tuesday. But he left his mark in a big way before heading west yesterday at the age of 95. The giant of the tenor sax had such a commitment to the music that he put his career on hold before it really took hold, because he wasn’t satisfied with his sound.

In 1959 he stepped away from the clubs and the studio and just played, often come nightfall at the Williamsburg Bridge near his place on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. And he stayed gone for two years.

“A lot of people couldn’t comprehend why I would stop playing,” he told DownBeat magazine in 2001. “But I learned something. It was necessary for me to do to have the kind of confidence I need to play music like this.”

His comeback album was called “The Bridge.”

Sonny would slip away once more, that time for a spiritual pilgrimage, but he came back and kept reaching, hoping to grasp. A Saxophone Colossus indeed.