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The formula for making a long-distance relationship work is the same whether you're a young couple in love or a couple of guys in a band: Keep open the lines of communication and make the most of your time together.
That's just the predicament the musicians in Trapt faced a few years back. Rooted in the childhood friendship of guitarist-vocalist Chris Brown and bassist Peter Charell, the group survived high school in Los Gatos only to find itself threatened in the fall of 1999 when its members scattered to three different coastal college campuses.
Charell enrolled at University of California, Santa Cruz, while Brown and guitarist Simon Ormandy took classes at UC Santa Barbara. The band's original drummer was caught in the middle at Californa Polytechnic State University, San Luis Obispo.
"It was hard to keep everything going strongly," bassist Charell told me in an interview a few years back. "I would drive down to where the drummer lived and throw his drums in the car, and then we'd go down to Santa Barbara.
"And every time we'd get together, we would really focus on what we were working on."
The miles and effort paid off, not in marriage and a family but in a major-label record deal. Trapt has released four albums over the past decade with a fifth, “Reborn,” due in this month. The band – which performs November 28 at the Fat Cat in Modesto – also features Robb Torres (lead guitar) and Dylan Thomas Howard (drums)..
In the process, Trapt has created a distinct hard-rock sound rooted in Charell and Brown's early diet of Korn, Soundgarden, Pink Floyd, 311 and Metallica. The two formed an ad hoc group for their first gig, a high school performance, but the enthusiastic response encouraged them to get serious about music. Ormandy joined in 1996 when the group spent the summer jamming – and partying – at a guest house behind his home. He left the band in 2008.
Back in school, Trapt began honing their musical and songwriting skills. In late 1997, the group recorded its first album of original songs and took to playing local venues like the Cactus Club. Within a few months, Trapt was opening for Papa Roach and Spike 1000.
Ironically, it took the separation that came with college to truly unite the musicians. Those long drives up and down the coast just to steal a few hours of rehearsal demonstrated to everyone how much they prized playing in the band.
Its student status gave Trapt an in on California campuses, and they became favorites on the Isla Vista party scene. There was also the occasional trip to Los Angeles, and it was a 2000 date at the famed Troubadour that piqued Immortal Records' interest in the group.
That deal fell through, but Trapt couldn't help but be encouraged. The players quit school, convened in Southern California, and began playing the Los Angeles clubs.
"It was the kind of pay-to-play thing, you know, but we never had that problem," Charell said. "It was a pretty good scene down there."
For all that, Trapt bottomed out in the summer of 2001, seeing its first major-label deal fizzle in eight weeks over creative differences. In addition, the band's original drummer quit.
The group, however, persevered and there's been no looking back. Trapt has gladly traded the miles it used to drive between Santa Cruz and Santa Barbara for the thousands more that will take it to venues across the country.
"We're up to it,” Charrell said. “It's fun."

By any definition, Jim Brickman is a pop star.
He has sold millions of albums, garners radio airplay with his hook-happy singles, and when he tours plays before packed houses coast to coast.
So why don't more people know Jim Brickman?
It's a matter of format. Brickman is a staple of adult-contemporary pop, so when his catchy yet soothing piano melodies pour out of the radio, they're wedged between Taylor Swift’s latest and some Phil Collins nugget. The adult-contemporary format is the red-headed stepchild of the recording industry, overlooked by the media (don't expect Brickman to turn up in Rolling Stone) and scorned by critics (the ever hipper-than-thou deride it as ear candy). It also happens to be one of the sturdies radio formats in America, one that bestows on its standout artists a much more stable and satisfying brand of fame.
"It's a longer road, but it tends to last longer, too," Brickman told me in an interview a few years back. "It takes longer to get the attention of people, but then they are much more loyal. It's more of a grass-roots kind of thing."
Brickman attracts people's attention through recordings but he earns their loyalty with his warm, no-frills live show. The pianist performs November 17 at the Gallo Center for the Arts and November 18 at the Tower Theater in Fresno.
Brickman brings more than his accessible instrumental pop to the affair; he uses music and humor to create an evening that uplifts as it entertains.
"It's not my feeling that people want to come to a recital," Brickman said. "They want to be entertained. And I've always thought the best way to do that was to be myself. So my sense of humor comes through in the presentation of the show."
As does his canny knack for writing melodies. Brickman considers himself a pop songwriter above everything else, and his albums feature a mix of hummable instrumentals and gentle ballads usually sung by guest artists. It's the latter that have earned Brickman his radio airplay, most notably for "Valentine" (with Martina McBride), "The Gift" (Collin Raye and Susan Ashton) and "Simple Things" (Rebecca Lynn Howard). Working with vocalists, he said, is "somewhat self-serving."
"I was so used to doing it for jingles and that. I was very used to going into the studio with singers and them singing my stuff."
Brickman’s overall approach to music is reflected in many of the titles he’s chosen over the course of a near-20-year recording career – “By Heart” (1995), “Visions of Love” (1998), “Peace” (2003), “Grace” (2005), “Hope” (2007), “All Is Calm” (2011). His latest releases are “Romanza” (2011) and the children’s disc “Piano Lullabies” (2012).
They all tend to contain the kind of unabashedly emotional music critics love to hate. Brickman, however, rarely turns up on their radar.
"You'd think I'd get slammed a lot more than I do, being in a category with Michael Bolton and Barry Manilow," he said. "But this (adult-contemporary) audience is ignored by the music-journalist community.
"I think that at some point along the way the music journalists decided it was their job to talk about the trends and the stuff that's cutting-edge. Basically, that's what their role is.
"It would be nice for someone to write about you," Brickman added. "But then you're handing over the power of telling people who you are. I don't really feel that I'm missing out on any of that. I love the fact that people are getting from my performances ... really what I mean to be sending out there."

Raised in the Cleveland suburb of Shaker Heights, Brickman began playing piano at age 4. After high school, he took liberal arts and business courses at Case Western Reserve University while also furthering his instrumental studies at the Cleveland Institute of Music.
In his early 20s, Brickman had gotten into jingle writing, collaborating with lyricist Ellen Wohl. The team wrote for a number of Ohio-based firms before moving to Los Angeles, where Brickman's clients came to include Disney and Coca-Cola.
The pianist was 32 before he moved from commercial spots to concert stages. Brickman recorded a six-song demo that caught the attention of Windham Hill Records, the pioneering new age label then in the process of expanding its offerings. Windham Hill released Brickman's debut, "No Words" (1994).
As his audience has grown over the ensuing years, so has the scope of Brickman's career. He's taped pledge-drive specials for PBS; written a book, "Simple Things," on the importance of savoring life's pleasures; and now hosts a syndicated radio program, "Your Weekend with Jim Brickman.”
As for larger celebrity, “it does not look appealing in the least,” he said. “My relative success is perfectly fine with me. (The music) touches people, people connect to it, and use it in their lifestyle. I would much rather be known because people enjoy my songs."
 

The Central Valley knew George Lopez when.

There were years – back in the ‘80s and ‘90s – when Lopez was a regular on comedy stages from Sacramento to Bakersfield. Young and edgy, he earned laughs and more than a few knowing grins with his tales of growing up Latino in the San Fernando Valley.  All that, of course, is in the past. Today, Lopez is among the most recognizable faces in America, a popular comedian who has starred in his own television series and plays to packed houses wherever he goes.  Lopez performs September 28 at the Bob Hope Theatre in Stockton.  All of which begs the question: Has success changed George Lopez?  As someone who interviewed him three times over the stretch of a decade, I would suggest it hasn't.

"I still work hard," Lopez told me a few years back. "I haven't taken anything for granted.”
He certainly hasn’t gone Hollywood; indeed, when I was interviewing him before the fame hit, Lopez came across as openly angry and not a little bit self-righteous as he considered the obstacles Hollywood presents ethnic performers.

"I'm trying to maintain my integrity in an industry that doesn't really allow you to do that," Lopez had said then, noting how he would continue to turn down the drug dealer-gang banger roles Hollywood was offering. ''If people want to think that this is arrogance, then it is.  "I think it's nice to have somebody who's not willing to sell himself out,'' he added. ''I don't feel I'm the last honest Latino, but I'm one." When I reminded him of that statement a decade later – when his sitcom was an ABC hit – Lopez sounded gruffly pleased.  "My break didn't come through the Hollywood system," Lopez said. "So if you remain pure, when your opportunity comes ... it makes you appreciate it that much more. You earned it."

Lopez's parents divorced when he was very young, and the comic was raised by his stern but loving grandparents in Mission Hills. Humor was always a big part of his life, with Richard Pryor, George Carlin, Redd Foxx and Cheech and Chong among his earliest influences. There was a television role model as well in the form of "Chico and the Man" star Freddie Prinze.
Lopez decided by age 12 that he wanted to do stand-up, although he was well into his 20s before he got serious about it. There followed those years on the road, the trials of which Lopez has come to appreciate when he finally made it big.  "A lot of my friends are still out there doing it," Lopez said. "It's one of the hardest jobs I've ever had, and I used to work in a factory.
"I'll always be a comedian," he added. "It's in my blood."

When James "JY" Young discusses the role his band, Styx, plays in the lives of its fans, he focuses on nostalgia. For many, catching Styx in concert today offers the chance to "relive the soundtrack to their gloriously misspent youth," he said.
Toward the end of an interview a few years back from his suburban Chicago home, the guitarist took that notion a step further, noting that a Styx show provides that same once-young audience a brief respite from the travails of adult life.
"People need relief from the first quarter-hour of the news," Young said. "They need to be able to go somewhere and just celebrate, to go to a joyful place."

Central Valley fans have the opportunity to do just that as the band performs September 7 at the Madera District Fair.
Young espousing the golden glow of nostalgia seems oddly uncharacteristic for Styx, a band that sold millions by mixing pop smarts and rock rhythms with songs that often, albeit self-consciously, had "something to say." "Blue Collar Man (Long Nights)" is hardly "Fun, Fun, Fun."
And, in truth, Young seems to have made only an uneasy truce with the concept of Styx as an oldies act. He speaks optimistically of the group scoring one more hit.

"We really do want to take another crack at climbing to the top of that mountain," Young said. "People need to see this wonderful new lineup that Styx has."

In addition to Young, the lineup features Tommy Shaw (guitar), Larry Gowan (keyboards), Ricky Phillips (bass) and Todd Sucherman (drums).
While Styx plays Madera alone, it’s not unusual in recent years to see the group on bills with the likes of R.E.O. Speedwagon, Journey and Kansas. The classic-rock constituency that turns out for such tours wants more than just the hits, Young said. The musicians
must also "cut a youthful figure."
"It makes everyone in the audience feel younger and it makes them feel good as well," he said. "The most important thing is that the band comes back out not as another pale imitation of what they used to be."
That certainly could be an issue with Styx, seeing as how the group includes just two members (Young and Shaw) from the lineup that set an industry mark by recording four consecutive triple-platinum
albums ("The Grand Illusion," "Pieces of Eight," "Cornerstone" and "Paradise Theater") between 1977 and '81. Most conspicuously absent is Dennis DeYoung, Styx's founding singer-keyboardist whose penchant for pop balladry gave the original group its biggest hits even as it sowed the seeds of its demise.
DeYoung departed in 1984, returning to the fold for brief reunions in the early and mid-'90s. Looking back on the initial split, Young sees it as almost a natural development given the musicians'
temperament and the group's overwhelming commercial success.
"To me, rock 'n' roll is a team sport," Young said. "The more a team can cooperate and work together and be able to appreciate their differences, the better.
"But when people are young and full of hormones and vinegar and whatever else, everybody's out to make a name for themselves. I think our differences became too great. The team spirit began
to fade under all those pressures that people are subjected to."

Excessive success was hardly an issue when Young joined the band at the dawn of the '70s. Back then, the group – DeYoung, brothers Chuck and John Panozzo (bass and drums, respectively) and John Curulewski (guitarist) – were just young Chicago musicians hungry for a record deal.
In 1972, Styx signed with RCA subsidiary Wooden Nickel and over
the next two years recorded four albums that owed more to the art rock of Yes and Emerson, Lake and Palmer than anything else.

Sales were dismal, however, and it looked like Styx might be sentenced to a lifetime of playing Midwestern roadhouses
when "Lady," a cut from the band's second album, became a local hit in 1974.
The single broke through nationally, rising to No. 6, and helped Styx secure a deal with A&M. With the release of its label debut,
"Equinox" (1975), Styx quickly evolved into one of the era's most popular bands. Blending DeYoung's pop sensibilities with the twin guitar attack of Young and Shaw (who replaced Curulewski), the group established itself as album-rock heroes. Such songs as "Light Up," "Lorelei," "Come Sail Away," "Crystal Ball," "Renegade," and "Fooling Yourself (The Angry Young Man") offered a winning
mix of high vocal harmonies and aggressive pop-rock, Midwestern working-class values and doses of pop psychology.

The band's charms, however, were lost on the New York- and Los Angeles-based music critics, who dismissed Styx as "corporate rock." Young said that the group's very success doomed it to that
status.
"Critics like to champion things," he said. "But we were just another heartland band that was faceless, without any real personality ... that could be easily dismissed and easily criticized. So we just developed very thick skin."

Styx's turning point came in 1979 when "Babe" – a ballad DeYoung had written for his wife – topped the charts for two weeks. Its success exacerbated a growing schism within the band, DeYoung
wanting to pursue more melodic and theatrical ideas while Shaw envisioned the band hewing to its rock roots.

DeYoung won the debate, for the time being. Under his direction, Styx cut its biggest hit to date, "Paradise Theater" (1981), a concept album that used a decaying inner-city movie palace as a metaphor for the crumbling American dream. Encouraged by its success, DeYoung hatched "Kilroy Was Here" (1983), a science-fiction project about a future in which rock 'n' roll was forbidden. The videos and tour found the band donning costumes; the hit singles, the mildly techno "Mr. Roboto" and the ballad "Don't Let It End," alienated many in the group's core audience.
They had the same effect on Shaw, who left in 1984; DeYoung soon followed. For his part, Young realizes there were more than just artistic differences at work.
"We were all five of us carried up in this whirlwind of incredible success and incredible pressure," he said. "The machine kind of takes over. It just kind of got to that point after 1983, when Tommy had to jump off the machine.”
The members of Styx spent the rest of the decade issuing solo albums before rebanding in 1990 minus Shaw, then working with Jack Blades and Ted Nugent in Damn Yankees. Styx scored a hit when a disk jockey spliced Persian Gulf War sound bites onto the DeYoung ballad "Show Me the Way."

A 1995 greatest hits package precipitated another reunion and tour, but the good feelings weren't meant to last. Health issues entered into the equation, most notably John Panozzo's alcoholism (he
died in 1996) and the strange viral infection that made DeYoung hypersensitive to bright lights. When he proved reluctant to tour, Young and Shaw decided to press on without him.

The ensuing years have seen the guitarists develop a closer relationship than during Styx's heyday.

"Tommy and I have an unspoken sort of connection," Young said. "I think when we did get back together in late '95 and early '96, we both recognized that the other guy had something that we might
not possess. We are both collaborative artists who work better as part of a team.
"Going to a Styx concert is just a cheerful place," he added. "I've found that something that was self-serving and purposeless in a way has incredible purpose."

Willie Royal’s music defies easy categorization.
There certainly are elements of jazz in the violinist’s approach, as well as traces of world beat picked up, in great part, from his global travels. There also are noticeable Latin beats and nuances, just the thing you’d expect from a performer who first found fame playing seaside Mexican cantinas 20-plus years ago as one half of Willie and Lobo.

In other words, expect all manner of influences and flourishes August 19 when at Tuolumne River Lodge when Royal’s side project, Willie and the Locos, takes the stage. The band – which also performs August 16 in Mill Valley – features Bill Macpherson (guitar), Nee Sackey (bass, vocals), Danny Campbell (drums), Kevin Flournoy (keyboards) and Cole Berry (percussion).

Royal was born in El Paso, Texas, the son of an Air Force lieutenant colonel, and was raised near bases in Turkey, Germany and France before settling in Florida. He took up violin at 8 and studied classical music, but inspired by the likes of Jean-Luc Ponty and Stephane Grappelli, began working in other genres. Under the influence of the Rolling Stones' "Country Honk," he turned his energies to rock, occasionally jamming with the likes of Gregg Allman and Dickey Betts.

Royal spent much of the '70s on the road, absorbing reggae, jazz and salsa while touring across Europe, Canada, South America and New Zealand. By the early ‘80s, he was living in Mexico. It was there he met Wolfgang “Lobo” Fink, a native of Bavaria who first picked up the guitar as an 18-year-old in the German navy. Inspired by Gypsy guitarist Manitas de Plata, Fink spent a year studying in southern France before returning to Germany to form Lailo, a flamenco group. By 1983, he was working in Mexico as a solo act.

Royal and Fink were playing the same restaurant in San Miguel de Allende when the manager suggested they collaborate. It would be 1990, however, before they officially became a duo.
The pair went on to record 10 albums – including “Gypsy Boogaloo” (1993), “Caliente” (1997), “Wild Heart” (1999), “Manana” (2003) – that blend the improvisation of jazz with world beat and Latin rhythms. Willie and Lobo garnered some smooth jazz airplay but Royal told me in an interview a few years back that they prided themselves on creating the uncategorizable.
"Creatively, it's a great feeling not to be pigeonholed," Royal told me a few years back in an interview. "I like to put out our albums once in a while and play and say, 'My God, where does that come from?' "

The two have not recorded together since “Zambra” (2006) but are set to announce a 2013. In the meantime, head down to the river and go a bit Loco.

It’s accepted wisdom among music critics that mainstream rock went through a pronounced trough in the 1980s. Maybe that was to be expected after the remarkable creative growth the genre experienced over the two previous decades. Many rock writers point the finger at MTV and the rise of the video for making pop music once and forever about style over substance. Certainly, almost all come right out and thank God that grunge came in to blow apart the ‘80s rock’s worst crime: hair bands.
More than 20 years later, however, there is a creeping respect for everything ‘80s. No one’s quite ready to equate Duran Duran with the Beatles but the music has acquired the respectful sheen of nostalgia as those ‘80s babies have kids of their own.
Brad Gillis confirmed that for me in an interview a few years back regarding the continued success of his band, Night Ranger.
"This thing kind of comes around in cycles," the guitarist said. "The whole grunge thing was hitting hard (by 1990) and no one wanted to hear '80s music. But we've noticed a lot of people reverting back to the '80s stuff. It was all about having a good time and partying with your friends. All positive stuff."
The core of Night Ranger – Gillis, Jack Blade (vocals, bass) and Kelly Keagy (drums) – remains intact 30 years after the

groups’hit-making prime. Joined by Joel Hoekstra (guitar) and Eric Levy (keyboards), they are prepared to headline the Sierra View Music Festival. Set for August 24-25 at Oakdale’s JH Ranch, the event also features Winger, Great White, Gloriana and Edens Edge, among others.
Sharing a bill with the likes of Winger and Great White cannot help but give the event an ‘80s vibe. The bands still rock but times definitely have changed.
"It was different in the '80s," Gillis said. "We were working a lot and partying a lot, and it was a way different
ballgame back then. Now, it's more of a business. We're taking care of our affairs better.

"Things are more together now. No big pressure. It's just been great."
Of course, if not for the years of struggle and subsequent success, the musicians would not be enjoying their current status. As Gillis related to me the band's commercial rise and fall, Night Ranger followed much the same course as contemporaries Styx, Journey and R.E.O. Speedwagon, selling its rock 'n' roll soul for a handful of hit ballads.

It seems an unlikely fate for a Gillis-founded band. A lifelong guitar player, he broke into the Bay Area music
scene at 19 when he joined the funk-rock outfit Rubicon.

Rubicon cut two albums for the now-defunct 20th Century Fox Records before disbanding. Gillis and two bandmates, Blades and Keagy, went on to form the short-lived hard rock act Stereo. The group then changed its name to Night Ranger.

The band quickly established itself in Northern California, thanks in no small part to promoter Bill Graham, who
arranged for the group to open for Judas Priest, Santana and the Doobie Brothers.
At virtually the same time, Gillis was contacted by Ozzy Osbourne about stepping in to the lead guitar slot after the tragic death of Randy Rhoads. Gillis finished out the tour with Osbourne, which included recording the live album "Speak of the Devil" (1982). He might have stayed with Osbourne permanently if not for the growing success of Night Ranger.

"I joined Ozzy Osbourne and did that for about a year," Gillis said. "I was 24 years old and that pretty much
sunk right into me –playing before thousands of people every night, the wild women."

Signed to Boardwalk/MCA, Night Ranger's debut album, "Dawn Patrol," garnered attention in early 1983 with the rock radio hit "Don't Tell Me You Love Me." The pattern repeated itself on the follow-up, "Midnight Madness," which began selling on the strength of the Blades-Gillis
composition "(You Can Still) Rock in America."

"Jack just wanted to write an American song that would be an anthem," Gillis said of the track's genesis. "I just sat
down with him and helped with the music. He pretty much wrote all the lyrics to that."

It was Keagy who composed the song that made Night Ranger. A power ballad in the "Keep On Lovin' You" mode, "Sister Christian" was released as a single in the spring of 1984. It reached No. 5 on the Billboard chart, pushed "Midnight Madness" past platinum and transformed the band's career virtually overnight.

"We saw us jump from 3,000-seaters to 15,000-seaters inside of two months," Gillis recalled. "In Wisconsin, we
pulled into one town with our tour bus, and (the marquee) said, 'Night Ranger. Sold Out.' Eight thousand people, man."

The similarly melodic "When You Close Your Eyes" kept Night Ranger on pop radio through the fall of '84, at
which time the band left the road to record its third album. As the sessions proceeded, MCA left no doubt as to what it wanted to hear.
"The record company ... wanted more 'Sister Christian' ballads," Gillis said. "And that kind of screwed the band
up. That's how we lost our audience.

"We lost our rock foundation. Nothing was up and powerful ... it took its toll in the late '80s."

The first single off "Seven Wishes," "Sentimental Street," was another dose of power balladry and returned Night
Ranger to the pop top 10. But neither of its '85 follow-ups generated much airplay. Night Ranger soon called it a night.
"We pretty much saw ourselves going down," Gillis said. "We went from playing big venues down to 3,000-seaters in '88 or early '89. We felt like we needed to take a break anyway."
Night Ranger reformed in 1995 for a very simple reason –money.

"We got a call from Japan that they wanted to get the original band reunited for a tour," Gillis said. "That got
us back together. It was so much fun."

To what does Gillis credit Night Ranger's renaissance? Nostalgia is certainly part of it.

"(Audiences) want to relive old memories," Gillis said. "They go see us for the nostalgia and the memories and
just to relive that time. We give them a service."

Brian Simpson has toured and recorded with an impressive array of jazz artists over the years: George Duke, Stanley Clarke, Larry Carlton, Kirk Whalum, Jonathan Butler. He has served as Dave Koz’s musical director for 15 years and filled the same position with the Smooth Jazz Cruise featuring Marcus Miller and David Sanborn for eight.
Over the past two decades, the keyboardist-composer also has pursued a solo career. Simpson’s fourth album, “South Beach” (2010), raised his profile in the smooth jazz genre considerably, thanks in large part to the extensive airplay the title track received.
Simpson’s summer schedule is dominated by Koz dates but we have the opportunity to catch him fronting his own band July 27 at the Tuolumne River Lodge presented by Samba Arts Group.  
Here’s what Simpson has to say regarding “South Beach,” how he writes and the current state of smooth jazz.

Question: Looking back on “South Beach” from the perspective of two years, what is your take on the album? Did it achieve what you hoped, in both creative and commercial terms?

Simpson: As with my previous CDs, I put considerable effort into making each song a unique statement that can stand on its own yet be an integral part of a cohesive collection of songs. I am always somewhat limited as to what songs I can do live due to the fact that I (and most contemporary jazz artists) cannot afford to travel with my own band and have to pick up musicians in different localities.
There has been an upside to this, however, in that I've discovered some amazing musicians around the globe that I otherwise would have never met. Whether it is evident or not, underlying much of my music is simply a funky blues and I've found a lot of musicians out there that can do that music justice. (In Modesto), I'll be with some musicians that bring a lot of heart and soul to my music, Victor Little on bass, and Deszon Claiborne on drums.
I don't expect musicians to play things exactly like my records; I learned that from George Duke, when we play live we're there to have fun, to entertain, and that is most likely to happen when musicians can interpret the music in their own way, of course trying to maintain the integrity of the composition.
Concerning commercial success, I don't know of any jazz artist who's achieved that lately. Sales at our live shows are still pretty good and since the demise of retail that is the most we can hope for, good sales at our shows.
Creatively, I was completely happy. I've had complete control of the production of all my CDs, with no record company input, so If I wasn't happy, I kept working on it until I was.

Question: What is your composing process like? How much of your writing is sheer inspiration and how much "I've got a sketch of a melody here and I will take the afternoon to flesh it out"?
Simpson: I typically start with a rhythmic groove, the chord changes, then the melody last. The melody can take weeks, even months in a few cases. I think too much music is released in this genre with melodies that simply are not very strong and I don't care how good the production or the groove are, only the melody can make a great song.

Question: You have extensive credits a sideman. How do you balance that with the desire to be a solo artist, to be the one in the spotlight?

Simpson: Currently, I'm not only Dave Koz's music director but the music director of the Smooth Jazz Cruise with hosts Marcus Miller and David Sanborn. Luckily, I have an understanding booking gent who works around my other commitments. I like playing other peoples music; there's always something to be learned by working with different artists. 

Question: Smooth jazz has undergone some drastic changes over the past few years: the radio format has all but disappeared, some festivals have come and gone. What is your take on smooth jazz 2012 and where do you believe the music is headed?

Simpson: Firstly, the name "smooth jazz" is one I know most artists wish would go away, but I don't think it will. That moniker has actually harmed the genre; in Europe, the term "smooth" with "jazz" is rather distasteful. You will start hearing "contemporary jazz" more though I believe.
I'm unfortunately not inspired by the new crop of artists I've seen trying to break into this music. I have however collaborated with some very young producers for my new CD, which is a departure for me. I have been the sole producer of my music in the past.
I'm hopeful that some new radio stations will begin to emerge but if they keep playing Sade and a bunch of songs from 20 years ago, there is definitely no future in that. That kind of milquetoast programming is what killed jazz radio in the first place. I feel the way consultants "tested" music was flawed, which kept any "new" ideas off the radio. Soon the artists were making music to appeal to the "consultant" in order to get played on the radio, which is the "tail wagging the dog", and that's a recipe for failure, which is exactly what we got with smooth jazz radio – epic fail.

Visit Brian Simpson at www.bsimpsonmusic.com
Listen to Brian's
Watch a live video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ksWtzvNy-M&feature=results_main&playnext=1&list=PL463409A5D1E5B0EC

Ron Thompson has been a staple on the Northern California blues scene for decades, impressing generations of fans with a cutting guitar style that has drawn praise not only from critics but fellow artists such as John Lee Hooker, Mick Fleetwood, Angela Strehli and Tommy Castro.

Speak to Thompson, as I did a few years back, and it quickly becomes evident that he is a blues true believer and prizes his time on stage with the like-minded.

"I started out playing blues and you end up playing with people who play blues,” he said. “It just ends up that way. If you learn a trade, you end up playing with people who are in the business. Just being able to meet those people, let alone share the stage ... it’s very much an honor.”
You can catch Thompson live June 21 at the third annual Blues and Bones festival. Set for the Calaveras County Fairgrounds in Angels Camp, the blues bash also features New Orleans native Kenny Neal, Maxx Cabello Jr. and the Breakdown, Cole Fonseca and  Phoenix Jubilee, and Jeramy Norris and Dangerous Mood.

This year marks Thompson’s 40th anniversary as a recording artist and he’s appeared on dozens of albums since, both fronting his own group, the Resistors, and as a sideman for the likes of Lowell Fulson, Big Mama Thornton, Roy Brown, Chris Isaak, Mark Hummel and Harmonica Slim. His credits also include the John Lee Hooker’s live album “The Cream.”

Thompson spent five years in the late ‘70s playing in Hooker’s Coast to Coast Blues Band. What lesson did he take from that experience?

”You do what you do and you do the best you and you can’t worry about, Is this popular?” Thompson told me

There is a telling moment in “No Direction Home,” Martin Scorsese’s 2005 chronicle of Bob Dylan’s creative evolution. The camera catches Bobby Neuwirth – painter, musician, arch-hipster, equally at home in Boston and Berkeley – explaining the question by which an artist’s cultural currency was measured in post-war America: “Does he have anything to say?”

                                 
That concept has all but disappeared from contemporary culture. Whereas the generations that came of age in the 25 years after World War II applied their expanding affluence to access and encourage some semblance of higher culture – think the socially themed mid-list novel or New Hollywood at its pioneering best – those of the past three decades have evinced little interest in moving beyond the aesthetic limitations imposed by the entertainment-industrial complex. Indeed, for the mass of Americans – in good economic times and bad – the desire to expand your creative intake, to openly pursue art that challenges as it entertains, is to be seen as “intellectual” and, thus, suspect. The only thing rarer than finding an artist with “anything to say” these days is an audience willing to listen.
Given that reality, “Red,” John Logan’s engaging two-hander playing through July 29 at Stage 3 in Sonora, is as much a welcome return to a bygone era as a serious but accessible meditation on art and artists. Set in Mark Rothko’s Bowery basement studio at the end of the ‘50s, Logan’s play serves to remind that, yes, there was a time when American artists and audiences alike debated such now-quaint notions as integrity vs. money in the arts, sincerely and without the slightest trace of an ironic smirk.
Logan’s way into that debate – and the larger story of Rothko’s personal history and creative vision – is utterly conventional. The veteran artist (Harvey Jordan) has hired young Ken (Christopher Hayhurst) to be his assistant. An aspiring painter himself, Ken’s duties, as Rothko explains them, are willfully mundane: mixing paints, stretching canvas, scoring coffee. Ken’s duties in the drama are, likewise, just what you’d expect: provide a sounding board for Rothko’s insights, lessons and rants while leavening the proceedings with an intriguing back story of your own (in this case, it involves his parents’ violent deaths) and keeping the proceedings emotionally honest. As our window on the wider art world, Ken also enables Logan to examine Rothko’s takes on the nascent pop art movement (disdain) and the life and death of contemporary Jackson Pollack (suicide by convertible).
First produced in London in 2009, “Red” earned Logan a boatload of honors (including a Tony) for the skillful way it mixes art and the era, the personal and professional. The Stage 3 production fuses these themes together seamlessly.
That effort begins with Ron Cotnam’s set, which effectively evokes the dark environs of an artist with no use for natural light – you can almost touch the mildew clinging to the damp walls, the stale smell blending with the sweet-acrid of paint and the sweet-sour of Chinese take-out. The furniture looks properly third-hand, the on-stage clutter of paints and brushes, cups and books, spot on.
It’s upon this canvas that director Don Bilotti places his cast. An unabashed fan of Jordan’s work and overall artistic sensibility, I can say that audiences will find him at his best in “Red.” Here is a performance with depth, one that explores the character’s many dimensions with no emotional shortcuts or pandering. Jordan’s Rothko is, by turns, highly passionate and deeply analytical about art, fiery and frustrated, needy and aloof. Jordan can thunder away at filthy lucre one moment, take the money the next and never sound a false note.
If Jordan’s performance steers well clear of cliché and artifice, that is even more than case with Hayhurst. Given “Red’s” young-artist-working-with-the-master set up, it’s easy to see how Hayhurst could have fallen back on well-established tropes. Fortunately, Logan’s script moves the young man quickly beyond that initial scenario into a relationship with Rothko that, while remaining more professional than personal, touches on the affectionate and adversarial alike. In all respects, Hayhurst gives as good as he gets here; “Red” may be Rothko’s story but both actors are essential to its telling.
With “Red’s” exploration of Rothko, the arts and their role in society, Logan demonstrates that he clearly has plenty to say. Much the same can be said of Stage 3, where Bilotti serves as artistic director and which follows “Red” with the ever-motor-mouth David Mamet’s politically themed comedy “November.”            www.stage3.org                             Home

 July 14 at Black Oak Casino in Sonora and July 15 at the Sacramento Horsemen’s Club.

California Guitar Trio  Sutter Creek Theater
                                                              Brian McCoy, July 3, 2012

There's nothing particularly novel in hearing a musician speak of the chemistry that exists among members of his current group. From the classiest chamber ensemble to the angriest punk band, such emotional and musical connections are essential.

That said, it's hard not to be impressed when Bert Lams speaks of the California Guitar Trio's chemistry. Geography provides part of the reason, seeing as how the musicians hail from three distinct continents and cultures.

"That makes for an interesting chemistry and different influences that naturally tie into the music," the Belgian-born Lams told me in an interview a few years back. "Yet one of the elements that brought us together at the same time was our common love of classical music and classical arrangements."

From that background, the trio – Tokyo guitarist Hideyo Moriya and Salt Lake City's Paul Richards round out the lineup – has found an international audience for an acoustic sound that touches on everything from jazz and classical to contemporary pop.

The California Guitar Trio comes to Northern California next week for a series of dates including sets July 12-13 at California Worldfest in Grass Valley and July 14 at the Sutter Creek Theatre.
The group’s latest album, the all-classical “Masterworks,” features the trio’s arrangements of works by Bach, Barber, Schubert and Vivaldi, among others. The project also marks the latest chapter in their long association with bass giant Tony Levin.

Lams, Moriya and Richards first met Levin – and each other – during the four years they spent in Seattle in the 1980s as part of King Crimson guitarist Robert Fripp's League of Crafty Guitarists. When Fripp disbanded the collective, he encouraged his student-musicians to form their own groups. Lams, Moriya and Richards took him up on the idea.

"We pretty much stayed for a long period of time (in Seattle) and that was really our strong foundation," Lams told me. "We had no reputation but from one thing came another."

The trio released its debut album, "Yamanashi Blues," in 1993 and the near-20 years since have seen them issue both studio efforts ("Invitation," "Pathways," a holiday disc) and live shows (including a two-CD set from San Francisco's Great American Music Hall).

From Northern California, the group will travel to Italy for a series of dates. Those will be followed by a string of Stateside concerts running through the fall. Lams noted that when it comes to performances, on-stage chemistry is only half the equation.
"A lot of it depends on the energy of the audience," he said. "We never know what to expect."

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Yellow Submarine                                                Brian McCoy

Movies played a crucial role in furthering the Beatlemania that swept the globe in 1964-65. Even before the band made its live American debut on “The Ed Sullivan Show,” manager Brian Epstein had signed a three-picture deal with United Artists. Shooting on the first film, “A Hard Day’s Night” (1964), commenced soon after the quartet returned from the States.

The movie proved a major success, pleasing not only the band’s predominantly teen audience but the older and decidedly more jaded critics on both sides of the Atlantic. Directed by Richard Lester, a London-based American, and offering audiences a faux behind-the-scenes look at the band on tour and off stage, “A Hard Day’s Night” was lauded for the breadth of its soundtrack, its shot-on-the-fly bravado and the four leads’ wit and charm. More than one reviewer likened to the Beatles to modern Marx Brothers.

Unfortunately, the band’s debut also marked its apex as movie stars. Having presented the four in ersatz documentary fashion, Lester went to the other extreme for the ’65 follow-up, “Help!” This time, the Beatles were placed (read: cut adrift) in an outlandish story involving ancient Eastern sects and incense-shrouded sacrificial rites. The broader focus found the band fighting for screen time with not only the rest of the comic cast but the movie’s picturesque locations (Bahamas, Austria). John Lennon was to grumble ever after that in “Help!” the Beatles had been extras in their own film.

”Help!” was a hit, of course, and there was talk of a third feature to fulfill the UA deal. As the Beatles dropped touring (and their moptop image), however, no movie materialized. Their own foray into directing for the small screen, “Magical Mystery Tour” (1967), was a debacle and as such hardly likely to encourage them to get back in front of the camera.

It was in this atmosphere – which would grow increasingly acrid as the Beatles moved into their final two years together – that “Yellow Submarine” took shape. Produced by Al Brodax and directed by George Dunning, the film was conceived as a way to fulfill the UA deal with minimal group involvement. Based on the popular, largely McCartney-penned track from “Revolver” (1966), it featured voice actors standing in for the Beatles themselves. The soundtrack became a dumping ground for songs the band deemed inferior; “It’ll do for the film” was a familiar Lennon refrain. Two of the just four new songs, “Hey Bulldog” and “Only A Northern Song,” were last-minute, little-inspired creations written primarily to fill out the soundtrack album’s first side. (The second side was comprised of George Martin-scored instrumentals.) It was all the producers could do to get the Beatles together to film the forced, charm-challenged cameo that concludes the movie. Hardly promising stuff.

And yet, “Yellow Submarine” somehow emerged as a Beatles triumph. A box office success at the time, it did much to placate fans put off by the “Magical Mystery” misery and the group’s growing social and political agitation. Critics hailed the production’s ambitious and adventurous animation, the skill with which it married mid-period Beatles to psychedelic mindscapes. The imagery impressed, the music soared and the cartoon cast (Old Fred, the Lord Mayor, the Boob, the Blue Meanies) charmed.

And they still do. Nearly 45 years after its initial release, “Yellow Submarine” stands as one of the Beatles’ best-known and -loved projects. Because it’s animated, the film has introduced generations around the world to the Beatles’ music and personas. That includes the band member’s own children. Sean Lennon, interviewed for the late ‘80s documentary “Imagine: John Lennon,” talks about having seen “Yellow Submarine” at a friend’s house and, putting two and two together, asked his dad if, indeed, he had been in that group. Yes, Lennon acknowledged.

Dhani Harrison had a somewhat similar, if less pleasant, experience. In the recent George Harrison documentary “Living in the Material World,” Dhani recalls getting chased home from school one day by a group of kids singing “Yellow Submarine.” At first, it made no sense: why would they be taunting him with that song? Once the light went on, he said, “I came home and freaked out on my dad: ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were in the Beatles?’”

”Oh, sorry,” was George Harrison’s deadpan response. “Probably should have told you that.”

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