Reel Music Magazine
Writing for independent music magazines for four years did not prepare me for WoodEye? I am used to going to a couple of gigs, getting a few free drinks and wrapping up my vision of the band by falling asleep to some of their recorded music.
First, WoodEye? doesn’t gig which means I do not like them in the first place. Second, when I had to run down Hayden Hughes because he doesn’t like to do phone interviews (as it turns out he does not like interviews, period), that insulted me. And third, I was summoned to their studio to listen in the environment of their choosing and NO free drinks!
Jon Daniel scurried off into their control room while Hughes and I gathered some coffee, and wound our way through room after room back to the main hall in the studio. I was going to burn these guys to the ground. They didn’t even look like musicians. Hughes was wearing jeans, clearly made to measure boots, and a UCLA basketball jersey. JD wearing the uniform of flannel shirt, jeans and sneakers waved us back into the control room; and before I could ask where to sit, the music exploded. I am a component stereo freak, but this was other worldly. I was inside the belly of their beast, and it was hard to tell reality from my job as critic.
I asked to take a tape home. There was a long……..pause. JD said, “Give her a break, what’s she gonna’ do?” I grabbed the dubbed tape and raced to the door without saying goodbye or thank you. I was going to burn these geeks to the ground. My article was due in five days. I would give another listen, and burn these guys to the ground. Give her a break, indeed.
I started in on them immediately. You can hear what they are doing. The background vocals sound contrived, and the meter is awkward. I did find merit in some of the lyrics, but I did not write it into the story. I scuffed them up real good and mailed the story to two rags. I got $275 bucks from the best magazine and never heard a word. I do not read my work, except to edit the editor in case I have to insist upon corrections. IT was over. A flash fire and WoodEye? was done. The pretension of a ? in their band name. Barf???
Then it happened. I was in Utah on vacation, and I heard a band perform a WoodEye? song. I felt embarrassed. How had something I left in a hunk of burning sarcasm skulled its way 1800 miles from Texas? It ruined my trip. I returned home and scrambled through an old box of interview tapes. There it was. The bastards had only given me four songs of some fifty they had recorded. How could I blame them I thought after setting fire to their efforts.
I racked the tape and heard the song I had blushed to in Provo. My God this is good. I had heard it three times. In the other worldly studio, on my decent home system (in a bed mood), and in a stinky, hot club drinking micro-brewed beer in a state where they do not drink! What had I missed? What had I done? I called Hayden Hughes the next day. To my surprise he answered the phone. I announced my name and had to remind him who I was. It has been a year since the bonfire, and I was sure I was getting the coldest of shoulders.
“I am sorry, Miss Murray, I never saw your article. I don’t read much, and I really don’t listen to much music. I am used to three verses and a chorus. However, I can activate my mind with three words,” he said. I still had the urge to puke, but I had heard something where there was nothing before. I told him about the cover band in Provo, and how he and JD had made the playlist.
He laughed. “I met those guys when I was on a trip to Denver, and I like their tunes. They sent me a tape so I returned the favor. They sent me a copy of a live set where they played two of our tunes. I was flattered. Not many of my peers play our songs,” he kinda’ sighed. “We have covered some songs for practice and some songs because we loved the song.” He continued, “It is hard for your peers to really put a value on what you are doing until someone else says it is supposed to be good. Therefore, I just do what I do.”
I told him I had written a very critical article, and I would like another shot. He said, “NO THANKS.” “I think I did you wrong,” I said. “To whom?” he answered. “I made a mistake. I wronged myself. I have now listened to WoodEye? for weeks. In Provo, I had heard
Until Someone’s Light Shines on the Good Side of the You
You Used to Know
You’re Gonna Do Some Hurtin’ and You’re Gonna Lie Some.
It had gone through my ears and out my soul. “It is all I hear,” I begged. “Well, good for you. I have heard this story many, many times. It is no harm, no foul,” he shrugged with his voice. Plus, I had never heard such a term. “What does that mean?” He explained that it was an old basketball expression. No harm. No foul. “Then I had committed a foul.” I asked again. “Let me write something and I will let you look it over.” “You do what you want to do, that’s your business. We do have several new songs. Want to hear a couple. Same rules.”
Three days later I was back in their world. There was a new redwood wall, a black leather sofa and two canvas chairs that felt like you were sitting in a Porsche. They played me a song that moaned of the Atlanta child murders, a friend that did not survive his return from Vietnam and a refrain blessing our Country with a mantra of cities backed with a wailing saxophone. Then they played this sweet intricate acoustic song of love and pictures of everyone’s favorite beach. It pleaded for mutual respect between a man and a woman naming him her Valentino. A hero of their time. I cried.
Then he disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he carefully handed me a sheet a paper with what appeared to be a poem partially typed and partially hand-written. “Want to be the only person that ever hears a failure?” Hughes and Jon Daniel both hung their heads as if in defeat. They played the music that accompanied the poem. The tale of a real life Country Doctor. A small town Texas doctor that had seen too much. The prairie dust wafted from your clothes. Your mouth became dry. I have reprinted the lyrics by permission. I heard a masterpiece. It was clumsy. It was not perfect like some of their other material, but this was real. It was great.
I left. I did not write another article until I gained the strength to sit down and tell the truth. I was a peer. Hughes said do what you want. It was what I had done before. I hope music fans will see this. Want to hear what they see. I want no money.
SM 1981
