Hard Listening: The Greatest Rock Band Ever (of Authors) Tells All Read online

  Dedication

  The Band

  From the Fax Machine of Ridley Pearson

  INBOX > Subject: I Forgot to Mention This

  Rock Stars…for Librarians

  by Sam Barry

  INBOX > Subject: Remainders’ Last Waltz

  The Green Room

  by Ridley Pearson

  Q&A: The Designated Worrier

  Ted’s Management Lesson #1:

  Network

  Pop Quiz: Most Likely To…

  Results: Most Likely To…

  INBOX > Subject: Update/Request about the Remainders’ e-book

  A Truly Horrible Band

  by James McBride

  Remainder Code of the Road

  Q&A: Twilight Fan Fiction

  Roynote: On Inflatable Sheep

  Ted’s Management Lesson #2:

  Logistics

  From the Fax Machine of Amy Tan

  Fifty Shades of Tan

  by Amy Tan

  Dom-Outfit Shopping with Kathi

  INBOX > Subject: Past Our Bedtime

  Pop Quiz: Scott Turow's Spleen

  Results: Scott Turow’s Spleen

  Singing in the Key of H

  by Scott Turow

  The Cleveland T-Shirt Shop

  Q&A: Scott Turow’s spleen?

  Two Truths and a Lie

  Results: Two Truths and a Lie

  What I Learned in the Remainders

  by Dave Barry

  Most Likely to Fart

  Ted’s Management Lesson #3:

  Risk Taking

  Q&A: A Book About The Remainders

  Roynote: Words of Wisdom

  Q&A: All-Author Boy Band

  Q&A: Tuesdays with Mitch

  My Elvis Takes It Off

  by Mitch Albom

  Ted’s Management Lesson #4:

  Contracts

  Dave on Mitch Joining the Band

  INBOX > Subject: Roy Blount Intro

  This Is Not About Me

  by Roy Blount Jr.

  Ted’s Management Lesson #5:

  Cultural Sensitivity

  Q&A with Roy

  Two Truths and a Lie

  Results: Two Truths and a Lie

  Q&A with the Barry Brothers

  I Was the Man in the Marge Simpson Mask

  by Matt Groening

  Q&A: Where You’ve Been Recognized

  INBOX > Subject: Happy Hour

  Hitting Rock Bottom

  by Roger McGuinn

  Q&A: Roger’s Next Band

  Q&A: Aspiring Writers Aspiring to be Rock Stars

  Ted’s Management Lesson #6:

  Time Management

  Q&A: Titles and Plots

  Pop Quiz: Who was Described as…

  Results: Who was Described as…

  “MORE COWBELL!”

  by Greg Iles

  Nails On Fire

  Ridley on Greg Joining the Band

  INBOX > Subject: A big thanks from Brother Greg

  Q&A: Literary Mash-ups

  Just a Little Talent

  by Stephen King

  FedEx from Stephen King

  INBOX > Subject: Keep It in Your Heart for a While

  INBOX > Subject: The McGuinn Karaoke Challenge...for Authors

  The McGuinn Karaoke Challenge...for Authors

  Black Mambo

  In The Woods

  The Rock And Roll Dead Zone

  Robert Johnson’s Flat-Top

  Pop Quiz: The Real Stephen King

  Results: The Real Stephen King

  INBOX > Subject: Grading the Kings

  A Final Word from Dave Barry

  Acknowledgements

  About Coliloquy

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Hard Listening: The Greatest Rock Band Ever (of Authors) Tells All

  by

  The Rock Bottom Remainders

  Palo Alto | San Francisco

  Dedication

  For Kathi Kamen Goldmark, founder of the Rock Bottom Remainders

  The Band

  Mitch Albom: Keyboards, Elvis

  Dave Barry: Lead Guitar

  Sam Barry: Harmonica

  Roy Blount Jr.: Emcee

  Matt Groening: Cowbell, Marge Simpson

  Ted Habte-Gabr: Manager

  Greg Iles: Lead Guitar

  Stephen King: Rhythm Guitar

  James McBride: Saxophone

  Roger McGuinn: Rock Legend

  Ridley Pearson: Bass Guitar

  Amy Tan: Rhythm Dominatrix, Remainderette

  Scott Turow: Wigs, Remainderette

  Bombo: Lead Bark

  From the Fax Machine of Ridley Pearson

  Sent after the Remainders first-ever concert

  Kathi Goldmark

  Queen of the Universe

  May 28, 1992

  Dear KG:

  There are those things in life that you go through which you quickly realize are unforgettable. Moments. Happenings. The Remainders was that way from the very first moment I checked into the Hilton and headed off to rehearsal, continuing through the final curtain call at the Cowboy Boogie. I have played—no kidding—thousands of gigs in the last twenty years. But none quite like that one.

  The friendships I made while being a part of this band will hopefully last for years. Even a lifetime. As an author, I spend my time in a small hexagonal room with my nose in a manuscript. Alone. I spend over ten hours a day that way, six days a week. It is moments like the Remainders—like running out to a movie with Stephen, or watching Dave fall out of his chair in the Hilton bar because he’s laughing so hard, or having Fulghum give me a huge hug and say, “I wouldn’t have missed this for the world!” that make all that time—and agony—worth it. And you made it happen. You gave me new friends—a LOT of them—and that is a gift that can’t be measured or properly acknowledged. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for it. Some of the most fun has been my weekly touch-base conversations with you, KG, and I will miss them dearly. The Remainders gave back a lot of life to one that had become bogged down in words, words, and more words. Stephen, Dave, and I found each other on this trip. I KNOW we will be doing more stuff together, and I can only hope that it will somehow include not only writing and gabbing, but playing music with you and other Remainders. You can’t ever repeat this kind of thing—I know that; I’ve played enough to know that—but each gig is its own thing, each friendship too. There is life after even the best of gigs—and this was certainly the best of gigs!

  For everything you gave us—your heart, your soul, your beautiful smile and eyes and voice—God bless you. My heart is pounding heavily. I wrap my arms around you and hug you with all my thanks. This is one of those moments…And you are to thank for it.

  I know it’s a silly thing to say, but I hope we do it again.

  Lots of Love to you,

  Ridley

  INBOX > Subject: I Forgot to Mention This

  From: Dave Barry

  Sent: Thursday, March 31, 2011

  Next year the Remainders will turn 20. Which I think means that in some states we can have sex.

  From: Kathi Kamen Goldmark

  Sent: Thursday, March 31, 2011

  But not a beer.

  Rock Stars…for Librarians

  by Sam Barry

  He’ll deny it, but my brother Dave Barry has musical talent. If he hadn’t gone astray and pursued a career in booger jokes, he co
uld have easily been a broke, struggling musician. “You should come see this really weird band I’m in,” he said to me after a speaking event at the Boston Public Library in 1993. The Rock Bottom Remainders were performing at Nightstage in Cambridge, the kickoff of their Massachusetts-to-Florida tour to raise money for literacy.

  I arrived at the Remainders’ show having no idea what I was going to see. I had been to a lot of rock concerts in my day, but the Remainders crowd was different, consisting mostly of booksellers and librarians, all of whom appeared to be drinking. I was seated next to Stephen King’s family, who turned out to be remarkably normal. We snacked on human eyeballs and shared some pleasantries until the band, such as it was, came onstage—the women and some of the men in costumes; others, like Dave and Stephen, in jeans and T-shirts. The first thing I noticed was that there were many more people up onstage than is necessary to play rock and roll. Aside from the ringers on drum, sax, and organ, the band included Dave and Stephen King on guitar, Ridley Pearson on bass, Barbara Kingsolver on keyboard, and Robert Fulghum playing the obligatory, hard-rockin’ ax—the mandocello. Then there were the folks without instruments, or at least without musical instruments (one had a whip): Amy Tan, Kathi Kamen Goldmark (the founder of the Rock Bottom Remainders), and Tad Bartimus were the Remainderettes, and Dave Marsh, Greil Marcus, Joel Selvin, and Matt Groening were the Critics Chorus. That’s right—there were two sets of backup singers in a band that didn’t have a lead singer. Finally, there was Roy Blount Jr., whose role appeared to be more metaphysical than musical.

  I’ve probably left someone out and may have added someone who wasn’t there. Over the years many people have wandered onto stage with the Remainders—drunks who got lost looking for the bathroom, security guards making their rounds, and legions of confused authors and publishing people Kathi and others dragged up there to sing along. Then there are the phantom members. I’ve seen articles that claim Maya Angelou was a member.

  That night in 1993, the Remainders were on fire. Not musically, mind you; musically, the band sucked. But they were clearly having a hell of a lot of fun. The Critics Chorus alone was worth the price of admission. These writers had dictated the literary taste of a generation, but they were completely incapable of clapping in unison, singing, or dancing, let alone all three at once. Another highlight of the evening was the band’s infamous rendition of “Teen Angel,” a late-1950s rock ballad about a young couple whose car stalls on a railroad track. The boy gallantly pulls the girl to safety, but she runs back and is run over by a train. When they find her corpse, the boy's high school class ring is clasped in her hand—her motivation, presumably, for running back to the car. At an earlier show, Stephen had changed the ring to a “vial of crack” clutched in those fingers tight.

  Acuff-Rose Music, the publisher of “Teen Angel,” threatened to sue if Stephen persisted in changing the words, so he ceased and desisted. That night, as the band vamped the opening chords of the song, Dave repeatedly told us that we should not even think the word “asshole” when he said Acuff-Rose. Soon we were chanting “Asshole!” at the top of our lungs. Dave then carefully explained that under no circumstances were we to shout “vial of crack” at the crucial moment. We, of course, knew what to do.

  They said they found . . .

  “A vial of crack!” we roared.

  “No,” Stephen responded, smiling sweetly. “My high school ring.”

  STEPHEN KING LAMENTS HIS LOST VIAL OF CRACK

  I met Kathi that night, but I didn’t get to know her until 1999, when I moved to San Francisco to go into publishing. Dave gave me her number, thinking she would be a good connection. Kathi agreed to meet me after work, and we hit it off immediately. In fact, we more than hit it off—we were still together hours later. We told our life stories, plotted ways to have fun, and shared our dreams and fears. We fell in love.

  This presented some serious problems. For one thing, Kathi was married. I was too. We were young and foolish. Well, foolish. But we were also head over heels. From that night on, we wrote together, played music together, went to events together. We tried to be rational about our circumstances but failed. I remember late one night in Berkeley’s Tilden Park. Imagine two middle-aged people in a parked car. Or perhaps you’d rather not. I know our children wouldn’t want to. The next thing we knew, a police officer was shining a flashlight on us. I rolled the steam-covered window down while Kathi composed herself. Normally, the police have the upper hand in these situations, but this officer took one look at us and started backing away. It was clear he had not expected to encounter two people old enough to be his parents. We apologized, but he was already throwing my license at me and heading for the cruiser. I’m not sure, but I think he might have muttered, “Get a room.” Eventually, Kathi and I realized we did, indeed, need to get a room. We moved in together.

  SAM AND KATHI

  Kathi was a woman of ideas, many of them bordering on the lunatic. It was her genius. She would get that look in her eye and say, “You know what we could do—” and people would dive for cover. The Remainders was one of her ideas, and she loved the band dearly. She was at virtually every performance, leading the Remainderettes, throwing kazoos into the audience, singing her signature song “Older than Him” (aka “The Slut Song”), changing costumes, dragging authors with absolutely no musical talent onstage, and always smiling.

  Somewhere along the way, Dave and Kathi invited me to play with the Remainders. This is a bigger honor than you might think. Over the years, some major authors were unable to gain entrée into this mediocre oldies garage band. Many of them made the mistake of saying something like, “You know, I am a good trombone player,” not realizing that musicianship was a disqualifier. Meanwhile, Scott Turow made no claim to musical talent (as well he shouldn’t) and was in.

  I should explain that my main ax is the harmonica. There are a lot of wankers out there playing the harmonica. In order to differentiate myself from the bad players, I often feel compelled to explain that I am a “serious” harmonica player, which sounds oxymoronic, like saying “I am a serious croquet player,” or “I am a serious bagpiper.” I often go on to enthusiastically defend the harmonica as a legitimate instrument and reinforce the impression that I am annoying, delusional, and obsessive—three words that describe most musicians. By this time, people are usually edging away from me.

  My point is, there are a lot of bad harmonica players who give good harmonica players a bad name by playing too much, playing in the wrong key, and playing when they aren’t invited to. Fortunately, Kathi and Dave knew I wasn’t that kind of player. I am a world leader in the field of harmonicology and have devoted my life to educating people about the dangers of harmonica abuse.

  However, in a cruel, catch-22 twist that simply drips with irony, my being a good musician turned out to be a strike against my becoming a Remainder, because Remainders are not supposed to be good musicians. What was I to do?

  Fortunately, I had two aces in the hole: Kathi and Dave. In other words, nepotism, or in this case, double nepotism. I was in. And if I do say so myself, the harmonica was just what the band needed to round out its sound.

  I wasn’t the only harmonica player in the Remainders. Frank McCourt played the mouth organ with considerable panache. Not well, mind you, but he was entertaining. When Frank first joined the Remainders, he said he knew one song on the harmonica, "Love Me Do" by the Beatles, so the band learned to play it. But when the band started playing "Love Me Do," Frank was playing "I Should Have Known Better," which is an entirely different Beatles song. At subsequent shows, the band made several attempts to correct this problem, but Frank would always manage to sabotage the plan by switching up the song or discovering he was playing the harmonica upside down and dropping it, or playing in the wrong key. And even if Frank had gotten the right riff to the right song in the right key, he had absolutely no sense of rhythm. I remember getting down on my knees onstage in front of Frank and trying to conduct him into a steady b
eat. It only made matters worse.

  FRANK McCOURT PLAYING “I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER”,

  Photo by Julien Jourdes/The New York Times/Redux

  One night after our show, we were partying and singing in Frank’s suite. I started playing “Danny Boy” on the whistle and Roger McGuinn (author and former lead guitarist for the Byrds) joined in on guitar, while Frank sang a verse and a chorus in his Irish brogue. It was lovely, and we all cried, “Frank! That’s what you should sing!” We had a few more drinks to celebrate.

  At the next show, I started the tune on the whistle while Roger strummed the chords. A hush fell over the crowd as Frank stepped up to the mike. “O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling,” he crooned. “From glen to glen, and down the mountainside.” Everything was going along swimmingly, but then Frank stopped singing. He had forgotten the words, which I would have thought impossible (and possibly illegal) for an Irishman.

  People say we’re not that bad a band. But we are. I remember standing onstage at the tenth- anniversary show at Webster Hall in New York City, watching Stephen strum his guitar. I noticed that Stephen’s left hand—the one that changes the chords—wasn’t moving. The Remainders perform simple songs, but there is no song we do that has only one chord.

  Carl Hiaasen joined us once in Miami. As a precautionary measure, Carl brought his guitar teacher onstage. In the middle of a song, I looked over to see Carl’s teacher leaning over his shoulder and shouting, “E! E! A!” while Carl dutifully strummed each chord, sometimes two or three beats behind everyone else.

  Many bands would fire someone for bringing their guitar teacher on stage, but not the Remainders. We value our collective incompetence—Carl and his teacher, Roy’s brilliant inability to say his line at the right time, Kathi and Dave never managing to sing a duet correctly, and on and on. Mistakes are our trademark, along with kazoos and inflatable sheep (more on that later).