The first thing David Bullock said to me when I asked about his new EP, In the Waking World, was, and this is paraphrased, “How do I write my bio without emphasizing Space Opera?” I wanted to say hell if I know but the more I thought about it the easier it seemed. Only because I probably know more about that band than maybe a dozen people out there (beyond the crazies who go out of their ways to find out what a musician has for breakfast).
When last we heard from Mr. Colegrove, he was headed back to Ohio with drummer N.D. Smart II for Christmas. When he got back, the first person he called was his old buddy Phil. They talked over old times with Phil’s brother, Bruce, and as Jim told them of the happenings in the Big Apple, Bruce became enraptured. He had a week before classes were to start up again so he volunteered to drive Jim back. When it was time, they piled Jim’s belongings into Bruce’s VW and headed back. Two days later, they were in New York.
Having given you five chances to look behind the curtains of a life of a rock ‘n’ roller of more stature than most people these days could possibly know— that of Fort Worth’s Jim Colegrove— I have decided to give you a sixth. Call I a bonus, if you will— a chance to experience second-hand an era of music most of you could not possibly know. A chance to see the machinations of an industry, for that is what it became, in its growth stages. So far it has involved a string of names many would recognize— Felix Pappalardi and Gene Pitney and Lou Adler and so many more. Let us add a few more as the band he is in at this point of his career, Bo Grumpus, prepares to spark a major label career.
The music business has always been such that the stars become super and the rest pretty much stay in the background. A case in point would be The Funk Brothers and The Wrecking Crew and the many session men (and women) who do the grunt work while the headliners reaps the profits. Not that the stars want it that way. That is just the way it is. And maybe that’s the way it is supposed to be. The people within the music industry sure know the supporting cast by name, if the public doesn’t: the session men and the opening acts and the bands which didn’t get the chance or got the chance and didn’t make it for one odd reason or another.
The last we looked in on Jim Colegrove, he asked the question which consumes every artist, musical and otherwise— …where would the world be without dreamers? The question ended Part Three of his story as being told through this column at which point Colegrove and band were headed to New York to grab that fabled brass ring dangled by the record labels of the time. If you recall, drummer N.D. Smart II who was supposed to be the band’s drummer, opted for a gig with The Remains, who had scored a leg of The Beatles’ tour. But Smart was there when the band arrived after a long car trip.
Judging by the positive reactions to the various music documentaries being filmed these days, I am assuming that music history is not a bad thing. I mean, we have always had the tomes and films of The Beatles and The Rolling Stones and their like to while away our time and before that there had been real movies documenting the different eras, but a large portion of the music public seems to be open to more today, some enough to follow film festivals for early screenings of films about The Wrecking Crew and Big Star, to name two of the most popular.
One thing about history. Given enough time, it is a shadow of its former self. No matter what happens, importance of virtually everything is either magnified or diminished depending upon a number of factors. By the time it has been filtered over the years, it is not even remotely what it started out to be. The Twenties obviously weren’t all Gatsby and The Thirties weren’t all dust bowl and depression. There was so much more than the War (that would be of the Second World variety, sports fans) and recovery from to the Forties and if the US had lived the Fifties like Hollywood said, we would have fought like hell to stay there. Of course, by the time it got to us, it was Cliff’s Notes all over again.
His name is Jim Colegrove but I know him by his AKA, Coolgroove, because that is how I want to know him. He’s no youngster, a few years older than myself (I’m a fossil), and has been a guitar playing fool all of his adult life and most of his childhood. If I asked him if he thought when he was young that he would be still playing today, I am sure he would say no. It was a dream back in the fifties when he got his first guitar. He has relived that dream every day since because when he isn’t playing music, he’s thinking it. He got the bug early and the reason I’m telling you is that I got the bug too. I had a chance to live it but in those days you had to be a special breed to stick it out. I had the talent. I just didn’t have the discipline. Jim had (has) plenty of both.
Nick Holmes is a friend of mine. I have never met him nor have I even talked with him on the phone but he is a friend, nonetheless. He sends me stuff. Anyone who sends me stuff is my friend. Send me some stuff and you’ll find out. It seems like only yesterday (it was over two years ago) that he sent me CD copies of two albums I, up to that time, never even knew existed: And it seems like just yesterday (because it was) that I received his brand spanking new CD, Sonar. There is a story behind Nick and his music and I hesitate to tell that story here because I have told it a few times and hate to repeat myself too much, but if you want to read a fascinating story about his early years in New York and how we became acquainted, follow this link.
Before I dive into this, I have to take a moment to point you towards one of the best “up” songs I have heard in some time: No Small Children‘s Might Get Up Slow. If radio had the impact that it did even 20 years ago, this would be blasting out of stereo and car speakers everywhere. iThings too, if they had them (my brain is so numb, I couldn’t come close to a year those damn things took over 
our lives— I can hardly remember a kid without one). The more I hear these ladies, the more I want to hear more. Turn it up! Like they said in the old days— Recorded loud to be played LOUD! Listen to this!!!
Now, back to our regular programming.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 