Talk about overlap... A friend pointed out a classified ad in the local weekly here in town. Seems help was needed in taping a rock n' roll documentary that very Friday night. I had hopes that someone was taping the Page/Plant show, but no. The local band Apricot Jam was having a big CD release party and an old friend [of the band], Steve Kanter was in town to tape the show.
So there was an opportunity to work in video, get to see a free show and, as it happened, scoff up a free CD to review for the rag. As it also happened, I was able to sell a piece about the bassist and the documentary to the Journal. Where's the check? Of course, it's in the mail.
In the beginning... The bassist of Apricot Jam, James Whiton, had been in a gnarly auto accident in September of 1994 that left his left arm broken in ten pieces just below the wrist. He was told he would never play again. Crushing news to a young man who only wanted to play music. Not great news either to a band that was really starting to go places.
Fortunately, James had a great doctor come along and say, "We can rebuild him." It would take seven separate surgeries and months of physical therapy, but thanks to the continuing strong support of their manager/agent, Dave Norman, and their growing legion of fans all over the West, Apricot Jam is back out playing their unique brand of bluesy rock n roll. Pretty good for three guys playing the guitar, rhythm guitar and stand-up bass. Yeah, you win the prize. They play acoustic instruments. They jam, and they have a following that actually follows them from gig to gig.
"I was born and bred to be a bass player. I can't even walk across a room without tripping. Every restaurant I ever worked at I spilled something on someone. Working at the Cooperage, I spilled like a gallon of ranch dressing on this lady dressed up for a night on the town," says Whiton. "I had to play music." James' father had been a professional musician while James was growing up.
Back to the accident... "When she ran that red light out of the blue she wrecked my new graduation present Bronco II that had spent the first month in the shop, then went on tour with us up to Colorado. I had the truck three months. I was pissed. We ended up in the same ambulance and I was callin' her names. YOU SUCK! The ambulance driver told me to calm down, and I told HIM to calm down. She fucked me up." Steve Kanter had heard about James misfortune at a Dead show in Vegas. They had attended the same schools while growing up. Then Kanter came home to take care of his mom, who was dying of cancer. "I felt compelled to do this. Telling my mom there was no hope was so similar to what they told James after his accident." Kanter's mom died in June.
Springing to real time... So there was Steve, begging for help at the Dingo Bar on a Friday afternoon. I found him milk crates to prop up the cameras and called Mattman when one of Steve's cameramen pulled a no show. No pay, but he sprang for pizza and I snarfed a beer on his tab. His production partner (who had agreed to split the costs) had ditched him out in L.A., but his mom had left him some dinero. Then, as we were setting up, virtually none of the rental video equipment worked. The gremlins were far from being banished.
As the band came on to play, Mattman's camera went dead. We quickly began refer to each other over the intercom by camera number and took to calling Steve either `Houston' or `mission control' because I am a Steve and it gave us all a kick. When the feedback on the headsets wasn't leaving us stone deaf, we told jokes, gave dating tips and generally had a good time. During a break, Camera Three let some girl hold his camera and then couldn't find her as the band started up again.
We overcame. We frantically hooked up Steve's 8mm camera in place of the malfunctioning one (Mattman's cam), we fixed the feedback problem towards the middle of the last set, and Camera Three was able to chase down the chick with his camera. Also the cute, skinny little 29-year-old with the long wavy brown hair bought me a beer then came over to the pad to spend a couple nights [read: move in-Ed], much to the chagrin of my roommates. We ended up doing one hell of a job on the video. Kanter got what he needed. The band packed the place and sold a shitload of CD's.
Oh, yeah, the show was terrific. If they come to your town and you dig that Dead-like experience, check them out. These boys roll the blues down so smooth they rock you to the souls of yer feet...
A very different version of this story ran in the October 15, 1995 edition of the Albuquerque Journal.
Talk to the band or order a CD or tape (or all three!).
Apricot Jam
P.O. Box 86862
Portland, OR 97286
(503) 774-7310
e-mail: greazy@apricotjam.com or
webmonster@apricotjam.com
www: http://www.apricotjam.com/CDorder/
Any management concerns go to Lew Longmire or Josh Tinnin at the above address and phone number.