The Real Memphis Mike (don't settle for imitations)

 I’ve been looking for a drummer while starting a new band. Shouldn’t be too hard, right? Wrong. I talked to a drummer friend of mine. He knows the music; knows we can rock the hell out of it — but he passed. His reason? “Good-paying gigs are disappearing.” I told him that’s because a lot of bands simply aren’t worth paying. That’s not an insult — it’s reality. I’m not talking about musical ability. Some musicians are better than others; that’s life. There’s always someone better. What most musicians - and non-musicians - don’t understand is what actually makes a good gig. Let’s be honest. I’ve been doing this since 1979. I’ve played over six thousand shows in multiple countries on three continents. I’m pretty well qualified to say this: It’s not the songs. It’s not virtuosity. It’s the show. Why do people go out to see a band, a comedian, a play, a movie? To be entertained. That’s it. If your band isn’t getting gigs, ask yourself a simple question: Why should anyone pay to see yo...

 2026 has been off to a rough start. Not even a month in, and I’ve already lost a few friends. Now, before anyone reaches for the tiny violins and assumes I’m whinging - relax. I’m not. Yes, it always hurts to lose someone, but I’ve learned to use moments like these to lean into the good memories: the reasons we got along in the first place. This morning, I found out my old buddy Colin Hardy passed away over the weekend. Col hailed from Stoke-On-Trent (which I always jokingly called Stoke-On-Rye ). He was a working-class bloke through and through, but we shared a deep love of music — especially the old-school rockin’ variety. We first crossed paths on a music-sharing site and immediately began raiding each other’s collections. This was back in the dial-up days, when downloading a single MP3 could take half an hour if the phone didn’t ring. Eventually, we started emailing instead. Col sent me tracks by the likes of Crazy Cavan, Freddie Fingers Lee, and others. He was always hungry f...

 Every now and then I write something just because I feel like it. Tonight, I did just that. A little Black Hills twist.  (for Jackson) Driving west out of Rapid City at night feels like space travel must feel. The sky is blacker than anywhere I’ve ever been, but the stars burn brighter for it. The Milky Way hangs overhead, indifferent, reminding you how small and insignificant you really are. By the time you hit the Badlands, it doesn’t feel like Earth anymore. In the moonlight the terrain looks lunar — bleached, jagged, wrong. Deeper into the Black Hills, on the back roads, the darkness turns absolute. No cars. No lights but your own. You drive careful out here. Too many critters, too many things that don’t move until it’s too late. I’ve seen what’s left behind on the road — shapes, stains. I tell myself they were animals. Most nights, that’s enough. The Black Hills close in on you. Thick pine canopy, branches knitting together overhead until it feels like the sky is pressin...

 I’m at the age where I have too many dead friends. Luckily, most of them left a lot behind. I’ve been listening to my old buddy Evan Johns all day. Evan would tell you - confidently - that he was “the next big thing for years". I’m not sure I’d go that far, but for some of us, he was always a big thing. I’ve got more Evan stories than I should—and it’s a miracle I remember as many as I do. If you knew Evan and his devotion to adult libations, that’ll make sense. I first heard about him when he was playing with the LeRoi Brothers . He added some much-needed oomph (in my opinion). A few years later I found Trash, Twang & Thunder by 4 Big Guitars From Texas - Grammy-nominated, no less - in a cut-out bin for $1.99. Then came Evan Johns & the H-Bombs, ordered mail-order from Jungle Records back when that still felt like magic. This was the rock and roll I wanted to hear: rockabilly, R&R, punk, surf, blues, country—all mashed together the way I’d been hearing it in my hea...

  Christmastime. I think about the words we repeat so easily. Peace on earth. Goodwill to all. They sound right in candlelight. They belong to the season. Still, I wonder what they demand once the music fades. We gather. We tell the old stories. We laugh at remembered moments. There is holiness here — love shared across a table, warmth passed hand to hand. And still, someone is missing. Each year, more chairs sit empty. Some belong to the dead. Others to the living - the sick, the tired, the forgotten. Those who move more slowly now. Those whose phones no longer ring. Those for whom the season brings only silence. I think of them when I hear the carols. How joy can wound when you’re alone. How peace can sound like a promise never meant for you. The Christmas story is not one of ease. It begins in need. A child born into uncertainty. Doors closed. Light arriving anyway - first to those keeping watch in the dark. If peace on earth means anything, it lives there. In the hard places. I...

 Some days I really miss being in a band. There's nothing like making music with a group of people, all on the same page, bringing their own uniqueness to the mix. But here's the problem. No one seems to want to put in the effort these days. The last two times I tried starting a new band, I provided the other musicians with a set list - you know, to get the ball rolling. The songs weren't difficult in any way. All I asked was that they learn the songs. I gave them the keys the songs are in and all but taught them the arrangement. Rehearsal time came...and not a one of them learned the songs. They just figured they'd learn it at rehearsal. That is not what rehearsal is. According to the Oxford dictionary, the definition of rehearsal is " a practice or trial performance of a play or other work for later public performance. " This indicates knowing what you're expected to do prior to rehearsal. An actor, in preparation for a production of Hamlet or Death of a...

 If you want to get good at anything, repetition becomes part of your life. You practice until you’re satisfied. Musicians live this twice over — not just in rehearsing, but in where they perform. When an artist plays a venue for the first time, the goal is always to be invited back — a repeat performance. From bar bands to The Rolling Stones, the same principle applies - go where you’re wanted. In show business, as in any business, that means one thing — money. From startup costs to operating costs to nightly take, it’s always about the bottom line. A venue will rebook an act if that act helps keep the lights on (and hopefully generates a profit!). A packed room doesn’t guarantee profit — I’ve seen standing-room-only crowds drinking water or sneaking in their own booze. That kills both the venue and the act. Musicians often don’t understand why they’re not asked back after a packed night. Simple answer: they didn’t generate enough income. A working musician’s survival depends on m...