randulo’s unblog

Started a new Remembering Paul site for people who'd like to contribute to his memorial

On the night of our 30th wedding anniversary I learn of the death of Paul Lagos, a man who had a tremendous influence on me musically since our first meeting in the early 70's. Paul and I were born on the same date, but different years.

Paul played with Kaleidoscope and recorded with Leo Kotke, did a lot of recording in L.A., played in the Johnny Otis Revue and then went on tour with John Mayall, John Klemmer, did a bunch of gigs in Los Angeles with jazz and blues players. We toured together in the Pure Food and Drug Act in 1972.

Yes it was a long time ago, when you got on stage with instruments; drums, guitars and a sound system and made music, sounds you heard in your imagination and then translated through your limbs to skins and guts.

Paul taught me about Miles and Coltrane and Joseph Schillinger, about Joe Henderson and Thelonius Monk. We were kids, Victor Conte and I, and we lived in his basement with his flea-infested Great Dane, "Gretta", and we were privileged to meet the likes of the brilliant saxophonist Richard Aplanaugh and Don 'Sugarcane' Harris - who, with Dewey Terry, wrote "I'm Leaving it All Up to You", one of the most played songs on the radio for years. Paul was a GIANT, I'll miss him.

The last time I saw Paul was on a tour for my own CD in about 1995 in France and Switzerland. Ironically, Paul and I played in Geneva in 1974 with a band called the Curtis Brothers. That gig was the inspiration for my song "Woman In White" which was linked to by a nurses' site but in fact the woman in white wasn't a nurse but a powder. Oh, the irony of the Internetz...

Paul, I didn't get to tell you that I loved you man, and now I can't even find out how to contact the woman you lived with to tell her how much your life and advice meant to me. Maybe someone will read it here.

We shared a short period of music nearly 40 years ago, I feel "we hardly knew ye". Thanks for Trane, Miles, Bird, Monk and yes, the blues I feel tonight in learning of your passing.

Please take a moment to listen to this song. It isn't Paul on drums, he would have played it a lot better, but he was there when this moment took place and we laughed about it many times - because we survived it.

The Woman in White

I had a dream
In the blue of the night
I was caught in the scheme
Of the Woman in White
Long ago
Through the mists of the past
She blackened my soul
It all happened so fast

Down Cadillac Valley
I copped me a dime
Did it in the alley
To save a lotta time
When I almost died...
As I slid to the ground
I heard kind of cry
Like a siren sound
And I remember
Moments of bliss
The scent of a smile
or the color of her kiss
But seeds of sorrow
Lay buried deep within
And I'm never going back 
Never goin' back there
Ever again
I woke with a scream
In a stone cold sweat
I know that means
That I'll never forget
That she got my money
Nearly took my life
It's time I stopped running
From the Woman In White
And I remember
Moments of bliss
The scent of a smile
or the color of her kiss
But seeds of sorrow
Lay buried deep within
Never going back 
Never goin' back there
Ever again

One of the awful things about a long life with a lot of different careers, lifestyles and and endless stream of cities, towns and countries is that you begin to notice people dropping away. Here's a short shout out to to those who fell by the wayside, leaving this mortal coil.

 
He got a lethal disease that some say can be caused by sulfites in the white zin he drank to excess. Most wine lovers would say that drinking any amount of white zin is an excess. He was horribly politically incorrect, making fun of people with deformities, handicaps or any other thing he could grab hold of. I met his dad, who was blind and I guess this is where that came from; RIP Lou.
 
He was a Navy fighter pilot who died of AIDS in his 40's, a creative and intelligent guy. He also pissed me off when as my boss, he yelled at me for no reason. Then I quit. RIP Gene.
 
He was larger then life, yet never fulfilled the potential because of drugs which eventually caused him to need an oxygen bottle to drag around. He was found dead kneeling at that bottle trying to adjust the valve. RIP Don (see the Unforgettable Sugarcane Harris)
 
With Don (above) he co-wrote a song heard literally millions of times in so many versions: "I'm Leaving It (All) Up To You". Don is "Harris" and Dewey was "Terry" on the song credit. These guys got totally screwed out of all the royalties of the song, which made zillions. Here's a bit more about Don & Dewey.
RIP bro, you were a good man.

 He was a prolific painter, father of three boys and a musician. As a painter, he leaves behind many works considered to be some of the most brilliant work in the genre of "fantastic realism". I hope you've found peace, Judson. Here's more about him and an idea of his work.

I remember him as a sweet guy if not a good musician. Easy to get along with, great looking Portuguese girlfriend. Chuck, a drummer I played with years ago blew himself away in a shed, depression got the best of him.

My uncle Harold just passed away a few days ago. He has no wikipedia entry, nothing on the Internet at all I'll bet, but he was a good man and an inspiration to me. Funny, in the last part of his life, he suddenly wanted to be called Charlie. I'll always remember him as Uncle Harold.
 
My step father, my oldest step-brother (listen to doctors when they tell you how not to kill yourself), my father and then my mother all left the building that is this Earth where I've spent 22,300 days.

Geneva, Switzerland, 1974
 
In between tours to Europe and Asia that year, some friends and I were hired to play in a club act for three brothers who danced and sang. We were recruited in Los Angeles and flown to Boston. After several days of rehearsal, we traveled from Boston to Geneva to play a show in a cabaret. Most musicians will tell you, there is nothing more boring than to play medleys, especially medleys with no solos. "O Holy Moses" modulates into "Proud Mary", and on and on for 40 minutes, then break time.

When musicians get bored, there are three possible cures: sex, drugs and alcohol and food. As we got done playing at around 4AM with nowhere open to eat, we'd look at each other during the medley and nod, "Salami sandwich in the room there boy, got some hanging out the window in a pillow case". Usually it's all three of the possibilities, just the order that might vary.

I won't go into the sex part here, but it will always be a factor in the business of making music and this was no different, except for the weird crowd in this place, women in fancy fur-lined coats drinking Champagne at $100 a glass (in those days). I had sent a train ticket to a girl I met in Zurich on a previous tour and she was to join me in mid week, so I wasn't looking.

So to the drugs and for legal reasons I won't go into who did what, although the statute of limitations is probably in force from 30+ years away, but still... Inquiry was made as to where to seek certain controlled substances and we were told, "Go to the fountain, man, the fountain is where it's at." And so it came to pass that we were looking around for someone who looked like they would know where to cop substance X and each time a likely candidate was seen, he was asked the magic question. Finally a positive nod and a transaction was made. We went back to the hotel.

Again, without the superficial details, something bad happened, a dose too strong, a tolerance too low, who knows, and one of us is slipping into unconsciousness, but with the lucidity to say the following astonishing sentence: "I saw some huge industrial garbage bags on the maid's cart this morning. Put me in one, drag it to the elevator and put me in the dumpster." One of us went to get the bag.

I won't ever tell what happened next. Go listen to http://tr.im/wwhite and it may become clear. What I will say is that as you travel and look upon the many, many beautiful places on the planet, places like the lake and fountain in Geneva, the bridges of Paris, the streets of Rome, the Hollywood Hills, you aren't thinking of it but many, many funky things have gone down there. Damn, it's good be home.