R.I.P. Dan Hicks
I'm nearly overwhelmed with grief upon the passing today of Dan Hicks. He was (I hate having to use that word) one of my biggest musical influences. He was the guy who made me want to be a musician, and served as an example. Dan Hicks, Sid Page, and the rest of The Hot Licks changed my life when they played at my little college in 1972 or 1973 - Dan because of the music and his easygoing stage manner, and Sid because of his mandolin playing. These helped point me in some directions with my own mandolin playing, learning how to fit it in with other musicians, a really big help in my development. And Dan's songwriting style helped me with mine, in terms of the chord structures he used and how he incorporated humor into his lyrics, even into the music somewhat. He really opened up possibilities in music that probably had been there all along, but somehow his voice reached me first. I'm forever grateful for him. And I treasure the few times I met him. Each time was a bit of an adventure. He was a born entertainer, to be that entertaining.
My first real band, Tin Can Alley, was modeled partly after his music, along with Holy Modal Rounders and Leon Redbone. Finding two other guys who liked the same kind of music and had the right instrumentation was a strange and wonderful coincidence. Thirty years later, finding myself in a somewhat similar band, The Love Lane Gang, rekindled the joy of being able to play this kind of music. We even had two female singers for a while, though they weren't into the flirty routines the Lickettes had with Dan.
The few times I've met Dan Hicks were entertaining events in themselves. That even includes that first show, when it seemed he couldn't get over the fact it was held in a chapel. He ket saying, "This is a church?" and "We're playing in a church?" as if he was worried the hand of God would strike him down for playing slightly risqué music on sacred ground. (He needn't have worried; it was a very liberal college, and his music wasn't really all that insouciant.) I was also impressed that there were two full-size potted palm trees framing the stage, with a painted South Seas backdrop completing the scene. They played most of the songs from "Where's The Money?" and "Striking It Rich." I had no idea at the time that I was experiencing their brief golden era. But I am on record as saying that "Where's The Money?" is one of the best live albums of all time. It is so smooth and tight and dead-on perfect in every way that one tends to forget it was recorded live. It's that well-done.
The first time I met him was when he hosted an open mike at some club in Mill Valley, CA, in late 1977 or 1978. During the course of the evening he got extremely drunk, and even so was more funny than annoying. He really was a very charming fellow. Years later he came to New Haven with The Acoustic Warriors a few times in the early 1990s as part of a concert series produced by a friend of mine. I helped with the sound and in various other capacities, but my main function was as archivist, taping the shows for the artists as well as ourselves. I've got a pretty nice collection as a result. One time they played in the dead of winter, and he did not care one bit about having to deal with snow piled up all over. He was wearing snazzy dress shoes, ill-suited for tromping through snow. Somewhere along the line he gave me his card, which has the motto, "Here To Help." I have no idea why. But I liked it, and have repeated it many times. I honored him by doing this, and even if no one caught on (how would they?) and I seemed foolish, I did it anyway.
That's all I have for now; there will be more in a little while. I just wanted to say a few words before I go incommunicado, because I really need to be alone. But before I go, just this one thing. By some inexplicable twist of fate, his song, "How Can I Miss You When You Won't Go Away?" was running in my mind earlier today. I fully expect to find out that was around the time he was leaving this world, which is now a dimmer place for his not being here to delight us anymore. For the rest of my life I will miss him, and I wish he hadn't had to go away.
But that's just my opinion. I could be wrong. - Dennis Miller
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