NAMM

Twenty years ago, I went to my first NAMM show. It’s where all the music vendors and rock stars gather in Anaheim, CA to show their wares.

And wear and tear.

Jesus, the people I saw. My advantage was that I look different these days, and old cronies have an image of me from a passed era – elbow length hair, black clothing. It’s different now. I told my pal Eric (who had tried to connect with me a few times) that I was easy to find:

“Gray shirt, gray hair, blue jeans.”

He laughed. But we have been friends for the last few years and he knows who I am now. Not many others do. In fact, when I grabbed Rachel Bolan, he had no idea who I was. I had a firm grasp of his left shoulder, while I shook his right hand. Poor Rach was trying to get away from me like Jim Leavelle.

I wouldn’t let go. He kept repeating the polite exit lines that celebs use to break free from a fan that has just Velcro’d themselves to you.

I kept talking and shaking.

Then, he recognized me, and swore at me to illustrate his surprise. We caught up. It was a meeting I didn’t avoid. The most intriguing ones were the eye to eye passes in the aisles, where I knew them, but they didn’t know me anymore.

The most entertaining encounter came from Zloz, who called me “Fred”. That was a new one. “Fred? Zloz, it’s me, Chris!”

“Jesus! Sorry, dude…I’ve been here all day and I'm fried. Hey, at least I confused you with an actor friend, right?”

He had a point. Neil could have thought I looked familiar because he thought he’d seen me cleaning the stalls at Santa Anita.

I digress.

The whole weekend was a strange, almost melancholy passing of the torch. The metal/hard rock bands still sell the most gear, by my observation. The metalists were out in force, whether it was for strings, amps or cases – they signed away and took the pictures with the smiling ESP dealer from Kenosha.

And with fully stocked bars and partial nudity thrown in to the mix, who could ask for a better sales pitch?

Clearly not the oglers I kept tripping over.

The night was sewn up in the Hilton bar, where 16 years before, I stood with two pals, chatting with Gene Simmons. Now, the guard changed while talking with Eric and Casey.

Then I saw Mickey Dolenz walk by. And it sank in - if you play the music biz game, you gotta play by the music biz rules.

Rule #1 – You’re lucky.

Rule #2 – You’re on your way out; sooner than you think.

Rule #3 - Repeat the first two rules, in any order, for the rest of your career. Rinse.