SPEECHES


- Rock & Roll Hall of Fame speech text
- Rotary Club speech, "The Arts and Education"
- Elvin Jones memoir excerpt


From the Santana International Fan Club newsletter, June 1998:

Michael Shrieve gave a very heartfelt speech on his induction into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, which did not make it into the official video. We would like to share it with you here.

"Let me check my schedule!"

When I was 16 years old, I called up about a dozen of my musician friends and asked if they wanted to drive up to the Fillmore with me and see if we could sit in. Michael Bloomfield, Steven Stills and Al Kooper were playing together, billed as "Supersession." Every one of my friends said no, that I was crazy. It would never happen. Until I called my last friend, who was older than me and had actually moved out of his parents' house and was living with a girl, said, "Oh man, that sounds great. Hold on a minute," whereupon he spoke to his girlfriend about it and came back to the phone and said to me "Hey, I think I'm just gonna stay in tonight." Needless to say that one phone call is the reason I didn't marry until my early thirties....

At least I can try, I said to myself. It probably won't happen but tomorrow at least I can say that I tried. So I asked my folks, who were always supportive and trusting of my musical endeavors, for the keys to the car and drove the thirty miles up to the Fillmore. I went in and walked up to the stage, pulled on Mike Bloomfield's pant leg, looked up at him and said, " Hey man, I play drums, can I sit in?" Well I was 16 but looked 12 and I fully expected him to either kick me in the face or say "Go away kid!" But instead he said, "Well the drummer's a really nice guy, let me ask him."

Uh-oh. Hey, wait a minute, I thought. I was just going to try. Oh no! Well he comes back and says, "Yeah, it's cool, you can play." Oh shit. Then it hits me. I'm going to play with Michael Bloomfield, Steven Stills, and Al Kooper, on the sand stage that I'd seen with Cream, The Yardbirds, Van Morrison, Miles Davis, and BB King? Well, I played but I swear to this day I don't remember one note, not one moment of the jam. That's how scared I was. So we finished playing and now I'm backstage hanging out with the other musicians. Am I cool or what?

Well Stan Marcum and David Brown, the manager and bass player of Santana, came up to me and said, "Hey man, we heard you play and you sounded really good. We have a band called Santana and we've been thinking about getting a new drummer. Why don't you give us your number?" Well, I knew who Santana was; everybody did in the area. I had seen them, and even said to my brother once when we were watching them play, "I really want to play with these guys."

Cut to a year later. I never did hear from them. But, one night I was visiting a recording studio that I used to frequent to try to hustle free studio time for my own group. I'm walking in the front door and the drummer from Santana is walking out. I go inside and Santana was in the studio recording their first album for Columbia and Clive Davis, and they had just had a big falling out with their drummer! A couple of the guys recognized me from a year ago and asked me if I'd like to jam.

Well, we jammed. We played all night long and at the end of the night we all gathered in a small room off to the side. Actually, I think it was just Carlos, Gregg, and myself. Carlos asked me if I would like to join the band. I said, " You know, let me check my schedule." Just kidding!

That night they followed me home and I went into the house and woke my folks up and said, "See you later. This is where I get off." I ran out to the street, jumped into the car and drove up to San Francisco's Mission District, where the band was living in a house together. I took my appropriate place on the couch, and despite the excitement and because of the late hour, fell asleep.

I was in the band. And what a band it was! I soon saw this was no peace, love, hippie thing. This band was like a street gang and its weapon was music.

Cut to another year later and the band is set to play the Woodstock Festival. Bill Graham was able to get us on the show. We got paid, I think it was $500.00. We were known in California and we were doing a lot of festivals, always working, but still relatively unknown. We played the Woodstock show, which was of course incredible. It was also a mess. I think Paul Kantner had the best quote about Woodstock. " If you said you had a great time at Woodstock, you weren't there." Needless to say, we went over well. We were the right band at the right time. Our street gang tribal rhythms were perfect for the Woodstock tribe that day.

Another year later and we're touring more, our first record is out and the Woodstock movie is opening in theaters across the country. Santana is playing in New York and our first day off we go to see the movie. We're standing in line waiting for the earlier showing to finish, and as the people are coming out of the theatre, we notice quite a few of the people in line. We didn't know if we were going to end up in the film or not. After all, we were the unknown group there that day.

Halfway through the movie there we are playing Soul Sacrifice. Halfway through into my drum solo the screen splits and there are 6 images of me across it. I didn't know whether to shout out, "That's me!" or sink down in my seat. I sank down in my seat and watched and listened. At the end of the song the whole theatre burst into applause, as the 6 of us turned in our seats and looked at each other in laughter and surprise.

Well, our little musical street gang had just made a sound heard round the world. As the film was released around the world, the band became known everywhere. On our first trip Europe to play the Montreux Jazz Festival, I walked to the train station to pick up some magazines, and there I was on the cover of one, in a small shot from Woodstock.

Everywhere we went people knew us. Our album shot up the charts. This was all pretty heavy stuff for a 19-year old kid, but I loved it. As a drummer, there was no better band to be in. This was about really playing your instrument and these guys would really keep you on your toes. If you didn't play well you would hear about it! We played everywhere. We were one of the first groups to play Mexico and Central and South America. We played Africa, the Far East, the Philippines and Europe many times.

Cut to 15-20 years later and I'm walking down 5th Avenue in New York City. By this time, I'd been out of Santana over 10 years, made about 7 solo albums; played on many people's records, done a lot of stuff. A guy walks up to me and says, "Hey Mike Shrieve! Oh man, I saw you in Woodstock. You were so great! I loved it so much....but what happened man? You've gotten....older."

Well thousands of people have mentioned Woodstock to me. I kept trying to beat it with something else I did, but realized over time that this would never happen, and I learned to live with the fact, and accept that it meant so much to so many people, that you just couldn't fight it. It seemed I was 18 forever to them, and so be it. I'm 48 now and I've had a fruitful and long creative career but nothing has compared to my experience of playing in Santana.

I am honored to stand here tonight to be inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame. But I am even more honored to have had the experience that has meant so much to me my entire life - to have made such wonderful music with these gentlemen standing behind me.


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Speech to the Rotary Club of Seattle
December, 2004


Distinguished members of The Seattle Rotary Club, and Mr. President, Carl Eggy I would like to take this opportunity, first of all, to thank you for allowing me to speak to you this afternoon, and I would like to give a special thanks to my friend Mark Davis for creating the opportunity for me to be here today, and to Jeanne Bluechel, for providing critical data for this presentation.

I would also like to acknowledge and thank you for the wonderful work that the Seattle Rotary does in our community. I recently had the opportunity to be a guest at one of your meetings, and I was especially moved by the Opening Prayer, and the sincerity of the words of Compassion and Empathy for our less fortunate Brothers and Sisters, and the reminder that they are not to be forgotten, and that any help that we can give, any gesture that we can share to ease another's suffering, is our privilege, indeed it is our duty to do so. And I'm certain that many of you have found, as I have, that one of the great ironies of life, in fact, I believe, one of the great mysteries revealed, is that truly there is more joy in the giving than in the receiving.

In the rapidly approaching days of this Christmas season, and in the frenzy of commercialism, and the buying of gifts for our loved ones, and business partners, we must not forget the true meaning of Christmas, which is the message of Love, the message of Forgiveness, and the message of Compassion for one another.

I AM HERE TODAY TO SPEAK TO YOU of the value of music and art in young people's lives.

I stand here today not as some rock star that played in a famous band, but as a craftsman, a musician.

FAME COMES AND GOES, but it is not the measure to which we should aspire. I am a musician who played his chosen instrument and was fortunate enough to have an opportunity that brought success and recognition at a very young age.

PERHAPS TOO YOUNG! I had turned 19 years old 1 month earlier than that performance at Woodstock, and had already been on the road for a year prior to that, and now at 55 years old, with two boys of my own, one of which is 15 and plays the drums, I am beginning to understand my parents concern for me at that time!

Fortunately, they had taught me well. When I moved to the famous Haight-Ashbury district of San Francisco to pursue my dreams, even before my Santana experience, I had a mantra that I repeated constantly while practicing my drum rudiments, and it was "I'm-not-a-hippie-not-a-hippie-not-a- hippie. I'm-not-a-hippie-not-a-hippie-not-a-hippie."

FOR ME, IT ALL STARTED IN THE EIGHTH GRADE.
I was a somewhat confused, antsy, restless boy who had a condition that they now have a name for; ADHD. And it was because of this that the teacher asked me to please leave the classroom and report to the principles office, because my constant interruptions and drumming on my desk was a bit too disruptive "for those of us who are interested in learning something." So I went to the principle's office, received the appropriate scolding, and was told to return to my classroom. And on the way back to the classroom the most amazing thing happened. I passed right by the band room, where the school band was practicing.

Well, I suppose I didn't really PASS BY the band room, because I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the percussion section right by the door of the room, and stood, fascinated by the sounds of the snare drum, the big bass drum and the cymbals that the percussionists were playing. Time stood still for me that day.

Too still.

By the time I got back to the classroom, I was in trouble all over again for taking so long to get back from the principal's office. After school that day I went and bought a pair of drumsticks, and I went to a carpet store and got 3 rug samples that became my drums, and that was the day I started playing drums. My life changed. It was as if my life were divided into two sections. BD and AD. Before drums and after drums.

I SEE MUSIC AS A SORT OF VIRTUAL REALITY.
Where else can you enter a place that you can't see,
you can't touch,
and you can't taste it.
But in these invisible rooms you are completely transported to a place where every emotion awaits you,
a barrage of the sensations of joy, of sadness, of music that moves your heart, that moves your mind, and let's face it, I'm a drummer, music that moves your body.
A place where you experience the recognition of your own feelings and the resonance of your own emotions by an invisible architecture of notes and tones and sound.
When you stop and think about it,
that something is so powerful and we can't see it.
Something is so moving and we can't touch it,
I think is a most amazing phenomenon that we often take for granted.
This is the power of music.

The value of music in the shaping of our children's lives is something that simply cannot be ignored, and I want to urge you as parents and as teachers and as leaders of this community to not turn your back on music and the arts in our schools.

Albert Einstein said,
'NOT EVERYTHING THAT CAN BE COUNTED COUNTS-AND NOT EVERYTHING THAT COUNTS CAN BE COUNTED.
Think about this, AND LET ME SAY IT AGAIN, SLOWLY.
"NOT EVERYTHING THAN CAN BE COUNTED COUNTS-AND NOT EVERYTHING THAT COUNTS CAN BE COUNTED."

I WOULD SAY FOR INSTANCE THAT LOVE FALLS INTO THIS CATEGORY.
You can't count love. You cannot put a score on love.
But I think you would agree that love is the single most driving force in our lives.
We know money.
We've seen the pursuit of money and we know that that is not the answer.
It's a necessary and powerful tool, but like fame it is not the measure that we should aspire to.
I would say that music and art falls into this category as well, along with love. There are simply things that really matter that you can't judge on a test score. As parents and educators and mentors we've got to shift our focus from those numbers so we can get in there and get to the good stuff!
But I know you still need the numbers and I'm here to give them to you.

OK HERE ARE THE NUMBERS.
There has been an abundance of scientific research on music making in the past decade. This new data about it's benefits of improved brainpower and grades, to better physical wellness and better adjusted social behavior, are calling attention to decision makers about educational priorities. Research study after study has shown that music education dramatically increases early brain development and improves student's overall academic performance in school.

A 1997 study reported in the publication "Neurological Research " found that music training is far superior to computer instruction in dramatically enhancing children's abstract reasoning skills which are necessary for learning math and science. In 2001 the College Board reported that high school music students score higher on SAT's in both verbal and math than their peers. That same year SAT takers with coursework or experience in music performance scored 57 points higher on the verbal section and 41 points higher on the math section compared to students who had no coursework experience.

A 10 year study in 1997 at UCLA tracked 25,000 students and found music making improves test scores. Regardless of socio-economic background, music making students scored higher on standardized tests such as the SAT and reading proficiency exams than those who had no music involvement. Research clearly demonstrates that music education provides benefits to children that can last a lifetime. Unfortunately, whenever state and/or school districts confronted with tough fiscal decisions, music education often ends up on the cutting board. In Seattle, Elementary vocal and instrumental programs are rapidly disappearing. Funding is being cut by one-third each year for the past six years due to budget constraints. We are now in danger as a city of not having any public music instruction at the elementary school level by the end of 2006. This trend in funding would in turn, lead to a complete lack of program participants in middle schools by 2008 and no vocally trained feeder students at the high school level by 2010.

If you are at all familiar with the music programs in the Seattle Public Schools, you know that the middle and high school choirs, orchestras and jazz bands at Roosevelt, Garfield, Eckstein, Mercer, Washington, Ballard Rainier Beach and Franklin Schools are nationally and internationally renowned, not to mention award winning at numerous national and international festivals. To allow these fine programs to vanish due to lack of funding would have a wide ripple effect in not only future professional symphonies, jazz communities, popular music arenas, but also an overwhelmingly devastating effect on the success of public education in our community. Think of what this area would be like without an opera, a symphony, a ballet, art museums and galleries, or live theater. Not to mention Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and all the other great rock and roll bands that come from this area

YOU WANT TO TALK MONEY?
If WE WERE TO measure the arts by dollar impact alone, the Seattle area would surely be blessed.
A study that was discussed at last week's Rotary meeting found that the region's arts and heritage organizations generated more than 1 billion for the state's economy, from ticket purchases to hotel stays to shopping and dining out. But we can be grateful for a thriving cultural scene for many other reasons, not the least of which is the vitality the arts brings to a community's lifeblood. I have the good fortune of working with a remarkable group of people, headed by a woman by the name of Vicky Lee at The Seattle Theater Group. They own and operate The Paramount Theater and The Moore Theater. Vicky heads up the education division and I am the Music Director for a yearly presentation called "More Music @ The Moore". Each year we attempt to find the most talented, gifted, and hungry high school age musicians to participate in our show.

From classical to jazz, to vocal music of all styles, we help them select material, rehearse them, and put on our show, and it has been a resounding success. We record and film the show and each participant receives both a CD and a DVD of the performance. Our next program, in April will feature a young composers competition in conjunction with the Seattle Youth Symphony, and the Symphony will perform the debut of the young composers piece at the show.

Today you will have the opportunity to hear for yourself a young lady who is a senior at Garfield High School whose name is Leah Labelle. Leah performed two years ago on our show while a sophomore, and last year was one of the top twelve finalists in the well-known television show "American Idol". Leah is a perfect example of some of the talent that we help to nurture in these productions. This organization is run as a non-profit and we need your help to continue our work, as do the schools of our community. Please do not let these programs fade away. Music is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

I want to thank you for this chance to speak to you today, and I wish you the warmest and merriest wishes for the Holiday Season

Thank you very much.


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Elvin Jones memoir excerpt

On the afternoon of March 8, 1966, I went to Stanford University to hear the John Coltrane Group in concert. As a huge jazz fan and an aspiring sixteen-year-old drummer growing up in the San Francisco Bay Area, I was excited beyond words to finally see and hear in person my favorite drummer, Elvin Jones. The only problem was I had no money so I had to find a way to sneak into the concert. I figured this would not be a problem, since I did it all the time. I never let money get in the way of these kinds of things. I had snuck into many concerts before, and this, I figured, would be no different.

Well, I did sneak in, but somehow I ended up coming through the ceiling of the men's dressing room at the concert hall, and it was one embarrassed kid that let himself down into the room where Jimmy Garrison and Elvin Jones were getting dressed into their tuxedos for the upcoming performance! Fortunately, for me, these two giants had a remarkable sense of humor, and I believe they even admired my determination just a little bit, because Jimmy Garrison graciously invited me to come to their performance later that night at the Jazz Workshop in San Francisco. In front of Mr. Jones, I was a bumbling idiot, I am sure, but he was kind and encouraging to me, and said "I hope you enjoy the performance, and maybe we'll see you at the Jazz Workshop."

The performance was incredible, like no music I had ever experienced before, and Elvin Jones was indeed, like a god. The God of Thunder. It was beyond my facilities to comprehend the sheer force and power of his playing. This was not just drumming, this was a force of nature, pure energy distilled into this man and his instrument, and he seemed to be so connected to John Coltrane in this energy field that the two of them were in another place altogether. Another world not visited by mere mortals. I have never been the same since.

Well, I did make it up to San Francisco and the Jazz Workshop. My father drove me, because of course, I hadn't thought to realize that since I was 16 years old, I would never be able to get in the club. But my father did, as a guest of Jimmy and Elvin's, and he had the time of his life listening to the music and sharing drinks with them in between sets as I stood outside, forgotten, in the chilly North Beach air. I could not have been happier, hearing the music and seeing my father talking and laughing with Jimmy Garrison and my hero, Elvin Jones, as if they were long lost friends. It is a memory I will never forget.

Cut to four years later. I am in New York City, a professional musician now myself, on the road with Santana. I am at the Village Vanguard, and Elvin has finished his last set. He is no longer with Coltrane, having left the group the same year I saw him, in 1966. He has his own group now, and on this cold snowy night, his wife Keiko is packing up the drums and hauling them up the stairs to the street. I offer to help, and once on the street, I struggle for words to let Elvin know how much his work has meant to me, and come up with something like, "I love your cymbal sound," whereupon he looks at me with those huge eyes, smiles, reaches into his cymbal case, pulls out his hi-hat cymbals, and hands them to me. I am in shock.

Some years later, Elvin would play at the Keystone Corner in San Francisco, and I would introduce myself again. This time it took, and we became fast friends. In subsequent years, on their visits to San Francisco, Elvin and Keiko would stay at my home rather than a hotel, and our friendship deepened over time. Elvin and I would play double drum sets together, and hang out and talk, and we have remained friends ever since.

A few years ago I had a renewed interest in all things jazz and began reading everything I could get my hands on, including, of course, all the available Coltrane biographies. I would bring up stories and incidents that I had read in my conversations with Elvin, asking him about them, and generally just digging for more information. Elvin had told me many stories over the years that I had found both informative, and at times, very funny. In passing, I mentioned to him that he should write a book about his story. And then, with those same eyes and that same smile that I had encountered outside the Village Vanguard thirty years earlier, he looked at me and said, "Well, why don't you do it!"

This is one of those stories, in Elvin's own words:

"My Favorite Things" came out, and it took off like a rocket! That changed the entire industry because, it was being played on the radio and people were listening. Instead of having to go to a nightclub, you could turn on the radio and hear it. All the dj's were playing this music. It was great. It was good for all of us, for everybody that played music, it was good for the whole industry and it brought a level of recognition to the group and awareness to the public right away. People had never imagined that this could be music that many people could enjoy. Music had been stereotyped in such a way that people had very low expectations of the possibilities of this art form, and that record changed that train of thought, that way of thinking. After that record came out, the clubs filled up. People came to listen in person. They wanted to see us; they wanted to experience it in person. The audiences increased tremendously everywhere we would go. After that, it was easier. Club owners were more willing to say, "All right, I want the group in for two weeks. I want the group for this concert, for this festival." It was a big boost in our morale, in our expectations.

I don't think I made any more money; we were still driving in a car cross-country. That didn't change. We weren't buying airplane tickets, but when people respond to what you're doing in a positive way, when they genuinely and sincerely appreciate it, and like what it is that you're doing, that motivates you more and more. The next time we went into the studio, we knew that we were not just recording. We knew we were recording a performance, and that made a great difference. Now we knew we had an audience, and we could play to that audience and record to that audience. I think we all felt that.

It wasn't that this guy's famous and I'm a great drummer, or he's a great guy. I never thought that. Never. I always know what I'm capable of, but I thought there must be a hundred guys who play better than I do. I never thought I was a great drummer or anything. I know I'm good, but it's nothing exceptional. I thought of myself as a craftsman who was in a very fortunate situation, and enjoying it. I enjoyed myself. I don't think I was ever happier than when Coltrane was playing saxophone, and McCoy was playing piano and Jimmy Garrison was playing bass. That's the formula for happiness for me.

I always equated what Coltrane did with any thing that any of the master musicians of the past centuries have done. It transcends the mirror of what we consider our art form of the United States. It's more international than anything. Although the origins are there, it reaches far beyond any of the things that are normally considered "American" music.

John did a lot of things. I think a very small portion of it was recorded. I believe that people who witnessed a live performance made some of these commentaries. I've always thought that, and I never thought anything different. A hundred years is a relatively short space of time, but nevertheless it should be in par with any of the other master compositions or master recording that are available now. We can listen to all the great operas and all the great symphonies, so why not Coltrane? It's pretty natural, I think. It isn't parochial at all. It's music of humanity, in that sense.

John never said a word, not one word. When he would leave the stage and go in the back, he would start practicing, and that in itself would tell us; he's getting ready for the next one, because he feels good about it.

He was such a religious man. He was so spiritual. There were times when he was playing when he would get so involved, so intense, that he would actually go to his knees as if he was praying, in an attitude of prayer, and his horn was just wringing wet with sweat, just dripping. He was down on his knees playing that intensely.

I saw him play for three hours without stopping. The entire matinee at that club in Philadelphia, the whole matinee was one piece, and he stayed on it for three hours and I was right behind him. McCoy dropped out, Jimmy dropped out, [laughs] and when we were finished I said, "What are we going to play next?" and he said, "Oh, the matinee's over." I didn't even realize the time had passed. I was waiting for a chance to solo! "Well, give me a chance!" Yeah, that was a lot of fun.

Copyright Michael Shrieve, from the forthcoming memoir, Elvin Jones and the Rhythm of Humanity.

This excerpt originally appeared in Modern Drummer, October, 2004


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