New article on Neal
Posted: Sun May 09, 2010 8:03 pmNote: I jacked this from the Journey UK Forum
TAKE NOTE, MARTINEZ
By
Jim Caroompas
Guest Columnist
May 6, 2010
Neal Schon
There used to be a club in San Francisco called The Orphanage. It was considered a major venue, where lots of fairly well-known acts came to play, so when my band Colefeat was booked there one night, it was a big deal for us. One of the very nice things about this particular gig was the fact that there was a dressing room. Most of the places we played then (and continue to play now) do not come with a separate room in which to change from street clothes to stage clothes, or to sit quietly and tune the instruments, or just psyche up for the show. It’s a luxury most musicians don’t get to experience. This particular night, we did. And we were doing all those things when, to everyone’s surprise, someone walked in. It was none other than Neal Schon. He was just cruising the clubs, and thought he’d stop by to say hello.
In 1974, the year this took place, Neal Schon was poised to take the mantle from Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix. He was the next designated Guitar God. Everyone knew it – it was just a matter of time. The man was a monster, a guitar player’s guitar player. That’s why he was offered a spot as the second guitar for Derek and the Dominoes in 1971. That’s right – Eric Clapton invited Neal to join the band. And Neal said “no.” Instead, he joined Santana and went on to make several albums with him, before heading in other directions. In the year 1971, an invitation from Eric Clapton was like… well, I’m not sure there was anything like it. It meant that you were the best, the heir apparent, and that year, Neal Schon was certainly that.
I was fortunate enough to see Neal jam with Derek and the Dominoes in 1971, at the Berkeley Community Theater. I didn’t know who he was then, but I hated him. Purely, you understand, out of jealousy. Here was a kid, only a few months older than me, being invited on stage to jam with the guitar player who for me was the finest guitarist who ever took a breath. Given that perspective, and my young age, I listened to Neal trade guitar licks with Clapton and thought “hmm, not bad, but Eric cleaned his clock.”
Cut to 1974, and my unexpected opportunity to ask Neal what the heck he was thinking, turning down Clapton. His answer was two-fold. First, he said, there was a lot of heroin being snorted backstage, and he didn’t want any part of that. A very wise and rational response, though at the time I thought it was silly. Secondly, he said, “I already had the Clapton thing down, I was working on the Hendrix thing.”
That struck me as arrogant, so I decided to teach the kid a lesson. I invited him to play with us, and he graciously agreed to come out for a song. We did our set, then I introduced him and, for the song, I chose the same one I saw him play with Clapton that night: Key to the Highway, by Big Bill Broonzy. Since he was the guest, I took the first couple of solos, and turned in a pretty tasty set of chops, if I do say so myself. I was feeling pretty smug and cocky when I nodded to Neal and he turned in his choruses.
Oh dear reader, I shall never again make that mistake. Neal Schon basically shredded me into a steaming mass of humble that night. He was amazing, astounding. His notes were searing and gorgeous and unerring. His fingers were a brilliant blur of blues-drenched beauty. Oh, I watched and wept, moved by the fury of notes coming out of his amp and at the same time humbled and shamed by the shadow that guy made of me on my stage, in front of my band.
That year, I believe, Neal formed Journey. They put out three albums of progressive rock that didn’t really go anywhere, never really found a large enough audience base to support enough sales to continue making records. The songs weren’t very strong, the singing wasn’t great, and the tunes themselves didn’t really feature Neal’s guitar work in a way that put him in the center of the spotlight. Then their manager, Herbie Herbert, found a guy named Steve Perry. Steve wrote songs with very strong hooks, and he sang distinctively. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Except Neal Schon is not recognized as the legendary guitarist he seemed destined to be. In interviews, he says he’s not a big fan of pop music, yet that’s exactly what Journey came to be – a pop band with rock sensibilities, who pretty much owned the 1980s radio charts. They made a fortune, and I’m sure Neal is grateful for that part. But Journey is known for its tunes, not for Neal Schon’s guitar work.
I wonder if Neal ever ponders, as I do, what happened to the destiny he seemed to be assured of, to step in line as the next guitar legend, to be spoken of in the same breath as Clapton, Hendrix, Vaughn. That never happened for him, and it’s a shame, because Neal Schon plays a legendary guitar.
TAKE NOTE, MARTINEZ
By
Jim Caroompas
Guest Columnist
May 6, 2010
Neal Schon
There used to be a club in San Francisco called The Orphanage. It was considered a major venue, where lots of fairly well-known acts came to play, so when my band Colefeat was booked there one night, it was a big deal for us. One of the very nice things about this particular gig was the fact that there was a dressing room. Most of the places we played then (and continue to play now) do not come with a separate room in which to change from street clothes to stage clothes, or to sit quietly and tune the instruments, or just psyche up for the show. It’s a luxury most musicians don’t get to experience. This particular night, we did. And we were doing all those things when, to everyone’s surprise, someone walked in. It was none other than Neal Schon. He was just cruising the clubs, and thought he’d stop by to say hello.
In 1974, the year this took place, Neal Schon was poised to take the mantle from Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix. He was the next designated Guitar God. Everyone knew it – it was just a matter of time. The man was a monster, a guitar player’s guitar player. That’s why he was offered a spot as the second guitar for Derek and the Dominoes in 1971. That’s right – Eric Clapton invited Neal to join the band. And Neal said “no.” Instead, he joined Santana and went on to make several albums with him, before heading in other directions. In the year 1971, an invitation from Eric Clapton was like… well, I’m not sure there was anything like it. It meant that you were the best, the heir apparent, and that year, Neal Schon was certainly that.
I was fortunate enough to see Neal jam with Derek and the Dominoes in 1971, at the Berkeley Community Theater. I didn’t know who he was then, but I hated him. Purely, you understand, out of jealousy. Here was a kid, only a few months older than me, being invited on stage to jam with the guitar player who for me was the finest guitarist who ever took a breath. Given that perspective, and my young age, I listened to Neal trade guitar licks with Clapton and thought “hmm, not bad, but Eric cleaned his clock.”
Cut to 1974, and my unexpected opportunity to ask Neal what the heck he was thinking, turning down Clapton. His answer was two-fold. First, he said, there was a lot of heroin being snorted backstage, and he didn’t want any part of that. A very wise and rational response, though at the time I thought it was silly. Secondly, he said, “I already had the Clapton thing down, I was working on the Hendrix thing.”
That struck me as arrogant, so I decided to teach the kid a lesson. I invited him to play with us, and he graciously agreed to come out for a song. We did our set, then I introduced him and, for the song, I chose the same one I saw him play with Clapton that night: Key to the Highway, by Big Bill Broonzy. Since he was the guest, I took the first couple of solos, and turned in a pretty tasty set of chops, if I do say so myself. I was feeling pretty smug and cocky when I nodded to Neal and he turned in his choruses.
Oh dear reader, I shall never again make that mistake. Neal Schon basically shredded me into a steaming mass of humble that night. He was amazing, astounding. His notes were searing and gorgeous and unerring. His fingers were a brilliant blur of blues-drenched beauty. Oh, I watched and wept, moved by the fury of notes coming out of his amp and at the same time humbled and shamed by the shadow that guy made of me on my stage, in front of my band.
That year, I believe, Neal formed Journey. They put out three albums of progressive rock that didn’t really go anywhere, never really found a large enough audience base to support enough sales to continue making records. The songs weren’t very strong, the singing wasn’t great, and the tunes themselves didn’t really feature Neal’s guitar work in a way that put him in the center of the spotlight. Then their manager, Herbie Herbert, found a guy named Steve Perry. Steve wrote songs with very strong hooks, and he sang distinctively. And the rest, as they say, is history.
Except Neal Schon is not recognized as the legendary guitarist he seemed destined to be. In interviews, he says he’s not a big fan of pop music, yet that’s exactly what Journey came to be – a pop band with rock sensibilities, who pretty much owned the 1980s radio charts. They made a fortune, and I’m sure Neal is grateful for that part. But Journey is known for its tunes, not for Neal Schon’s guitar work.
I wonder if Neal ever ponders, as I do, what happened to the destiny he seemed to be assured of, to step in line as the next guitar legend, to be spoken of in the same breath as Clapton, Hendrix, Vaughn. That never happened for him, and it’s a shame, because Neal Schon plays a legendary guitar.
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