Photo: Paula Kaye Evans with Reba McEntire,
“Going back to Santa Fe was like a criminal returning to the scene of the crime…”
– DC Duncan
Santa Fe: Second verse, same as the first . . .
I was missing Maui before I ever left. But here we were, back in the Ancient City, starting all over again. We had rented a nice little house off of Rufina Lane and moved in. It was April,1991 when I started playing music with Fred Spencer on vocals and guitar, Spin Dunbar on bass and an assortment of other solid players. Most of the gigs were up Canyon Road at El Ferol and – for better or worse – I was suddenly back in the pocket. (Old habits are hard to break, especially the bad ones!)
Jayebird wanted our dog, Tory, back . . . badly. But unfortunately, in our absence, she had died. Right from the git-go, we were off to a shaky start.
The good thing was that we were able to spend time with our son, Tait, who was on the mend. He was in his own little world down in Los Lunas and was always happy to see us. Saying, goodbye, to him after each visit was emotional, but as a 19-year-old, hyperactive autistic, little man, he was in the right place. (He was a handful.) His cadre of conscientious caregivers were dedicated to him, and we were thankful for that.
March 16, 1991, tragedy struck hard. On that day, Reba McEntire’s plane crashed near San Diego killing everyone on board. One of those who lost her life was my friend Paula Kaye Evans Wallace who sang backgrounds on the Bee’s Knees albums. Her husband was world class sound engineer, Larry Wallace. Luckily Reba and her soundman, my friend, Ricky Moeller – Dee and Larry Moeller’s son – were not on that flight.
“Through it All” by Amelia
A few days later, Ricky’s sister, Pam, called me. She was devastated and in tears; Paula Kaye had been her best friend. She asked me to drive her to Dallas where Paula Kaye’s remains would soon be transported. After the horrible plane crash, she was scared to death of airplanes. I convinced her to fly, that I’d accompany the poor girl and take good care of her.
My brother, Robert, had recently been admitted to Parkland Hospital in Dallas. He had been suffering from the effects of AIDS. My parents had assured me that he was only being monitored for lymphatic problems, that it was basically routine and I shouldn’t worry about it. I asked whether or not I should be there for my little brother. They told me it was no big thing – they also told me to pray for him. Hmmm. That didn’t sound too good.
Pam and I flew to Dallas where she was greeted by her ride. I introduced Pam to my dad, Spike, and told her to keep in touch. Spike wanted to take me to Herrera’s for Tex-Mex but I told him I wanted to see Robert at Parkland right away.
When we walked into Robert’s room, I was shocked. I barely recognized him. He was skin and bones with tubes protruding from both lungs, and IVs in both arms. His skin was covered with nasty lesions. On top of that, he was in a fowl mood and complained about everyone and everything. As it turned out, he had refused morphine and was in great pain.
I was in Dallas for five days and visited Robert every day. On the third day I showed up and he was glad to see me and was transformed. Gone was the nasty attitude and gnarly disposition: he had agreed to let them administer morphine. Now we could actually have a decent conversation. It was Springtime, and he was talking about planting flowers at his house, working and spending time with his friends. He felt he could lick this thing.
At one point he broke down in tears. He asked me if I loved him. He thought I actually hated him because he was gay, but nothing could be further from the truth. This was a heart-rending development that was luckily settled once-and-for-all. Robert seemed to have the weight of the world suddenly lifted from his weary shoulders. We embraced for the longest time.
A few days later I returned to Santa Fe. Then, on Easter Sunday, March thirty-first, Robert passed away at my parent’s home in North Dallas. He had been sent to their house without morphine and died an agonizing death.
I loved my parents very much, but sometimes their ways could not be logically understood.
And to think that I would never have seen my brother again had it not been for the tragic plane crash, and Pam Moeller insisting that I take her to Dallas. I’m so thankful that Robert died knowing that his big brother loved him with all his heart.
“Death is nature’s way of saying, ‘Your table is ready.’”
– Robin Williams
Back in Santa Fe I was doing session work. I was called to do an album for a California woman known simply as Amelia. Her band was called Amelia and the Mircurys. Besides being an atrocious speller, she was a formidable talent. Her songs were brilliant, both musically and lyrically.
Some of the work had been done in LA, including some background vocals by Steven Tyler of Aerosmith. (Unfortunately, I played on tracks that did not include Mr. Tyler.) The recording was done at Stepbridge Studios in Santa Fe and engineered by my friend Tim Stroh.
The song I’ve chosen to showcase for you – “Through it All” – is a remarkable piece of music. The emotional depth of the song really tears me up every time I listen to it. And because I recorded this song shorty after the death of my brother, it has special significance, and always will.
Amelia’s voice is a force of nature: strong, passionate and loaded with nuance. She can definitely get her point across . . . effortlessly. Also, a big shout out to violinist, Caitlin Massie. She is the icing on the cake on this whole album. Working with this caliber of musicians is what makes it all seem worthwhile. (Sometimes even drummers get lucky!)
I was playing my gigs. And when I wasn’t playing music, I was hanging out with rowdy friends, mostly musicians and lost souls like myself. I was dealing with the deep depression of forsaking Hawaii – paradise lost. And losing my brother AND Maui was a double whammy. I was backsliding badly. I don’t want to make any excuses for myself, but being bipolar certainly didn’t help…
I wasn’t drinking any more. Of course, I wasn’t drinking any less!
Tait, and a few of his “cronies,” were enjoying a camp for special need teens, south of Gallup, New Mexico. Jayebird and I decided to take some time off and visit Tait at his camp. We had a nice visit, and then drove up to Durango to ride the Durango/Silverton Train.
The whole trip was a well-deserved getaway from the funny farm known as Santa Fe. But when we finally returned, I could feel myself reverting back into my werewolf alter ego, needing to howl at the moon.
Dan Fogelberg, Will Bell, DC, and Spin Dunbar.
My cohorts and I operated under the cover of darkness. Some of my fellow nocturnal creatures were Will Bell, Spin Dunbar, Sara K, Fred Spencer, Dan Folgelberg and his beautiful wife, Anastasia. She liked me because we were both bipolar. (The only time my mental disorder was an asset!)
Dan once gave Jayebird and me tickets and backstage passes to his excellent concert at Paolo Solari Amphitheater in Santa Fe. Later that night he wanted my humble opinion of his new drummer. I told him I thought “he was great . . . very musical. I was impressed!” Dan smiled and agreed wholeheartedly. I think he was testing me. I was only telling him the truth, but maybe that was the test. Henceforth, Dan and I continued sparring gently, trying to figure out each other.
One day, he was talking lovingly about his idyllic ranch in southwest Colorado — outside a little town called Pagosa Springs. Now that sounded like heaven to me. (Perhaps he had planted a subliminal seed in my troubled mind?)
Seems like there was a party every night. But my carousing was getting way out of hand. One morning I stumbled into the house at dawn and Jayebird was waiting for me. She had had enough. She announced: “Do you remember that little town with just one stoplight? We passed through there, coming home from the train ride.”
I said, “No.”
And she said: “Well, we’re moving there!”
And that was that . . .