New England Music Scrapbook
Private Lightning

One day, not long ago, I happened to come across Alan Lewis’ New England Music Scrapbook site. Going through the pages really brought back some memories. Included in the listings was one for the band Private Lightning, of which I was a founding member. I emailed Alan to thank him for the listing, and he suggested I write a few words about my experiences in the band. Although the 70’s and 80’s were a long time ago (or so it seems), I still have some brain cells left and remember a thing or two, so here goes.

The band was formed because of an ad that Paul Van Ness placed in a well-known classified ad tabloid. At the time, a band that Eric Kaufman and I had been playing in was breaking apart at the seams, so we answered the ad. We met Paul in front of Gordon College in the Wenham area. He had a connection there that allowed us to use a small cottage-type shack way in the back of the campus for a practice room. Paul invited us in and introduced us to his sister, Patty Van Ness, who played the violin, and to our first drummer, Gary Snyder.

Within a few months, we managed to start getting opportunities to play out in the area. At that time, bands were still able to pocket a little money from a club gig. I don’t know how it is today, but I’ve heard horror stories about bands having to drag people in and only getting a cut of the door. How depressing.

We played primarily original music from the start, with a few cover tunes sprinkled in to get us work in the clubs. I don’t think that I have ever been in a band with so many different tastes. For example, I clearly remember someone on the one side of the practice room saying, No WAY! We will never cover "Aqualung," while a party on the other side was saying, You can’t be serious--"Amazing Grace"?

There was a pivotal intersection that kept us going, though. We all thought that Springsteen was phenomenal; we all liked Steely Dan, and The Allman Brothers, Seatrain, Eric Clapton, The Who. We eventually fell into a pattern of creating and rehearsing. Many hours were spent getting all of the parts to fit together correctly. At gigs, we weren’t above introducing one of our own songs as a Rolling Stone’s tune just to be able to fill the cover tune quota.

There’s always buffoonery on the road, and that sometimes ends up being the thing you remember, no matter how hard you try to forget. I’d rather write about that than go on a historical blow-by-blow rampage. A few instances I remember:

Our first manager falling asleep (passing out) on the floor of a room at the Hotel Bardwell somewhere in Vermont. These rooms had the old cast iron radiators. Unfortunately for him, he fell asleep with his face plastered up against one ... and even more unfortunately, it turned out to be a pretty cold night. Boy was his face red in all the wrong ways!

Joking on a 4 hour ride to a place called the Scandinavian, thinking about how awful it would be if it were actually the Scandinavi-Inn. Which it was. I swear there was a stern looking Maitre’D there named Inga, whose job it was to cast glares in our direction till we finally went to our rooms, which I might add had the most uncomfortable cardboard-like pillows I have ever encountered.

Being introduced to a new-fangled automated drink mixer machine behind the bar at the Bell Buoy in Scituate Harbor, which we had to test out several times, you understand, JUST to make sure it was working correctly. What will they think of next?

Having a gig in Littleton, NH, one night and Bethlehem the next, and singing Oh Littleton of Bethlehem during the ride between the two.

Seven people in a freezing Ford Econoline van (no heat) coming home and eating the only food we had, which was called Trail Mix, and I swear was only dirt, rocks and twigs in a bag.

Getting a free pizza from the nice folks in Leicester, MA, who fortunately for us, thought that the phrase "I drive to the Luster of the moon’s blue glow" in one of our songs was "I drive through Leicester..."

Driving home from Western Mass., late at night, and seeing a perfectly white owl (at least that is what it looked like) in the middle of the highway looking right at me bearing down on him. Freak me out, man!

Another late night drive, doing 70 on a sheet of ice, having to get out and scrap the windshield every 15 minutes. Took me a good 5 minutes to pry my hands loose from the steering wheel when we made it home.

Spending a week in Rumford Maine, playing at a place called MGM’s believe it or not. This was the closest any band member has come to being decapitated by a beer bottle whizzing by the stage. Jeez, I guess they really did want us to play "Free Bird." Incidentally, it might have been a relief to lose that head, because we were stationed right next to a paper mill, and even the staunchest health freaks in the band were lighting up cigarettes just to kill the smell. The one bonus there was a "Jungle" pinball machine at the diner next door that was easy to beat and fun to play.

Opening up for Joe Perry in New Hampshire, and being told there was someone in the crowd waving a gun around in front of the stage.

We had lots of problems finding good drummers, we must have auditioned dozens. I remember one guy who would get up from behind his drum set and come over to Paul to ask endless questions about what he was supposed to be doing during a certain segment of a song. We kept telling him to hit the snare drum harder, but he wasn’t getting it at all. So we finally made some snide remark and he got this look on his face and said "OK, OK Let’s do it." So we launch into "Physical Speed," and he brings his two arms way up in the air and comes down on the snare drum head, and it just breaks apart ... end of audition, no replacement head.

We opened up for John Sebastian in Maine one night. He’s a real nice guy. The night we met him he had on a red and white stripe shirt. After the gig and the long ride home, we turned on the TV and caught the end of a movie. I think it was One Trick Pony. Within 10 minutes of watching, there was John Sebastian in a cameo role, and he had the same exact red and white stripe shirt on! Guess it was his lucky shirt.

We spent a couple of weeks in New York, trying to get the album together, but things did not work out. Part of the time we spent down in the Village. It was a great time in my life. The other half, we spent further uptown. It was very hot, and smoggy--we spent most of the time crammed into a small rented apartment, using cups, paper, cardboard and the furniture to formulate an indoor miniature golf course. I don’t think the owners liked us very much after that. During our time in the Village, we rehearsed in a place near Houston Street, and caught a glimpse of Johnny Winter one night.

We were lucky enough to be able to spend a whole month recording at Air Studios in Montserrat. This was a beautiful small island with really friendly people, and a great studio. One of my memories is of arriving. We had to take a small plane (6-seater I think) over from one of the surrounding islands. It was getting pretty dark by the time we got there. There were no visible landing lights on the ground much to our consternation. After we landed, we were shuttled to our villas. It was incredibly dark, and we could hear the waves crashing all around us. We had to wait until the next day before we could actually enjoy the view. We had three villas at our disposal, and 24-hour access to the studio if we wanted. We had great meals prepared for us, and there was always something to keep us busy. There was a restaurant we went to one night, where the owner read to us a story he was writing. He evidently did this for all the bands that came and recorded on the island. He included each band member in the narrative. I often wonder what ever became of him. The island had a volcano on it, which we spent some time exploring. The selection of albums available was extremely limited. I remember that the only two playable selections were Sgt. Pepper and an old Herb Alpert album, perhaps planted by our record company.

The night before we were to leave the island, everyone piled into the studio and we played back the album we had just recorded. Everything sounded great, just the way we wanted. We were all very excited and couldn’t wait for the final mix, transfer to vinyl and release. When we left the island, we thought we were on our way.

As we were leaving the island, George Martin was arriving. We never got a chance to meet him, though.

The next chance that I got to hear the album was at a record release party. I wasn’t involved in the final mix process, so I cannot tell you what went on there. All I know is that somewhere between mixing and transferring to disk, something bad happened. There was so much sibilance that the vocals were sizzling and breaking up, and the mix was all shot as well. It was a bitter disappointment, but overall, it was plenty of fun being in that band, with those people. It was incredibly hard work, long hours, low pay for the most part, but we felt like we had something important to say, and we worked it like a regular job. It is unfortunate that the band broke up. Some of our best music never got heard. I hated the way our first album sounded, but always had faith in the songs themselves.

After the album came out, not much money was spent on the band to allow for touring to back up the album. We played pretty much in the New England, East Coast area, and worked on our next demo. The batch of songs that we were working on at that time were incredible. I may be biased, but there was deep meaning in the lyrics, and we were all maturing as musicians as well. We recorded the demo at my home. It included some of the older songs that did not make the album, and all of the new stuff as well. I loved the demo tape and the whole process of putting it together. My biggest regret is that the public in general never got a chance to hear those songs.

PRIVATE LIGHTNING

"Please don't call us folk-rockers," pleaded Patty Van Ness, the group's violinist. Everybody hear that? Private Lightning is one of the more versatile, progressive groups around. The violinist and keyboard player provide a hint of classical influence, as well as enhancing the rock foundation of the band. It's a big (six members) and ambitious rock group whose sound is embodied in the songwriting, arrangements and lead guitar of Paul Van Ness, 27, Patty's twin brother. She said, "We're progressive because we're not boogie rockers. We synthesize many different sounds into our music, but the guitars are loud and remain the dominant voice." She also admitted their concert sound has been a problem: "We fear we're getting a polite sound. It shouldn't be that." Indeed Private Lightning can rock hard and stimulate listeners. The lyrics are bright, intelligent and tasteful. Listen for "Physical Speed," "Song of the Kite" and "Side of the Angels."

-- Thomas Sabulis, Boston Globe, February 22, 1979

NEMSbook

[E]ach band's second song is a winner--a better percentage than most compilations offer. ... Private Lightning's "I Can't Stop" comically chronicles a couple's running spat, with violin and harmonica adding a folkie touch.

-- Joyce Millman, Boston Phoenix, June 15, 1982

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