Jim Strahm's Life Worth Livin'

One of the highlights of touring up and down the I-35 corridor was the inevitable stop at Midwestern Music Co. in Kansas City. Stop, grab a 12 pack of Bud, and spend the afternoon hanging out with co-owner Jim Strahm - a wise-cracking, chain smoking, Rick Moranis-looking saint of the heartland. It was far too easy to hang out there until you were too drunk to make your gig.
In addition to his instrument repair duties at his shop, Jim also served as guitar tech for Alejandro Escoveda when he toured, fronted KC country rock band The Saddlemen, and helped out more local and touring bands in dire straits than it's reasonable to try and count. The first time we met I had dropped my Telecaster onto a floor swimming in spilt beer and the nut had exploded. Jim took the guitar and, some time between 3 AM and 11 the next morning, had repaired the nut and cleaned up the guitar. It played better than before. He didn't charge me a dime.
One of the bands I was playing in met up with KC's Cher UK in Wichita for a gig during a time when Jim was playing lead guitar with them. After the gig Jim wanted to keep drinking, as did we, while the rest of the Cher folks uncharacteristically wanted to crash. Since the two bands were playing together again in Austin the following night we took custody of Mr. Strahm. After a hard night of it, we stopped for breakfast on our way out of town. The restaraunt was a Mexican place, owned and operated by Asians. This resulted in a very, er, unique fusion of cuisines. On sitting down we all ordered waters and coffees - all except Strahm, who (much to the waiter's consternation) ordered a margarita. The waiter brought out waters and coffees and, as he was walking away, Jim looked at me and said, "Where's my fucking margarita?" which caused us all to laugh. Several minutes passed before the waiter seemingly sprung up from nowhere and slammed a margarita down in front of Jim. "There's your fucking margarita!" he snarled, which I think caused Jim to fall a little bit in love with him. When the food arrived, it was literally smothered in sour cream - I mean on the order of a half pint per plate. Jim looked at the waiter and deadpanned, "Could I get a little sour cream, please?". The waiter sighed. "More sour cream, sir?". "No, I'm kidding". This caused uproarious laughter. While all this certainly seems, and in fact was, no fun at all for the waiter, Jim left him a twenty dollar tip when it was all said and done.
When my current band toured for the first time the lead guitar player blew the speaker in his amp. Jim replaced it for free. We also stayed at his house for two alcohol soaked nights - I don't think he slept the whole time. I kept trying to pay him for the amp - he kept saying "Don't worry about it - it all comes around. You can get me back some other time."
I never did.
Jim smoked like a chimney - I rarely saw him conscious without a lit cigarette, and I don't think I ever saw him unconscious. He was diagnosed with cancer in November of 1999 and died on May 12th, 2000 at the age of 39. It's a testament to how well thought of he was that a benefit held to defray his medical costs was co-headlined by Alejandro Escoveda and Southern Culture on the Skids, with multiple high profile Kansas City bands contributing their time as well.
I've met a lot of fine people in the almost twenty years I've been doing this, and a lot of assholes. Jim is among the finest of the fine. His dedication to music and musicians was perfectly balanced with a cynical (and side-splitting) sense of humor that never turned off and never got old. I envy him that to this day. I also miss him to this day. He packed a lot of life into 39 years. We would have all benefitted immensely if he would have been granted a few more.

Yours,
MiseryCreek

Long Way Down

I started the band I currently play "seriously" with in 1997. I had been playing music more or less professionally since 1991 both as a side man and front man, but this band was going to be different. I had, for the first time, really worked on the songs I was writing with an ear to hooks and melodies and considered the batch I had come up with to be light years beyond anything I had written before. I had, for the first time, a really solid idea of what I wanted the band to sound like. Finally, I had, for the first time, a group of players who I liked, who were competent, and who professed dedication to making the band work. It was with a lot of excitement that we debuted in spring of 1998 - everything seemed to be heading in the right direction.
As I write this I am the only founding member left. The band has been through five lead guitarists, three bass players and four drummers. Every time the band has attained some forward momentum someone has developed a crippling drug addiction, alcohol problem, mental illness, or case of ennui. I spent three years catastrophically ill, in and out of hospitals and undergoing multiple surgeries. Short of somebody dying my band has had about the worst luck imaginable considering the amount of work put in over the last eight years.
At this point I'm keeping this band going through sheer obstinancy - shaking my fist at God, so to speak. Right now we are on an upswing - we have a record in the can produced by a well respected producer, we're getting offered good shows, getting a little airplay, and interest seems to be waxing again. Cue the inevitable personnel problem. By the time I post again we may be working in yet another new member.
I started this blog as an outlet to the frustrations I find inherent in this kind of life, and in the hopes that I'm not alone. Future posts will detail events from the mind-numbingly mundane to the unbelievably absurd from my band's past and present and will be much more entertaining than this one.
I find this life unshakeably addictive in spite of the unending stress and sorrow it presents, far in excess of the fun and satisfaction it provides. Here's hoping that, via documentation and the feedback of likeminded others, I can get to the reason why.

Yours -
MiseryCreek