12 Step Program, part two, chapter thirty-nine
Whatever happened to Bob Jansen
“OK, I’ll do it.”
It was Bob Jansen on the phone.
“You mean you’ll tour.”
“No, I mean I’ll do a concert. Just one.”
“One! I guess that’s something. What changed your mind?”
“You, me, email and I wouldn’t rule out ego.”
Me! How did I change your mind?”
“Look, you spent years trying to find me, talked to everybody like you were a fuckin’ detective. That told me I still had a few friends that remember me. I guessed I owed you and them.”
“You owe me nothing….”
“Oh…well then, why don’t I just hang up?”
No! No, don’t do that. Seeing you perform is something I’ve wanted for years.”
“That’s another thing,” he continued. “A lot of years have passed.I’m a completely different person now. This has made me curious. Can I still do it? Gotta admit , I sort of need to know. At the time, sing and make records was all Bob Jansen wanted to do. Maybe I was just foolin’ myself.”
“Email?”
“Thanks to you, or no thanks to you, people know how to reach me. I’m getting a lot of email. Most of the letters just say they’re glad I’m alive, a few recall The Hi-Steppers, some saw us at What’s New. Still others remember singing 12 Step Program. Just about all of them read my story in the newspaper.”
“Ego?”
“Yeah, After all that time, I still missed that special feeling when you control the situation
,control the audience, affect their lives, communicate. For a few minutes, you are treated like royalty, everybody deferring to you. As a musician, you must know the feeling.”
“Nah. I was just the drummer. Low man on the totem pole,”
“Is that what you think? That’s another debate for another time. Until then, I’ll put together a playlist, assemble a band. Wanna play? This will be…what’s it called…?”
“Do you mean closure?”
“Closure. That’s it. For me and for you. In?”
“I’ll think about it. What about Luke? He knows the songs and once said he’d provide his band.”
“Luke! Think he’ll do it? It’s been a long time.”
“But he’s never stopped playing.”
“Yeah, he’ll do it. You’d have to pry the guitar from his dead hands.”
“And Seattle’s not far.”
“We’ll need a place to rehearse.”
“I’ll find one. When do you want the concert?”
“A month from now.”
Two months. I’ll need time to get the word out, find a rehearsal space for you, figure out what to do about Luke, if he can do it; put together a band, if he cant or won’t. Where?
“The Commodore. The Steppers rarely played anything larger as a headliner. It’s a decent size for me.
The next few days were busy ones.
Before I rented the Commodore,I had to talk to Luke Mitchell.
He was suspicious at first, even though he remembered me, but why would somebody from Canada want him?
When I broke the news to him that Bob had been found, or that he had found me, Luke was elated. He was full of questions that took two hours to answer. In the end, yes, he and his band would back Bob. No other Hi-Steppers would be involved, I told him. He’d occasionally throw a Steppers song into his set. So he still knew the songs, but if I sent him a setlist, he’d rehearse the others with his band. That was a problem. He was booked most nights, meaning Bob would have to rehearse on his own.
“Lock down the Commodore,” he assured me, “And I’ll clear a night or two to rehearse with Bob. He’ll be alright.”
So I called the Commodore. Sure enough it was booked well in advance but there were some open dates two months from now. Live Nation, which ran the Commodore, smelled blood. It would hold open other dates, if necessary. Sound and lights were taken care of. It also would sell merchandise – t-shirts, hats, stuff like that – if we had any. Reluctantly, I took a Wednesday. Not the best day for a show of any kind, but Luke was available that night and chances were good he and his band weren’t working Monday or Tuesday.
Bob, who was making a setlist, wasn’t thrilled by the news, but knew Luke would be ready, which meant he had to be ready as well.
“By the way,” I asked. “What’s the ticket price?”
“I don’t know. Never even thought about it. I’m not doing this for the money. Everybody involved should be paid properly, though. What do you think?”
“I don’t know either. It’s been years since I attended a concert. I’ll ask Live Nation.”
The next day, I called the media. Mild interest. A daily newspaper arranged for an interview and photo shoot immediately, so that was something I might be able to build upon. Bob’ evidently had a vision for the show, which to me, wasn’t a show but an event.
