Coverage in the Arizona Daily Star:

Join me and fellow Rock Bottom Remainders bandmates–Scott Turow, Sam Barry, Ridley Pearson, James McBride and Roger McGuinn–for an AMA (Ask Me Anything) on Reddit.com on Tuesday, June 18th from 2:00 -4:00 p.m.

If you’re unfamiliar with AMAs, it’s just an opportunity to ask us about our illustrious (not) music career as a band of authors making rock’n’roll

Look out for our collaborative book–Hard Listening–available June 18th. 

We hit the final chord. We heard sweet applause. And then, after 20 years together, we walked away.

There was no fighting. No “musical differences.” You need to be musical to have musical differences.

We were not really musical.

We were writers. Novelists. Memoirists. Humorists. Stephen King was in the band. So was Matt Groening, who created “The Simpsons.” So was Amy Tan, Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson, Scott Turow, Greg Iles, Roy Blount Jr., James McBride – many others over the years.

We were called the Rock Bottom Remainders, and when they write the penultimate history of rock ‘n’ roll, we will not be in it. Not even a footnote. But we performed all over the country and we brought people to their feet, even if those feet were headed toward the door.

We sang old rock ‘n’ roll, stuff from the 1950s and ’60s. We played it on guitars, bass, guitars, keyboards, more guitars, and when I say “played,” I mean we moved our hands around in the way that real musicians do when they are making, you know, music. Only with us, the discussions went like this:

“Hey, what key were we just in?”

“A.”

“Oh. That explains it.”

Visits from the Boss and Zevon

But we laughed. We made feedback. We broke strings. We dressed in costumes. Tan wore a dominatrix outfit for “These Boots Are Made for Walkin'” that would make “Fifty Shades of Grey” turn 50 shades of red. I donned a gold lamé jacket and did a very bad Elvis Presley imitation, wearing a wig whose sideburns, by the end, more closely resembled a Hasidic rabbi’s than the King’s.

We played for charity, and our audiences were charitable. They laughed. They sang along. We filled nightclubs and ballrooms and outdoor stages. Now and then, someone would throw underwear. Sometimes it was men’s underwear. Once, a Stephen King fan lit her fingernails on fire.

Over the years, some real musicians hopped on stage with us. Bruce Springsteen. Darlene Love. Judy Collins. Lesley Gore. Warren Zevon was a frequent member. Roger McGuinn toured with us for years. I don’t know why. Maybe pity.

Or maybe this: It was fun.

And we felt young.

And nobody talked shop.

The ravages of time

People form bands for lots of reasons. To make music, sure. But also to meet girls. To rebel. To wear spandex.

We did it, I think, to remember. Lives get complicated. Fun becomes a luxury. The Remainders got together each year and, in a way, it was like summer camp. We left behind the trappings of everyday life. We wore T-shirts and sneakers. We rode buses. We curled up and napped in tiny dressing rooms. We ate pizza at 1a.m. We sang simple songs from our youth, with lyrics like, “Da doo ron ron” and “Papa oom mow mow.”

We made noise.

It was beautiful noise, the sound of happy adults not taking themselves too seriously. Springsteen told us: “You’re not that bad, but don’t get any better. Otherwise, you’ll just be another lousy band.” So we aspired to “lousy.”

That’s OK. We knew our place. As Barry often said, “We play music as well as Metallica writes novels.” We were not quite a garage band. More like a shed band.

But life goes on. We used to call ourselves the ever-expanding band because pretty much anyone who ever wrote a word wound up onstage with us. But then Frank McCourt, who played harmonica, passed away. And Zevon passed away. King battled injuries from a terrible accident. Greg Iles lost a leg.

Then, five weeks ago, the woman who invented the band, Kathi Kamen Goldmark, died from breast cancer.

And for the first time, the crowded stage felt a little empty.

We discussed it. Everyone agreed. The winds were blowing. The band would end.

We played two final shows last weekend in southern California, and fittingly, the closing number, the easiest song we do – and in this band, that means pretty damn easy – we screwed up. It was “Wild Thing.” How do you screw up “Wild Thing”? We blew the open, and then Blount was supposed to sing, “I love you.” Instead, he crooned, “You love me.”

I think it was the band talking through him. You love me. We did. Two decades. Never made a record. And we had a blast. You think about the groups you join in life, the ones with instruments and the ones without, and you’ll conclude what could, essentially, be an epitaph for the Rock Bottom Remainders; as long as you are in tune with one another, you don’t really need to be in tune.

Contact Mitch Albom: 313-223-4581 or malbom@freepress.com. Catch “The Mitch Albom Show” 5-7 p.m. weekdays on WJR-AM (760).

Confirmed for the concert are Stephen King, who hasn’t performed with the band since 2007, as well as Amy Tan (vocals & whip), Dave Barry (co-lead guitar), Matt Groening (cowbell), Mitch Albom (keyboards), Scott Turow (vocals), James McBride (sax), Greg Iles (co-lead guitar), Ridley Pearson (bass), Roy Blount, Jr. (the crowd), and Sam Barry (harmonica).

The concert for all ages will take place at the El Rey Theatre on Friday, June 22nd at 8:30 PM with a special guest appearance by Roger McGuinn, best-known as the lead singer and lead guitarist for The Byrds. Doors will open at 7:30 PM. Tickets range from $40 to $200 and go on sale Thursday, May 24th via TheElRey.com and Ticketmaster. $200 VIP tickets include pre-show reception and a “meet & greet” from 6:30 PM to 7:30 PM. Proceeds will benefit literary causes.

The June 23rd concert in Anaheim is at the American Library Association conference and open to registered attendees only.

The historic El Rey Theatre is located in the preserved Art Deco Miracle Mile district at 5515 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90036 (323-936-6400). Valet, lot, and street parking are available. For more information on the Rock Bottom Remainders, please see www.rockbottomremainders.com .

By day, they’re authors.

Really famous authors.

But once a year they shed their pen-and-pencil clutching personas and become rock stars, complete with roadies, groupies and a wicked cool tour bus.

(*Note: some tickets are not yet for sale. Keep checking MitchAlbom.com for the updated concert and ticket info)

For TICKETS TO ANY OF THESE DATES, please go to http://bit.ly/RBRtickets

APRIL 20-21: WASHINGTON DC

April 20: “Besides the Music”

Conversation with Sam Donaldson
Harman Center for the Arts
6:30 VIP reception, 8 p.m. talk

http://www.shakespearetheatre.org
Sidney Harman Hall Ticket Window
610 F Street NW
Washington, DC 20004-2207
202-547-1122
877.487.8849

April 21: The 9:30 Club
12:00 p.m.   |   $30
Supporting Colin Powell’s America’s Promise, which helps underperforming schools in inner cities. With special guest Roger McGuinn

Tickets for this event go on sale to the general public on Monday, 3/15 at 10:00 a.m.

The 9:30 Club
815 V Street N.W.
Box office: (877) 435-9849

http://www.930.com  

APRIL 22: PHILADELPHIA

Electric Factory
VIP reception and Concert   |  8:00 p.m.   |   $35
Supporting the Philadelphia Free Library.

http://www.electricfactory.info

Electric Factory
7th and Willow
Box Office: (215) 627-1332

APRIL 23: NEW YORK

Nokia Theatre
VIP Reception and Concert
Supporting Room to Read, for rebuilding libraries in Haiti

http://www.nokiatheatrenyc.com

Nokia Theatre
1515 Broadway
Box office: (800) 745-3000 or (866) 448-7849

For tickets: http://www.ticketmaster.com/The-Rock-Bottom-Remainders-tickets/artist/944825

APRIL 24: BOSTON

The Royale
VIP Reception and Concert

Supporting Jump Start (jstart.org), a national nonprofit that brings college students and volunteers together to mentor and tutor preschool children in low-income communities.

http://www.royaleboston.com/

The Royale
279 Tremont Street
Box office: (617) 338-7699

For TICKETS TO ANY OF THESE DATES, please go to http://bit.ly/RBRtickets

Frank was the most impishly intelligent man I knew, a permanent twinkle of the eye, a guy who could drop obscure literary references and an Irish drinking song into the same short sentence. His acclaim came late in life, waiting until he was in his 60’s – his childhood was impoverished Ireland, his young adulthood an immigrant in New York, and most of his career was spent anonymously, as a schoolteacher in the Big Apple. But things laid out that way for a purpose; Frank’s life became the canvas from which he would write three wonderful books, “Angela’s Ashes” about the childhood years, “’Tis” about his early wondrous time in America, and “Teacher Man” about what he learned while he was imparting knowledge to others.

Any of those books stand on their own as terrific reads. Together, they make an unforgettable trilogy of a 20^th century immigrant experience, through the eyes of a boy who endured, and through the lessons of a man who gave back.

Because he became famous as a senior citizen, there was a sense of appreciation with Frank that is missing from many of us. He was a storyteller of the highest order. He was a prankster. He was wickedly intelligent and sublimely clever and yet he had a charming humility that made it seem as if he were stumbling into cocktail parties or band rehearsals as if by accident – before taking over the room with his witty tales and thick Irish brogue.

We first got to know each other when our books came out less than a year apart. Both were memoirs and both succeeded beyond our dreams. We shared the joys and pressures of that, and more than once asked each other “So what do we do now?” Frank became part of the Rock Botttom Remainders band, and while he played a decent couple of tunes on the harmonica, it was his love of music and even greater love of belonging to a band – he loved the whole idea of rehearsing, tuning up, waiting off-stage – that made him such a precious member. We play rock and roll, or at least we try, yet Frank would stop the show with “Danny Boy’ or “Don’t Fence Me In” (ironically two songs that are emblematic of Ireland and America) and the crowd would stop and clap or sway along because he was damn cute up there with his white hair and sparking eyes and age-spotted hands gripping that harmonica.

With his death there are tributes flowing and many of them are serious and literary, befitting a writer who won the Pulitzer Prize. But Frank was about laughing and causing laughter and finding laughter in the corners of life, and so I include here as a small tribute a video of an impromptu conversation we had in the hallway of TV show when they were interviewing us about the band. It is Frank at his impish best and it makes me smile, and smiling is the best cradle in which to rock your memories of this man. I hope you enjoy it because everything about Frank was enjoyable and we will miss that most of all.

As one of the primary fundraising events for the YMCA, the Annual Classic is responsible for raising dollars to provide scholarships and financial assistance for YMCA members and program participants. All of the funds raised during the Classic event go directly to those who need them the most. This year, over 80 golfers will participate in the tournament in teams of four. Following the tournament, over 400 YMCA supporters will gather at the Annual YMCA Dinner Social with featured entertainment, the Rock Bottom Remainders. During the evening, guests will have the chance to bid on unique auction items, raise their paddles in support of programs and share their love for the community.

The Rock Bottom Remainders is a band that includes some of today’s most talented authors. Between them, they’ve published more than 150 titles, sold more than 150 million books, and been translated into more than 25 languages. The band members in attendance on Saturday: Ridley Pearson, Barbara Kingsolver, Amy Tan, Mitch Albom, Dave Barry, Greg Iles, Scott Turow, and Kathi Kamen-Goldmark.

Please contact Jovita Pina for tickets and information 928-6706 or jpina@woodriverymca.org 

Age Group: All Ages
Venue: Sun Valley Golf Course/YMCA
Address: 101 Saddle Road, Ketchum, ID 83340
Phone: 727-9622 

So I conferred with my people, my handlers, and they suggested, like Bill O’Reilly, it was best if I got out in front of this nasty business. So I will. Right here. I will confess it now.

I do Elvis.

There. It’s out. It’s not something you like to admit. But in six days, I will be doing my Elvis right here, in my hometown, on a stage, and there will be no denying it. The lies must stop. I do Elvis. I wear the wig. I wear the gold lame jacket. I’m not very good, if that matters. In fact, I’m really bad. But I know that makes no difference now. The guilty get no excuses.

Oh, I would like to blame others. And I could. I could blame my fellow bandmates in our truly awful ensemble, which goes by the name of the Rock Bottom Remainders. We are mostly writers — including Dave Barry, Amy Tan, Scott Turow, Ridley Pearson, Frank McCourt, Kathi Kamen Goldmark and Roy Blount Jr. — and what I mean by “writers” is “people who can’t sing or play.”

But that doesn’t stop us. We sing. We play. And like the Monkees, we are coming to your town.

And I am wearing fake sideburns.

The tour stops here

Now, to those of you who have heard whispers of my wiggling, my warbling, my wiggling and my warbling, well, I apologize for previous denials. The band has been together for more than 10 years, and the truth is, I have done my “Jailhouse Rock” thing in Los Angeles, New York, Miami, Denver, Boston, even Austin, Texas. I even did it in Chicago, dangerously close to Michigan. What was I thinking? No one would talk? Well, that’s how it is with secrets, you get brazen, you get sloppy. And then you make a mistake.

My mistake, of course, was letting someone in the band say, “Hey, let’s play Detroit.”

And now we are. At Clutch Cargo’s in Pontiac, this Saturday night. I feel mighty sorry for that place, which may have to close after serious damage to its reputation.

Then again, it’s not as if others don’t embarrass themselves in our band. Amy Tan wears a dominatrix outfit, OK? And Dave Barry sings “Gloria,” a song so mundane, as he says, if you throw a guitar off a cliff, when it hits the rocks, it plays “Gloria.” Frank McCourt said he knew one song on the harmonica, “Love Me Do” by the Beatles, and so we learned to play “Love Me Do,” which takes most bands five minutes and took us three months and 47 faxes. And when Frank came on stage, he lifted the harmonica and we began “Love Me Do,” except Frank was playing “I Should Have Known Better,” which turned out to be the one song he knew, and we should have known better, too.

The worst part is, nobody noticed.

The spirit moved me

But I’m stalling. The Elvis thing. Look. It began as a child, watching Elvis movies on TV. It continued in my first garage band, singing “Hound Dog.” It deepened when I lived in Greece, at a small resort where I worked as a musician and I knew nobody would talk. So I did a few songs and I wiggled my hips and well, like young Elvis himself once said, “The music kinda moved me.”

And now it comes full circle. In my hometown. I can hide no longer. The only saving grace is that our “concert” (Ha! What a word!) is for charity, so anyone who has ever had a pie tossed in his face for a good cause knows how I feel.

So it’s out. I confess. I do Elvis. Badly. But I do him. Those who cannot attend the show, please destroy this column and forget I said anything.

And those who do attend, I have but one request: As the King himself said, don’t be cruel.

Contact MITCH ALBOM at 313-223-4581 or albom@freepress.com”

No, not that concert. Not the six-hour, Saturday night blowout, which was broadcast around the world and featured rockers from all eras paired together, no matter how unusual (“AND NOW, METALLICA AND THE COWSILLS!”).

I was not in that concert — although I wish I had been, because then I could have asked the question most American viewers were asking, namely:
“Johnny Cash, I thought you were dead.”

By the way, I think the concert missed a great pairing, two of the world’s most incomprehensible rock legends, Bob Dylan and James Brown, neither of whom has said a word anyone understands in 20 years. Dylan now sounds as if he’s singing through a helium tank. And Brown sounds as if his pants are on fire.

Can you imagine them together on “Blowing in the Wind”?

DYLAN: How maneee time mubha wubba d– BROWN: Hit me! DYLAN: beforrr ooh cynn keh dibbe BROWN: HE-AAAY! KISS MAHSELF! DYLAN: dubah himmmeh . . . BROWN: YAMAYIMME! DYLAN: . . . wind.

I did not get Bob and James together. Nor did I get to twang guitars with Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Bruce Springsteen or any other masters of rock.

I did, however, get to play piano alongside horror champ Stephen King, who writes brilliant books and knows at least three chords.

And I did get to jam with humorist Dave Barry, who can play any song in the key of E, provided it was written in March or April of 1963.

I am talking about the world’s most infamous band, the Rock Bottom Remainders, which — regular readers might recall — is a roving tribe of writers with the musical talent of electricians, that gets to play in some pretty amazing places because, basically, everyone needs a laugh now and then.

Hit me! Mistake on the lake Now, how we came to play at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame — and when I say we, I mean the whole band, including novelist Amy Tan, thriller writer Ridley Pearson, humorist Roy Blount Jr., “Simpsons” creator Matt Groening and other tone-deaf literary giants — is simple: Someone asked. We don’t know who. We don’t care who. We don’t even know what medication he was on.

All we know is that someone asked us to play, and met our usual high asking price — hotel rooms with running water — and we said, and I’m quoting James Brown here: HEEE-AYY!

What we didn’t know, because we never ask, is who we would be playing for. So it wasn’t until a few minutes before concert time Friday night, in a huge white tent on the shore of Lake Erie, just behind the Hall of Fame, that we peeked from backstage and gasped. Elton John was in the crowd. And John Fogerty. And 3,500 other record biz types, including, you know, real musicians!

This is bad for the Rock Bottom Remainders, who count on several things from their audiences: 1) An open bar. 2) Pity.

Also, we like a tone-deaf crowd. We figure this is given, or else why hire a band whose most impressive solo is when the amps feed back?

“Oh, God,” Stephen King said.

“What?” we asked.

“Ben E. King is at the second table.”

I think I actually saw Stephen shake, which is kind of like seeing Dracula biting his nails. Not that he wasn’t justified. Ben E. King is the guy who sang the classic “Stand by Me,” which the Rock Bottom Remainders also attempt to do. Stephen sings lead. I don’t think I am hurting his feelings to say that the only similarity between Stephen’s version and Ben E.’s version is their last name.

Or, as Stephen put it: “I’m dead.” Who’s the Boss? As it turned out, we weren’t dead, just a little embarrassed. But the crowd actually liked us, and even danced and applauded, which only proves what I’ve always said about the great old rock ‘n’ rollers: They’re deaf.

The best moment was when Bruce Springsteen’s star guitar player, Nils Lofgren, came to our dressing room before the show and asked to play with us. I don’t know why. I can only assume he got stuck at a really bad table.

“I just wanna gig with you cats,” he said, or something hip like that. Then he said, “Please?”

Please? This is one of the great guitar players in pop rock, begging to play with a band that thinks “Louie Louie” is an instrumental challenge.

“Well, Nils,” Dave Barry said, “You’re a little too good for us . . .”

“Pleeeeeeease?”

In the end, we let Nils play, which was kind of neat, because it meant one band member was actually in key. Of course, we do seem to be moving down The Boss ladder. Last year, we played in LA, and Springsteen himself got on stage with us. This year, we get his guitar player, Nils. Next year, I suppose, we’re jamming with Bruce’s hairdresser.

So be it. We had a great time. And, as far as I know, Ben E. King did not walk out during our version of his song, although he was seen holding his ears and shaking his head. Then again, maybe he was anticipating Bob Dylan.