Casady Jack - Been so long: my life and music

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My story is my story. Ive told bits and pieces of it over my lifetime to a treasured few, but it was time to tell all to a bigger audience, and nothing is ever accomplished alone. There are a number of people without whom this project would not have come to be. Id like to thank and acknowledge as many of them as I canmea culpa for not being able to name them all.

To Kevin Haworth, whose editing skills from start to finish helped forge my loosely told tales into a book. He guided me to speak my truth and present it through my eyes without punching down on others. Peter Wolverton from St. Martins Press held my nose to the grindstone in a relentless, honest, and creative way. Lena Margareta Pettersson, whose life I had to tell in order to tell my own. We were like opposite ends of magnets, and though I chose to stay in that space until I was ready to jump in front of the fear, Margareta helped shape who I am today. Jack Casady, who has been by my side since we were kids. As each others oldest friends we lit the way for each other throughout our friendship. Grace, Paul, Marty, Spencer, Signe it has been my honor to have played with you and to have been a part of the magic of Jefferson Airplane. The exciting exchange between us as friends and colleagues cannot be measured. To my many musical friends who have left this Earth: Pigpen, Janis, Jerry Garcia, Skip Spence, Ian Buchanan, Mike Bloomfield, Larry Coryell, and too many to name. We came up together musically and the things I learned from you about the love of song has stayed with me all these years. Today, when I play some of the songs that we enjoyed together as young men and women, its like having you onstage with me.

To my Fur Peace Ranch and Hot Tuna family: John Hurlbut, Kelly Stewart, Justin Berry, Jerry Sullivan, Brenda Bolin, David Wolff, Treva, Smiles, Michael, Shannon, Wendy, Sara, Joe, Phil Jacobs, Michael and Claudia Falzarano, Barry Mitterhoff, Justin Guip, and Myron Hart. You all made it possible for the two entities to cross-pollinate, which allows us to give back the way we do. To Cash Edwards, thank you for your tireless efforts and your commitment to excellence. To Steve Martin and Seth Rappaport, who are the Gatekeepers of my life on the road. They have made it possible for me to travel the world and find my way to the best audiences ever. To Marc Schechter, my good friend and Gladiator at Law who makes sure the perimeter is always secure many, many thanks!

To my son, Zachary, and my daughter, Izze, whose collective existence is just shy of a miracle. Had I not made that choice, it would have left me not knowing how amazing it is to find the kind of love I have found because of the both of you. You keep me honest and living in the moment. And last but not least, my beautiful and absurdly funny wife, Vanessa, whose mind is always filled with goals that must be met. She has been my muse for almost thirty years. Without her loving encouragement and commitment to authentic excellence I would probably be sitting in a log cabin on a mountaintop somewhere watching the sun rise and set.

If I think I know someone, I ought to think again.

I never knew that Jorma was often walking Winston Churchills Black Dog. What I saw was a bright, funny, superb guitar player who incidentally wrote one of my all-time favorite songs, Embryonic Journey. Just today, my daughter, China, and I listened to his song Genesis and broke out into a bawling fest. Its such a beautiful piece of work.

Having cleared some fog more than twenty years ago, he has opened up and brought out the often poignant feelings of a man looking for a new morning.

He has been all over the mapliterally and figuratively. He moved on a regular basis among several continents. He has a love of driving (almost any vehicle), crossing countries countless times and just appreciating the people, the scenery, and the sense of freedom. On a constant ride, Im surprised he didnt just explode at some point.

His ability to talk honestly about fear and confusion without sounding maudlin is a finely tuned process. Even if you know nothing of the man, it is a moving story of the extremes in a life pushed to the limits.

A good read, a modern parable.

Grace Slick

What is it that makes us who and what we are? If I truly knew, I wouldnt have to write this book. Ive got some suspicions though. Our first moments of existence grow in the darkness of our mothers wombs. At some point the moment comes when we venture from darkness to the light of the world. It seems that we have been waiting for a long time. My first memories of light in the world seem to be about two or three years of age, and I remember this because that light came to me in the form of my mothers song. When Mom was at home doing whatever chores awaited her, she would always sing, and if she wasnt singing, the radio was on and song would fill the room. Music seemed to me to be the reward for being alive. To me, nothing has the power to evoke a place in time like music. It stirs memory in a singular way that is unmatched.

Indeed, in my small world back then, light came to me in the form of song. I learned to read in preschool, and some of the first words that called to me from a printed page were song lyrics. As I grew older it was important that most of my friends liked reading, listening, and singing. As years began to slide into the past, the music that flowed to us from the airwaves began to define a soundtrack in our lives; coupled with adolescence, this opened a door into a room filled with possibilities and sound. This room was always filled with light, and whatever else might be happening in my life, it was always a summer day there.

The light waited for me in the brief moments I played violin in the junior high school orchestra and later when I took piano lessons. It bathed me when I practiced and illuminated me when I played at recitals. Now, I wasnt a prodigy, but I loved performing. People sometimes ask me if I ever had stage fright. I was nervous and excited, but not afraid. For someone who was as intrinsically shy as I was, this gave me a way to communicate on a primal level.

The first time I played an open mike on a real stage, the light waited for me and invited me in. I walked into that light knowing that was where I belonged. All my close friends lived in the same world. Jerry Garcia, Janis Joplin these are names most people recognize these days, but there are many you will never hear about because their light was not quite so public. Awareness of this affinity really hit me four or five years ago when I was on a tour with David Bromberg. We each took turns opening the show and got together to finish each set. One night David was playing his part of the show and I was backstage right, waiting for him to call on me. He was illuminated by spots, and it occurred to me that as always I was waiting to be called into light, and that in one way or another I have spent my life doing this.

The dance with darkness is always with us, but the light is there too. For more better than worse, the music has always been my beacon and I have followed it most of the time. The sounds of music in general and the guitar in particular have always pierced my night with a welcome glow. The feeling of a guitar on my lap and my hand on the neck has always surrounded me in a protective armor of tranquility. After all these years, the feeling is stronger than ever. The light brought me out of darkness and into the world, and at some point I will follow the last light and it will take me home. Im definitely not in a hurry for that journey. In the meantime, lets get on with the story.