Rick Dill Music

In the beginning, well, let’s not go that far back. Suffice to say that music for Rick was mostly vocal until the guitar showed up in his life. The tales told here start well after the rudiments of the guitar were married with vocal skills and the first signs of songwriting skills came to the surface. Enjoy the ride!

The Vobies

Come and listen to my story ’bout a man named John, Vobie was his name and he got his jiggy on, then one day he was suckin on some brews …

Actually, there was a band called the Vobies, and we recorded two songs over in Red Bank at what is now the Red Bank Rehearsal studios, once called Manor Production, and BB’s, where there’s a long history of decadence and music. The Vobies were named after a snuggly, cherished by one of the members when he was a lad. He never took a cotton to that name. Whatever “taking a cotton” means, but I think it means he didn’t like it. Probably still doesn’t.

The Vobies kind of spun out of a reggae band called Stepper. I’ll get into that in another note.

The members of the Vobies were: T-Byrd, on drums, percussion, and vocals; Mark DiSciullo, a very talented guy, who was playing just about everything at this time; Paul “Fabes” Fabry, on bass and vocals; Julie Christine, on percussion, drums and vocals; John Perkins (Vobie), on rythm guitar and vocals; and Rick Dill, on rythm guitar and vocals. I also wrote most of the songs.

T-Byrd is a Stepper original, and he loves music. So when I moved back to Jersey in 1987, he was one of the first to call and re-group Stepper. (I can see this is going to call for a full-blown Stepper history.) Long story short, by late 1992, it was Byrd, Mark, our buddy John, Fabes, and myself, working on some songs.

Fabes was a very energetic guy, and a great bass player. He had years of experience behind him in the music community. Under the care and feeding of Fabes, soon we were turning away from roots and leaning into pop.

I never contributed a song to the original Stepper, but as time progressed, my writing started getting better, and my influences exerted themselves. So “Sailing Out Tonight” was one of the first songs I felt comfortable bringing to the table as a Vobie song. It has a little Caribbean feel.

At the time my wife Andrea Plaza and I were renting a house from friends of ours, Dave Barrett and Mary Ann DiLascia. They were leaving the area to embark on a dream, to work on charter sailboats in the Caribbean. Hence, “Sailing Out Tonight,” which has always been a song for Dave and Mary Ann.

The Vobies recorded two songs, “Sailing,” and “Looking for Friday.” I updated “Looking” for the most recent album I recorded. It’s the only “old” song I ever re-recorded. We played once in front of people, at an open mic sponsored by Amy Broza and the Babes at the Downtown in Red Bank. Julie Christine was the drummer for the Babes. Amy now sings with The Shirlies and Holiday Express.

But the Vobies rehearsed every Thursday night in my family room, and those were good times. I’m sure my kids heard the music as they drifted off to sleep, even though now they would say songs like “Sailing Out Tonight” are lame. I probably wouldn’t disagree with them, but what do they know anyway?

When our studio recordings were put on cassette and handed out, there was the usual excitement. But for me it was just a step on a long road. I pulled the plug on the Vobies and I know people were angry. I guess it came off like the proverbial guy who walks off the court with the only basketball, but I looked into that crystal ball and it scared me.

Sorry Vobies.

Odyssey Sound

Back when home recording studios were not so common, a guy named Tom Mazza had one in his basement and called it Odyssey Sound. It was very comfy and inviting, not at all like some other studios I’ve been in, but we’ll get to that later.

At the end of the summer of 1982 our manager, Ras Michael, wanted to capture Stepper in the studio, so he contacted Tom and booked us into Odyssey for a couple of hours. We had been playing almost non-stop since March of that year, so it was a perfect time. We were excited and young and fearless, and we recorded four songs pretty much live in one take. I remember the thrill I got when I saw our keyboard player, Chuck, go back into the room to overdub a sax. I had no idea you could do that!

After that day I guess I’ve been addicted to recording studios because I’m drawn back into them like Michael Corleone.

Over the next ten years small studios popped up all over the shore – although Garry Tallent had been operating the very professional Shorefire Studios in Long Branch for a long time – as one by one ADAT machines and 2″ analog consoles became more affordable and available.

So, Stepper had a cassette with fours songs and then disintegrated, various other musical permutations happened to me, and about 12 years later I found myself with an incomplete band and a whole bunch of songs. The Vobies* had imploded, but Johnny, T-Byrd and I were still playing.

One day Rich Scott walked by my house. Now I grew up with Rich and knew a few things about him: he was a musician; he had been in Boy Scouts with me; I played GI Joes with his brother, Tom; they had a wedding band. So I took a chance and asked Rich if wanted to play a little bass. (I thought he played bass.) No, he said, but some guitar might be nice.

In the back of my head I thought (“hmm, Johnny already plays guitar..”), but only for a second. Soon Rich, Johnny, T-Byrd and myself were practicing, but we still needed a bass player. A few weeks later Rich and I were playing a coffee house to benefit the school system, and we met a songwriter named Frank Rafferty. We got talking, and Frank, a guitar player, agreed to play some bass. Voila.

[Side note: When we started, Rich was playing a 1967 Gibson J-45 acoustic with a beautiful flame top. A few years later Rich upgraded to a Martin. About that time, some guy approached me with a guitar he was selling: a 1969 Gibson SJ-45 with a beautiful flame top, almost identical to Rich's. That's my Gibson in most of my pictures.]

We practiced a lot of songs, and wanted to record a few of them. Guess who Rich’s brother-in-law was? Tom Mazza. So it was decided we would go back to Tom’s house in Long Branch. The last time I was in Odyssey Sound we recorded four songs standing around a mic. I re-recorded them all for my first album, Unfinished Business. Give “She’s Crossing Over”** a listen, and hear Rich Scott on guitar and vocals, John Perkins on vocals and percussion, Jim “T-Byrd” Tetley on vocals and percussion, and Frank Rafferty Patrouch on vocals and bass.

Unfortunately, Odyssey closed in about 2003, and Tom died soon after of cancer. RIP.

*See the note above on The Vobies.

**See the following note on She’s Crossing Over.

She’s Crossing Over

In December of 1995 we received an urgent phone call that my wife’s best friend and maid of honor was not responding to cancer treatment and we had better get to El Paso quick if we wanted to talk to her. In those days the kids were 6 and 9, and we didn’t have much money, but we resolved to drive out there.

On Christmas night, we went to a family party, dropped my Mom off afterward with our two kittens, and went home to pack the car. We left New Jersey at 3 a.m. on the 26th. We got to El Paso, Texas on the 28th, my birthday. I drove the whole way and never went to sleep.

Madeline was lucid when we got to the hospital, but slowly over the next few days the pain and morphine took its toll. When we left to go home she was sleeping most of the time.

While we were there it was a surreal time. This young life was hanging in the balance. My wife and her childhood friend were cherishing their last moments together. Madeline had a husband who was in shock with two little children who didn’t understand. Her family and friends were grieving.

I spent a lot of time with my own boys, who also didn’t understand. It was Christmas in El Paso, a special time of year out there. There was a rare snowfall, that quickly melted but left the mountains white. There was a full moon, and Venus was bright in the sky. Watching over everything in El Paso is Cristo Rey, a statue of Jesus standing high up in the mountains along the Texas/Mexico border. It is a busy crossing point for illegal immigrants and bandits.

We left in sadness, but knowing we had done the right thing. When we got east of Dallas we started hearing rumors of a storm building. Soon we were racing a gigantic snowstrom that was rolling up I-45 right behind us. We got back about 3 a.m., and when we woke a blizzard was dropping 14″ of snow on the east coast.

The song had been in my head when we were driving though the mountains of West Texas on the way home. I wrote it with the snow falling outside. I wrote it with Madeline’s husband, Joseph, in mind. It has nothing to do with me. A few weeks later we got the phone call. Madeline Howell, a classically trained dancer, a teacher, a devout Catholic, a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, had died at age 36.

She’s Crossing Over
(c) 1996

Here on the border, the wind plays a game
It cackles and chortles, and calls out my name
Soft and familiar, it gives me a chill
Look over my shoulder, and the air is so still

I see a mile high marker, where the Archangels pray
For the souls of the forgotten, as they sneak by every day
And the nights are much colder, in this border town
Cause she’s crossing over, and I’m still around

You know my love sings so sweetly, from a hole in the sky
Bright lights and white wings, were making her cry
And I felt snow fall from Heaven, but it was leaving me dry
Dance once more for me honey, and then you can fly

Past the mile high marker, where the souls of the damned
Come back from their pilgrimage, in this forsaken land
And the nights are much colder, in this border town
Cause she’s crossing over, and I’m still around

Now she is laughing, I shudder and sigh
She’s quiet and waiting, as the sun leaves the sky
Venus is guiding, her way to the west
A shooting star falling, to her final rest

And the mile high marker, the soft yellow moon
Her path lies between them, she’ll be heading there soon
And the nights are much colder, in this border town
Cause she’s crossing over, and I’m still around
Oh she’s crossing over, and I’m still around

[Note: There's a lot of rookie ryhming in this song, but I still like it because it's real. I wrote it in one fell swoop with no re-writes or corrections. The chords are major and the key is standard. The ryhmes are standard, but I never fished around for a word or made a great effort to make words fit. The moon, June, spoon stuff that I have since grown to avoid was natural here. So many people had lost so much with the passing of this person, I just wasn't that worried about English structure.]

Looking for Friday

Small everyday things stack up in our heads and come out in strange ways that are different for everyone. Teachers make connections and convey them to students, artists express them in their chosen media, cooks put them into food, and house painters, once the can of oil paint is open, ride them off into the stratosphere.

That’s where this song comes from, a good old school oil paint buzz.

By the time this was written, I had learned to get my thoughts down immediately on whatever material was at hand, because songwriting is generally not linear and always fleeting. Bits and pieces drop like rotten fruit. Sometimes a lot of bits and pieces, as in this case, when it was jotted down in 15 minutes on the back of a sheet of 150 grit sandpaper.

As near as I can tell, my brain must have been cooking all these random events that were happening and had happened in the past few years, and they needed to drop. Or maybe my brain was just cooking. I’m not sure what the overall point of the song is, other than: Friday is good, Monday is bad. But here’s a breakdown in the verses, and it’s pretty messed up. The lyrics are at the end of the note.

Verse 1: If Friday is so good, why is it the beginning of a weekend of sorrow? And, if it’s a sorrowful weekend, why the pleasant memory of Sunday in our old bedroom with the window cracked open in the spring, and the birds in the tree right outside singing?

But there’s always a fever of working to make all my payments, especially in those days. Next we go in reverse a few years when I was a newspaper reporter and I’m flying east on I-40 in Dallas-Fort Worth to make an appointment with a Dallas County commissioner, which I forgot. I was so late she told me to look for another occupation. Then, the verse goes further back in time to before I got married and I’m regaining consciousness in the front seat of a strange car after a long night of partying. I’m going south on the Garden State Parkway at sunrise approaching the Asbury Park toll plaza, and, I’m freakin’ driving?!

Verse 2: Here I come back to the present and I try to line up my public personna with my inner jackass and I’m wondering what rabbit hole I fell down and when. Like, I’m a rich man in potential but pretty un-rich in reality, whatever that means. And what’s the difference between a winner and a loser? Here’s an idea: Why don’t we turn back the clock all the way to Eden, and knock that apple out of old dumbass’ hand before he bites it? Wouldn’t it be nice to have a do over? I’m looking for Friday.

Verse 3: Some true randomness: I love the desert. And I love the mountains. So high. In my head I see Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, at night during a severe lightning storm. And my only “big” story, which ultimately killed my enthusiasm for newspaper reporting, was the crash of Delta flight 191 at D/FW Airport with those poor people spread all over the ground.

The last part of the verse still baffles me. I have to consult Nostrodomus. I have no idea what I’m talking about. But I do have a better idea: I’m looking for Friday.

Pretty wacked way to write a song. The first time I played it, for Vobie and his girlfriend at the time, they were dancing all over the room. That’s usually a good sign when a song causes spontaneous dancing.

Now let’s finish the trim. Friday is payday.

Looking for Friday
(c) rbdill/RBDmusic/BMI

All my Fridays are gone,
Into a weekend of sorrow
I dream of sleepy Sundays
And that bird singing outside my window

With a fever of working
To make all my payments
I have to remember
To keep my appointments
Until I see sunlight
Upon the horizon
And I’m in the front seat
Who’s car am I driving
Away?

I’m an impostor
I’m gone gone gone
Through the looking glass
Where is the Mad Hatter?
What does it matter

With a fortune in futures
Based on illusion
They call me a winner
But what is a loser
If I find Eden
Should I bite the apple
Or maybe cry laughing
And throw it
So far away
So far away

I’m looking for Friday

I’ve been alone in the desert
I’ve been on mountains so high
Seen God strike down Devil’s Tower
And those poor people fall from the sky

No one can tell me
If I’m a survivor
There’s never an answer
Maybe tomorrow
With full intuition
I pray for salvation
I hear angels singing
They seem
So far away
So far away

I’m looking for Friday

She’s Back

This song came out of a series of tumultuous relationships Frank has had. A lot of repeat heartaches with the same person. I had just gotten off the phone after having one of those, “Here we go again,” conversations with Frankie, and spontaneously broke out in song like a Disney movie.

In the first verse you can hear a direct reference to Bella, a homeless person from my home town when I was young, who pushed a shopping cart all over, and shopped out of the Salvation Army clothing drop box.

We enticed Vic D’Amico to play mandolin on this song, which was a coup, because he’s a bluegrass purest and turns his nose up at this stuff. But he cleared the deck, as they say. Then we had DW Griffiths play acoustic guitar on the song, and in so doing captured the last collaboration to date of these two longtime bandmates. It’s not like they’re not still friends, they just don’t play together much anymore. And they have played together over 40 years.

Now there’s a twist – there’s always a twist – which served to solidify the song away from it’s narrow focus to a broader meaning. Frank proposed to his sparring partner, and per her request, we played it on their wedding night.