My Brush With Fame, Part 1

Phil Keaggy’s personal, home phone was ringing, and I was preparing for a conversation with one of the greatest guitar players ever, and a hero of mine. Along with a drummer, a bass player and a guitarist, I’d been asked to play keys in what’s commonly referred to as a ‘pickup band’; a one night stand backing up a well known artist. I was backing up Phil Keaggy.

I was calling because we were promised a set list that never materialized. The concert was only two weeks away, and the four of us needed time to go over the material. We had no idea what songs he wanted to play. As the phone rang, I wondered again why he wouldn’t have sent the list. Did he not want this to go well? I began to think that maybe he was just putting it off. I mean, he really did kinda get cornered into the whole thing…

Phil played and endorsed a Langejans guitar, handmade by the owner of the music store where I worked. Del Langejans made the guitar, but it was Doug who sold it to Phil. Doug was the manager, and if ever a salesman walked the earth, it was Doug. For him, the shortest point between two lines was always an angle, and I knew for a fact this whole Keaggy concert/local backup band was Doug’s idea. He’d called Phil and talked him into it.

The more I thought about it, as the phone rang, the more I became convinced that Mr. Keaggy was not overly keen on the idea of doing this concert, and was maybe even looking for a way out. But…I knew we were good players. I knew we’d do a terrific job. Danny had played drums in Nashville studios, Charlie was a local legend on bass, and Dave had played for years in a well-known band that opened for big acts that came through West Michigan. In fact, if anyone was the weak link, it was me. So I knew we’d be good, and along with getting a set list, I was going to put Phil’s mind at ease.

The phone picked up, finally, but it was the machine. I wasn’t ready for that – didn’t have a speech prepared to just blurt out. As the outgoing message played, “Hi, you’ve reached the home of Phil and Bernadette Keaggy…”, I began to have doubts. I’d weaseled the phone number out of Del’s secretary, but it was a bold move, calling him like this. The message finished, the phone beeped, and I said something like this:

“Hi, um…hi, my name is Ed Schief, and, uh, I work for Del Langejans, and um, I’m going to be playing with you at the concert in a couple weeks, and, well, I was just wondering what songs you were going to do? I, uh, we, uh…we just want to get some time to get familiar and do a good job…I mean…we’re all really good players so you don’t have anything to worry about there, so, you know…we’ll do a really good job, and, uh, it would just work out good for us if we knew what songs you wanted to play…and don’t worry, because we can handle just about anything…”

And on it went. If he had ANY misgivings about the whole thing, I had just taken them to a Zen level. I hung up and pictured him listening to the message and then falling to his knees and praying, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup…”.

I almost called back, but…I’m smarter than that. Not much, but a little.

A set list did finally arrive – I’d probably scared him into it – and I went to work learning the songs. I really am a good player. I really am.

The day arrived, I’d written charts for the songs, but everyone else had memorized. Sigh. The four of us rehearsed in the morning, and I have to say – we sounded awesome. Phil was supposed to be there around noon, but by 1:00 he still wasn’t there. Doug finally blew into the auditorium, all smiles, Mr. Keaggy in tow. Mr. Keaggy looked…tired.

We played through the songs, and as I’d hoped, Phil began to relax. We were good - he wasn’t walking into a humiliating experience. He did, however, seem pretty seriously tired, distracted, and kinda downright non-communicative. At one point, sitting on his amp, playing through a song, he waved his hand and stopped us. We all looked at him as if to say, “What? That was perfect!” He grinned a little and said, “Oh, you guys are fine – I just can’t remember how I played this song.” He noodle a little more, then stood up and said, “Okay, I got it. That’s what I get for sitting around in my basement, making records.”

We finished up, and Doug rushed him off to the guitar clinic he’d scheduled, featuring Phil. After he left, we all looked at each other – what was wrong with Phil Keaggy?

To be continued…