Music then law, then music again

Music has bookended my life.

Growing up, thanks to the wonderful albums my parents owned, I fell in love with music. I have fond memories of my dad relaxing in his living room chair on the weekends, smoking his pipe and singing out of tune to the live Metropolitan Opera broadcasts.

I, on the other hand, was smitten by new folk, especially that of Dylan and Peter, Paul & Mary, and rock (especially starting with the Beatles), doowop and soul/R&B. 

After my parents made me study piano ('til I whined long enough to get them to let me quit), when I was 13 I decided I wanted to play guitar because I idolized my summer camp’s  charismatic counselor who played that instrument.  

I got my ‘rents to buy me a six-string acoustic and taught myself more in a few months than I’d learned about piano in a year and a half.

Before I knew it, I’d hooked up with a few friends and we formed a band. We even got some gigs (including playing at the senior prom, for which gig I’ll admit to lobbying in my capacity as Student Council Treasurer)!

All four band members went to different colleges, but I kept playing on my own in my dorm room. Some friends did a semester abroad in Paris in the second half of our sophomore year. Upon their return, knowing I was considering going, they said words to the effect of, “You’ve gotta take your guitar! There are buskers on the streets and in the subway making money and they’re even worse than you!” 

I did in the spring of ‘71, and the experience had a huge effect. I developed the nerve to whip out my guitar in public and busk for francs. I was worried I’d have to learn and play French pop to make any money, but like the Brits and Americans, les Francais had fallen head over heels for that Liverpool foursome and I got away with doing their stuff and other non-French tunes. 

Most of us Paris buskers played mostly in the subway. It was excitingly illegal except for blind accordionists, so we had to keep our eyes out for gendarmes and be ready to flee if we saw ‘em or were warned they were nearby. Word was that the accordionists would blow the whistle on us.

I got busted for busking once; ‘twas an interesting experience hanging out in a Parisian jail for a few hours before I was let go. 

(Most of the buskers were Brits. In fact, busking terminology came from the British Isles, starting with the “b” word itself. And a “pitch” was the spot where you played, if you were lucky, you kind of developed the rights to a particular illegal spot. A “bottler” was someone who passed the hat for you, if you were willing to split the take versus making a tip jar conspicuous and/or occasionally taking a break and passing your own hat (“Quelque chose pour la musique…?)

The Paris busking schtick had such a pull that, after graduating college a year later I returned to the City of Light. Stayed for a year, busking my tush off.

What a scene, what an experience! I got to stay for much of that time with a wonderful young Algerian woman I’d met on my first flight to Paris, and her boyfriend. They lived in the banlieue, a.k.a. suburbs. I would train into town almost every day to busk in the metro and/or the streets.

After returning to the states, needing a job, I grabbed a canvassing gig with the progressive Connecticut Citizen Action Group. It ended up changing my life. The work felt righteous, and I got good enough at raising money going door-to-door that I got promoted to a community organizer position. That’s when I began to remember that there’s a way to practice law without working for the dark side. (Meanwhile, I kept my music chops in shape playing songs of peace and social justice at rallies.) 

After law school, I worked as a city attorney involved in matters pertaining to involuntary commitments of folks alleged to be dangers to their families. I then got a job as an attorney for North Carolina’s Department of Environmental Quality.

I’d become interested in enviro issues while working on those that CCAG was involved in, and from reading the Sierra Club publications that arrived at the home of the affluent liberals whose home my then-girlfriend and I rented when I got my promotion from canvasser to community organizer.

I spent the next 25 years enviro lawyering for the state of North Carolina, including being the lead water quality lawyer for a while. I became counsel to the Superfund Section and was proud to win in federal court the first enforcement case the section pursued. I became counsel to the brand-new state Brownfields program, negotiating the first 215 Brownfields Agreements the state entered into.

      Can’t say I put a lotta time into musicing during those years, but my chops, if not kept up, at least received preventive maintenance in the form of occasional pickin’ and singin’.

       I’ve now almost glidepathed fully out of law. I’m down to two final matters. Started glidepathing back into music going on ten years ago.

      Music, it turns out, was bound to win the battle of the professions, given it’s more fun. Music’s about making optimal sounds; law’s about optimizing one’s words. Nothing equals music in the therapy department. The question was, could I earn enough (presumably less than for lawyering), with my pension and Social Security, to allow a glidepath to music?

Turns out I could.

Never knew whether I’d get even the first gig when I came back to the music world, but have been lucky enough to get a bunch of gigs. I play a gazillion songs from a million genres, though only a few of the tunes are younger than age 35 or so.

I’ve been lucky enough to have had quite a run with my voice, my 12-string and a little piano. Hard to imagine anything sweeter than the musical melodies that rule my mind.