Ronnie Blanchet

Here is the fourth installment of the PRAXIS series “Solo (PRAXIS) IV”; applying what we know (what I know in this case) into practice. Solo.

Around the time I had procured my band “Blonde” and we were “makin’ it”, playing bigger and better shows, touring (to limited locations, but still getting in that van and hitting the road), my longtime drummer, original member of the band and close friend had decided that he wanted to tour America on his motorcycle. He only got as far as Montana I believe-it coulda been Washington…anywho, he was gone and now I had to figure out what to do. My then bass player Chris Vida (who I am fond of speaking of) stayed with it for awhile, but eventually he decided to leave as well. So, I was left alone, with new tunes and no one to play them with. No matter…that was how I started.

   When I was in junior high-school, I had a friend who lived down the street from me. I had met him on shall we say, not the best of terms. I had built a fort with my neighbors in the bushes across the street from our apartment. We called it, “The Teenage Wasteland” (at least I called it that, referencing “The Who’s” anthemic tune “Baba O’ Riley”, when I felt nostalgic). As the name would suggest, I and the other teenagers would do all sorts of degenerate, sinful, blasphemous kinds of tomfooleries up there, but sometimes we would also go up there to play music.

Around that time (I believe), we had leveled the ground, decked our space with alley way furniture and even added a futon in a tree only supported by a sheet of plywood (and the tree of course). Although we possessed the myriad amenities a homeward bound man could only wish for we got greedy and so, we ventured on to search for more resources. Down the block from our lurid-luxurious-squalor, we stumbled upon another “fort” seemingly abandoned. So, we did what any upright young men would do in that kind of situation…

…we took the plywood.

 Soon after we had been spending time at our landlords front building and noticed through the screen door a band of hooligans walking down our block in front of our fort. One wielding a bat.

I don’t remember exactly how are squabble was settled, but I do remember out of it I gained a friend. I’m pretty sure he was the one holding the bat.

As we got to know each other more, I found out he was a musician too!-who knew, both of us were sitting in our rooms doin’ the same thing; honing our craft, listening to records, doin’ our thing. Alone. Now we could do it together!

Fueled by Monster Energy drinks, punk rock soul and a whole lotta grace we played together-somehow being linked mentally at times or being on some other level of transcendence… (maybe it was the caffeine-no, yeah…it was God). Anyway, we got tight and had much fun playing music together. We looked for our sound-or I should say he, I just played like I knew how (being a chameleon; blending into whatever color was needed at the time). 

-Now I must be frank. At this point I’m tempted to tell you in great deal the full experience I had with this fellow (who in many ways became my mentor looking back), but for now I’ll cut to the chase (because if I don’t stop now, I will never be done with this post). We were tight, then turned out to be enemies (stupid fist fight), became friends once more then I played in his band (last minute substitution for one show, cops were called…punk rock & ska). I say all this to give context to what I’d like to explain now (yes now).

We both took a music theory class together. Our teacher was awesome (he also looked like Paul Simon)! One day he had asked the class if there were any guitarists interested in joining the local band “West Swell”. He had a connection to the band. They had asked him if there were any students that would take the gig. I considered the opportunity, but my friend wanted us to focus on our group “Sucios Boracho’s”. I declined the offer and gave it up to another student in the class we all knew as “Ziggy”. In regard to the audition, I guess he never showed. In regard to my friend, I guess he had to leave. He joined up with his brothers band “Black Irish Texas” in Texas (good for him too) and I went back to busking outside our local coffee shop and grocery store.

Now, why do I write this? For your pity? No, (although if you do pity me, thank you for your concern. You are a sweetheart.) just to say, I’ve been there before and if he never would have left, I’d of never had the need for a drummer for some house party last minute and I would have never met him at that coffee shop I busked in front of and I never would have had the chance to make such wonderful music in his dads studio (it was like Disneyland for a musician I’m tellin’ you) and I never would have said the most common phrase I would tell him without fail (my drummer), “I just wrote this song last night-I mean this morning”. Gods story telling is perfect. Through that experience, is where a lot of my songs came from and I’m grateful to God for every moment of it. So there, sitting in my room you’ll hear the songs I was left after he left (and then after my new drummer left).Two drummers, two sets of songs left to listen too. One album done and one to finish; All God given and all a part of the story He keeps on telling. I wonder the story He is speaking of you.

These Recording are taken from October 4th, 2016-June 15th 2018.

I prayerfully hope that this story will help you find or continue in your own story and why not? God can give us talent, but He leaves it up to us to cultivate what He’s invested. Make good on what he’s put in you, so we can all enjoy it and He can listen. Even if your flying solo.

Soli Deo Gloria

-Ronnie