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 Hi,
my name’s Martin and was born in Memphis in 1950. You know how it was in elementary school music class. They either assign you an instrument, or, if you’re lucky, they ask you what you want to play. Well, I’d seen enough kids get beat up for just carrying a violin — you know how they say, the reason a viola’s superior to a violin is ’cause it burns longer. Well, I was lookin’ for a friggin’ torch and saw this double bass standing in a corner. On second thought, not wanting to be the first in my third-grade class to get a hernia, there was this Fender Precision Bass sitting all alone and figured, hey, there's something with a little heft to it. Looks like a Louisville Slugger to me!
Next thing I knew I was playing with Sam the Sham and Jerry Lee Lewis! Hell, I recorded at Stiles Wootens studio, Shoe Studio, Ardent Studio and Muscle Shoals Studio. I was hired by Estelle Axton (Stax Records) to record over 30 tunes when she tried grooming Sam the Sham for a comeback. I was involved with "Panther Burns" and Alex Chilton (Box Tops and Big Star) I turned down taking the position of bassist for "The Cramps" when Alex offered and I turned down opening for the Sex Pistols when I was offered that. I did open for REM and U-2 when those bands came through Memphis as well as the Bad Brains and other such acts. Cool, huh!
Then along came that bad boy, Carpal Tunnel (not to be confused with “carpool tunnel syndrome,” the reason why some wusses won't take the Caldecott Tunnel from Walnut Creek to Berkeley. It's a real, honest documented medical condition. You can look it up). That sidelined me for good. Then I discovered swing guitar and began devouring swing tunes like potato chips and here I am doing a gig in a mansion in Pacific Heights for, fer chrissakes, author Philip Roth …
It seems he had started a new label of varietals, Grapes of Roth.
As he’s walking across the room, a dude comes up to him, accompanied by a striking young woman straight out of a noire film.
“P!, he calls. Whassup? I hear you’re backing a new movie and I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine, a terrific actress.
“Philip, are you into film noire?” she asks.
Her date replies, “Hey, does P know noire!”
I was on a break when I got to chatting with Philip.
“I hope you got a chance to taste my Zinfandel. You know, it’s been so popular that we ran out. I never got to try my own Zin.
So I was down around the pond when someone suggested a rock-skipping contest. I said, ‘Hey I ought to go first’”
‘How come?’ someone replied.
‘Well, doesn’t it say in the Bible, “Let he who is without Zin cast the first stone.’
‘By the way,’ he went on, ‘I hear you’re playing a cruise.’
Damn, word travels fast.
‘Be sure to get a cabin on the starboard side,’ Philip Roth cautioned me.
‘How come?’
‘Well, they’ve gotten a lot of port noise complaints.
Soon thereafter I was drinking grappa in a taverna in Athens, and was surprised to see an American Greek-style yogurt featured prominently on the menu. Curious, I asked about it and was told a story about the beautiful wife of a Greek sea captain whom he loved more than life itself, and even almost as much as the sea.
“I’m bored,” she cried one morning. “There must be some exotic treat from across the ocean you’ve found that you can bring to me.
“Well,” he replied, there is a marvelous yogurt made in America I’ve heard about. I’ll bring you some!”
He told her what it was called, whereupon his lovely wife began singing, plaintively ...
“Chobani lies over the ocean, Chobani lies over the sea.
Chobani lies over the ocean. Oh, bring back Chobani to me!
“Bring back, bring back, oh, bring back Chobani to me-ee-ee.”
And that’s how yogurt was introduced to Greece. True story.
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