brandon the sideman

i am a sideman. being that we sidemen and women rarely garner the attention we imagine we sometimes deserve, this is a space designed to cover the hard hitting issues that affect us, the side-people. we are human beings, with real feelings. we teem with creativity and original thought, you just have to get to know us... if you're a fan of someone i play with, find it in your heart to be a fan of me too...
critical aclaim for "brandon the sideman"-
SAN DIEGO, Ca -- Andy Richter. Paul Shaffer. Kyle Gass. Butch Tayler. Dr. Watson. Teller. That Asian dude in Switchfoot. If these great men compiled the sum of recognition they've received over the years, it would hardly equal that of a single Ruben Studdard, or even a pre-"Butterfly Effect" Ashton Kutcher. And that's a shame.
A truly great sideman/woman is a rare commodity--a truth that often escapes the vast, unwashed masses of fandom. Sure, we all love Jason Mraz (and when I say "we," I mean every person in the Northern Hemisphere with ears and a functioning nervous system), but has anyone seen or heard of the voice behind the voice, the guitar player behind the guitar player, the man behind the man (behind the man)? I sure as hell haven't.
Enter Sidespace, the brainchild of longtime Greg Laswell gopher, Brandon Walters.
“This isn’t some vanity campaign for attention,” notes Walters, from his front porch in the heart of South Park. “If anything, I’m trying to get back some the dignity I’ve lost making these f-----s look good.”His point seems to be that men and women of his ilk deserve a specific cut of the recognition. “I don’t want to share an artist’s entire fanbase,” clarifies the San Jose native, “that’s not realistic. I do, however, think 10% off the top would be fair.” When asked to clarify what this means exactly, he shoots back “how the f--- should I know? I just want what’s coming to me.”
Though second fiddle has been a lifelong vocation for Walters, this didn’t bother him until recently. He ponders this as he produces a box of Camel Turkish Gold from his coat pocket. B lights one, and stashes another behind his ear before continuing.
“I literally piss blood after a Molly Jenson show, that’s how hard she works [the band]. As a bandleader, she makes James Brown look like a stoned camp counselor. And that’s cool--I’d just like a little respect for my trouble. I mean, last week she came over unannounced and left a load of laundry on my front porch. I washed it, of course, and didn’t get so much as a ‘thank you.’ Then later that week she ditched me after playing a date in Santa Barbara, and I had to hitchhike home.”
At this point Walters stands up, nearly tripping on one of countless Jim Beam bottles littered across the patio. Sensing his malaise I try to change the topic, bringing up his tenure with indie pop kingpin Greg Laswell.
He reacts to the name “Laswell” as if each syllable were a wet 9-volt battery pressed against his face. “F--- THAT guy,” laughs Brandon, completely without mirth. “He’s against everything the Sidespace stands for. He DESPISES the thought of me getting any attention.” Walters pauses long enough to do a few lines of coke off the back of a cribbage board, apparently used for that purpose exclusively. “Two months ago I got a small mention in a show review. The next day, to teach me a lesson I guess, Greg told his label that I wanted them to donate my next paycheck to the March of Dimes. I didn’t find out until my debit card was declined at Hustler. When I confronted Greg, he just laughed and laughed, and promised he’d get my money back. He never did, and now every week he emails me a link to a different website about birth defects. What a bastard.”
It’s not all bitterness and hurt feelings, however, and before too long the tender side of their relationship comes out. “At his core, Greg’s a real sweetheart. He saved my life you know—when he found me, I was working as a keyboard salesman at Walmart. He’s also gotten the DEA off my back more times than I’d care to remember. It's just that Greg's cruel side and his tender side tend to overlap ”
When asked for an example of this, Walters doesn’t hesitate. “Greg is a slapper. If we get really drunk, I usually get slapped. It’s always in love, but...”
His monologue interrupted by a Clay Aiken ringtone, Walters checks his cell phone. “S---,” he mutters, “Erin McCarley needs me to go downtown and lie to the judge in her hit-and-run case.”
My subject suddenly grabs me by the shoulders, pulling me uncomfortably close. “Listen. These people who hire me—yeah they’re talented, but their time is ending. The Sidespace is going to change everything. Five years from now I’ll still be touring with singer-songwriters, but their material will be seen merely as a vehicle for me. That’s right, ME you son of bitch! ARE YOU HEARING THIS??”
Indeed. Are we hearing this? As the Sideman leaves me in his battered, gold Saturn, I can’t help but wonder if even he believes the rhetoric he pitches so readily. An impossible judgment to make, probably, but one thing is for certain: Sidespace isn’t going away anytime soon…well this month anyway. Come to think of it, if we all just play along, add him and drop him a comment or two, he’ll probably just forget about the whole thing so we can move on with our lives. It’s just a fucking myspace page for crying out loud.
-Jon Titterington, The Villa Reviews villareviews.blogspot.com
Editors note: On March 25th, Erin McCarley was cleared of all charges, due to “inconclusive evidence.”
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