Eric Parker (photo by Dion Ogust)
Many people in this world brag and shouldn’t. Others never brag though we sometimes wish they would. Case in point: The late Larry Hoppen once berated Eric Parker, who had just returned from a world tour with Steve Winwood: “You have a lot of nerve!…going out on the road with one of my all-time heroes, then coming home and walking around town without even wearing the f-ckin’ tour jacket!”
Eric grew up in a house with four other brothers, three of whom — like dad — were drummers. Eventually, the Parker place boasted as many as five “active” drum sets. Whoever finished dinner first put on a record, cranked it, and bashed along. The first tune Eric remembers nailing was Jimmy Reed’s, “Any Way You Want It.” He learned to read in the drum section of “band” at school. His first foray into an ensemble was called “Dog Breath” in the tenth grade. Invited to join the successful “Razzamatazz,” Eric was allowed to move to Ithaca at 17. Razzamatazz rehearsed in the home of pianist Bob Leinbach, soon morphing into “Hot Sweets” with Leinbach on keys and trombone, and Arti Funaro on guitar.
Meanwhile in Woodstock, circa 1972, The Fabulous Rhinestones were the hottest band in town. Killer-singer-guitarist Kal David backed by master-bassist Harvey Brooks were destined for fame. Yeah, sure…
On the strength of “Half Moon” written for Janis Joplin, songwriting team John and Johanna Hall moved to Woodstock; chop-master Hall soon fronted Orleans, and nudged the Rhinestones aside. After a stalled second record Kal and Harvey were looking for young Rhinestone blood. It came from Ithaca.
Brooks was the bass legend of Electric Flag, Super Sessions, Seals & Croft The Doors, and Miles Davis’ iconic “Bitches’ Brew.” Eric remembers being dropped off at Harvey’s place for the audition by his Mom. He says he could feel his heart-thump at the handshake but Harvey was instantly welcoming and Eric — along with Bob and Artie — got the gig with the proviso: “Just don’t tell anybody you’re 18…”
In those pre-DWI-days, Woodstock was a wall-to-wall, bar-to-bar party. The Rhinestones sputtered back up to speed, giving Orleans a run for their money, at least locally. Simply “touring the town” was a cash cow: principally — The Joyous Lake, but also, The Espresso, Rosa’s Cantina, The Watering Troff, The Sportman’s, later The Whitewater Depot, The Chance in Poughkeepise, or for a monster pay-day, The Sha-boo in Connecticut. At 20, Eric Parker was up to his eyebrows in girls and ready cash.
When The Rhinestones hit the wall in ‘77 Eric went out on the road with Rolling Stone’s “Best New Artist” Valerie Carter.” Next he recorded and toured with ex-Foghat bassist/guitarist/producer Nick Jameson, who — in the wilds of Vermont — produced a record using only himself, Eric, and Paul Butterfield on harp. Butterfield eventually tapped Eric to drum for himself, Rick Danko, and Blondie Chaplin (of the Beach Boys) — an ensemble Parker still considers one of the strongest quartets of the day.
Another throw-together band included the post-Orleans Hoppen Brothers and Bob Leinbach, whose car broke down after a gig at The Chance in Poughkeepsie. Noticing John Hall’s new band was playing the next night, Eric and Bob crashed in a freezing cold dressing room to check out the competition. “If you ever want some more fire in the back-burner,” Eric suggested backstage to John, “Or…if your drummer gets pneumonia…give me a call.” Shortly there after John called to say his drummer got pneumonia; could Eric come on board?
This was the guy I first came to admire who co-wrote the hit “Crazy” with Leinbach…the “rack-tom” drum-kit Eric Parker who John used to introduce as, “My favorite drummer in the world.” That John Hall Band, fueled by his song “Power,” toured extensively with Little Feat and John was regularly invited by Little Feat’s legendary Lowell George to join the Feat on stage. Then came the night Lowell pointed at Eric, whose classic “who me?” finger to-his-chest, required the engineer’s push to propel Parker onto stage. Four or five such invitations on successive nights followed, then a five in the morning knock on Eric’s door on the sixth night. A rather energetic Lowell George entered, wanting to know: “Hey man, where were you tonight?” Watching a WWII war movie on late night TV, Parker prevaricated: “I don’t know I…didn’t want to overstay my welcome.”
Lowell glanced at the TV screen, “Wrong plane, again — of course,” he mumbled to himself.
“I know, isn’t that stupid?” Eric agreed, “They’re using a Bristol Blenheim when it should be an American B-25 bomber.”
“You know World War Two Aircraft!” Lowell proclaimed, amazed.
“Of course!.. Dad’s a total buff…my brothers ‘n I assembled and collected all the kits: Messerschmidts, Spitfires, Mustangs — hey! Sound a little like guitars!”
So began a cheerful post-show conversation. Around 7:30 a.m. Lowell toddled off, bidding a fond farewell with, “So be there — okay? You need some money, man — to…be there when I want you on stage?”
“No, no, no!” Eric insisted. Nevertheless an hour later another knock came to the door and Little Feat’s tour manager handed Eric a bag containing six crisp hundred dollar bills. The amount varied from night to night. But the man always knocked. And he always had a bag. And the bag always contained large bills. Eventually Lowell’s wife, Liz George arrived, disgruntled, on tour, and Lowell asked if he could bunk with Eric for most of a week until Liz figured out where Lowell was hiding. Oh, those kids!