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Shawn Pittman: A Saga of Hell

by Tim Schuller
Nov 2008

MY EYES BULGED.

I'd looked at Shawn Pittman's gig calendar. It reminded me of elder days, when musicians often had fewer days off than guys with straight jobs. It was good to see, because I like Shawn Pittman. He's had problems. Tons of them. But this many play dates tells me he's on course.

I emailed him and he phoned back within minutes.

Get your Dramamine ready. This story is quite a ride. But first let's rewind.

In '97 Pittman cut a CD called Blues From Dallas, Texas. It was far better than most self-released blues CDs of the era. So, its producer, John Osborne, dimed Ron Levy, keyboardist/producer and idea man behind Cannonball Records. Cannonball re-released the CD (re-titled Burnin' Up) and Levy, came to town to produce Pittman's soph CD, Somethin's Gotta Give.

The x-factor

I dropped by the studio and Levy told me Pittman had the "x factor," his term for the elusive quality that makes artists special.

(I'd say Pittman's x-factor is contributed to by his knack for getting a compelling groove going. Sounds simple. It's not. It's the most elusive thing in music. But when Pittman gets a groove going, you're pulled right into it.)

Everything looked swell, Cannonball ostensibly had a creative hand (Levy) and a money hand. But the latter hand reputedly wrested control from Levy, and Cannonball started skewing like a drunk on ice.

Too bad.

But Pittman countered, "I was kind of glad! I'm glad I didn't get known then because I wasn't ready."

Apparently not. He had some crash 'n' burns spectacular even by the standards of his trade. Even conquests went awry.

"It's just good old butt-rockin' blues and rock 'n' roll -- which I think is missing out there. I want to be one of the guys people can look to for this kind of music. So I gotta be in shape physically, mentally, and spiritually." --Shawn Pittman

Pittman wowed 'em at the gargantuan Chicago Blues Festival, afterwards selling and autographing Cannonball CDs until there were no more left to sell. Cannonball paid him zip. The label was coming unglued and Pittman wanted out.

He says, "After three different attorneys, (1) got out of the Cannonball deal. Ended up having to buy myself out -- for fifteen grand!"

It sucks to have to empty your wallet to get out of a contract with a label that put nothing in it. But, you go on. In late '01 he self-released New King In Town (soon retitled Full Circle). He put together the band Killer Instinct.

"But I just had too many problems!" he rues. "Personal problems. Didn't have any confidence. I didn't know who I was!"

His agent was folded into another agency that wouldn't let him take Pittman with him. Another agent picked up the ball, "but at that time I was still soul-searching. I didn't know what I wanted in life. That's a common recurrence in the Shawn Pittman career. What does that lead to?"

He started to say something but paused.

"I don't even know if I should tell you this," he said.

But he did. Later, he figured he shouldn't have. So, we'll omit some specifics. Summary: unraveled by confusion, he axed his band in California, and got wrecked the night before he had to play Phoenix. He sped to Phoenix where waiting was a bassist who's probably the last guy you want around if your imperative is not getting more wrecked. So, Pittman got more wrecked. No way he could play. Called his manager to say so. Manager unhappy.

Pittman hightailed it back to Austin.

"Then I decided I needed to go to France for about two months."

OK.

He played in a bistro at night and washed dishes by day.

Out of music

Back to Austin. He went on the wagon. Quit smoking. And got out of music! Totally. No mas guitar. Raised a Mormon, he counseled with a local Mormon bishop. Pittman's narrative was rapid fire I could hardly track it but I gather the bishop helped him get a job as a bricklayer.

An epiphany came in the form of two tons of dirt. It was on a truck and "in the heat of the day." Pittman had to unload it with a shovel. Take a shovelful out of a two-ton heap and it doesn't look like you've done dick. Pittman thought he might not be up to the task.

"The I thought, right then and there, the longer I sit here, looking at this pile, I know it's not going to get any smaller. But if I put my shovel in right now -- I gotta tell myself it really is getting smaller. So I did -- and got it done."

Now's when things get really weird.

Pittman hired on with an Austin computer company, and then with a Dallas firm that tracks corporate wellness (whatever that is). This reporter could, conceivably, shovel two tons of dirt. Or shit. Or shit mixed with poison snakes. No way I could do these white collar gigs -- but Pittman thrived.

And made money. he had a cubicle.

"On the right side I had a picture of Christ, to remind me why I was there, and on the left I had a picture of Albert King. Whenever I had a rough day, I'd look at the picture of Jesus. Then I'd look at the picture of Albert and think, man -- if I could do it (music) one more time, with all the stuff I've learned! (wistfully) I wonder if I could do it."

Then, some suits involved Pittman in one of those loathsome "role-play" scenarios their ilk are so fond of. Pittman didn't do well and one of them called him "a pussy." There are times in the Pittman saga when this would've earned the suit a fist in the face. But Pittman stayed calm, went home, and phoned to say "I quit."

The reporter envisions the two Kings looking down with smiles, saying, "Kid, you did the right thing."

The corporate gigs hadn't been for naught.

"I started calling around, using the skills I'd learned (in the corporate jobs) and started with places I knew would be able to pay. Corporations. I googled places."

Success wasn't instantaneous. Broke, Pittman took a gig selling water softener door to door. ("Imagine me doing that!") He was "walking to the next door to knock on, thinking how much I hated this" when his cell rang. It was a general manager from the Dick's Last Resort chain. A band was needed at the San Antonio club, pronto. Pittman didn't have a band at the ready but pulled one together. He was asked if he did covers (which really isn't his thing).

"But I said 'yes!' Did Stevie (songs) -- that's all I know that everyone else has heard of. I did Hendrix. Did 'Mustang Sally.' like, twice! (laughs) I didn't care! Whatever I had to do, man! Out of that, they gave me every Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday."

The ball started rolling.

"I ended up not doing the Sundays. I try not to play that day. Every now and then I will but I'm an active Mormon and I attribute everything that's happened to me to my heavenly father. I've worked hard and God's done the rest."

Seems like He's a pretty good agent. Pittman got a call from the new House of Blues in Houston and was offered work there. Then a casino called. Then some of the clubs Pittman had played in bygone years.

"now I'm so busy I almost can't keep up with it!"

"That's triumph!" I told him.

"Well, the triumph is gonna be keeping it that way!" he responded. "For years! And that's what I plan on doing."

There's a CD underway, yet untitled.

"It's just good old butt-rockin' blues and rock 'n' roll -- which I think is missing out there. I want to be one of the guys people can look to for this kind of music. So I gotta be in shape physically, mentally, and spiritually. This is the vocation I've chosen and its gonna be the one I'm gonna provide for a family with."

Remember, when Pittman and this reporter conversed it was by phone. But when he told me this I felt as though he was looking me right in the eye. He stressed that he's "learned how to work." He exercises in the morning, is resolutely off the sauce, and has taken on booking/management duties for his band. I applaud his newfound temperance and seemingly quintupled commitment to a good future. I look forward to his new CD and to attending his gigs.

And you can look to these pages for the way it goes.

Shawn Pittman will perform in Dallas at the House of Blues on December 4 and December 18, and at the Hole in the Wall on December 19.