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Vicki Randle's Wikipedia entry:
Vicki Randle (born December 11, 1954) in San Francisco, CA is a singer, musician and composer, most well known as as the only female member of The Tonight Show Band, starting with host Jay Leno in 1992 to present. She has recorded and/or toured with Aretha Franklin, George Benson, Lionel Richie, Kenny Loggins, Celine Dion, Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, Branford Marsalis and many others. She began her career as a singer/songwriter/guitarist, playing in such legendary venues as the Bla-Bla Cafe and The Ice House. She also recorded and toured with nearly every prominent Women's Music artist, such as Cris Williamson, and Linda Tillery.
You are on network TV 5 nights a week. You can never have an off day, call in sick, clock in late. What the heck is that like? It seems so counter to the traditional picture of an artist.
Most musicians are impossibly hard working and self sacrificing, no matter what the stereotype indicates and I am proud to be one. We spend years, while everyone else is going to proms and having beer busts and beach parties, practicing, rehearsing, trying to improve our skills. We load our own gear into and out of cars, planes and clubs, get there early, leave after everyone has long gone, spend months away from loved ones on extended road trips that hardly get more interesting than a parade of the insides of numbingly nondescript buildings and vehicles, subsisting on deli trays and washing our underwear out in airport bathrooms, for the privilege of playing a couple of hours of music for people who may or may not have actually come to see you and appreciate the effort. I lived this way for 20 years before I got the Tonight Show gig, so the fact that I report to the studio at 2pm and am done by 6pm every day, then get to go home to my dogs and my own bed is a blessing. Yes, I don't have the option of calling in sick, but I've learned that I'm a lot more resilient than I'd previously thought and discovered that I can do just about anything in any condition for an hour.
?I understand the subtext of a statement I hear frequently: "You are so lucky to be able to make a living doing what you love!"? Spoken by people envious of what they perceive to be getting paid for having fun. There is fun, a lot of it, and I am very grateful and blessed to have such a rewarding career and employer, but my job, when done right, is to make the difficult seem easy and spread joy, no matter what the circumstances of my life are at the time.
Furthermore, unlike most professionals once we get our "diploma" in the form of our first big paying gig usually, we must continue to keep our skills honed and improving, because we essentially keep auditioning for our jobs throughout our lifetimes. I have learned from experience and from watching musicians I admire that the more exquisitely prepared I am, the easier and more fun my performances are. Then, instead of reading music and/or lyrics, I can interact with the audience and allow myself the freedom of creating right there on the spot. To be honest regarding the lyrics, though: I'm never going to learn the words to all those songs with what's left of my bad memory: I always use cheat sheets.
Are you famous? When have you been surprised to be recognized?
Less than some, more than most. It's so relative. I've always been the one people noticed and remembered. I was the girl in your class who sang for the school assembly and so everyone knew me, even though I have been quite shy most of my life. It's always been easier to navigate the world of stage performing than the world of social activities and personal relationships. Just ask my exes. On second thought...
In the last 5 years my visibility has increased dramatically, owing to more on camera time at the Tonight Show and a position directly next to Kevin onstage. This has changed my experience of being recognized occasionally to often. I think this experience had helped challenge and demystify the biggest fear I had of making a record. And it's made for some good conversations with flight attendants.
What was the biggest professional temptation that you've taken a pass on?
I had become one of the most well paid and first call names for my niche (percussion and vocals) and was working insanely in the late eighties. I went from George Benson, to Wayne Shorter, to Dr. John to Jeffrey Osborne to Lionel Richie in a period of about 4 years, the bulk of which was spent on the road. I was beginning to wonder if I could keep it up and realized that every time I got a phone call from another prospective employer I felt like taking my own life. It was time to get off the road and find another way to support myself. I felt a little embarrassed, like a silly girl or weakling. After all I knew plenty of guys who seemed to have raised whole families, having never actually seen them. I had deeper and more complex relationships with the road musicians I lived with than their partners did, it seemed.
I got a call from two people, one after another: one from George Duke, asking me to play with Anita Baker. Even though he worked hard on me, I said no. then I got asked to tour with Diana Ross. They offered me more money than I'd ever made before. I said no. They offered me more money and guaranteed me an 8 month long tour, that essentially, would have bought me a house. As I wrote out my rent check I weighed the possibility that I would have to start shooting heroin to make touring that long again possible and swallowed hard and said no again. This was a turning point in my musical life. I, of course thought I would never work again, never make any money again, all the things I thought when I first started as a musician and have continued to succumb to periodically throughout my life, whether or not I had a paying gig. But I stood firm in my resolve to make decisions from then on based on musical, rather than monetary considerations. I have somehow been able to satisfy both needs and keep my integrity as an artist who is still and ever becoming what she is.
You've been the ultimate "side person" for most of your career. How does it feel to commit to your first album---to be so visible as an artist?
As a musician who has primarily worked as a side person, I have never really experienced the increased responsibility of the being the person who is ultimately accountable for all the decisions that have to be made on an album project like this one (recording and performing my own music). I've certainly been afraid of being so exposed, preferring up to now to stand next to the headliner, share the bill, play supporting roles. The reasons for this will probably buy my therapist a new home. Facing the fears of both acceptance and rejection, not to mention the thrill of adding to my collection of stimulating and entertaining stalkers has been easier than I thought it would be: proving once again that the fear of something is ever more excruciating than the actual experience of that thing.
The part of this process that has proved most challenging has been organizing myself to do all the hunting and gathering: musicians, graphic designers, studios, photographers. . One day I'm an administrative assistant and travel agent, the next I'm a spokes model, posing for pics in the makeshift studio set up in the alley next to my garage. Even though with my producer valiantly wrangling the many moving parts that recording in both the Bay Area and Los Angeles have required, there is so much to remember, stay on top of. Spending money is surprisingly easy to do. You just keep opening your wallet and don't stop until you run out. Amazingly I still have some checks left.? When did you begin to feel like your first album (Sleep City--Lullabies for Insomniacs)? was going to? begin to take shape...that you were going to do it. Why did it take so "long"?
I've imagined, of course, since I first picked up a guitar at 9 yrs old what my first album what going to look like and feel like. The odd thing about actually doing it, is that it's really nothing like the glamorized picture I had, but of course, nothing ever is, is it?
I was on the road with Cris Williamson, who I've been playing with this year in a series of shows paying homage to the 30 year anniversary of "The Changer and the Changed"---incidentally, the first studio recording I was ever on. She, Barbara Higbie and I were stuck in an airport with a two hour layover and I confessed I had stalled out after starting to record the album. I was afraid the songs were no good, I didn't know if I or anyone else would like it. They sat on either side of me wearing me down: rebutting all my arguments, answering all my questions, filling in all the details and demystifying the mysterious process I had never attempted and was overwhelmed at doing. I finally realized at the beginning of this year, when I was in the middle of recording a bunch of basic tracks with the band, Ted O'Connell guitar, Darryl Anders bass, and Kevin Hayes drums that this is all there is to it. You just play music, find great players who share your love of music, hire a studio and put it down. Pretty simple. I thought it was some arduous and arcane process that was beyond my understanding. Each step of the way I took the tracks to trusted friends, musicians and family and listened to their praise and critical comments. I've been working on this project for about a year and it seems so much easier than I thought it would be. I'm very proud of it and the performances of the others who gave their musicianship graciously, like Linda Tillery, Teresa Trull, Nina Gerber, Julie Wolf, Cris and Barbara and of course Bonnie Hayes. What's next?
When I decided to record, I was overwhelmed at the prospect of having to hone down and choose from the many types of music I have enjoyed playing and writing. So I decided to group them into two categories. Roughly: 1. Folk, rock. country and 2. Jazz and world. This album is my singer/songwriter offering and the next I'm hoping to undertake in a year or so will be more of an instrumental and jazz vocal exercise, with some original compositions and some standards. I am at the Tonight Show for 3 more years and hope to transition into playing live as much as possible.? Oh, and world peace. Is performing in the studio less interesting for you than performing with an audience?
I've never been a huge fan of being indoors, especially on a pretty day when I could be outside playing. This is the way being in the recording studio has traditionally felt to me, like I had to stay in my room doing homework while everyone else got to ride bikes. There's a lot unglamorous about it. Setting up songs takes time and between takes the process of making the many sonic decisions means hours of waiting, another skill I lack. I love being in front of an audience, getting the immediate feedback, not having to wait for days or months to figure out if someone likes what I did. When I got ready to make this album, I really didn't have to explain this to Bonnie (Hayes, my producer) who has known me for years and was familiar with my distaste for the studio. She wisely figured out ways to make my in studio experience as close to live as possible: we did live takes, with me singing live vocals while the band was recording. She allowed me to invite anyone I wanted to the studio so I had people around to sing towards. Another aspect of studio recording that has always put me off is the antiseptic treatment many producers take towards music; it's an opportunity to be able to control the variables one really can't in a live show, but I feel the heart and soul of a performance is often sacrificed through these methods. Bonnie trusted me and we agreed that we'd rather have a performance that was honest and soulful than one that was clean yet lacked emotional depth. I'm particularly pleased that many of the performances on the record, both by the band and by myself are first takes. What are your thoughts about musicians who are in relationships with women but maintain an elaborate heterosexual facade??
NOMFB. no really. I think if we each examined our lives, we would find multiple situations where we had the opportunity to step up, stick our necks out and put our comfort and safety at risk for a principal. Sometimes we do. Sometimes we don't. Each situation is unique, each person's circumstance is different. I obviously cannot pass for a white person, even though I am half white. This makes the issue of race largely moot for me, as I don't really have a say in whether or not someone perceives me as other than white, which, you may have noticed, is somewhat of a liability, particularly in the conservative Republican repressive, misogynist, gay baiting, hate mongering, fascist era we are currently experiencing. I'm sorry, what was the question? Of course we all know people who believe that by becoming less obviously "other" : whether that be passing, being closeted, or silent, they can protect themselves. I can't make a judgment about what anyone feels they need to do to be safe. There are always examples of this that defy the imagination and leave one astonished and confounded.
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