It feels great to get back out and perform for crowds, instead of live- streaming at home. Here’s the schedule for February. I hope to see you at a show!
The Phoenix music scene lost one of the great ones. Ethan Newman’s humor, compassion and phenomenal musical ability will be missed by so many in this town and beyond.
You were the first musician I met when I moved to town 15 years ago. I was new to the scene and was looking for open mics around town, just to get my name out there. I remember showing up at your open mic at Cocomo Joe’s. I think it was 2005. You greeted me with that big smile and said, “Hi, I’m Ethan.” I swear a felt an energy force of kindness radiate through me, as you spoke. I instantly knew that you were a down-to-earth, righteous dude. You let me get up and let me do my thing. Afterward you said, “What’s your name again? You can come back anytime and play, whenever you want.” It was from there we struck our friendship.
You introduced me to the scene as well as a lot of the other fantastic musicians that I’ve come to form lasting friendships with. You were a beacon of inspiration for young, upcoming performers at your open mics and always gave support and encouragement to those who were nervous or unsure of their talent. Your talent permeated so many bands in this town, it was hard to keep count of how many bands you were in! You were truly one of the hardest working musicians in this town.
Your musical ability onstage was staggering. You played a 5-string, left handed, strung right handed. WTF! You were always firing on all 8 cylinders when I’d see you play and your confidence onstage was second to none. I remember when I had my band from Ohio fly out for a gig at the old Sugar Daddy’s but our bass player could not make it. I called you for the gig. Without asking, you learned EVERY original song on our three CD’s before even touching the cover tunes! You even caught a mistake on one of OUR tunes and saved us all, mid song. You were truly the conductor of the musical train and a consummate professional.
You were a Star Wars geek and knew all the trivia. You even wrote a a parody on “Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash and changed the whole tune with a Star Wars reference to “Boy Named Luke” that made me almost piss my pants it was so funny.
Three or four months ago I messaged you and said I was writing an instrumental, heavy, surf-like tune that I was planning on playing out with my trio. I called it, The Kessel Run. I explained that the idea came from wondering if the Millennium Falcon had a kick-ass stereo blasting while Chewie and Han Solo were white-knuckling at light speed through the black-hole-ridden Kessel Run. And if so, what the hell would they be listening to? I wish you could have heard it.
I always prodded Ethan that the two of us should play together and do a gig but we were always slammed with our various projects. I will forever hold in my heart that the two of us got to make that happen at the Musical Instrument Museum. We had a full house in the palm of our hands that night, my friend, and you could hear a pin drop. We killed it. I know your in a better place and of course, I KNOW you’re holding down the bottom end in a monster band with all the greats. I’ll promise I’ll keep moving forward but always know that in the back of my mind, I’ll be looking forward to your smile, humor and monster bass licks and jamming with you again, when it’s my time. I love and miss you, brother.
