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TOM PRASADA-RAO + Bio + Journal + Discography + Favorites + Moments + Links + Quotes |
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Favorite Moments While teaching Song School at the Rocky Mountain Folks Fest I was asked to do a seminar with Janis Ian. I said to Merlin David (my manager at the time): "No way man, it's Janis Ian, are you freakin kidding me!" But he finally convinced me and reluctantly I climbed up the steps to the stage. First off Janis talked for a while about her career, and then she sang "Seventeen". Seventeen! As soon as she got done, she said over the mic quite matter of factly: "Tom, why don't you play one?" The first time I played in Chattanooga, I didn't know a soul and it was cold, dark, and raining. I did my sound check, then several hours later took the stage, surveying the audience during my first set. I saw a woman with a beatific smile, one that I should have I recognized. During the break she came up to me and pinned a silver angel on my kurta (those long Indian shirts). She didn't say a word. Too embarassed to ask, I found out later she was Odetta. I had the great honor to have one of my idols produce my first album -- the late and legendary Mark Heard. I couldn't have had a better mentor or a more sarcastic teacher. He told me stuff I really didn't want to hear, like after finishing all the mixes for Incoming I said "Whew! We're all done" and he said "Yeah, now the hard part begins." It was Mark who taught me to sing like I meant it -- one time stopping the two inch tape in the middle of "Driftwood" saying: "Dammit Tom, don't make me put strings on this song!" For several years on Christmas Eve I would go to the CCNV 2nd and D shelter to play Christmas carols. One Christmas Eve I was playing when it felt like most of the residents became distracted. Then bouncing up the stairs came Jesse Jackson and everyone went wild. He sang along for a while, then took center stage with a speech/exhortation that left me in tears. I for one am a believer. There's not another politician I know of that would go to a shelter during the holidays when he wasn't trolling for votes. Keep hope alive! Run Jesse run! I always complained to my folks that I was born 10 years too late, missing out on all that peace and love of the 60's. One day after recording my first album I got a call from Carol Fenelly asking if I was familiar with the music of Don McLean, and if I would be willing to play "Vincent" at the memorial service for the activist Mitch Snyder. I was humbled and flattered and I quickly called in to work to take the following day off (I was still doing my old courier job). When I got to the church I found out that I'd be sharing the podium with Dick Gregory & Philip Berrigan. Oh my god! My parents were officially off the hook. When Dick Gregory got done, everyone jumped to their feet ready to change the world. And as they carried Mitch Snyder's ashes down the middle aisle into the blinding sunlight of North Capitol street, I got the idea for "Ashes of Love" with which I was fortunate enough to win the Kerrville New Folk Competition several years later. Ours is a family that cooks really good and eats really well. I remember with great fondness waking up on Saturday mornings to the smell of Dad cooking in the kitchen, and even now my mouth waters at the thought of my Mum's curry. She learned her lessons well from her own mother. One day I was cooking curry at my old house in Takoma Park (MD) when Mum and Dad and Gramma (bless her soul) walked in. Gramma, much to my chagrin, asked for a taste. She put the spoon to her mouth, and said something in "Telegu" to Mum, and then she started laughing. Gramma was never one to explain herself, and Mum never would tell me what she said. Recently my family made a pilgrimage back to India to celebrate my Grandfather's 96th birthday. Even now at close to a hundred years old he can outwalk most of his grandchildren -- several times a week walking up to 20 miles in one day. The day after his birthday celebration Gramp said he was going for a walk from his village to the village Gramma was born in 6 or 7 miles away. All of us grandchildren who made the trip decided to tag along. We walked down the streets of Mandipaka at a very leisurly pace, and Gramp was stopped at almost every turn by people who wanted to shake his hand, and invite him into their homes. To those of us who are his family it felt like Jesus entering Jerusalem or Mandela finally being set free. At the other side of the village facing several miles of incandescent rice paddies and waving coconut palms, Gramp stopped and turned to us saying: "I want to tell you something..." "I want to tell you how much the world has changed. When I was a child, I wouldn't have been allowed to even walk on these streets. These people are Brahmins -- the highest caste, and I was an untouchable, the lowest. If they had touched me they would have to undertake purification rites, and now you see how they invite me inside and put their hands on my shoulder." -- As if to say, there are a lot of things wrong with the world, but don't let those things steal your joy. Sometimes all you can do is out walk them. You can out smile them, you can out think them, and you can out live them. We completed the journey to Gramma's village, and soon it came time to go back to Mandipaka. Gramp said: "This time we go at my pace". It wasn't long before I was out of breath. [You can read more about Tom's trip to India in "The Devika Letters"]
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