Posted by Every once in a while, an encounter with an artist comes full circle in a way you could never have anticipated. For me, that happened with legendary acoustic guitarist Leo Kottke—an artist I first discovered as a fan in a small nightclub outside Buffalo, only to meet him decades later from the other side of the stage.
A Guitarist Pat Introduced Me To
The first time I saw Leo Kottke perform was sometime in the mid-1980s at Impaxx Nightclub in Cheektowaga, New York. It was a relatively small club with perhaps 50 tables, and, truth be told, this was my first real experience seeing a performer in that kind of intimate nightclub setting.
My friend Pat and I were given tickets by his father, who actually made the approximately 45-minute drive to take us there. We were seated maybe 15 feet from the downstage edge—not exactly front row, since we were at a table, but close enough that it certainly felt like it.
Pat was responsible for introducing me to a number of musicians I might never have discovered on my own, and Leo Kottke was another one of those introductions. Looking back, I’m incredibly grateful for that. At a time when much of what dominated the radio in the 1980s wasn’t necessarily speaking to me musically, Pat was constantly opening doors to artists who lived well outside the mainstream.
And Leo Kottke was certainly one of them.
Born September 11, 1945, in Athens, Georgia, Kottke is regarded as one of America’s most distinctive acoustic guitarists. His intricate fingerpicking and unconventional approach to both six- and twelve-string guitars blend elements of folk, blues and jazz into a sound that is unmistakably his own.
Kottke’s life and career are every bit as interesting as his music. He was raised in 12 different states and served in the U.S. Navy aboard a submarine, where he suffered partial hearing loss. He eventually became an important figure in the Minneapolis folk scene and gained wider recognition in the late 1960s and 1970s, including through his association with John Fahey’s Takoma Records.
His 1969 album 6- and 12-String Guitar became a landmark recording and helped establish him as a unique voice in the acoustic guitar world. His playing is renowned for its polyphonic textures, intricate fingerpicking and syncopated rhythms. But there is another element that has always made Kottke particularly memorable: his sense of humor.
Leo isn’t simply a musician who plays songs between stories.
His stories are part of the experience.
His self-deprecating humor and wonderfully quirky stage banter became almost as recognizable as his guitar playing. And that sense of humor was on full display the night Pat and I saw him at Impaxx.
Little did I know that one of those stories would stay with me for decades.
Fast Forward to 2011
Nearly 25 years later, our paths crossed again.
By 2011, I was working as the Entertainment Manager for the Seneca Gaming Resorts and Casinos. Leo Kottke had been booked to perform at the Bear’s Den, and when I saw his name on the schedule, I immediately thought of Pat.
I decided to invite him as my guest.
The Bear’s Den was an intimate setting, which seemed perfectly suited for an artist like Kottke. The reception for Leo was tremendous, and the audience was clearly there because they appreciated the opportunity to experience his music up close.
Of course, there always has to be that one guy.
During the performance, one particularly enthusiastic—and apparently intoxicated—audience member began shouting things at Leo.
“Play that song I hate!”
Then, a little later:
“Play that one song that sucks!”
As amusing as that might sound afterward, it wasn’t particularly amusing from my position as Entertainment Manager. There is a time and place for audience participation, and this wasn’t it. I asked Security to speak with him and make it clear that he needed to settle down or he would be asked to leave.
He shouted one more time.
Thankfully, he finally settled down.
For all I know, Leo may have even played the song he hated.
Finally Meeting Leo
Once the performance was over, I had the opportunity to meet Leo backstage. I grabbed a selfie with him and, more importantly, was able to sit down and chat for a few minutes.
I told him that Pat and I had seen him perform back in the mid-1980s at Impaxx in Cheektowaga.
I could tell that caught his attention.
There is something special about telling an artist that you’ve been following their work for decades. It isn’t simply saying, “I’m a fan.” You’re telling them that something they created became part of your own history.
I also told Leo that there was a story he had told that night in Cheektowaga that had somehow remained with me all those years.
I reminded him about two women who had once sat front and center at one of his performances. It was another intimate setting where food and drinks were being served during the show. Unfortunately for Leo—and probably everyone sitting nearby—one of the women was an incessant chatterbox.
She talked throughout the performance.
As Leo was preparing to introduce one of his songs, the woman was sitting there eating what appeared to be a slice of cheesecake. As he spoke, he noticed a tiny particle of spittle leave his mouth.
But this wasn’t just any random drop.
It landed smack dab in the middle of her piece of cheesecake.
Leo couldn’t help but wonder whether anyone else had seen what he had just seen and he certainly didn’t want to stop the show and point it out. Then the woman picked up her fork and took another bite.
Judging by the reactions around the room, he quickly realized that other patrons had seen it too.
It was one of those wonderfully awkward moments that could only become funnier when Leo Kottke told the story.
And apparently, the story had made quite an impression on me.
The Story He Had Forgotten
As I retold the story to him backstage nearly 25 years later, Leo began chuckling.
Then he paused.
He admitted that he had completely forgotten about it.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Here I was, standing backstage with Leo Kottke all these years later, reminding him of a story from one of his performances that I had carried with me for decades.
He thanked me for reminding him.
That moment meant more to me than the selfie we took.
A Full-Circle Moment
Think about it: A friend introduces you to an artist when you’re young. You make the 45-minute drive to a little nightclub in Cheektowaga, sit about 15 feet from the stage and watch a musician you’ve never experienced before.
You listen.
You laugh at his stories.
And somehow, one of those stories stays with you.
Nearly 25 years later, you’re working in the entertainment industry and that same artist walks into a venue you’re managing.
Only this time, you’re not sitting at a table in the audience.
You’re backstage.
And you’re able to look him in the eye and tell him that you were there all those years ago—and that you still remembered one of his stories.
For me, that’s what Beyond the Spotlight is really about.
The concerts are memorable. The photographs are important. The artists and the music are what bring us together.
But sometimes it’s the little moments between the spotlight and the stage that become the stories we remember most.
And in this case, I apparently remembered one of Leo Kottke’s stories better than Leo did.
Somewhere, there may still be a woman who remembers a piece of cheesecake.
Leo may have forgotten it.
I certainly didn’t.
Long Island Sounds 