Disclaimer: Many people have asked me why I have never really written about Jeans ‘n Classics here. For those of you who don’t know, Jeans ‘n Classics is our family business that writes, produces and performs rock concerts with symphony orchestras all over North America.
I guess there are a few reasons why I have chosen not to write too much about it. First, I’m so close to it that I sometimes have trouble being objective. Also, I never want this blog to be a commercial for a product, even my own, as there are already so many bloggers tailoring their messaging for financial gain. I’m not against that if that’s what you want to do, but that’s not the intent of this particular space.
The one part of Jeans ‘n Classics that I think is really the best part of our story though happened long before anyone had really heard us, or heard of us – the humble beginnings, so I will go down that road today.
Dear Jessica Brennan,
There is no doubt in my mind that the depth of your personality and the natural kindness you have in your very DNA has come in a large part from the fact that for your early years you were surrounded by creatives. You literally grew up backstage but not just in the company of any artists, you were surrounded by the Jeans ‘n Classics artists, and for anyone who has ever met this family of musicians, you will know what a rare and perfect gift that was.
The early romance you witnessed between Dad and I was really like a 1970s Kenny Rogers song. Dad would write music in our bedroom through the night while I slept content to hear the humming and clacking of the various keyboards. All the while you were nestled in the next room. This was our normal, our reality, and it set you apart from any other kids you knew.
Looking back it was magic wasn’t it? There we were in a house that was maybe 900 square feet soaking wet, surrounded by music and love. In fact when we finally left that house the people who bought it affectionately named it the Love House because of all the stories that stayed within the walls and random travellers who would still knock on the door long after we moved.
Often you would wake up in the morning in our bed, with your mop of blonde curls and realize you had been moved from your bedroom sometime in the night, and you would squeal, “Who’s in my room? Oh, they’re here Mum, they’re here!” Then you would race into your bedroom and climb into bed next to Katalin or Lis, or you would run downstairs to sit cross-legged and stare at Don asleep on the living room floor and poke him sneakily until he woke up.
We had no money. I mean, none at all, but somehow we always scraped together enough food for everyone to have dinner, and enough flour to make muffins or biscuits in the morning. I always worried that I wasn’t providing enough of a spread, but now when those who were present throughout the early days talk about what it was like, they make it sound like a feast. Love colours everything into a lush, beautiful memory.
In the nice weather we would all sit on the front porch in the evenings by candlelight, or we would spend hours around the dining room table where everything from Joni Mitchell to Pavarotti was played on the stereo. It was joyful and there was weeping.
As a teenager your dates for dances and proms were subjected to all kinds of scrutiny from the JnC band, and some of Canada’s, and in fact the world’s greatest musicians have sat in our living room, but it didn’t matter to you. To you everyone was the same. One more rock star in a long line of rockstars to eat at our dining room table and be entertained with pictures of your baseball team. They were all your audience as far as you were concerned.
As the company grew, the love grew exponentially with more artists, and the magic of those first few years transformed into limousines and lovely hotel rooms. Just like our sturdy little Love House, what went into the foundation of the company dictated the strength of the future, and Jeans ’n Classics was built on love and remains the most beautiful example of enduring loyalty and friendship that I have ever had the privilege of witnessing in my life. The kids we all were when we started have had kids of their own and we have assembled a family of fans, symphonies and concert halls that continue to warm up the corners of the organization.
This magic is largely down to the integrity of each individual in the group, but also to the way Dad approached things from the start and continues to operate today. He insists on respect, by being respectful. He sees people not products and puts their needs before his own. He discounts industry pecking-order politics and treats all performers as equals. He brings his best self to the group, and the singers and band in turn bring their best selves. He makes the hard decisions for the benefit of the whole (even though he hates it), but also intuitively knows when to let things run their natural course. He is infinitely patient with people who are really trying to make things work, and has no patience whatsoever with laziness, dishonesty or self-importance.
As an onlooker to the whole experience, I will admit, it isn’t perfect of course. There are about thirty unique and strong personalities at play at any given time which can get, um, exciting, but each of those personalities bring valuable strengths and perspectives that weave into the mosaic of the organization. Jeans ‘n Classics has never just been a company to our family, and when Dad talks about a show, he beams. When he talks about the individual artists and their projects outside of JnC, his eyes mist over with pride and love. They are his brothers and sisters, his children and his dearest friends. He has created something far bigger than a successful business, he has created his version of a perfect family. When tragedy hits, and at times it has hit very hard, these people are there without question. When it is time to laugh, man, laugh they do. It is the most beautiful thing.
Over the years we have been approached by all kinds of jump-on-the-bandwagon (see how I did that?) opportunists, usually who want to discuss franchising – I mean that’s what a real business would do, right? You know, pare things way back, cut corners, put four people to a hotel room? “There’s lots more artists where these ones came from,” announce the kind of little jerks who would sell their own mothers to make a dime.
In our house this kind of talk is considered pure blasphemy, because love came first, and still comes first, and you don’t mess with magic, and human beings are not replaceable. Just like loyalty breeds loyalty, little jerks breed little jerks, and we don’t work with jerks. In our house now, and in the Love House then, anyone who would trade what we have for cash is an idiot. Life is about so much more than that.
Dear Jessica Brennan, I like to joke that it took a village of jugglers and mimes to raise you, and make you the woman you are today. Truly it was a childhood rich in creativity if not in cash. And all these years later, when we walk into a Jeans ‘n Classics show I watch your face, and I remember that mop of blonde curls as you look around the room and say with true excitement, “Oh they’re here mum. They’re here.”
Love Mum
xo
