Meet Mario Lalli
Meet Mario Lalli
Lessons from the godfather of desert rock.
Welcome to People Like You, a weekly newsletter where I deep-dive into the experiences, lessons and recommendations of people like you.
Read time - 5 minutes + awesome music
Today’s issue: Mario Lalli | Musician | 📍Desert Hot Springs. CA, USA | °1966
(+ read to the bottom for some seriously shiver-inducing storytelling)
Why Mario?
Mario is one of the most humble, down-to-earth people I’ve ever met - yet his impact on my teenage years, record collection or the music scene in general can hardly be overstated. He’s the founding member of Yawning Man and Fatso Jetson. If these names don’t ring a bell, then maybe Kyuss and Queens of the Stone Age do. These bands wouldn’t exist without Mario and his desert generator parties.
Mario and Fatso Jetson are touring Europe, and I was fortunate enough to attend their show in Leuven last Thursday. I rarely go to concerts anymore - the tinnitus is strong - but this one was one I didn’t want to miss.
While the band was sound-checking, I got an email from Spotify, announcing that Queens of the Stone Age are headlining Rock Werchter this summer - a Belgian festival that attracts north of 85.000 people.
The show Fatso Jetson played that night was sold out - at roughly 150 tickets.
The night before, they had played for an audience of 26. Twenty-six people. That is 0.03% of 85000, the crowd that QOTSA will play for. How’s that for perspective?
After a jaw-droppingly tight show (the band has been on the road for weeks) - they packed their own gear, started loading the van and Mario went to help out at the merch booth. They sold a few CDs, a shirt or two - and yet he was beaming. Starry-eyed, and nothing but gratitude for the folks who had decided to spend the evening in their company.
Rewind: two decades ago, I was a tour manager and concert promoter. I’d never planned to be one, I just happened to have sent an email to Brant Bjork (former drummer of Kyuss) who had just released a solo record. I wrote to him that how much I loved the sound of the vocals and asked which microphones he had used. And if he ever wanted to play in Europe, I’d be happy to help organize a show or two.
Half a year later, I was in a van with him and Nick Oliveri, and one of the gigs they played was in this very venue in Leuven. Where I was now chatting to Mario Lalli, the man who kickstarted the ‘desert rock scene’ of Palm Springs.
Living in the desert, secluded away from the trendy "scenes" in Los Angeles, Orange County and San Diego, the only places for original music to be played had been pool halls, Mexican restaurants (after hours) and the occasional struggling bar looking to make some fast cash. In Mario’s words: "The desert is the perfect place to make music, but it's a bad place to perform."
So Mario’s band Yawning Man started to play marathon jams during sets performed in the only readily available venues at the time: garages around town and impromptu concerts staged in the nearby desert. As word spread of these parties they evolved into generator parties (or “dust festivals” as they were locally called).
Picture the scene: sunset, sand, rocks and sand, a van, a barbecue, a generator, a stack of Ampegs, a drum kit and a band giving their best - for a group of friends and other musicians. Like John Garcia and Nick Oliveri - who, from the tender age of 12 years old, attended many of Mario’s gigs and would later form the legendary band Kyuss.
Here’s one of their videos, paying tribute to the dust scene:
(Featuring Brant Bjork on drums, and Josh Homme on guitar - who later promoted to full rockstardom with QOTSA and Eagles of Death Metal).
This is what the real thing looked like:
But back to Mario, the godfather of this scene.
What I’ll remember most from our conversation: his gentle smile, the twinkle in his eyes, and not a tinge of jealousy.
His eyes lit up when I mentioned touring with his (now famous) friends. He’s genuinely happy for them and loved hearing stories of our adventures.
As we were chatting away about pedals, hand-wired amps, weird tunings, compression, harmonics and the thumb piano he’d just bought, I understood:
he’s in it for the music.
While the desert rock scene was taking the world by (dust) storm - Mario continued making music - at home, in friends’ home studios, and in the desert. He’s done so for nearly 45 years - jamming, teaming up with family and friends, touring whenever he could get a break from the Italian restaurant he’s been running as a day job.
As he’s said in interviews about recording music: “I like to take my time – not ridiculous time like seven years – but just take my time and not be hasty about things. I would rather work it and form it and shape it until everyone’s really, really stoked.”
This reminded me of a conversation between Jerry Seinfeld and a struggling comedian - brought to my attention by Billy Oppenheimer.
Here’s Billy’s entire post:
“In the back of a comedy club, a struggling comedian got a chance to talk to Jerry Seinfeld.
He said he’d been struggling and sacrificing for about 10 years to “make it” as a comedian. Approaching his 30s, he was worried he’d taken the wrong path.
Seinfeld gave him this advice:
“This [pointing at the stage] is such a special thing,” Seinfeld says. “This has nothing to do with ‘making it.’”
“But did you ever stop and compare your life?” the struggling comedian says. “I see my friends, and they’re making a lot of money. They’re moving up. They’re all married. They’re all having kids. They have houses. They have a sense of normality.”
Seinfeld makes a disgusted face and then says, “let me tell you a story. This is my favorite story about show business.”
“Glenn Miller's orchestra is doing a gig...They can't land the plane because it's winter, a snowy night—they have to land in this field and walk to the gig.
They're dressed in their suits. They’re carrying their instruments. They’re walking through the snow—it's wet and slushy. And in the distance they see this little house…They go up to the house and look in the window. Inside they see this family.
There's a guy and his wife—she’s beautiful. There's two kids, and they're all sitting around the table. They’re smiling. They're laughing. There's a fire in the fireplace...
These guys are standing there in their suits. They're wet and shivering, holding their instruments, and they're watching this incredible Norman Rockwell scene.
And one guy turns to another guy and goes, 'How do people live like that?'
That's what it's about.”
Takeaway 1:
Comparison, it is said, is the thief of joy.
James Altucher has written about a cure for comparison.
Usually, when we compare ourselves to someone, we compare ourselves to a select few aspects of their life (their house, their good looks, or their professional success, etc.).
Instead, James writes, “picture that you can change places in every way with them. But then it’s forever...Would you do it.”
Usually—as Seinfeld’s story illustrates—the answer is…no, you wouldn’t want their whole life.
Takeaway 2:
One of the differences between Seinfeld and the struggling comedian is the way in which they view comedy. The struggling comedian sees comedy as a means to some end—there’s some amount of money or celebrity that would make him feel like he “made it.”
For Seinfeld, comedy is an end in itself. “[It] has nothing to do with ‘making it,’” as he said.
For Seinfeld, as Ryan Holiday once told me, “The work is the win.”
Mario Lalli gets this.
He’s doing the work - giving his best - every time he plugs in an instrument.
Getting to tour Europe (with his son in his band) is the win.
He’s still playing shows in the desert.
Take a seat, and enjoy 9 minutes of timeless beauty - devoid of ego, full of intent.
Rock on.
PS: a bonus video - a short video that sent shivers down my spine, from master storyteller Neal Foard. A must-watch. California sure has some amazing, generous folks.