`a good person' in deadly trouble

Sunday, 18 February 1996

Bryn Bailer

HE ARIZONA DAILY STAR

One wall of The Cup, a downtown café where guitarist Rainer Ptacek

stopped in now and then, is blanketed with rows of pithy sayings. But one

maxim stands out: ``It's better to be a good person than a famous person.''

Rainer Ptacek (pronounced RY-ner THA-chek) isn't a famous man - at

least, not in this country. But he is seen, even in the cutthroat music biz, as

a good man.

In the past two weeks, Tucsonans have learned something else about this

popular performer: He is gravely ill.

It was the morning of Feb. 2, and Rainer, 44, was riding his bike down

North Fourth Avenue. He was headed toward the dusty-red Chicago

Store downtown, where he has worked for years repairing ailing guitars.

Just before he reached the Fourth Avenue underpass, he was

overwhelmed by a violent seizure. It dumped him to the ground, breaking

his collarbone. A passer-by called an ambulance, which sped him to

University Medical Center.

It was there that doctors noticed something awry. An emergency room

physician, breaking the news to Rainer's trembling wife, held up his fist to

illustrate the size of the brain tumor.

``This may sound funny,'' Rainer said last week, after his release from the

hospital, ``but I've never felt better.''

It did sound strange. So he explained further.

``I'm really blessed, I keep coming back to that,'' he continued solemnly.

``Learning how much people care for you - not everybody gets that

chance.''

A whiskery Rainer, wearing flannel and a black stocking cap, is seated at a

dark green picnic table outside his modest midtown home. He is joined by

37-year-old Patti Keating, his wife of 16 years, and new baby daughter,

Lily Marlena. The baby has the same wise, pale-blue eyes as her papa.

For months before the seizure, Rainer had struggled with memory lapses,

misplacing things at home, or forgetting parts of songs during a show.

``Where music comes from''

``Part of the performance thing is, for me, (focusing) in on where the music

comes from,'' he said. ``So losing my place in the middle of a song is not

something strange at all - that's the optimum.''

On this day, Rainer sometimes searches for names - even of people he's

known for years. In the last few days, he has gone to his guitar, as he has

so many times before, yet found frustration there as well.

The structural aspects of musicianship (chord changes, for example) do not

come easily. So he lets the music flow unharnessed. ``I'm kind of letting

this go like the music goes,'' he said, as sons Gabe, 17, and Rudy, 12,

settle in on either side of him.

``If it comes, that'll be great. If it doesn't come, I'm not going to be worried

about it.''

He paused, and smiled a bit.

``That doesn't mean that I'm not going to try to make it work.''

Across the Atlantic Ocean, fans pack clubs and pubs in England, Ireland,

Germany, Belgium, France, Italy and in his father's home country of

Czechoslovakia, just to hear Rainer play the blues.

In America at one point, only one store, Hear's Music in Tucson, carried

his newest, German-label release, ``Nocturnes.''

``That's the whole thing about being a prophet without honor,'' said Alan

Robinson of London-based Demon Records, which released three earlier

Rainer CDs. ``He's viewed very differently over here.

No household word

``I wouldn't say his is anywhere near being a household name,'' Robinson

said, ``but anyone who admires guitar music knows Rainer. No one is

doing what he is doing anywhere in the world.''

What Rainer ``does'' is play his own brand of blues-influenced music, often

on a vintage National steel-bodied guitar. One minute he picks out delicate

acoustical pieces that drift like silver spider webs; the next, he grinds out

locomotive rockers.

Singer/songwriter Jonathan Richman, in town last week for a Rainer

fund-raiser, lauded him as ``one of the musicians I respect most who's

playing guitar in the States today.

``Not only is he an honest player, but he's more than that,'' Richman said.

``He's got a delicacy to the way he plays; there's a sorrow in it. . . . (And)

the way he works a melody, there's something evocative about it. It paints

pictures.''

Stands on principle

High praise for a guitarist who cannot get a recording contract in his own

country. But then, Rainer decided long ago that standing on principle was

ultimately wiser than chasing fame.

As Dan Vinik, who has booked Rainer's solo act at Club Congress, noted,

``(Rainer) does want a deal of some sort, but he doesn't want it bad

enough to sign his soul away to anybody.''

Late last week, results of Rainer's tumor biopsy came back, and doctors

gave their official diagnosis: lymphoma, or cancer, of the central nervous

system. Left untreated, lymphoma is fatal.

His tumor has already been deemed inoperable, but the doctors had

encouraging news: The cancer has not metastasized, or spread. Treatment,

such as chemotherapy or radiation, is available.

There are still other concerns for his family. Rainer was the sole

breadwinner. His employers do not provide health insurance.

Fortunately, our music community is a generous one. Within hours of

Rainer's collapse, the phone started ringing. Some callers prayed. Others

sent flowers, delivered groceries, or came just to stand by his hospital bed.

``A lot of people were so upset about this,'' Patti said, as baby Lily

clutched at her mama's long, dark hair. ``People are really pulling for the

family to survive these days. Something like this is sad, because it puts the

family on the line.''

So far, three ``Rock for Rainer'' fund-raising concerts have been

organized. The next will be at 7 p.m. Saturday at the historic Rialto

Theater, 318 E. Congress St. Donations also may be made at any Bank

One branch in Arizona, via the ``Charitable Fund for Rainer Ptacek.''

In the past few weeks, faxes and telephone calls have come into the

Ptacek home from around the world.

Peers make contact

Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top, a champion of Rainer's music, phoned. Former

Led Zeppelin singer Robert Plant, with whom Rainer has recorded, sent a

note from Japan. Folk-blues singer Greg Brown sent a check.

Mentioning big-time musicians goes against the humble natures of both

Rainer and his wife. They fear it will sound like name-dropping. So Patti

wanted to explain a bit more.

``They're really deeply concerned because they really like Rainer, his

music, and who he is as a human being,'' she said. And they remember him

because he has inspired them.

``He got them in touch with something old,'' Patti said. ``Something that

they used to know.''

But even Rainer can't describe where he finds the passion that sears his

music - the quality that moves listeners to wonder how he could still remain

``undiscovered'' in America.

``I know it when I feel it, and I know it when I hear it from somebody

else,'' he said simply. ``But to describe it in words is impossible. You've

just got to live with the fact you can't, breathe it in, and enjoy it while you

can.''

For a year, Rainer has had a collection of recorded new material waiting to

become an album. Now, though, there are more important things on his

mind.

``The stuff that gets pushed aside for the money-making stuff,'' he said,

nodding at his young daughter, ``is a lot more important than the

money-making stuff.''

Rainer now concentrates on what matters most to him. He practices a little

guitar, jots down random thoughts, sits in the sun, and marvels at his

children.

But what does he wish for his future?

``That's a good question,'' Rainer said softly. ``Happiness. I can't really pin

it down to anything more than that.''

He paused a second, then added: ``Health. Health would be nice. And to

get my little girl grown, and my sons.''

He looked up and smiled.

``I don't see this as a low point at all,'' he said of his cancer. ``I see this as

a high point in my life. I really do.''

The adversity is forcing him to focus on what it really means to live. And

living doesn't really involve record contracts or tour dates.

``What's important, what matters?'' Rainer asked out loud. ``People are

important. The love they give to each other, that's important.

``That's really important.''