Steve Peer
Zele Community Table
January 7, 2007

Steve Peer, Thomas Hill, Cheryl Schmitt, Michael Conniff, Zele director of marketing Lisa Zimet

Steve Peer: You have to have a day heart and a night heart to live here.

Michael Conniff: When did you first come to Aspen?

SP: I taught skiing for 25 years.  I first came in 1957. I was a little kid privileged to be here with some kids from the Middle West. It was a wonderful experience.

MC: You came from the Midwest?

SP: I was born in Duluth, Minnesota. There was a gentleman, someone I worked for as crew on a 75-foot motor yacht. He also owned a ski shop in Duluth. He had a beautiful little daughter so we all went to Aspen.

MC: How little were you then?

SP: Very little.

Lisa Zimet: Even then you talked a woman into coming with you.

MC: What was the name of the man in Duluth?

SP: The gentleman’s name is John Gruan. He gave me the best skis at the time and I broke them on Copper Bowl on the second run. I came back and said: “I’d like to learn how to do this.” I still worked in the yachting industry. I thought it would be fun to be good at this. I became the youngest ski instructor in the United States in the Central division out of Minneapolis. That was pretty silly. I had the privilege of working with Max Lundberg. I was in the right place at a stupid time. It was an example of a mentor in your life for five minutes and it changed your life. This was in 1974-1975. As performers, someone came to us in Minneapolis involved in the formation of Snowmass. I continued to do ski shows for fun. My name was bantered around:  “This guy can make a mess of music.” We were invited to come back in 1969 to Snowmass. The first season was not an official season. We were ferried around and skied out of a helicopter.

LZ: Who was your musical group at the time?

SP: Most of them were in college so we hired some people we didn’t know very well. That group was called “The Inversion.” They were my dear friends—but it was ridiculous. We performed in the afternoon. Stein Erickson was the head ski instructor. We all talked, partied together.

LZ: And there was some unknown trying to get up on stage.

SP: That was a couple of years later. I would never say anything than that he was the nicest person I ever met, the kindest, John Duchendorf, AKA John Denver. John in those years was kind enough to fill in for us. We were all working together. I would never demean John, and his success later. What he was presenting at the time wasn’t that exciting.

MC: What kind of music were you playing?

SP: Whatever it took. When we came the first time it was clear you had to entertain, and the music had to be entertaining. There’s a really good movie, “The Fabulous Baker Boys,” a movie made by someone with a good intuitive sense. They played the kind of music that killed that music. If you’re not listening, they said: “Get out.” If you weren’t listening, I’d throw you out.

MC: How did you survive here?

SP: I never survived. I lived like a king from day one.

MC: How’d you do that?

SP: That’s classified, but I was lucky. The people that we met early on in the Aspen-Snowmass area were the most gracious, lovely folks. I met some people from Wisconsin. We were housed in quite comfortable quarters but not what I was used to growing up. Some people came in and we entertained them. We wound up living in a $10 million house my first day. We’re all wonderful friends to this day.  Music is the bridge to transcend multiple insanity. Pay attention and you’ll be fine.

Thomas Hills: I don’t know if you’re privy to his childhood and his father playing.

SP: He was a famous guy, a cool guy.

MC: What was his name?

SP: Willis Peer. He played with famous people. He was basically considered in that genre and point in time, and he defined what was going on musically.

MC: What did he play?

SP: Banjo.  It completely ruined my life because I couldn’t stand hearing those four chords. He was a teacher and writer, a talented man. He had the privilege of traveling with one of the most famous people of that era, and being revered and respected. I traveled worldwide with him. I had tutors from the time I was nine years old and never went to conventional school.

MC: Which musicians did he play with?

SP: The list would get too long. What did I know? I was only nine years old.

Cheryl Schmitt: You had your freedom and independence. They were brilliant. Masters degree of this, graduate degrees of that.

MC: Did you go to college?

SP: The University of Minesota. I started two years early and ended two years early. I was 17, 18 in graduate school. A gentleman in Minneapolis sponsored me in dentistry, but I’ve never been a professional man. I went off to dental school and ran off with a show girl.

MC: Did you ever practice dentistry?

SP: I was offered a practice, and elected not to go in that direction and it was the smartest thing I ever did. I had 23 other options and a showgirl from Las Vegas. It didn’t hurt me at all.

MC: When did you start playing music?

SP: I didn’t start playing until I was nine or ten years old. I couldn’t stand the banjo. But my first trumpet was given to me by Louis Armstrong.

TH: He gave you one of the trumpets. And so did Dizzy [Gillespie] and Miles [Davis]. They all knew your father and liked them. He also played guitar. Everyone was acquainted.

SP: We were all connected. In Vegas, I worked off and on. I did one gig a year for six or seven years. We were treated well. I had the privilege of playing with some of the greatest people of that era.

MC: What did you learn from them?

SP: It showed you entertainment and music were different things. The first time I went there to Vegas it was important to get the stamp. We had a good business relationship with what became Westin Hotels to facilitate and build a number of acts, and expanding their entire business plan. I was fortunate to get some marketing education from the company.

MC: How did you get from Aspen to Vegas?

MC: I’m from Minneapolis and somehow our tour ended up at Minneapolis. We got a standing ovation in Minneapolis: “ These guys don’t suck.” It was wonderful. And I had four days in Vegas. New Year’s in Vegas at Caesar’s Palace. For me it wasn’t working. I needed a rest. After 45 weeks straight, I needed a rest. I had a nine-piece band. I had a brand-new Ferrari and drove it to Aspen.

CS: Red?

SP: Of course it was red! There was this big snowstorm. Next thing I know we’re driving in Snowmass and a drunk taxi driver T-boned my Ferrari. And that’s what actually kept me here. I had no place to stay. My friend was a mess and my car was gone. I had taken a leave of absence. I said: “Okay.” We went to a place here in town and ran into some friends of mine from Wisconsin. They said: “Just take our place.” So we took their $4 million house.

MC: Were you teaching skiing then?

SP: I was full certified since I was a little kid. My credentials include French, Canadian, and American. It was fun, it was fun. I went back on tour for two runs and took a new musical group out for about a year and a half. We’d been on the road for ten years, twelve years. They had a different mindset. I was offered a lifetime contract in Vegas. If enough people liked you, Las Vegas was not a corporation then, it was a dictatorship. There were still holes in the desert. You could be a lifetime entertainer in Las Vegas. Someone ushered into this office. You could play drums in Vegas till the day you died. I said: “Are you fucking kidding me?” Fortunately I had an education and said no thanks. Most of those musicians are keno players now.

CS: Why walk away?

SP: You don’t want anyone to control your life forever, though it was secure for a musician. So we passed on that. We went back on tour and they were great guys. But it was boring. The entertainment business was easy then. You could make people stand up, sit down, and roll over. In the early years, all the guys that worked for me, I made them invest in things. Don’t ask me why, I just thought it was a good idea. One of the guys became the president of IDS Financial Services. Craig Horner. And he got it. I always thought there was more to life than music.

MC: What else did you do in Aspen?

SP: I never worked for anybody but myself. I was vice president of the Chamber of Commerce because it was self-serving. I was working on a project in Aspen Highlands with 192 rooms and got it approved. We sold that for a lot of money. What we used to own is now the Ritz.

MC: So you got into real estate.

SP: I didn’t mean to. But real estate was kind of a default thing. It was more important to see the community lift itself from the 18th Century to the 20th Century.

MC: How’s that going?

SP: It’s fun. But music has always been a focal point. I had death threats and stuff like that. I was well-connected to the older generation. Then we had the nouveau generation—I was getting death threats. I became the marketing director for the Maroon Creek Club. I had given up music for ten years. Then when I came back, I got more into a business directive mode and I met all these other people. The fun part is getting everybody together. At that time it was kind of a cool thing. It was so completely dichotomous and ridiculous. An interesting time of stupidity.

LZ: Syzygy became your meeting place.

SP: This is our twelfth year.

LZ: It’s a community of admirers.

SP: Syzygy is a home for misanthropic bright people. Credit Walt Harris, one of the brightest low-key individuals I’ve ever known. Walt’s always provided a platform for people to excel. One day I wasn’t hearing the music and people were trying to kill me. Then I went to music.

PP: You went to Andiamo.

SP: The only kind of music in Aspen then was country western and bad rock and roll.

MC: What year was this?

SP: 1988. I was back from Europe, I came back and somebody approached me to produce a musical group again. I said: “Sounds like fun.” We created Club Andiamo. We changed the entire musical climate here forever. We took it to music with some of the best musicians in the world. We had one year to trigger a different style. It was like: “Let’s kick it up a notch.”

MC: Who were you working with?

SP: Mario Danieloe. And Mario and Robin as they gestated out of that became involved with The Little Nell. The Nell realized they were sucking wind in profit centers that should have been making money. Eric Calderon—I couldn’t get an audience with this guy—what happens in corporate life is you’re so protected, you don’t get the juice, you don’t get the action. There were circumstances at Little Nell probably not for publication, mistakes were made, and then Walt Harris said: “Let’s do it.”

TH: Steve is far too humble to say this but what I admire is he gives 100 percent if there are two people or 100 percent. I know how it can drain you.

MC: And you play with him sometimes too, don’t you Thomas?

TH: I’m a percussionist and drummer.

MC: Who do you play with now?

SP: Terry Bannon and Chris Bank. They are stalwart. They held me up when I shouldn’t even be there. They are magnificent and consummate professionals. And Tudi Calderon. We started the project together. Terry and Chris said: “You’ve got to hear this guy, Tudi.”

MC: And I noticed the other night they served you some wine.

SP:  “Walt, I can’t do this sober. I need really a great bottle of wine.” Sometimes it’s good. The drinking and the props. It’s effective as a prop: “They’re drinking $500 wine.” If you want to play with tall dogs, pee in the high grass.

MC: How important is music to you?

SP: If you’re privileged to have this gene, you better use it. It will help balance your life immeasurably, recognizing that you have something a lot of people would die to have and have the respect for that. You are fortunate to have it in your life, so honor it and treat it well. My credit goes to Walt Harris who stuck with the program. The most important thing is the people we met back then were giving back to the community. I give back musically but Walter allows me to do it. All I bring to it is I will kick your ass. I’m not here to be a nice guy. And I take no prisoners.