Hot Animal Machines! Short Dogs look back.

I interviewed Tom and Greg at my house on June 10th, 2018.  I’ve noticed over the years that we remember things differently and remember different parts of events. I  asked the guys to participate in an experiment – I gave them two specific times to conjure up in their memory. The first was a show we played in Pensacola, FL, and the second was a gig we played about a week later in Daytona Beach, FL (which had a stage behind a chicken wire fence.) This all happened about 30 years ago. I wanted us to take turns recalling, without the interruption of each other’s memories. After a little clarification of what show happened in what town, we were ready. Mike was present to film the session. Let’s see how we did……..

Tom started with Daytona Beach.

T: My memories are little tiny snapshots. There’s being in the parking lot besides the Henry Rollins’ guys, and realizing that they were like really together, and making us feel very disorganized. I don’t really remember playing behind the chicken wire, but I remember after getting off and going out and seeing Henry Rollins play, I thought “why didn’t we think to do this”?  He was crawling up on the chicken wire front, tearing it off and putting his face through it. We were like “AAAAAHHH….That guy is so intense! ROOOAAARRR!!!!!.

I don’t remember the Doughboys that well, but I know we were friendly with them. And then after the gig I remember the three big things were 1) drinking with the Rollins band, trying to get them to drink. They were scared about it because they thought they were going to get in trouble. We were like “C’mon we’re all grownups, let’s party!” So we coerced them to drink, and then they wound up getting in trouble by Henry.  2) The Rollins band not wanting the pizza cause it had meat on it, and we were like “We’ll take it!” Well, you wouldn’t (to Greg who was vegan at the time.) And they threw it away, which pissed me off to no end. And (3) Henry coming in after his set, by which time I was pretty hammered. Henry coming in, and changing completely while me and Carmela were standing there, And he’s completely naked, and then getting dressed and walking away. I said, “Did you just notice Henry Rollins getting completely naked”? And Carmela says “What?” It was like two feet from you, the man’s stripping down!  And then continuing to drink, and Henry’s coming in and out and getting annoyed with his band for having fun with us! We were having fun.

And then at the end of the night Greg getting up and saying to Henry’s band “You’re the mother-fucking hot animal machine, not him! You’re the mother-fucking hot animal machine!” You grabbed your guitar cases, took one step and the cases crossed and BAM , you flat on your face. And I was like “That’s rock and roll!”

hot animal machine

G: Yeah that was awesome.

T: That’s how you party motherfucker!

G: And everyone laughing.

T: Everyone laughing with you.

G: Yeah that’s a good memory of mine.

C to G: You wanna tackle Pensacola?

G:I only have one memory of Pensacola. I don’t remember the show. All I remember is a memory of the beach and how the sand was sugar.  The width of the beach was extremely small and the sand dunes were extremely small.  And I only have the memory of me looking left. Not right.  That’s the only memory I have of Pensacola.

T: Left side of the beach

G: As I was telling Mel, I just see scattered pictures. Also, I was thinking with my memories, is I get these pictures, then I fill in the blanks, and so I remember when we were in Missouri, and what’s the college town there that we played?

T: Kansas City?

G: No.

T :Lawrence?

G: I have a written account of that. Then Tom Galbrith (the drummer for Field Trip) wrote something and it was really different from my account.  I believe his account. I omitted stuff that I would have loved to put in my account, you know because I didn’t remember it- like what’s-his-name from the Gun Club.

(You can read Tom’s story here: http://www.spinesis.com/tom-galbraith-we-thought-he-was-going-to-kick-this-guys-ass-2/ )

T: Oh God, Jefferey Lee Pierce

G: Yeah , all that.

T: How about us ordering 20 pizzas to the radio station? (everyone laughs at this)

G: You know what also is weird is what I remember from that radio station- I remember kinda being assholes.

T: Yeah.

G: And feeling, you know when you are on tour, confident, even when you are playing to nobody, you’re a gang, you’re moving forward. And I remember saying “fag” on the radio.

C: Hmm.

G: Calling Janes Addiction “Fags”

T: Which was a playful sort of thing, ah….

G: Yeah, but I do remember that and when I think back, that becomes a bad memory. It’s almost like my memory of Daytona. We’re swimming in the ocean, after the gig, and it’s low tide.  But when I think back I have this visceral feeling like “someone could have died.”  You know, because we were drunk. And if it was high tide one of use would have died. You look back as an adult and you put upon these fears.

T: Oh my god, I look back at being a motorcycle messenger and shudder. I actually get like “Oh my god!”  It gives me chills to think of the ridiculous physical risk I put to myself through on a minute to minute basis.

G: I remember the Doughboys, we were friendly with them, they were real nice.

T: They had dreadlocks.

G: Yeah they were from Philadelphia, or they were Canadian.

C: Canadian.

T: Montreal.

(Here is a pic of the Doughboys I found online. If you look closely, the Doughboy on the left is holding a Short Dogs Grow t-shirt.)

doughboys-penrods

G; I was thinking about the Electric Love Muffin.

G: They were like Life Sentence, those damn shirts everywhere. They were good promoters. But I think they opened that show.  I felt competitive. Not something I would ever say to you guys when we were there, but I felt competitive like Doughboys were on our level, you know what I mean.

C and T: yes

G: We hadn’t jumped to Rollins’ level, so it was like ok, we’re opening or they’re opening. I wanna be second. I don’t remember the playing a lot, I remember the afterwards. And that’s a weird thing.

T: I was thinking that same thing. I remember very few actual onstage moments, couple in Vancouver, that one party in Spokane where we played for an hour and a half.

G: “Everybody Rock and Roll the Place!”

C: I think that maybe because we played so much, it’s hard to isolate the actual shows, not that we played the same set each night. These two gigs, I don’t remember being on stage at all. I remember a couple of shows where maybe somebody stage-dove and smacked into me or something like that. But not the actual playing.

G: But with Rollins, I remember you (to Tom) and I being very confident going through the crowd drunk, and I remember seeing these three guys. They were like this (Greg folds his  arms across his chest), and they had jeans, black t-shirt, sort of tribal tattoos, sort of a brush cut, like punk. And I remember seeing them and thinking “they’re here to see Rollins” (everyone laughs). Engineer boots, not punk really, but maybe post punk. It was almost like, “we’re becoming irrelevant”. Like, times are changing. On Instagram, I’ll find somebody who documents scenes. And you can see how fast 1982 to 1987, short hair to long hair- it went really fast. And if you were playing hardcore in 87, you could be left behind. We weren’t hardcore, but that was still sort of the only thing going. We were post punk.

T: If you were playing hardcore, you were going to have to wait another ten years for it to come back!

C: Well, the Pensacola gig, I have no recollection of playing at all. I found the name of the club-it was called DMZ. So neither of you guys remember anything of that night. I only remember the parking lot. We went out to the parking lot and the van wouldn’t start, and so we were stuck. So then we made George find us a place to stay. It was one of the first few gigs we played with George. And he did; he found two girls. They lived in Mobile, AL. They didn’t live in Pensacola, and we went and stayed with them.

G: Yeah, and I hooked up with that girl.

C; Yeah, I wasn’t sure, there was something about a pair of coveralls, whether they were yours or hers, I don’t know. One of you gave the other a pair of coveralls.

(in the photo below, Greg is wearing the coveralls, and I believe a tube top around his neck. This photo was taken in Gainesville around the time of these shows.)

gainsville (3)

G: Yeah I wrote that down too.

C: Yeah and I remember they had a ferret.  And for me, a troubling memory- like when you were mentioning saying “Fag” on the radio.

G: Yeah.

C: I was with the girl, not the one you liked, but the other girl, the one with the Mohawk I guess

T: Right.

C: I don’t remember a Mohawk, but I remember she had dark hair. She took me to the mall to buy hair dye. And when we were in the mall, you guys weren’t there, it was just me and her. It was raining, it was a really bad storm, and there was a huge clap of thunder. This guy was walking outside, near the car and he jumped-he was just scared. And she said “Look at that N-word jump”. I just remember being shocked. I’d never heard anyone use that word before. Ever.

And she was a punk rocker with a Mohawk! And I can’t remember now, and this really bothers me, I can’t remember if I said anything. I remember wanting to say something.

T: You were like “Holy shit we’re in the south!”

C: Yeah, but I think I was so shocked, that I just was mute. And I don’t know if I ever told you guys that.

G: Nope, I don’t remember.

T: No.

C: I thought, partially because she was so hardcore,  how could that come out of somebody?

T: The presumption of someone with a Mohawk.

C: I remember thinking at the time about how Janis told me that she heard someone use the N word, and she went ballistic on them. I remember thinking “if Janis were here, Janis would kick her ass.”  But I’m staying at this woman’s house and I gotta be nice.

G: She had air conditioning!

C: That was my biggest memory of that, but we were with them for a few days. And I did write down that we went to see movies.

G: We based out of their house

T; Yeah we were there for a few days. And that ferret kept stealing our money.

G: Wallets.

C: Yeah, the ferret stole our money.

T: Who did we play with at this club DMZ?

C: Well I have written down that we played with a band called Gruel

T: Who?

C: Gruel.

T: Gruel.

C: But the next night we went back because the van, this is my memory and I don’t think this is right, but the van was in the parking lot, and you fixed it.

T: That sounds right (sarcastically).

C: No, it was really funny.

G: Joe Pethoud wasn’t there?

C: Joe wasn’t there because he had quit the band a week before.

G: Yeah and he fixed our starter before he left.

T: I love him.

C: You (to Tom) took a wrench. You came running out yelling “I fixed the van I fixed the van!” You were so excited about it. And I was so excited.

G: I was extremely excited you fixed the van.

C: And I said “how did you do it” and you said you took a wrench and pulled on something in the engine and freed it.

G: The engine was between the seats.

T: Something was shorting it out I think.

C: You had a wrench and were yelling” I fixed the van”, and we were like “Yay Tom!!”

T: I probably hit the battery once with the wrench.

C: The Accused were playing. I remember meeting them, and they had roadies and money, and they were going to camp because they were really excited about this particular campsite nearby.

G: Are you thinking about Murphy’s Law?

C: No, it was the Accused from Washington.

T: Weren’t Adrenaline Overdrive from down there too?

C: We played with Adrenaline OD in Texas or something . The Daytona Beach was the show we played with Rollins Band.

G: That was a big show.

C: Yeah it was a big show. The promoter Tommy, I think his name was, confirmed that show long before. He was a professional and had it all set up, but he didn’t say anything on the phone about the chicken wire. When we got there, I remember he made all the bands get together and everyone had to say “We will not touch the chicken wire”.

T: That’s right.

C: He had  a huge deposit on the chicken wire, or rather on the show. There was no place to play there anymore so he had to put this huge deposit, and we all agreed.  I remember seeing Rollins in the parking lot with the barbell, sitting there for hours working out and the mom coming over with her kid. And the kid introducing Rollins to the parent. I can’t remember if he was mean or nice.

G: I remember that.

C: Doughboys played first, then we played. Then MIA played and I hated them, just because I didn’t like that they were playing after us. Cause they were touring with Descendents. I think Descendents might have been touring with Rollins too. Then Descendents played and then Rollins played. I found a couple of pictures. Rollins tore down the chicken wire.

T: Which is way more punk and fuckin ballsy, and I remember now that you say that thing about the deposit. Which is of course why we didn’t touch it.

C: We needed the money . We had $100 guarantee, which was A  LOT of money then.

T: And we were super polite and nice and didn’t want to piss those people off

C: That too, and also we didn’t want to ruin their scene, cause we didn’t live there. And afterwards he came up to us, might have been you (Tom ) and I, or maybe all of us, and one of the Doughboys, and he said “I’m paying you guys. I’m not paying Rollins, Decendents or MIA.

T: What????

C: So we got paid

G: Really??

C: He said I’m paying you guys because you’re both from out of town and not part of the package.

T: And I’m looking at your van .

C: And how skinny you guys are! No, he paid us and the Doughboys.

G: Wow.

T: That may be why Henry was such an asshole at the end of the night. I’m a little more forgiving then just “Stop making my band drunk”.

C: He knew, he agreed, everybody agreed. Even the Descendents didn’t touch the chicken wire

T: Well it was worth it because he rocked

C: It was great. I remember as soon as he came on the stage; I remember him putting his fist through it.  I think I was with you Tom, and you yelled “Holy shit he’s doing it!”

At this point I pulled out some pics I found on the internet of Henry onstage at the Daytona beach gig. This is the pic of Rollins onstage and there is still some chicken wire .

rollins-at-penrods (1)

In this one you can see the chicken wire is gone.

henry-rollins-at-penrods-daytona-beach-1985 (1)

T: Oh my god.  Now how does that phase your memory? When you actually see it right?

G: Wow.  That really changes everything.

C: Maybe Rollins went before Descendents because this is Milo without the chicken wire onstage.

You can see in this pic, no chickenwire.

descendents-at-penrods-daytona-beach-1985 (1)

T: I seem to recall Rollins going before Descendents.

C: I thought Rollins played last, but look- there’s no chicken wire.

G: Yeah Descendents played last.

T: Yeah cause they were the bigger band. Rollins had just, that was his first or second tour.

G: That was Search and Destroy or whatever it was.

T: That was Hot Animal Machine.

C: This was the flyer that I had from that show. (I show them the original flyer from my flyer collection- shown below.)

rollins

T: YOU’RE THE HOT ANIMAL MACHINE!!!

C: I remember going backstage, and I remember you telling all the guys in the Rollins band to drink a beer.

T: There was a big garbage can full of those elephant beers. I definitely remember you were on the left, and Henry was on the right and he was soaking wet with his soaking wet shorts. And I took a little peek over, and OOOOOHH Naked Henry. I didn’t sign up for this!

C: I didn’t see anything.

T: I saw pubes, the whole thing.

So Tom may be the only one of us who really knows who’s got the 10 ½. We’ll leave  you contemplating that imagery. Stay tuned for more stories of broken vans and tube tops… 

Flag who got the 10

We sure do miss our buddy George.  We love you George.

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I Get Pulled Over So Much, I’m Not Even Here Yet

Comedian Chris Rock takes a selfie every time he gets pulled over by the cops.  Oh…if only I could go back in time and do the same.

breaux bridge

SHORT DOGS GROW: BREAUX BRIDGE, LOUISIANA

First time we got pulled over on tour was on our way to New Orleans. We had just crossed over into Louisiana with Tom at the wheel and I remember Tom saying “If we keep this pace up, we’ll be in New Orleans before it gets dark!”. Seconds later we were pulled over. The officer got Tom out of the van and into the squad car. We followed in the van to the station where Tom was locked in a cell. For speeding. We were driving the 64 Ford Econoline. To be fair, I can’t think we were going much over the speed limit, because that van, loaded with band and gear, couldn’t go much over the speed limit. The bail was something like $200. No way we had that on hand, so Greg had his mother wire the money.  After posting bail, Greg asked for a receipt. The officer wouldn’t give him one. Greg’s mom said she was going to call the Breaux Bridge, Louisiana station and bitch the officer out for busting broke poor kids. I think she was going to call the Mayor too.  Now we know where Greg got it from, although I highly doubt Silver ever bricked any ATMs.

thirdking

CAMELTOE: SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

Catherine, guitar player in Cameltoe, had a sweet Dodge Swinger that we used in our video for song “Take a Wild Ride”. But at some point the Swinger got too expensive to repair (I think) and she had to sell it. After that she had some questionable cars. My favorite was a dark grey car that she called the Stealth Bomber. It was from Canada, procured by her husband from a family member or friend. The car couldn’t be registered in the U.S. without paying some crazy tax or fixing the emissions. Catherine took the license plate off and drove without registration or insurance. Might as well go all the way. For a while she flew under the radar- I don’t think she even got any parking tickets when parking illegally…..as there was no plate ( NO PARKING TICKETS IN SAN FRANCISCO!! Not likely to ever be replicated). One night on the way back to our studio after a gig, driving down 3rd Street , she got pulled over. She was panicking somewhat and Emile was telling her to stay calm- all they could do was tow the car. The officer looked in the car with his flashlight, saw me in the back with guitars and amps, and asked what the deal was with the musical equipment.

“We’re in a band” Catherine said. ‘We just played a gig at The Bottom of the Hill.”

The officer seemed excited. “You’re in a band?” he asked. “Do you know Metallica?”

Catherine hesitated only briefly. “Yes, we know Metallica.” And then handed him her license, and said something like she hadn’t had a chance to register the car yet.

The officer went back to his squad car and got on his radio. I heard him say into the radio “I just pulled over these girls who are in a band and they know Metallica!”

He came back a minute later and gave her the license back. “Say hi to Metallica for me” and let us go. No moving violation, no lack of insurance fix it ticket, no impound for an unregistered vehicle.

“Yep” Catherine said “The Stealth Bomber strikes again, flying under the radar of even the SFPD.”

Thank you, Metallica. Who we never have met.

denton_texas_water_tower600x350px

CAMELTOE: DALLAS, TEXAS

We played a gig in Dallas, and I told our drummer Joe at the start of the gig that I wasn’t gonna drink tonight because I’d be getting pulled over later. Joe wanted to know why I was getting pulled over. “This is Texas, Joe. That’s what they do here.”

After the gig we had to drive to Denton- an hour or so away, and where we had a place to stay. I was keeping a close eye on the speed and making sure I signaled every time I switched lanes. I told Joe to keep an eye out for the cops. He pretty much laughed at me, until…..

(Siren noise) I got pulled over. I asked the officer “What did I do?” Seriously, I was perplexed.

“You don’t have a light above your license plate. I don’t know what ya’ll do in California, but in Texas you have to have a light over your license plate.” Luckily he let me off with a warning.

Joe was shaking his head in disbelief. I said, “This is Texas, Joe. Don’t mess with Texas. ”

seattle_kerry_park

HELLFIRE CHOIR: SEATTLE, WASHINGTON

Eric and I flew up to Seattle after work for Friday night gig. We had a beer at SFO before getting on the plane. We picked up a rental car at SeaTac, and drove to the gig. Shelley and Michelle had driven up with the gear earlier. I had looked up the address of the club, a place we hadn’t played before. Eric and I seemed to be driving for a long time, but SeaTac is south of Seattle so I figured we’d have to go some distance. Finally we get to the club, and it’s a little bar out in the sticks. Not many people around. Eric called Shelley, and we figured out that the stick bar and the rock club had the same name. We were now about an hour away from where we needed to be. And we were only 30 mins from our set time.

I pulled out of the stick club parking lot. Eric had Shelley on the phone- she was navigating with him. People at the rock club were helping her with directions. The fans were in on the game. Minutes later, we get pulled over. I can hear Eric narrating the experience to Shelley and the fans. “Ok we’re heading south now on (some street). Ok, there’s some sirens behind us. Oh shit we’re being pulled over….”

The officer asked me if I’d been drinking. I looked at Eric and then back to him.  “I had a beer on the plane. But that was a little while ago.” Actually it was before the plane, it had to have been about 4 hours previous, but I started to panic because I wasn’t sure if that was enough time for the blood alcohol to clear. The officer had me get out of the car. I walked the line. I touched my nose. I was praying he wouldn’t ask me to do the alphabet backwards because I can barely do it the right way. Meanwhile Eric is still narrating to everyone at the club. “She’s walking….ok, yeah, she’s doing pretty well. Now she’s touching her nose with her ring finger…..” Finally the officer had me blow into a breathalyzer.  “She just blew…we’re waiting for the results………” The officer came back and said I blew under the limit so I could go. “She passed!! We’re free!!! (crowd roars)”. The officer said when I pulled out of the lot, my lights weren’t on, so he had to pull me over. I switched the lights on, and we (safely) hightailed it to the club. The club pushed the set times a little so we could play. Everyone in the club congratulated me on passing the test when I arrived.

I later learned that 90% of people driving without their lights on at night are intoxicated. Watch out for them.

 

steamboat springs

HELLFIRE CHOIR: STEAMBOAT SPRINGS, COLORADO

Driving from Colorado Springs to Steamboat Springs, Shelley was at the wheel when it started to snow. Of course I was freaking out, and luckily we got pulled over for SPEEDING.  After the cop gave us the ticket, Michelle took over.  A harrowing drive through the whited-out Rabbit Ear Pass ensued, but I was somewhat relaxed with Michelle behind the wheel. We made it into town and Michelle stopped at a stop sign. The car behind us couldn’t stop and plowed into us, bashing in the rear door.  No one was hurt. The next day we wheeled our rented gear back to the music shop from the rear parking lot so they wouldn’t see the gear had been in a car that had been in an accident.  It all seemed pretty funny until we took the rented van back to the airport rental place. The rental agents took a look and told us that we were the lucky ones- one of their rentals had driven off the mountain in the storm the day before and all four passengers had died.

monterey

COOKIE MONGOLOID: SAN FRANCISCO

Exited 280 onto Monterey, shortly thereafter the siren went off. I really had no idea what I’d done. It was probably around 2 in the morning and I was going home after a gig. The officer came up to the window.

“Coming home from a gig?” he asked.

“Yes sir” and a pause. “How did you know?”

“I looked in the back of your truck and saw your guitar in there.  Metal band?”

I laughed. “yeah, it’s a heavy metal tribute to Sesame Street.”

He said he thought metal when he saw the guitar case because I had “hit it a little hard coming off the freeway”. He told me to slow down a little, and let me off without a ticket.

I didn’t even get a chance to tell him that I know Metallica.

 

Guns N’ Salad: Detroit Rock City

Detroit to me is…….punk rock, Hell’s Angels, guns, and salad.

Brian, the bass player from Electric Love Muffin, reminded me recently on this blog of the crazy time we played together in Detroit. What follows may read as fiction, but most of this is actually true. Brian- feel free to correct and/or corroborate.

This was Short Dogs Grow’s first time in Detroit and we were booked to play the Graystone. Tom had booked the show, and in our tour phone book he listed the promoter as “Scary”, complete with quotation marks because we weren’t really sure if he went by “Scary” or if he had some foreign name that just sounded like “Scary.”

We were booked for the 4th of July, and “Scary”said we should come by early because he’d be barbecuing in the back . We didn’t eat meat at the time, but it never hurt to get to a club early to try to find a place to stay for the night.  “Scary” (also known as Cary) turned out to be a big guy somewhat like a typical Hell’s Angel.

Scary’s first words to us were, “I hope you’re not a bunch of California Faggot Vegetarians!” followed by laughter. We all squirmed and shuffled and looked at our Converse. Certainly we would need to defend our gay brethren, but I don’t know if I  was more nervous about the homophobia confrontation, or whether I would have to eat meat to keep this guy from kicking my ass. After an uncomfortable silence, Greg Foot smiled and gestured to all of us. “Yeah,” he said “we’re all  California Faggot Vegetarians.”  Scary laughed again and hit Greg on the back. “I knew you would be, so I made you guys a big tray of salad and vegetables.” And he pulled out a big meat pan full of salad and cut veggies and proceeded to grill our lunch.

There were a lot of young punk kids hanging out and he was feeding them too. I started to think that his nickname was just a tease, and that he was a just big ol’ teddy bear at heart. I didn’t hear anything homophobic or derogatory from him the rest of the time we were there.

electric love muffin

(Electric Love Muffin in Philadelphia)

The Love Muffins arrived later and we made friends pretty quickly. I was on some kind of hair-cutting jag (I think I was exploring being a stylist) so I offered to cut their hair. Having absolutely no training whatsoever except cutting my own hair (which looked pretty bad) only one of them was brave enough to take me up on it- Brian, who had short curly hair, so it was pretty easy to clip the ends of his curls. We went to a little upstairs room so he could sit down, and I could have some space to work. At some point while I was cutting, there was a loud bang and it startled me enough that I stabbed my hand with the scissors (luckily for Brian I didn’t stab him in the head). It didn’t bleed but I wondered if I would be the first SDG band member to go to the hospital for lockjaw.

A little while later  Greg ran into the room, pretty breathless. “Have you guys been here the whole time?” he asked. We said yes, and we were just about to come downstairs. “No way you guys missed the whole thing????!!!!!!!!!!!” And we were like What? What happened? Greg then recounted the incident:

“We were all hanging out drinking beer with the Detroit punk kids and Scary. All of a sudden we heard a loud bang and we’re like WTF???? I look at the front of the club and the doors are just gone. It turned out this guy drove his car into the front door of the club. When this happened, all of the punk kids dropped immediately to the ground. The only people left standing were Scary, me and Tom (I can’t remember if Greg mentioned where George was). Then Scary pulls a gun out of his waistband and starts firing at the guy. So Tom and I dropped to the ground. The guy put the car in reverse and pulled out.  I don’t think Scary got him. I can’t believe you guys were up here the whole time and missed it!!!!”

greystone

(I found this pic of the club on the web, I think it’s fairly soon after the incident)

Brian and I looked at each other, and I realized that I was busy stabbing myself while the punk kids were ducking and covering. We didn’t really believe Greg,(because…well…sometimes he does embellish) until we went downstairs a bit later (when the coast was clear) and saw the damage. I don’t remember any police coming. The punk kids told us that stuff like that happened all the time.  They told us that the club didn’t make any money, and that Scary was involved in some illegal activities which helped pay the club’s rent and feed all the kids. He was a punk rock Robin Hood apparently.

I was just wondering what happened to ol’ Scary so I googled him and found this on the web- an article from 2012. The year the article mentions is 1988, but we were there in 1987, so it’s possible that more than one thug drove into the front doors:

In 1986, after the closing of the all-ages punk venue the Hungry Brain in Delray, the Graystone soon filled the void as Detroit’s main destination for all-ages punk shows, this time under the management of Corey Rusk of Touch and Go records, then based in Dearborn. Rusk and company brought in such bands as the Descendents, the Meat Puppets and Big Black.

But after a local skinhead gang broke Rusk’s jaw, he handed the keys over to Cary “Scary” Safarian, a Bluto-like fireplug of a man who couldn’t be intimidated by local toughs.

But Safarian was also a pretty smart promoter, working out deals that brought in Die Kreuzen, MDC, DRI, the Crucifucks, Bad Brains, Corrosion of Conformity, Dr. No, the Cro-Mags and many more, for all-ages shows with low ticket prices. But even for Safarian, it was tough going. He had to guarantee vegan meals for fussy national punk acts while trying to keep the hall under control, protecting it from the cops, the neighbors, the patrons — and sometimes the bands. It was here that such “outside” punk acts as Boom & the Legion of Doom and Slaughterhouse played sets, the former throwing roadkill and animal parts out into the audience, once upsetting the straight-edge, vegetarian singer of Seven Seconds so much he allegedly burst into tears.

In the end, Safarian was on the way down, getting deeper into narcotics and illicit deals. By 1988, the club was falling apart and mismanaged. Not long after an angry drunk smashed the front doors of the hall in with his car, Safarian left the Graystone and it closed for good. In 1990, Safarian found himself facing 54 years in jail for robbing a pharmacy in rural Calhoun County. Safarian has been in jail since, for almost 22 years.

Though the memories live on, the hall itself is no more, the space having been taken over by a coin laundry several years ago — making it the best place to do laundry while soaking in punk rock history.

Poor Scary, if he’s still in jail -that’s 25 years for armed robbery. I don’t know the details of his case but most people get less time for killing someone.

Here’s a link to an interview of Scary. You can form your own opinion of the man:

 

 

 

Snakefinger and Chris Isaak

To this day, I wonder why my musical tastes took a left turn from bands like the Bay City Roller to art collectives like the Residents once puberty hit. Was it hormones? An allergy?  Or was there something genetic going on that was driving me to the music of Ralph Records, or Jad Fair or SPK?

snakefinger

My first boyfriend was a huge fan of Residents’ collaborator Snakefinger and took me to see him play at the Victoria Theater in. The opening band was a group of Rockabilly guys names Silvertone.  I was impressed with their lead singer’s silver guitar, it actually detracted from how cute he was.  We  quickly forgot about him when Snakefinger came on and played. I was only 15, but I’d never really heard anything like it. I picked up Chewing Hides the Sounds right after. Every time I pass by the Victoria Theater now (one of the few surviving things of the Mission district from my childhood), I think of Snakefinger.

Later on I found out that the singer of Silvertone went on to have a solo career under his real name, and he named his first album Silvertone.

 

Silvertonelp

Guess who? The lead singer of Silvertone…Chris Issak.

Fast Forward 30 years and I’m flying a lot for work, and I had a lot of upgrade points. But I could never use them because everyone else who travels has a lot of upgrade points. Eventually I just tried to upgrade every flight I ever took, and every once in a while I would get a hit.  Well I was flying to Burbank and I got called up to the desk for my upgrade. The gate attendant looked like she was going to pee her pants. “I’ve seated you next to him” she whispered to me as she handed me my upgraded ticket.  “What? Who?” I asked.  “Him!!!” she said slightly louder.  I had no idea what she was talking about and went to pee before they called boarding. When I got back they called first class, and I followed one other guy down the ramp.  It was a small plane, so there were only two first class seats, one behind the other, and followed by coach class of two side by side seats.  I had to wait for him to sit down before I could move pass to my seat.  As he buckled up I realized “Him” was Chris Isaak.  I wasn’t sitting next to him, just right behind him. The whole flight I was so tempted to poke my head around the seat and yell “HEY DUDE I SAW YOU PLAY 30 YEARS AGO IN SILVERTONE!!” , or “EXCUSE ME, AREN’T YOU THE SINGER FROM SILVERTONE??, or even “YO SUNSET HOMEBOY (he used to live in my neighborhood” But of course, I didn’t have the guts, and flew in silence, leaving the man in peace to learn his lines for the show he was probably taping that day in Burburk.

STING’s BASS

 

I was listening to a podcast interview of Flea yesterday and was amused by his opinion of the Police. He’d loved them when they first came out, but recently he revisited their music and felt like it hadn’t held up over time. They are the only band he’d loved “back in the day” that he can’t listen to now. He told a story of how he’d gone to see the Police in concert. He was able to get behind the stage to watch Stewart Copeland play drums and he saw that Stewart had written “Fuck Off You Cunt” across his toms. He said it was directed at Sting, who Stewart hated by that time. (listen to the interview here:

http://www.wtfpod.com/podcast/episodes/episode_656_-_robert_trujillo_flea_aziz_ansari

stewart copeland

Stewart Copeland circa 1983?

It’s kinda of a sad story because I can’t imagine being in a band with someone who you hate so much, you would write that on your drums. But the story also made me laugh because it reminded me of my only connection to Sting: STING’s BASS.

In 1988 we did a somewhat hectic SDG tour. I’d quickly booked us cross country to meet up with MDC in West Virginia to do a couple of weeks with them. MDC was able to get gigs in places where I’d tried repeatedly and had no luck- exotic places like Salt Lake City. If we would let MDC use our gear, they would let us open for them. It was a worthwhile deal for us. We also wanted to get a NYC show so our east coast label people could see us. Rough Trade NY were able to get us a gig at CBGB’s. The date they got was a bit rough with the schedule, but I made it work. We would have to leave immediately after our gig in New Orleans (always money maker for us) and deadhead to NYC. It would be rough, but it’s CBGB’s (!) and our NY could people see us.

Somewhere between the two cites (a big blur) we stopped and called our SF label. We were in the middle of being sued (also part of the hectic-ness) and needed to check in. Our label rep, Steve, asked Tom to look in our van, and see if my bass was in there. Tom yelled from the pay phone “Hey Mellie is your bass in the van? Some guy in New Orleans says he has it” Someone from New Orleans had called the label, and said he had my bass. He would send it postpaid to the label if I wanted. Panicked, we pulled everything out and sure enough, no bass. Steve said don’t worry about the bass, he’d sort it out; don’t worry about the lawsuit, we’d sort it out; don’t worry about the government, just get your asses to NYC. (thank you Steve and thank you nice bass-returning guy. He did send it back). I’d have to ask the other bands at CBGB’s if someone would lend me a bass. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.

bass 80's

The bass that got left behind……..photo by Methanie.

Turns out the east coast is not as mellow as the west coast. There were about 5 other bands on the bill. The first band was a country guy named Tim Lee. The other bands included Michael Stipe’s sister’s band, kind of a hippy thing. As I watched them load in I saw they had about 8 guitar cases. They had three bass players in the band and no guitars. For sure I thought they’d help out a fellow bassist. Everyone in that band said no. All the other bands on the bill said no. Tim Lee finally said yes. He really wanted to leave after his set (we were on last), but he stayed till 3am so I could have a bass to play. Thanks Tim.

After our set, everyone was gone but our label people and the club folks. We were packing up and the club manager came up to me with a guitar case. “Does this belong to you?” he asked. I knew it wasn’t ours but I said “Let’s take a look”. He opened the case and there was a bass inside. I don’t think it was anything fancy, but IT WAS A BASS. He knew right away it didn’t belong to me and we figured out from the stickers that it has to be Michael Stipes’ (ok,ok, one of his sister’s, but he probably paid for it). We were playing with her band in Boston the next day so I told the manager we could take it to them. He said “no way” He knew I didn’t have a bass, and being an east coast kinda guy, figured I was trying to pull a fast one.

The next day Greg and I went to a music rental place. We were playing with some of the same bands in Boston, and I didn’t think anyone was going to have a huge change of heart and let me borrow a bass. We walked in looking like the broke musicians we were, and asked about renting a bass. The guys told us the price (something like $50 a day which was huge to us but we had to do it). So Greg pulled out his credit card and said let’s do it. The guy asked me what kind of bass I wanted. Christ I didn’t care, just anything with four strings. When we looked dully back at him at the question, he tried a different strategy. “What kind of bass do you play?” Greg told him it was a 70’s P-Bass. He shuffled off to the back and came back with a vintage 60’s P-Bass. He opened the case with a flourish, and let us feast our eyes. I took a look and said “Don’t you have anything else?” It looked kinda fey to me. He freaked out and started yelling “This is a Vintage P-Bass. This is the best bass in all of NYC right now. STING just used it for a recording, and when he brought it back he offered me $$$$$$. STING WANTS THIS BASS BUT I WON’T SELL IT. Because it’s the best bass in the world”. Greg said “ok ok we’ll take it” more to shut the guy up then anything else.

For the next two days we referred to it as STING’s BASS. Since we had a huge deposit on it (on the credit card), we had to make sure it came back intact. I never let it out of my sight. When we got to the Ratt in Boston we saw Stipe’s sister and her bandmates in the parking lot. We asked them if they knew they left a bass in NYC. Their roadie (yes, they had a roadie that I’m sure Michael Stipe paid for) freaked out, went to check the gear and realized one was missing. I did tell him that we offered to bring it with us, but the club said no, since you guys weren’t cool with letting me borrow it. The roadie looked rather bummed, and then got in their van and spent the next 8 hours doing a round trip to NYC.  They had spare basses (which you know who probably paid for) so they didn’t need to borrow one, but Greg did say “We’d let you borrow ours, but STING lent it to Carmela and he’d be pissed if we let anyone else borrow it.” They thought we were full of shit at first but once they saw the bass, and how we kept calling it STING’s BASS, at some point I think we had them going.

I couldn’t watch their band. George had more of an open mind and tried to get me to give them a chance. He thought they were doing something interesting. But to me, the only thing worse than a hippy is a stingy hippy. I just googled Michael Stipes’s sister and her name is Lynda Stipe and her band was called Hetch Hetchy. They pretty much fell apart after that tour.

You can formulate your own opinion:

http://www.allmusic.com/artist/mn0000673641

Turned out that STING’s BASS was actually a pretty nice bass. If we hadn’t had such a huge deposit on it, I would have been tempted to keep it. When we brought it back, I apologized to the guy and said I really liked STING’s BASS. He got a kick out of our nickname and started to refer to it as STING’s BASS as well.

I was ok after that because our next gig was in West Virginia with MDC. We’d already told them on the phone what happened, and they said no problem, I could use Franko’s Rickenbacker. So I was Lemmy-like for two weeks. Didn’t sell me on Rickenbacker however. I was glad to get back to my P-Bass, which was there when I got home. (thank you again New Orleans guy).

mdc sacred hate 1988mdc sdg dayton 1988MDC

 

franko bass

That’s me playing Franko’s bass in Salt Lake City. You can barely see Franko at the bottom of pic. Thanks Franko..RIP.

San Francisco Politics: Jello Biafra and Sister Boom Boom

jellomayor2

In 1979 Jello Biafra ran for mayor of San Francisco. It was a dark time. Jonestown and Moscone and Milk’s assassination occurred about a year earlier. The election for mayor was bringing up a lot of bad memories. Everyone was affected in some way- had known someone who died in Guyana, was a friend of Milk, or like myself, went to school with Moscone’s daughters. Dan White’s trial had just happened and most people were upset with the lenient sentence.

My parents had a deep distrust of politicians, most likely stemming from Watergate. Upon reading about Jello my father said something like “He can’t be any worse than the people in there .”

I thought it was fantastic. It was so …………..unexpected. I was young, and had never heard of anyone that young or nutty running for office and dammit San Francisco could use some levity at the time. It must have resonated with some other people too because Jello came in fifth place (6591 votes) and you know there weren’t  6591 punk rockers in S.F. with their shit together enough to go voting.

jellomayor1

A few years later I was given an assignment for my civics class to volunteer for an election campaign and write a report about it.  Jello was still political and was organizing events like Rock Against Reagan, but unfortunately he wasn’t running for office at that time.

But there was someone else running: Sister Boom Boom, one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

21sister-boom-boom

The Sister were a group of gay activists (kindof) founded in 1979, around the time Jello was running for mayor. I would see them in the Castro- campy nuns. They got your attention. They raised awareness on queer issues like the fag-bashing that was going on in the Castro. They raised money for Cuban refugees, and organized the first AIDS fundraiser. They also brought some levity to the city. I remember a few Sisters on the corner of Castro and Market handing out pamphlets that said “Make Plants Wear Pants” lampooning ……who knows? The flyer didn’t say.

Ok, it wasn’t Jello Biafra, but a Sister of Perpetual Indulgence had to be pretty interesting.

The voter bulletin had an address for Sister Boom Boom’s campaign headquarters, but no phone number, so I figured I’d go there to volunteer. Luckily a classmate needed to do the same project and was game. We went to the “headquarters” together- a multi-unit apartment building, no names on the door. We hung outside for a bit, then noticed an open window on the ground floor with a curtain gently blowing in the breeze. We penned a note on a scrap of paper found on the street and pinned it to the window with one of our punk rock safety pins. The note read something like:

“HI! WE WANT TO VOLUNTEER FOR SISTER BOOM BOOM. PLEASE GIVE HER THIS NOTE. WE HAVE TO DO THIS FOR SCHOOL ASAP. HELP! HELP… WE DON’T WANT TO FAIL CIVICS. (plus phone numbers)”

To my complete surprise, Sister Boom Boom called the next day. He said his name was Jack and could use some help handing out flyers. We arranged to meet in the Castro. How cool, I thought, handing out flyers to all the interesting people in the Castro.

When we showed up I think he was a little surprised that we were straight white girls.(a little punk rock, meaning we wore black trench coats which made us look a bit like little old men)  He probably thought he was getting two frustrated queer youth, not a couple of Catholic girls. But he was pleased because he was going to capitalize on it.  He said he’d over campaigned the Castro, and wanted to hit more “straight areas”.  We were going to hand out flyers at Stonestown.

Ugh, this was the mall in the part of town that I lived, and where we went to high school. There would be no one interesting in Stonestown. I knew that already. But we did our duty and handed out flyers. Some people were amused but a lot were offended and would hand the flyers back. It wasn’t fun, but I sure learned about shock tactics and politics.

Afterwards Jack took us to lunch at the Old Spaghetti Factory on Castro Street. I can’t remember much about the conversation but he did mention he was an astrologist and he thought he should have run for School Board because he could really make a change there. We probably probably talked about how much school sucked and that we couldn’t wait to graduate so we could go see the Dead Kennedys at the Mab whenever we wanted.

I never talked to Sister Boom Boom or Jack again. I would occasionally see his astrology column in a paper –maybe the Chronicle or possible the SF Weekly. He retired from the Sisters about 4 years later and became a Muslim.

Sister Boom Boom got 23,124 votes for Supervisor and placed 8th in the election, which goes to show you the electoral power of the gay community. 8th wasn’t enough to serve. But Jack made his mark. The city passed a law the following year that said candidates have to run for election under their real names. To this day it’s known as the Sister Boom Boom law.

03_12_Fertig_Obit_32_MED2

Fundraising flyer for Sister Boom Boom…the broom spells out “Surrender Diane” referring to Diane Feinstein, the Mayor at the time (who Jello lost to.)

This Is What You Want….This Is What You Get.

sex pistols

I recently did an online survey “Which 70’s punk band should you be in?” It turns out that I should be in the Sex Pistols. Hmm…they did lose one bass player to murder/suicide, but they brought the original one back for their reunion. So I don’t think there will be any auditions anytime soon.

PiL

I missed the Pistols at Winterland (I was too young to go, but I did see Public Image Ltd live on their first U.S. tour in 1980 at the South of Market Cultural Center. The first band on the bill was Toiling Midgets. The curtain goes up, and on stage playing bass I recognize  “that guy who goes to University High School and rides the 24 Divisadero bus” I had never talked to him on our mutual bus route (I was too shy).  I was shocked to see a fellow high school student playing in a band in front of a big crowd…opening for Johnny Rotten. It gave me faith that my secret fantasy (to be in a band) could someday come true.

Flipper also played that show and were the best worst band I’d ever seen, albeit completely inspiring . They sounded terrible, reinforcing the punk rock concept that anyone could start a band. But there was, and still is, only one Flipper.

flipper

In the book Gimme Something Better, Jello Biafra says this show was “his favorite show of all time. I commend Johnny Rotten for refusing to play for Bill Graham. Which meant it was a poorly run Paul Rat show which was way oversold.” (check out more on http://www.gimmesomethingbetter.com) It was my first, of many more to come, poorly run Paul Rat shows.

PIL SOM

I also met my first boyfriend while waiting in line to get in. We’re in the above picture, in front of the people with the white shirts on. Oh, yeah, PiL was pretty good too.

PiL Galleria

I saw PiL again a couple of years later at the Galleria Gift Center.  The stage was in the middle of an open rotunda, so you could take the elevator upstairs and look down upon the band. Some idiots had gone up a few flights and were leaning over the rail and pouring beer on the musicians.  John Lydon (he’d gone back to Lydon at this point as he was in a legal dispute with McClaren over the name Johnny Rotten) was obviously annoyed (his hair was spiky green if I remember right) and people were handing him their hats to wear for protection. He would take the hat, flip it over, look at the label, and then shake his head and give the hat back to the person. I was wearing a hat that had belonged to my grandfather.  While I was happy for the beer protection, I thought John needed it more than me, so I handed it to him.  He flipped it over and looked at the label.  He smiled at me and put the hat on. For the rest of the show he wore the hat. I had another one of my grandpa’s hats at home, so I was willing to lose this one.  But, at the end of the show, John Lydon walked over, tipped the hat and handed it back to me.  I still have the hat and the label reads Lock and Co. Hatters, London. I lost my grandpa’s other hat, so I’m so glad that I still have this one. Of course the real value comes from it belonging to my grandpa, but it’s nice to think that it protected Johnny too.

PiL fort mason

The next time I saw PiL was in 1984 at Fort Mason Center, Pier 2. It was jammed packed, and people were pushing to get to the stage and moshing, which didn’t really fit at a PiL show. I was proudly wearing my creepers. You can probably get creepers at Target now, but back then they were a sought after, expensive commodity. You could only get them in England, so people would give money to friends who were travelling overseas to bring some back.  I was lucky in that my boyfriend’s sister worked at one of the first shops to import creepers from Doc Marten in London, and she got me a pair wholesale. Well in the crush of the crowd, one of my creepers came off and I couldn’t find it. I spent the rest of the show with one shoe, dismayed.  At the end of the gig, I stared scouting around for my shoe, and when I got close to the stage a punk rock chick was waving my shoe yelling “WHO LOST THEIR CREEPER?? SOMEONE IS GONNA BE REALLY BUMMED THAT THEY LOST THEIR CREEPER!!!” I hopped up to her and showed my shoe-less foot, and she handed me my shoe. “I knew you’d be looking, ” she said, “no one would leave without it.” I thanked her. She knew how hard it was for me to get those shoes; it was like I had fallen down in the pit, and she picked me back up.

creeper

According to a website that lists all of PiL’s shows, they evidenly played the Stone, the Warfield and the Civic Auditorium in the years after this, but I must have been busy touring and eschewing large concerts to attend any.

I finally saw the Sex Pistols at the Warfield in 2003. My brother bought me a ticket ( I was over my fear of larger shows, but too still cheap to buy tickets to them). My expectations were low, but to be honest, I was blown away by Lydon. He was a pure entertainer, cleverly manipulating me and the crowd into having a great time.

sex pistols warfield

I did go see PiL again in 2010 at the Regency. Gone are my high fashion days of hats and creepers. My friend Paul and I stood in the back in comfortable shoes, and I have to say that John Lydon/Rotten still delivers.

lock hatters

 

Children By the Million Sing for Alex Chilton

Let it Be

One of my all time favorite records is the Replacement’s Let It Be. I wore the grooves out of my scatched up copy in my tiny basement in-law apartment of my grandmother’s house. For as much as I liked the band, I never really got to see them live, just one song at the Shoreline Theater. They opened for Tom Petty, and played at the ungodly hour of 8pm- way too early for and self-respecting hipsters to make the scene.  We missed most of their set, catching only “I’ll Be You” while they rocked about as tiny ants on the stage from our vantage point on the lawn.

The-Replacements-Pleased-to-Meet-Me-Front

I was given a cassette tape of Pleased to Meet Me, and loved the song Alex Chilton so much, that I would listen to it, flip the tape over and listen to Skyway and keep repeating until I finally broke the tape. I can’t tell you any other songs on the album because those were the only two I ever heard from it.

As much as I liked the song, I never went any further into an investigation of Alex Chilton. A friend at work raved about him- told me he  was a brilliant songwriter, but had eschewed rock and roll and fame, and now worked as a dishwasher in New Orleans. I thought that was interesting and promptly forgot about him.

One day I was talking about food with my friend Barry, and he mentioned he was going to New Orleans. He  had a plan in place for each meal while he was there. He said it would be a challenge to eat that much food- breakfast, lunch and dinner at well known restaurants, but he’d made the reservations and was going to go for it. Was I up for it???  Do you even have to ask? I once peeled and ate 20lbs of crawfish at an “all you can eat” crawfish boil in New Orleans. When I told the bartendar I was from San Francisco, he said I did a good job, for a tourist of course.

Barry also was planning to see his  good friend Alex Chilton, who would be playing his annual New Year’s Eve gig, and go to a football game that takes place on New Years Day.  “Oh, the dishwasher!” I thought. That would be interesting. And I could see my cousin, who now lives in New Orleans. We are each half Scottish, and Hogmanay is big with the Scots, so I’d go first footin’ with him.

So I wound up meeting Alex very briefly on the trip. We visited his house on New Year’s Eve day to say hello and hang for a little bit, as it would be too busy to chat at the gig. He lived in a typical New Orleans house, small but efficient, and had loads of guitars lying about. I looked around while he and Barry caught up. I remmeber him being quiet but humorous. He’d had a good year, money wise, as That 70’s Show was using one of his songs as their theme song. He was getting royalties. He wasn’t washing dishes. I don’t know if that was actually true ( I certainly didn’t have the balls to ask him), but he seemed to live a comfortable, simple lifestyle. This was pre-Katrina but you could still have a nice quality of life in New Orleans without making a ton of money. We left early so he could get a nap before his gig. I was impressed that he could sleep before he played. It was his ritual.

We had an awesome time in N.O. and Alex’s gig was great, but I did have hard time holding up my end of the bargain as far as food went. “Breakfast, lunch and dinner!” Barry would chant each day. But after 3 days I groaned “Breakfast and dinner! Breakfast and Dinner” !!! I hadn’t trained for this, and I had to beg off of a couple of lunches to give myself a rest. Barry eventually forgave me.

Over the many years of our friendship, I would often consult Barry’s travel plans. He travels A LOT- always going to SXSW, New Music Seminar, Giants Spring Training, not to mention lots of various gigs like Coachella, Lolapalooza, and events like Sundance. Then he said he was branching out and going to Europe. We compared calendars, and saw we’d overlap for a week in Europe for our planned vacations. He was going to see Alex play some gigs in England. Alex had a gig in Italy while I would be there, so we planned to meet in Milan.

I flew to Milan, and of course was a little delayed. I texted Barry upon landing and he told me to come to the hotel NOW. We could get a ride on the tour bus to the gig. It took me a while to get through customs, and the texts from Barry started to get a little frantic. The gig was at a stadium on the edge of Milan, and we didn’t want to miss it. The cab driver let me off at the hotel and I saw Barry pacing in front of the tour bus. I ran across the piazza yelling “Barry, Barry , Here I am!!!”. He grabbed my bag and tossed it on the bus. As soon as I boarded, the driver shut the door and sped off. I looked around the bus and it was packed with nicely dressed people in evening gowns and tuxedoes, all starting at me with curiosity. Huh? I was underdressed in comfy jeans and a tee- my crossing-the- Atlantic flight gear. I mentioned this to Barry, and he said “Oh that’s just the London Symphony Orchestra”.

What? It turns out that the gig was a tribute to Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Heartsclub Band, and the Symphony would be playing the music. Each song would be sung by a different performer- all of them stars in their own way. Barry had managed to hold up the tour bus by telling the driver that I was someone important flying in from the states. So that explained the odd looks as they tried to figure out which famous rock star I was. Ha ha.

We got to the gig and went backstage to look for Alex. It was a little honeycomb and we peeked into various rooms before we found him. I caught a glimpse of Marianne Faithful warming up. We chatted with Alex for a minute and then left to give him a chance to prepare in private. As we walked over to the backstage bar, we ran into Peter Murphy. “Peter!” Barry exclaimed, “Have you met Carmela? She just flew in from San Francisco!” Peter Murphy smiled and shook my hand. He was being polite, but I’m sure was wondering “who the hell are you?” It was fabulous, Barry did this with everyone. I got to shake Marianne’s hand, and then she grabbed my arm and muttered “the horrors, the horrors”. Turns out she has terrible stage fright and has to be dragged to the stage to preform.

alex chilton milan

The show was awesome. Besides Alex, Marianne and Peter Murphy, Robyn Hitchcock and the Residents played. There were some other famous people performing (Badly Drawn Boy and Beth Orton) that I didn’t really know. After the set we were able to take the tour bus back to the hotel. I sat next to a guy on the bus and introduced myself. He said he lived in Berkeley and we chatted for a minute before he told me that he was one of the Residents. OMG! I was a big fan, but obviously couldn’t recognize anyone from the band. I mentioned this and he said it was great being a Resident because you could be incognito. He introduced me to a couple of the other Residents. I told then how I used to watch the garage door of Subterranen records as I painted apartments across the street with my dad. I wanted to catch a glimpse of a Resident but it was like Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory.  They agreed that “no one every goes in, and nobody ever goes out.”  Alex got on the bus and sat behind me. He leaned over and asked me my birthday. A couple of minutes later he told me I was the King of Diamonds. I said “It’s good to be king!” He replied “It’s lonely at the top”. He then asked the young guy next to him what his birthday was, and then told him what playing card he was, and they wound up talking all night.

Barry told me that Alex had a system where he calculated which card of the deck you were- by adding up the numbers of your birthday, and probably some other information. The card told him a lot about you- some cards were good, some neutral, some bad. He based a lot on the cards. I don’t think the King of Diamonds was that great of a card but he was still very nice to me. The guy next to him must have been a good card because Alex spoke with him the rest of the evening. I guess the system worked. He probably had a lot of crazy fans, and it was a way to screen people that somehow worked for him.

We wound up going out to dinner with some of the Lonely Hearts. I sat at the table with Robyn Hitchcock and his wife. Peter Murphy was also there. We went to a restaurant that opened up just for us, as it was quite late. I was jet lagged but managed to stay awake, texting my roommate back home “I’m eating dinner with Peter Murphy!!!! I love Italy!” It was surreal to say the least. I was a bit intimidated. Everyone was very nice and were asking each other about their upcoming touring and recording plans. I was a bit out of the element. My tour plan was an upcoming gig at the El Rio.

The next day Alex flew back to London, and Barry and I scoured Milan looking for something to eat. We couldn’t seem to find a restaurant that was open, much less breakfast, lunch AND dinner. It was during one of the famous fashion weeks. We assumed all restaurants must be closed because fashion people don’t eat food, and the restaurants figured it’s a good time to close for vacation (and it wasn’t in August either). We finally found a place open and it was the first time I’d seen a bathroom where literally there was just a hole w/drain on the floor. I’d heard rumors that this happens in some places in Italy, but I insisted Barry go take a look, even tho he didn’t need the lav. It was hilarious.
I left Barry the next day to catch a train to Florence to meet up with my parents, and he was headed back to the States, I think hitting New York on the way back.

When Alex passed away I called Barry to offer my condolences. He was at an event that Alex was supposed to play at, and it became an impromptu memorial. I was sad for him. We laughed about our time in Italy. Barry said “I’ll never forgot you running across with piazza with your suitcase, blond hair flapping around,  yelling “Barry, Barry, here I am” with the London Symphony craining their necks out the bus window, wondering “who’s the famous blond?” Britney? Christina ? Madonna?”

Nope…it’s King Diamond!

king diamond

 

Sex (not so much), Drugs (not much of that either) and Rock and Roll (yes, lots)

Sex, drugs and rock and roll.  Such a cliché, probably because it’s true; the three go together like baseball, hot dogs and apple pie.  In rock and rock autobiographies, it’s practically required to recount your overdose and paternity lawsuit in the first chapter. But for me, well I’m not saying that in the past I was an angel, but Hammer of The Gods it was not.

Sure there were drugs around- mostly bad biker speed and lots of extra-strength pot. But at the start of Short Dogs Grow,we were mostly drinkers. The rock and roll was obvious- everyone I knew was in a band, used to be in a band, or was going to be in a band, man, that was gonna rock.

As for sex, well I’d love to say that I had throngs of groupies, but that wouldn’t exactly be the truth.  Actually, I was pretty shy and a bit of a prude (years of Catholic schooling).Before our first tour, Tom sat me down for a serious chat, something out of character at our tender ages of 19 and 20 years old.

“Now Mellie, it’s okay for us guys to sleep around on the road, that doesn’t raise an eyebrow. But you can’t. If you sleep with someone, everyone will know. Everyone will talk about it” I laughed.  He continued, “C’mon, you know how people are. You don’t want that to be what people remember about you.”

Ok, double standard aside, Tom did have a point. There were only a handful of women playing punk music then, and very few touring. Like it or not, I would stand out, and that was never my goal. I didn’t want to be singled out as female, or as the girl who slept with so-and-so. I didn’t wear sexy clothes or makeup on stage (or in day to day life either). I was (and still am) a feminist, who jumped around, played hard and wanted to be judged on my own merit. I was not a joiner and would never have been a Riot Grrl (way past my time anyway). Still I was often told “not bad for a girl”. Bleech.

But Tom didn’t need to worry. Besides being shy, and a bit of a prude, I kinda had a boyfriend: Greg Adams, the guitar player of The Rhythm Pigs. They had moved recently from El Paso to San Francisco to release their first record with Ruth Schwartz’ new label, Mordam Records. Ruth had great taste in music. Her first record was Faith No More’s We Care a Lot. I loved Faith No More, and even got Billy to give me a couple of bass lessons.  Rhythm Pigs were slated second, and her third was Victims Family’s Voltage and Violets. What a hat trick she played.

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Flyer from VIS lounge. What an awesome lineup.

I met Greg at the VIS Lounge- a former Fillmore blues bar on its dying legs. It’s now been remodeled into The Independent, but back then it was two floors- the upstairs was the backstage. I think it was near Valentine’s day so I was handing out sugar hearts to everyone. I gave one to Greg, and we chatted.  A few days later I found a package on my doorstep- it was a paper bag with a picture of Mickey Mouse on it, and inside was a little plastic motorcycle and some candy. Someone had written on the bag “from your secret admirer.”  I had no idea who it was from. I didn’t have a boyfriend, and not many people knew where I lived. Most people I knew lived in the Haight Ashbury, lots of people jammed into awkward Victorian flats. But I lived in a tiny studio in-law apt in the Castro, in a building my parents owned. It was an illegal unit, invisible to the outside of the building, although there was a door bell for me.  I found out later that Greg had somehow gotten my address, rang all the bells, got in, and left it on my doorstep.

I can’t remember Greg ever asking me out- we didn’t date in those days. You basically got drunk with a guy and if things went well, presto-now he was your boyfriend. Greg was the sweetest guy- always positive, never backstabbing, very supportive. He was an amazingly talented guitar player. The Rhythm Pigs’ album was released quickly and they planned a long tour to support it.

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Rhythm Pigs first record. You can see where they changed 1984 to 1985 underneath their name,as Steveocide had done the artwork the year before the release.

Although Short Dogs did not have a record, we booked a tour as well. Greg left about a month before I did. The morning he left was pretty sad as we didn’t know when we’d even be able to talk to each other again.  And we didn’t know if he’d actually be coming back to S.F., it would depend if they got optioned for another record. Imagine going on a cross country trip without a cell phone, without the internet, and without having an answering machine at your house. Imagine only being able to call from pay phones if your  “questionable” credit card number obtained from an Anarchist bookstore was working.  That’s what it was like. I had their tour itinerary and he had mine. All was subject to change.

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Greg and I, just before he got in the van. We smiled for the camera.

We decided we’d try to call at certain points and see if we could find each other- the Where’s Waldo of punk rock USA.  I did manage to catch Greg when I was in New Orleans. I called a club where he was playing and they were able to get him on the phone.  A few minutes later I heard Greg’s voice for the first time in almost two months.

“Hi Stacey!”

“WHO IS STACEY??!!!!”

“Hey, OMG is that you?  Where are you? How are you? How is your tour going” Greg was always pretty excitable.

“WHO IS STACEY???!!!” I could not be moved.

“Oh, she’s helping with the booking. She’s adding the shows on the end of the tour.”  He sounded pretty convinving. He was a bad liar,so I figured it must be true.

We made plans to meet in Washington D.C. the following week.

Short Dogs was staying for a few days with Tom’s brother, Bob,in D.C.  He was out of town when we arrived, but left keys with the neighbor and we settled in pretty quickly. Bob, a busy Georgetown law student, had an Apple computer. Being bike messengers, it was the first time any of us had seen a pc.  Tom turned it and sat down on the desk.

“Don’t touch it!!!” I yelled.

“Why?” Tom asked.

“You don’t know how to use it! You’ll break it! They are very expensive!” Tom brushed me off.

“My father paid for this. I’ll probably get it when Bob’s done with it. Hell, it’s practically mine already”

We all huddled behind him. There was a blue screen , empty except for a little garbage can at the bottom. Tom tried typing some stuff on the keyboard, but nothing happened. We all made suggestions. I offered “run computer,”  (I had seen an IBM computer in 8th grade and knew this one DOS command) and after no response we got frustrated and typed things like “Fuck off” , “You suck”, and “where is Bob?”, but all that happened was a few beeps and a blink of the garbage can. Obviously, we would not be retiring early as dot-com millionaires.

The next day the Rhythm Pigs picked me up and we headed  for Pittsburg. They were playing at the Electric Banana, the town’s punk club. They had played there before, and told me that the owner was a Mafioso. He carried a gun and would often threaten bands when they went to get paid. Ed said that this time they would count how many people came in and would demand the correct amount. It was a far cry from the punk DIY promoters that I was used to.  We made it on time to the show, and a lot of people showed up. I could relax and enjoy the music. And the end of the night, Ed went to get paid. An argument ensued about how much the band earned, and the promoter pulled his gun. He basically told Ed to take what he’d offered, or take nothing. Ed, being unarmed, took the money and returned to the van, pissed.

“I’m tired of this guy’s bullshit. We’re gonna wait here until everyone leaves, and then we’re going to get our revenge”

“What’s the plan? “ Greg asked.

Ed mulled it over. “We’ll pull the van up on the sidewalk, just under the neon sign. Then I’m gonna jump up there and clip the wires, and we’re taking the sign with us.”

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The famous neon banana, where the club took it’s name.

The Electric Banana had a huge neon banana above the front door. It was a landmark. Greg and Jay agreed that this was a good idea. I disagreed.

“Are you out of your mind? This guy is Mafia!!! He has a gun! He’ll have you killed.”

Ok, I’m only half Italian, but I had seen the Godfather.  I knew how long Italian people could hold a grudge. Oddly enough, Pittsburg was voted “the Most Livable City in the USA” that year, and here I was, not going to live to see my way out of it.

He pulled the van around the corner, and we waited. Finally the neon sign turned off, and the owner locked up, got into his car and left. Ed brought the van back around. There was no way I was getting out of the van, and told Greg to stay inside. Ed and Donnie(roadie) got on the roof and started cutting wires.  There was a huge POP POP and then a shower of sparks rained down the side of the van.  A light went on in the club. I was certain Ed was dead, either shot or electrocuted. Greg jumped out of the van, to survey the damage.  Ed and Donnie hit the ground and hurled themselves inside, while Greg scrambled into the front seat and drove off. Sirens wailed in the distance. We got on the freeway and after a few exits Greg pulled over.  Ed said that there must still have been juice running to the sign, and they shorted it out when cutting the wires.  Although he didn’t get the sign, he felt pretty good about his revenge. Ed took over driving and we headed back to D.C. to drop me off. It was about 4 in the morning.  We all fell asleep, and about twenty minutes later I woke up with a start. The van was weaving all over the road, and I could see Ed in the driver’s seat, passed out.  I yelled his name and jumped into the front passenger seat. Ed said “I’m awake, I’m awake”  and, now, so was I. I stayed up front, and talked his ear off till we got to Bob’s house. I had survived Pittsburg, dammnit, and I was going to survive the ride back.  Getting back to D.C. was bittersweet, as I didn’t know when I’d see Greg again, and we made our goodbyes. But I was so happy to be able to lie down on Bob’s couch,with no guns, no oncoming traffic, and no Mafiosos hiding in the corner.

We both made it back from tour alive, and were homeless (my in-law had to be gutted, as the building inspectors declared it was illegal). My friend Jeanie had found an apartment on Haight St with her boyfriend. It was a small 2 bedroom, and we all decided to move in together. I think we paid $800 month ($200 each), a lot for those days.  It was a fun house though, and Jessie would often stay on the couch in our tiny eat-in kitchen.  She and Greg loved Pee Wee’s Playhouse, and on Saturday morning I would be awakened at the ungodly hour of 9:30am to her gently knocking and whispering, “Greg, it’s time for Pee Wee.” Many times I would step over bands sleeping in our hallway on my way to school. I went through a phase where I wouldn’t wash my hair, and one day Greg dragged me to the bathroom and held my head under the sink while he shampoo’d my hair.Jeanie laughed in the hallway as she heard me protesting.  Jay, the Rhythm Pigs’ drummer, decided to leave the band, so they recruited Kenny Craun from Dischord Records’ band Beefeater to replace him. Kenny looked more like he belonged in Motley Crue, then Beefeater, a hardcore punk vegan band. Rhythm Pigs were a better fit for him. He spent most of his time in San Franciso napping in a tiny closet in our hallway. I don’t think he every even saw the Golden Gate Bridge.

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Greg in our bedroom on Haight St. I think that’s his gold top lying on top of the laundry basket, partially obscured by dirty laudry.

The band went to Austin to record their second record, Choke On This, with Spot (Lockett), the former SST house engineer and producer of the classic SST albums Jealous Again, Damaged, Metal Circus, Zen Arcade, My War, Family Man, Up On the Sun, New Day Rising etc etc etc. I flew out for the mix, a less hectic time of the recording session. It was the first time I’d been on a plane since age 11 and I was terrified. It was expensive to fly- we split the cost of the ticket. Back then you could smoke on airplanes! And they gave you free drinks! I took off and landed in Las Vegas, Phoenix, El Paso and finally Austin. As you can imagine I arrived pretty drunk, and very experienced in locking my tray table in the upright position. El Paso was a small airport, so they brought an external exit ramp up to the plane door. Greg was waiting at the bottom, and I practiced rolled down the ramp.

They had a song called Marlboro Man, and Ed wanted to have some “squaws” screaming in the background. He asked me to get into the vocal booth and start screaming. I didn’t want to, but Greg was excited that I would get to be on the record too. I got into the booth, opened my mouth, and…..nothing came out. I was not a singer and must have had “vocal booth fright”.  I finally managed to get some squeaks recorded, and Greg was happy, but I doubt you can actually hear me on there.  Spot was quiet, and like most engineer/producers, focused, patient and meticulous.

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The second album Choke On This.

The band planned their next tour and it looked like they would be gone for a year, maybe more. The stress brought about our only fight, and Greg slammed his fist into the wall and broke his hand. I thought that was the end of the tour and recording, but no, the show must go on.  We moved out of the Haight St. apartment- I went to take care of my grandmother’s house as she had just passed away, and Greg went to Amsterdam. We never said goodbye, never broke up, never talked about it. It was just “see ya later.” We talked once when he came back to San Francisco over a year later, and he then he moved back to El Paso.

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Hanging out at Haight St. shortly before we moved out. Note the Ace bandage on Greg’s hand. He would not let them cast it, so he could still play guitar.

In 2007 I went to El Paso for work. I got Greg’s cell phone number from Ed and called. I told him I was in El Paso for a day, and could he meet for lunch or coffee? We met at a local Mexican restaurant. He looked the same and was very happy- he has two kids, owns his own security business, and raises horses on his ranch. After lunch, I hugged him goodbye, and said I was glad he still remembered me after all this time. “Remember you?” he laughed, “of course I remember you. You were the first love of my life. The only one before I met my wife.” Aw…didn’t I tell you he’s the sweetest guy you’d ever meet?

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Postcard from the road to Janis, Erik, Michael and Jeanie. I added a note at the end telling them to have Greg call me at Shane’s house (mutual friend) in Denver on the 29th, if they heard from him. It was a step above carrier pigeon. Courtesy of Erik Meade (thanks for saving it Erik).

Head For The Border

I wouldn’t call myself an international pop star as I’ve only played outside the U.S. a handful of times.  But, damn, it sure feels like I’ve crossed the border a lot.

Oh Canada

When I was in Short Dogs, my best friend Jessie put in a good word for us with her Vancouver booker friends, Cattle Prod productions. They booked numerous Vancouver clubs and had the knowledge, patience and ability to legally bring punk bands across the border. Tom was from Calgary and had experience crossing the border, often regaling us with exciting stories of cavity searches, confiscated equipment and jail time. Our first time through, however, was only excruciatingly boring. We sat at the border for 4 hours while they processed our working papers. It made the risk of an illegal border run almost seem worth it.

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Pic 1.Greg takes us to the border

The second time we sat for hours at the border again. There was only one other van next to us, side panel open and a cute girl sitting in the doorway. It didn’t take George long to wander over and start talking to her.  Finally Greg came out with our papers and waved us into our van. George ambled over, (“hurrying” not being a part of his vocabulary.)  I asked him how it went with the cute girl- would she be coming to our show in Vancouver? He said the van was full of chimpanzees.  The cute girl and her partner were trying to bring the animals back across the border, but they didn’t have all the documentation they needed- vaccinations, etc. She talked to the chimps in sign language- they did research but the girl referred to the chimps as her friends.  The chimps signed at George, and she interpreted- they were bored too! She told George that the chimps were cooler than most people and she preferred to hang out with them. I was so bummed to miss the chance to talk with them, but George was probably our best representative, a gentle soul who lacked pretension.  You can’t fool a chimp.

After playing in Vancouver, we went home through the same border, and U.S. guards actually turned us around and sent us back to Canada. They said the van was too dirty for them to inspect, and we needed to clean it out before they’d let us back in the U.S. We sat in no man’s land doing our best to clean it, while the border patrol looked on in amusement.

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Pic 2. The dirty van! The occupants weren’t exactly roses either.

On a later Canadian tour, we thought it might be easier to cross back to the U.S. at a desolate border outpost, so we went down to the Dakotas. The lone border cop had nothing better to do than to ask questions and make us empty our pockets. Mine were empty. Tom had some guitar picks and matches. Greg had an “I Dream of Jeanie” hand mirror, and George had his very thin wallet, which upon inspection by the agent, contained a razor blade.

“Got any nose candy to go with that razor blade?”

We thought he was joking and giggled a bit. But he was using the term “nose candy” FOR REAL.

“Well I’ll have to take it and test it.”

George jumped into action and told the agent that he was a drummer and used the blade to cut drum heads to size. Miraculously, the agent believed him and let us through.  God knows what was on that blade.

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Pic 3. Carmela and George kicking it in the van’s loft.

The last time we went to Vancouver was the worst. We had borrowed a mini-Winnebago from our friends’ band Field Trip (extraordinarily generous and trusting folk). Before we crossed back to the U.S., we cleaned the van from top to bottom. At that time there was a “zero drug tolerance” in effect at the U.S. border. People were being busted for pot dust (they would wipe the dash board with a chemical that turned purple if there were any marijuana residue.) It was possible to have never smoked pot in your life, buy a car secondhand, and basically have it confiscated at the border. We were stopped as usual and waited a long time.  Finally the border cop came out with an empty small film canister and a little tissue swab with some purplish stain on it- a positive test for pot dust. My first thought was it had been planted, but they said the dogs found it under the last seat bench. We were screwed. The Winnie Wagon belonged to Greg’s childhood friends, and the border patrol said they were impounding the vehicle. Greg went pale at the thought of telling Jim Galbraith, the registered owner, and I turned red invisioning dollar signs flying out the window because I knew it would it take a fight to get Winnie back, and we lived far from the border.

We kept waiting- and luck would have it,  there was no place to park the beast. The border cops had impounded so many vehicles since the zero tolerance went into effect that there was no room left in their lot. I guess they hadn’t started to auction them off yet. Finally after what seemed like 12 hours, they told us to take the Winnie Wagon and go home.

Ole Mexico

Short Dogs never played in Mexico, but when our drummer Joe quit the band in El Paso, we went for one last hurrah in Juarez.  In a tiny bar we did shots of cheap tequila with the local drunks. Pretty bar maids selling buckets of Coronas complete with ice were subject to Greg’s high school Spanish. “Como te llamas?” Greg thought he could keep the bucket and a struggle ensued as the bard maid tried to take it back. I decided that 25 cents a shot was too much to pay, and went down the street to the liquor store to buy a bottle of cheap tequilia. Greg came with me and bought a case of Corona to take back to El Paso. While we were in the store it started to rain. It was very hot outside, and as we waited at the stop light steam rose from puddles on the street. “Desert rain” I said to Greg. Later he and Tom wrote a song with that title, detailing our little Juarez adventure.

Back in the bar, things were getting out of control, and I decided to leave. In a foul mood,  I walked back over the border bridge by myself. Once across, I realized I had no idea how to get to the place we were staying. Luckily a police officer stopped me and asked me what the hell I was doing alone so close to the border.(where people get killed by smugglers, I later learned). I told him that my friends were drunk in Juarez and I wanted go back where I was staying- all I knew was it was an apartment builiding next to a park.From my meager description he was able to give me directions and I made it back. I got into the apt and collapsed on a futon on the floor.  Five minutes later, the front door burst open and my hostess ran in, hit the tape deck button on her stereo and started climbing the walls. “I’M STILL IN HOLLYWOOD!!!” blared from the speakers. She ran around me, she circled the house, she jumped up and down on the couch, she danced on her bed, all the while singing with Johnette Napolitano at the top of her lungs. Her date had slinked in after her and eventually he got her into the bedroom and shut the door. The music finally turned off. I was just about asleep when the door slammed open again. Greg Foot lurched into the room and fell down next to me. He took his shoes off. Then he started punching me hard in the arm.

Whack. “Mel”

Whack, Whack “Fucking Mel.”

Whack. “Mel”

Whack, Whack “Fucking Mel.”

Then he leaned over and puked in his shoes.  He got up, ran to the sink and puked. Then he went to the door, opened it and looked outside.

“Where are you going? Get back in here, you’re drunk!”

The doorbell started ringing.

“Tom’s waiting for me downstairs in a car with the girls.”

“Girls? What girls? The girls you were trying to steal the Corona buckets from?”

No response. He ran out the door and into the night (leaving the door open of course). I got up, closed it and laid back down, too exhausted to chase him because I had walked home FROM MEXICO!  The next morning I got up, resigned to clean up the mess. Greg’s shoes were sitting next to me. But there was no barf to be seen. I walked over to the sink, and…..it was spotless. He must have been full of pure tequila, which evaporated during the night.  My hostess appeared hours later. I could tell she had no recollection of her Concrete Blonde performance, and I don’t think she was too thrilled with the guy she woke up with. Greg and Tom eventually came back to get me and Greg was happy to find his shoes. He thought he’d left them in Mexico. We regrouped and took Joe to the airport. Unfortunately we were now stuck in Juarez with no drummer and the cruelest hangover of all time. I cannot drink tequila to this day. Fortunately we got a call from promoter Mary-she’d found us a drummer, and we left the scene of druken debauchery to move on to……New Orleans.

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Pic 4. Hightailin’ it across the desert to New Orleans

The only time I played south of the border was with Hellfire Choir. We were invited to play a Toys for Tots benefit in Tijuana, run by some San Diego motorcycle gang. The motorcyclists had set a flatbed trailer with all the equipment-we just had to show up with our guitars. We decided to leave the van in S.D. and walk over the border. As we were standing in line to cross the border, Shelley started to worry that they wouldn’t let us bring our guitars in. I told her to relax as I was wearing my mirrored sunglasses (originally purchased for my faux metal band) that made me look like Tom Petty .  “If the border patrol gives us a hard time, I’ll just tell them I’m Tom Petty’s illegitimate son and we’re on our way to Cabo Wabo to jam with Sammy Hagar.” Shelley decided to go to the front of our group to distance herself from me. Luckily I didn’t have to use my celebrity influence; we got through no problem. It was a strange gig though. The locals showed up to get the toys, but had no interest in the rock music. The five or six motorcycle gang people seemed to enjoy it however, so we put on a show for their entertainment.  Tom Petty would have been proud.

Oi! Oi! Oi! England!

The last time I crossed the border to play was in jolly old England. Cookie Mongoloid was invited to play a couple of shows in London by a group called The Meanies (not the Australian indie bunk band) who reassured us that yes, English people were familiar with cookies even though they call them biscuits. Crickey! We only took a few necessities (guitars, drumsticks, pedals). Because we probably looked like a degenerate metal band in disguise, we were searched at Immigration. The guard opened Scot’s suitcase, and resting comfortably on top of his clothes were a pair of drumsticks, a large circular saw blade and a goalie hockey mask. The agent gave us a look of resignation. “We’re performance artists!” I blurted out. Without saying a word, he gently zipped up the case and motioned for us to go through. The British invasion would commence.

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Pic 5. Crueller sets up merch while Crumb supervises.