Name Acidman's Tune
Acidman's got a song wheeling through his head.
He's thinking about "Don't Bogart That Joint" by Commander Cody. I know that song... yes indeedy I do!
In the early 90's I was a roadie for a thrashgrass band called Killbilly. Well, make that roadie, merchandise peddler, van driver, lost luggage finder, joint roller, errand boy, whipping boy, bouncer, Police Officer calmer-downer, drum tech, van tech, hotel room keycard tech, you name it, I did it. If it sounds like I'm bitching, I'm not. Except for the low pay and the sporadic working hours, it was one of the best jobs I've ever had. Join a band... see the country from a 15 passenger van.
Anyway, the band's got this gig at a place called Enoch's in Monroe, Louisiana. This is a 6+ hour drive from Dallas, so we're leaving at noon, driving like hell to get there in time for load-in, soundcheck and maybe some dinner before it's time for the first set. Monroe is inside the "overnight stay radius", so we're driving back to Dallas after the last set. Usually this is a midnight teardown & loadout, an hour or so to have some beer and sell some swag, then drive all night and we're back home by sunup.
This night was a little different... Killbilly had played this joint before, and had attracted a good following. Not as loyal as the hometown crowd, or as rabidly devoted as Hideous Titty-us and her Chicago mob, but a good solid crowd.
After the last set, the crowd was still jumping. In Louisiana (at that time, anyway) closing time wasn't until 4 or 5 am. So, eager to keep the crowd in his bar and the booze flowing, the bar owner makes a quick deal for the band to do another set. A wad of cash is a uniquely persuasive bargaining tool. Back they went for another hour on the riser.
OK, now if you're not familiar with playing in a band, it can be some hard freakin' work. Those guys don't come off stage dripping with sweat 'cause the stage lights are a little warm. After the extra set, Craig, the lead singer, has had enough, and he's off the stage and having a brew. Ditto for Stealth and Stephen, the mandolin & banjo players. Alan, the lead guitarist (and one of the most talented people you'll EVER hear play) is game for a little more, 'cause the bar owner's waving another wad of cash. Same for Mike, the drummer, and Richard the bass player. The sound's a little thin, though. A trio can sound good, but these guys always had better depth with everyone up on stage.
This guy from the crowd pops up, and says he can play. He borrows a guitar, and they're off and running. He's not bad, either, but he just didn't know when to quit!
After running through half a dozen bar-band staples like 'Secret Agent Man' and '500 Miles', and 'I Knew The Bride', the drummer and the bass player are running out of gas. Richard, the band's girl-magnet, has only got a few minutes to hook up and go get his groove on before we're out of time and on the road. Poor Mike the drummer, who's already got a screaming case of carpal tunnel, is screaming "No More! No more!" at Alan. So... they finish the last song.
But Mr. Stand-In hasn't finished with his 15 minutes of fame... 'Swelp me God if he doesn't launch into "Don't Bogart That Joint", over the protests of Richard and Mike. Richard plays for a few bars, then unhooks his strap and lets the guitar hit the floor as he stalks off to get a Coke. Mike literally throws his drumsticks across the stage past this guy's head as he exits stage left. Alan, machine that he is, kept right on playing until the sound tech Stanley yanked the mains offline.
The stand-in had the balls to get pissed about it too!
It was a pretty raucous gig, and everytime I hear "Don't Bogart That Joint", I'll always remember that night!
He's thinking about "Don't Bogart That Joint" by Commander Cody. I know that song... yes indeedy I do!
In the early 90's I was a roadie for a thrashgrass band called Killbilly. Well, make that roadie, merchandise peddler, van driver, lost luggage finder, joint roller, errand boy, whipping boy, bouncer, Police Officer calmer-downer, drum tech, van tech, hotel room keycard tech, you name it, I did it. If it sounds like I'm bitching, I'm not. Except for the low pay and the sporadic working hours, it was one of the best jobs I've ever had. Join a band... see the country from a 15 passenger van.
Anyway, the band's got this gig at a place called Enoch's in Monroe, Louisiana. This is a 6+ hour drive from Dallas, so we're leaving at noon, driving like hell to get there in time for load-in, soundcheck and maybe some dinner before it's time for the first set. Monroe is inside the "overnight stay radius", so we're driving back to Dallas after the last set. Usually this is a midnight teardown & loadout, an hour or so to have some beer and sell some swag, then drive all night and we're back home by sunup.
This night was a little different... Killbilly had played this joint before, and had attracted a good following. Not as loyal as the hometown crowd, or as rabidly devoted as Hideous Titty-us and her Chicago mob, but a good solid crowd.
After the last set, the crowd was still jumping. In Louisiana (at that time, anyway) closing time wasn't until 4 or 5 am. So, eager to keep the crowd in his bar and the booze flowing, the bar owner makes a quick deal for the band to do another set. A wad of cash is a uniquely persuasive bargaining tool. Back they went for another hour on the riser.
OK, now if you're not familiar with playing in a band, it can be some hard freakin' work. Those guys don't come off stage dripping with sweat 'cause the stage lights are a little warm. After the extra set, Craig, the lead singer, has had enough, and he's off the stage and having a brew. Ditto for Stealth and Stephen, the mandolin & banjo players. Alan, the lead guitarist (and one of the most talented people you'll EVER hear play) is game for a little more, 'cause the bar owner's waving another wad of cash. Same for Mike, the drummer, and Richard the bass player. The sound's a little thin, though. A trio can sound good, but these guys always had better depth with everyone up on stage.
This guy from the crowd pops up, and says he can play. He borrows a guitar, and they're off and running. He's not bad, either, but he just didn't know when to quit!
After running through half a dozen bar-band staples like 'Secret Agent Man' and '500 Miles', and 'I Knew The Bride', the drummer and the bass player are running out of gas. Richard, the band's girl-magnet, has only got a few minutes to hook up and go get his groove on before we're out of time and on the road. Poor Mike the drummer, who's already got a screaming case of carpal tunnel, is screaming "No More! No more!" at Alan. So... they finish the last song.
But Mr. Stand-In hasn't finished with his 15 minutes of fame... 'Swelp me God if he doesn't launch into "Don't Bogart That Joint", over the protests of Richard and Mike. Richard plays for a few bars, then unhooks his strap and lets the guitar hit the floor as he stalks off to get a Coke. Mike literally throws his drumsticks across the stage past this guy's head as he exits stage left. Alan, machine that he is, kept right on playing until the sound tech Stanley yanked the mains offline.
The stand-in had the balls to get pissed about it too!
It was a pretty raucous gig, and everytime I hear "Don't Bogart That Joint", I'll always remember that night!
posted by El Capitan | 11:02 PM
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