The Rat's gone. Bunratty's. The Channel...they're all gone. Mikey Dee is gone. Mickey O. Mark Sandman, Brad Delp, even Mr. Butch. We had so much fun. It was such a lively rockin' fun scene. And it's over. The scene as we remember it ten fifteen years ago is gone and done. All things must pass, I guess. Boston Rock is Dead! Long Live Boston Rock.
Bernadette
July 14, 2007 1:30 PM
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The Late Great Mr. Butch!
Mr. Butch Dies
Wow. I'm bummed. Mr. Butch, a guy we once called "The Mayor of Kenmore Square" died in a scooter crash. When I saw the headline I thought he probably OD'd, or that his long-suffering liver finally gave up the ghost, but no, he drove a scooter in to a pole.
I loved Mr. Butch. Who didn't? For years the he was the homeless equivalent of a troubador, a balladeer, a minstrel, a jester. He was an ambassodor for life on the streets. He was beloved by the Boston rock family. He had a zest for living that few mortgage-carrying, cubicle-trapped, $60K-a-year drones can claim.
I ran in to him (sometimes literally) a lot between, say, '88 and '95. I jammed with him in front of Planet Records. Well, I "air" jammed with him. For a long while, he had a real guitar and little funky battery-powered amp. The red strat-shaped thing hung behind the counter at Planet, and every day he'd go in there and get it. He was a terrible guitar player. He basically just fisted chords, and strummed with abandon. What came out was fully distorted mud. But with his dreads and clothing, he reminded me of a cross between Marley and Hendrix. The homeless version.
I rode the 57 Bus from Oak Square down Washington Street through Allston and Comm Ave in to the bus Station at Kenmore on a fairly regular basis back then. Mr. Butch rode the 57 bus too. It was on many rides with him that I realized his dedication to his daily life. I'd be on there at 9 am heading in to Town, and Butch was on there, eyes red and watery, going to his "job" in Kenmore. (He often crashed with friends somewhere in Allston). When I'd be riding the 57 outbound back to Brighton late in the day, yep, there was Butch, as if going home from work. I dunno, maybe he just rode back and forth a lot.
My favorite Mr. Butch stoty, by far, was the time he got an actual job, very short-lived, at The Burger King on Boylston. I'm guessing...hmmm...'94? He wore the whole get-up in mustard yellow and ketchup red, complete with paper hat jammed on top of his muddy dreads. Usually he mopped the floor and I'm guessing he had to clean the bathrooms too.
So one day, young Bernadette and I decided to go through the Burger King Drive-Thru. I think I was headed in to session at Newbury Sound. Like a lot of drive-throughs, the BK had two windows, the first for paying and the second for getting the goods. And like most, use of the first window had been abandoned. So we order at the intercom, came around and as we passed the first window, there was Mr. Butch, sound asleep. He was slumped against the wall, among the boxes of napkins and cups, his paper hat askew. We deduced that although WE could see him, perhaps he was postioned in the little bay there, now used for storage, such that he was hidden from the BK staff. Or maybe they knew and just didn't care. He was sleeping off too many "strawberry shakes" apparently.
That was Mr. Butch. A real character. One of a kind.
Of course, as Kenmore went upscale and places like The Rat and Planet Records and The Pizza Pad all vanished, "The Mayor" relocated his office to Harvard Street in Allston. Naturally!
Now that I think of it, in all that time, I don't remember him ever asking me for money. Hopefully he thought of me as one of the Boston music crowd, a dirt-poor rocker, a scenester;
a kindred spirit.
Mr. Butch, "Rock in Peace" Bro! (Say hi to Mikey Dee for us!)
Wow. I'm bummed. Mr. Butch, a guy we once called "The Mayor of Kenmore Square" died in a scooter crash. When I saw the headline I thought he probably OD'd, or that his long-suffering liver finally gave up the ghost, but no, he drove a scooter in to a pole.
I loved Mr. Butch. Who didn't? For years the he was the homeless equivalent of a troubador, a balladeer, a minstrel, a jester. He was an ambassodor for life on the streets. He was beloved by the Boston rock family. He had a zest for living that few mortgage-carrying, cubicle-trapped, $60K-a-year drones can claim.
I ran in to him (sometimes literally) a lot between, say, '88 and '95. I jammed with him in front of Planet Records. Well, I "air" jammed with him. For a long while, he had a real guitar and little funky battery-powered amp. The red strat-shaped thing hung behind the counter at Planet, and every day he'd go in there and get it. He was a terrible guitar player. He basically just fisted chords, and strummed with abandon. What came out was fully distorted mud. But with his dreads and clothing, he reminded me of a cross between Marley and Hendrix. The homeless version.
I rode the 57 Bus from Oak Square down Washington Street through Allston and Comm Ave in to the bus Station at Kenmore on a fairly regular basis back then. Mr. Butch rode the 57 bus too. It was on many rides with him that I realized his dedication to his daily life. I'd be on there at 9 am heading in to Town, and Butch was on there, eyes red and watery, going to his "job" in Kenmore. (He often crashed with friends somewhere in Allston). When I'd be riding the 57 outbound back to Brighton late in the day, yep, there was Butch, as if going home from work. I dunno, maybe he just rode back and forth a lot.
My favorite Mr. Butch stoty, by far, was the time he got an actual job, very short-lived, at The Burger King on Boylston. I'm guessing...hmmm...'94? He wore the whole get-up in mustard yellow and ketchup red, complete with paper hat jammed on top of his muddy dreads. Usually he mopped the floor and I'm guessing he had to clean the bathrooms too.
So one day, young Bernadette and I decided to go through the Burger King Drive-Thru. I think I was headed in to session at Newbury Sound. Like a lot of drive-throughs, the BK had two windows, the first for paying and the second for getting the goods. And like most, use of the first window had been abandoned. So we order at the intercom, came around and as we passed the first window, there was Mr. Butch, sound asleep. He was slumped against the wall, among the boxes of napkins and cups, his paper hat askew. We deduced that although WE could see him, perhaps he was postioned in the little bay there, now used for storage, such that he was hidden from the BK staff. Or maybe they knew and just didn't care. He was sleeping off too many "strawberry shakes" apparently.
That was Mr. Butch. A real character. One of a kind.
Of course, as Kenmore went upscale and places like The Rat and Planet Records and The Pizza Pad all vanished, "The Mayor" relocated his office to Harvard Street in Allston. Naturally!
Now that I think of it, in all that time, I don't remember him ever asking me for money. Hopefully he thought of me as one of the Boston music crowd, a dirt-poor rocker, a scenester;
a kindred spirit.
Mr. Butch, "Rock in Peace" Bro! (Say hi to Mikey Dee for us!)
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Middle East Magic, part 1: Drew Discovers an Oasis in Central Square
It was early 1986, a damp winter evening in February or March when I literally stumbled upon The Middle East Restaurant. Like every newcomer to Boston, I found getting around town in a car to be sensationally confusing. (Later I learned that it’s totally OK to go the wrong way on a one-way street, as long as you’re driving the vehicle in reverse). So what I did in order to learn my way was to let myself get lost. This night, I was exploring the slick streets of Central Square Cambridge, on and off Mass ave. I had just departed my day job which was on Broadway in nearby Kendall Square (then an underdeveloped and unrefurbished zone). It was around 6pm, already dark, and I was famished. From Broadway I turned right on to Mass Ave, rolled north, and as I waited at the red-light, I spied an inviting sign down a little side-street (Brookline Ave.) to my left. Sticking out perpendicular from the building, to be readable from Mass Ave, was one of those classic old plastic signs that had both a white and a yellow bulb inside so it would blink the two colors alternately. It read: “Middle Easten Food”.
“Mmmm, falafel,” I thought to myself.
I must have been hell-bent on eating, because I don’t remember pahkin’ th’ cah, which is always difficult around there. I walked from Mass Ave down Brookline Ave about 60 feet to the entrance on the left. The façade was painted in a cheesey Arabic Motif, with like, mineret spires. As I enetered, two things blasted me in the face: The smell of falafel in hot oil, and the sound of amplified Arabic music. The place was a typical shoe-box, extremely dark, with dark-painted walls. To my left was a bar; to my right, dining tables with people eating. Straight ahead, like an oasis in the night desert, was the brightly lit stage. What I saw up there flash-printed on the front of my brain like a photo negative.
Belly Dancers!
Arabic musicians playing exotic drums, and…wow…
Belly Dancers!
All in full “I Dream of Genie” silk and bangles.
Sweet!
So, there I sat by-myself, chomping on Leb-bread with hummus and falafel rolled in pita, enjoying the show. I remember how bad the PA was. The sound was shril and distorted. But I didn’t care.
Like I said: Belly Dancers!
I would by no means say that in the coming years I became a regular at The Middle East, but between the “Upstairs”, “The Bakery” (now called “The Corner”), and the “Downstairs”, I sure did a lot of playing, drinking, hanging out, and of course, eating! (When I lived in Brighton, Bern and I dined there about three times a month).
The last time I played there was “Upstairs” on a frigid night; a freaking arctic night, in late ’05. I was lead guitar with Mick Mondo and Streaker (as-always using the stage name Marshall Tullamore and this night wearing my kilt WITH long-johns underneath). It was a fun, well-attended show headlined by Bourbon Princess, with us in the middle, and a new band called Temper opening. I happened to be producing Temper in the studio at the time. Temper’s drummer, Nancy Delaney, was also my drummer in The Tullamores, and Temper’s bass-player, the incomparable Pete Sutton, was also in Streaker with us. To top it off, the Bourbon Princess herself, Monique Ortiz, suffering from a broken hand and whacked-out on painkillers, sat in with us, performing a duet with Mick. So it was a typical incestuous night in the Boston/Cambridge rock scene.
And there I was, on that very same stage that I had discovered simply by chance two decades earlier.
Did I mention there were Belly Dancers?
“Mmmm, falafel,” I thought to myself.
I must have been hell-bent on eating, because I don’t remember pahkin’ th’ cah, which is always difficult around there. I walked from Mass Ave down Brookline Ave about 60 feet to the entrance on the left. The façade was painted in a cheesey Arabic Motif, with like, mineret spires. As I enetered, two things blasted me in the face: The smell of falafel in hot oil, and the sound of amplified Arabic music. The place was a typical shoe-box, extremely dark, with dark-painted walls. To my left was a bar; to my right, dining tables with people eating. Straight ahead, like an oasis in the night desert, was the brightly lit stage. What I saw up there flash-printed on the front of my brain like a photo negative.
Belly Dancers!
Arabic musicians playing exotic drums, and…wow…
Belly Dancers!
All in full “I Dream of Genie” silk and bangles.
Sweet!
So, there I sat by-myself, chomping on Leb-bread with hummus and falafel rolled in pita, enjoying the show. I remember how bad the PA was. The sound was shril and distorted. But I didn’t care.
Like I said: Belly Dancers!
Sahar
I would by no means say that in the coming years I became a regular at The Middle East, but between the “Upstairs”, “The Bakery” (now called “The Corner”), and the “Downstairs”, I sure did a lot of playing, drinking, hanging out, and of course, eating! (When I lived in Brighton, Bern and I dined there about three times a month).
The last time I played there was “Upstairs” on a frigid night; a freaking arctic night, in late ’05. I was lead guitar with Mick Mondo and Streaker (as-always using the stage name Marshall Tullamore and this night wearing my kilt WITH long-johns underneath). It was a fun, well-attended show headlined by Bourbon Princess, with us in the middle, and a new band called Temper opening. I happened to be producing Temper in the studio at the time. Temper’s drummer, Nancy Delaney, was also my drummer in The Tullamores, and Temper’s bass-player, the incomparable Pete Sutton, was also in Streaker with us. To top it off, the Bourbon Princess herself, Monique Ortiz, suffering from a broken hand and whacked-out on painkillers, sat in with us, performing a duet with Mick. So it was a typical incestuous night in the Boston/Cambridge rock scene.
And there I was, on that very same stage that I had discovered simply by chance two decades earlier.
Did I mention there were Belly Dancers?
A Be-Kilted Marshall Tullamore Rocking Upstairs w/ Mondo in '05
PS: I just remembered: The last time I saw Mark Sandman was there. late one night in the front room. I had finished a gig and was eating. He was at the very last table at the back, his back to the wall, as if to survey the whole scene with his heavy-lidded eyes. He nodded to me. He was feeling no pain. No pain at all...
Monday, July 2, 2007
The Last Rockland Roll!
Had a few close mates over to the ranch for a final farewell yesterday. Little Drew-bear stole the show, of course. It was great to see everybody, have a few cold ones, and grill up some meat. Still hard to believe we're out of here after all these years.
Oh, yeah, Seany Mac showed up, too.
Attendees were: The mighty Mick Mondo, Pete "Sockeye Sam" Sutton, Kevin "Skinny Jim" Mahoney, Nancy "Wee Nancy" Delaney, Al "Allistaire Tullamore" Harper, Jon "JW" Cahill and hs kids, Eileen Kelly, Cynthia, Paulie Stewart, Jen, Brad and Heidi Page, Dickey Spears, Seany Mac, Mike G, Chris Cugini, and of course Drew, Bernadette, and Drew-bear.
We have enough leftovers to last the entire Vermont winter (which starts in about a week, don' it?)
And a special thanks to Jenny for the lovely gifts!
ps: Mike G said some nice things on his MySpace Blog...
Oh, yeah, Seany Mac showed up, too.
Attendees were: The mighty Mick Mondo, Pete "Sockeye Sam" Sutton, Kevin "Skinny Jim" Mahoney, Nancy "Wee Nancy" Delaney, Al "Allistaire Tullamore" Harper, Jon "JW" Cahill and hs kids, Eileen Kelly, Cynthia, Paulie Stewart, Jen, Brad and Heidi Page, Dickey Spears, Seany Mac, Mike G, Chris Cugini, and of course Drew, Bernadette, and Drew-bear.
We have enough leftovers to last the entire Vermont winter (which starts in about a week, don' it?)
And a special thanks to Jenny for the lovely gifts!
ps: Mike G said some nice things on his MySpace Blog...
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