Twang 'em High! Ready to Ride!!!

Here we come, hombres. We're a-fixin to ride in to town and a-shoot things up real good! Better have plenty of whiskey and coffins at the ready!

Yes, it's true. After over two years hiatus from fronting a band, Drew will premier his new outfit, Twang 'em High! this Fiday night, Feb. 13 at Sally O'Brien's in Somerville. It's the monthly Honky Tonk night, hosted by The Dave Sammarco band -- Drew will also be playing guitar with Sammarco, so it's a full night of twangin' and bangin' for Drewcifer.

See ya when the gunsmoke clears! Yeeeeehaaww!

Remembering Ian

Back in the Daze: Ian and me, circa 1988. Note the little jug of Tullamore Dew next to Ian.

Ian Clarkson, 1960 - 2009

It’s true that when a friend or loved one passes on, memories long locked-away come flowing like tears into the mind’s eye. Even though I have not seen Ian in many years, my friendship with him in high-school, college and well beyond will always provide me with delightful recollections and stories (some more tart than others!). When I heard the sad news last night, the first memory that popped in to my mind was from October of 2000, the last time I saw Ian in-person. My beloved Dad had passed away and we were having the funeral, a full military honors ceremony, at Mount Hope cemetery. Unexpectedly and to my pleasant surprise, Ian showed up to express his condolences to me and my sister Dana. He’d seen the obit in the paper, and was the only one of my classmates to attend. That told me a lot about his character. Then again, I always knew Ian was a good soul. He looked great, too, wearing a nice jacket and tie and had a very healthy appearance. After the funeral we all retired to a nearby pub where Ian and I talked and drank and reminisced like the old mates we were. He really seemed to have his life on-track.

Ian and I met senior-year at Allendale, and immediately liked each other. We both wore turtlenecks, which was the way around having to wear a tie every day. Very subversive! It was the following year, however, as roommates and frat brothers at Wittenberg University that we became best buddies. Our friendship continued well after college. I hung out at his house on Rossiter and got to know his family. I remember Ian taking me in to his darkroom there, where he taught me how to develop photos. I learned that Ian was brilliantly intelligent. I don’t know what his IQ was, but it was higher than mine – and mine’s not low. He was ingenious and inventive and innovative. Like MacGyver from TV, he could make a cannon out of a tennis ball tube in about 30 seconds! Now that I think back on it, Ian rarely ceased to amaze me. I admired him.

For hours we could talk science, politics, and music. We mused about those heavy subjects idealistic college kids like to contemplate, like the universe, the meaning of life, and “all that rot” as Ian might say. Thanks to his parents, educators who came from Britain and Ireland, Ian was as articulate as any person I’ve ever known, always using proper King’s English. Indeed, he almost had an British accent. He was elegantly soft spoken. I don’t believe I ever heard him raise his voice. He was soulful. He was subtle. He was humble. He was self-deprecating. And unlike me, Ian rarely seemed bothered by anything. He was always cool and smooth.

Above all, Ian Clarkson was a charming man. He charmed me and everyone else his life touched. You wanted Ian to like you. You wanted to be his friend. He could be very magnetic. He could talk to anyone about anything. Ian always put you at ease. That’s what charming people do. One part of his charm was he always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which in-fact, he had. But that was endearing. And not for nothing, Ian knew how to charm the ladies back in our school days. He was a big-time chick-magnet, although he’d never admit it.

I’ll close this memoire with my fondest memory of Ian; another one that had not entered my mind in over 25 years. It’s actually more of an image, a dreamy image, than a memory. In the spring of our freshman year at Wittenberg, as the days started to lengthen and warm, Ian and I would raise the window of our first-floor dorm room, which opened out on to a large courtyard that was adjacent to The Common. We’d put a speaker in the window, drop the needle on our favorite record -- in my memory it’s The Outlaws’ “Green Grass and High Tides” -- turn up the volume, and go out in the courtyard. Once there, we’d toss the Frisbee. Ian was not just good at spinning the ‘Bee, as we called it; he was amazing. We’d have a relaxing game of Frisbee in the warm day, allowing our school stresses to melt away. Mostly we didn’t even converse. We’d get in to a whole Frisbee Zen state. So this is the soft-focus image I’ll hold in my memory forever: A 19 year old, skinny and tousle-haired Ian, wearing jeans and a loose shirt, standing there in the golden late-afternoon sun, firing a disk my way. When my time comes, I know that’s how I’ll see him. He’ll be waiting for me there in the courtyard with a cold beer, a Frisbee, and a smile. And in that smoky voice of his he’ll say, “Hello brother. Fancy a little ‘Bee?”

For Ian, 2009

Ian Clarkson Obituary, Rochester Democrat and Chronicle

Reddy Teddy, Willie Loco and Robin Lane to Bust Charts Again!

See This Show!

Having not moved here to Boston until late 1985, I missed a lot of the earlier, groundbreaking Boston Rock history. I never made the scene at The Tea Party, never saw Aerosmith play at a high-school, or U2 as the opening band at an unsold-out Paradise. I only saw later versions of The Neighborhoods, Lyres and Nervous Eaters. Nonetheless, I am still facinated by the history of Boston rock, and have over the years become acquainted with some of those who made it. I have shared a stage, a dressing room, a smoke, a drink or a laugh with the likes of Willie Alexander, Asa Brebner, Billy Loosigian, Robin Lane, Peter Wolf, Dave Minehan, Darren Hill, Carter Allen, Reeves Gabrells, Duke Levine, and many more. I've talked guitars with Joe Perry, hung out with touring rock-stars beneath the stage at The Orpheum, and logged countless nights at The Rat (upstairs, downstairs, balcony, stage, soundboard, and most memorably the grimy, stinky "band room" behind the stage). I've met Bernie Taupin and Elton John at an invitation-only event on Landsdowne street, and even mixed sound for Paul Simon at a private fundraiser in The South End. I have engineered sessions for Aimee Mann, and once mixed front-of-house on a New Year's Eve at "The Gahden". So, yeah, I got in and swam around in Boston's famous dirty water for a while.

I now happen to be a sometimes guitarist in the Dave Sammarco Band, where Scott Baerenwald, one of those Boston Rock History figures, is a sometimes bassist. Scott was a member of the short-lived but brightly-burning '70's power-pop group Reddy Teddy, after which he was an original Chartbuster with Robin Lane -- which brings me (finally) to the point of this Blog. Well, there are two points, actually. First, there's a big reunion show coming up this Saturday night at The Middle East, featuring Reddy Teddy, who are celebrating the release of a new CD, Willie Alexander, Robin Lane with The Chartbusters and more. Guess wht I won'r be there? Riigghhtt! Because I have a gig with Dave Sammarco at The Pleasant Cafe in Maynard. And speaking of Boston Rock history, Maynard was once home to a famous recording studio called Northern Studios, where Reddy Teddy recorded, among many other notables. So, get out to this once-a-generation show and see how Boston Rock was made, by the people who made it!

Second, I had almost forgotten about a song I recorded back in about '92; one of my originals, called "Haunted Train". Robin Lane had seen my band The Derangers play the song at The Cavern Club (in the cellar of the original Boston Hard Rock Cafe on Clarendon Street-- now long gone) and she liked the song so much she asked to sing on it. Naturally I was honored and more than willing to say yes. So we did it, and it has really never seen the light of day. Listening to it now, I think it's a pretty good song, and I'm going to bring it back in to the repetoire of my new band, "Twang 'em High!". If you'd like to hear "Haunted Train, just click on the link to our MySpace page below. You'll fiind the song there, in all its Robin Lane-afied glory. Be patient, her voice does not appear until a couple of minutes in to the song, harmonizing with me on the chorus.

Twang 'em High on MySpace

Some other cool links:

Boston Phoenix interview with Robin Lane and The Chartbusters

Reddy Teddy Website and History

Boston Groupie News on Reddy Teddy

November 22

My parents moved my sister and me to Dallas from Upstate NY in October of '63. We were there only a month when Kennedy was shot. My Dad, who worked in a downtown building, actually watched from street level as the President's motorcade passed. By the time he returned to his office on the third floor, it had happened. My earliest memory of childhood was seeing my mom sobbing in front of the TV set. I asked, "Mommy, why are you crying?" I was three. The first person whose name I knew, other than mommy, daddy, grammy and Capt Kangaroo, was President Kennedy. As we got older, Dad would take us to Dealey Plaza. By the age of six I could point to the window on the Depository Building from where the shots were fired. In 1967 I remember sitting on one of the plaza's stone colonnade arches --Dad lifted us up there -- and watching a TV crew film a documentary of the event. They were interviewing eye-witnesses. The old Texan man being interviewed said, "I heard pop, pop, pop." Whenever we went by the Plaza up on the Stemmons Freeway, we'd look at the big yellow Hertz Rent-a-Car sign with the digital clock on it, which of course stood atop the Depository. It drew your attention to the site like a, well, like a big yellow billboard! (They finally removed it, but not until decades later).

I still have the complete Dallas Morning News paper from Saturday the 23rd. Never a November 22nd ever goes by without me reflecting on the events of that, sad sad day.

In some ways I wonder how much effect that event had on my life. It was sort of the launch-pad of my awareness. I think to be certain, the Kennedy Assasination has cast a very long shadow over my life, and I’m sure there are many others who feel the same.

Last year, on November 22, 2007, Thanksgiving Day, Bernadette's beloved mother lost her battle with cancer. My poor wife has barely had time to grieve. Neither of us can believe it has been a year already.

November 22nd. A day of mourning for The Townsons.