The Weirdest Gig Ever!

It was Saturday, August 31, 1996, Labor Day weekend. The Clintons were doing dirty things in the White House, and America was enjoying boom-times. My surf-instro band, The Derangers, had just begun a three band, 23 city van tour to support “Tube: Atlantic Surf Essentials”, which had been released in May on Boston’s CherryDisc label. We had already had a couple raging record-release gigs over the summer. One was at The Rat in May, one at the Wellfleet Beachcomber in July –that one was a total rave—and the tour kick-off show downstairs at The Middle East. That was the one where the Diva Belly Dancer of them all, Sahar, performed on stage with us. Unforgettable. Anyway, the three bands, Derangers, Speed Devils and Bald Guys, each with a van, had opened the tour on Friday night in Louisville. It was poorly attended, and pretty weird in its own right. We were up until four in the morning. Then, we had to get up early to set-out on the long drive to NOLA, which as it turned out looked a LOT closer on the map than it was in reality. We left at about seven am. It took us all freakin’ day, drivin’ and drivin’, literally through bayou country. Fourteen hours later, we arrived at the infamous Mermaid Lounge, the diviest, nitty-grittiest, greatest little juke-joint you’d ever want to play. Well, we didn’t actually arrive like you’d imagine. This place was hidden like The Bridge to Terabithia. It was under a highway overpass in this run-down old warehouse district, and you literally had to drive the wrong way on a one-way street to get to it. I’m serious. All roads seemed to lead AWAY from The Mermaid. So after navigating the underworld-like maze of streets, in the dark, in a bad part of town, we found the dumpy old shack. Our contracts with the clubs always had us arriving between like, five pm and seven to load-in, do sound-check, etc. So seeing as it was now nine, and only our van had found the joint, I was in a panic that we were very very late.

I should have known better. This was N’awlin’s honey! We pulled up and I walked up to the shuttered door. No one there yet. Just a few minutes later, the bartender arrives and unlocks the club. He tells me the sound guy will be there between ten and eleven. “What time do we play?” I ask. “First band at midnight,” he replies. Midnight? Wow. OK, well that’s a load off. Plenty of time, but where are the others?

Soon enough the Speed Devils showed up, but with bad news. Bald Guys van had broken down and was stranded in a very very bad part of The Big Easy. I won’t sidetrack the story with all the details, but I went to their aid, and while we waited under another highway overpass for Triple A, a very nice old black man by the name of Charlie (not his real name) stood with us, to help keep the wolves at bay, so to speak. He was a character: Deck of Kools in the shirt pocket, gold tooth, and kept saying stuff like, “These kids nowadays are real scary. They’ll kill you for your sneakers.” Good thing he was there.

So we got the BG van started and back to the club we went. The “stage” wasn’t. We were to play in a corner of the room under a single hanging red light bulb. Yeah. OK. The “sound guy” set up, um, one mic? Maybe two? I don’t remember who played first but we were to go in second, at one am. In the meantime, we were responsible to collect our own door, of which we got 100%. So with a metal cigar-box, Bern set out to do the door, and we’d all take turns. The cover was five bucks. I’m sure we also found another spit of real-estate to set up the merch table, because really, that was the only thing that put gas in the vans and kept us truckin’ from gig to gig.

It was after eleven, and things were quiet. Too quiet. Deathly quiet! There wasn’t a soul in the joint except for the bands the bartender, a waitress, and the so-called “sound guy”, who had finished “setting up” in about eight minutes. He wasn’t very friendly. In fact, they all had this world-weary, we’ve done this way too many times before sort of attitude. You could say they were zombie-like in their enthusiasm.

Speaking of zombies, right at the stroke of midnight, the strangest thing happened: Bern and I were standing outside the shack, smoking and bemoaning the zero attendance, when from every direction; vampire-like silhouettes came converging our way. The streets between the old warehouses were slick with New Orleans mist (indeed the air itself was tropically soupy), and therefore had a silvery sheen. The people walking on them were jet-black shadows, moving slowly towards the club. Totally surreal. I was reminded of the novels of Ann Rice, whose house was in the nearby Garden District.

Within a couple of minutes, as if a switch had been flipped, the place was full. Bizarre. I mean, I knew The Big Easy was a late-night town, but this was ridiculous. I don’t think these ghouls even rose from their beds before 11:45pm. Needless to say, we were relieved and re-energized. We’d make it to the next town (Austin) after-all.

One of the many odd-ball things about The Mermaid was that it had an outdoor part to it, sort of a little beer garden with tables and a string of carnival lights hung across it like a laundry wire. The thing was, you could sit out there WITHOUT paying cover and listen to the music, which was plenty loud out there. This didn’t sit too well with me, but then I learned that in order to come inside and get a beer from the bar (there was no wait-service out there), well, you then DID have to pay cover. So you could be out there for free, but with no alcohol. This made for some very contentious moments during the night. “C’mon dude, just let me in to get a beer. C’mon man! I ain’t payin’ the cover”. I handled these bums with an absolutely zero-tolerance policy. You pay the cover or you don’t get in and go to the bar, period; no exceptions. This pissed a couple kids off. But then we found out that not only was there literally a hole in the wall where you could sneak in, but some people on the inside were letting the outsiders in through a side-door, or at least bringing them drinks. I even went out there at one point, saw that most had beers, and attempted to collect. Fuckers! I still get mad when I think about that. They obviously didn’t have the first clue about the hardships of the touring indie band. This shit ain’t free, slacker!

On the upside, our set itself was maybe my favorite ever. I wish it had been recorded. We played flawlessly, and I got that adrenaline rush that feels like a cool wind blowing through my hair. When I feel that, things are perfect. And to give perspective, I’ve only had the “coolerator wind” feeling maybe four times total over 20 years. The other notable time was when we played the BCN Rock and Roll Rumble (another story for another day). This night in NOLA, we took it up to the next level. Because we were right there on the floor with the audience, and it was packed, we were literally surrounded by people who were right up in our faces. People were shot-gunning weed right in to my snout. Really! Turning the joint around in their mouths and jet-streaming the smoke straight in to my nostrils! Sweet! Only in NOLA! (Well, actually, that happened to us in Santa Fe too, much later in the tour). There was a guy standing in front of me that was so close he kept obliviously stepping on my foot-pedals, randomly changing my guitar-tone. But it was all good. Real good.

Real New Orleans.

And really, really weird…



Drew enjoying water o' the Mermaid, 1996

'Bet you never knew I worked with...

This may be a good recurring category; a surprising artist that I did a session with that people don't know I worked with. The reason might be that it was a demo, a live date, or that I simply wasn't credited.

So, did you know I recorded Patty Griffin?



Yep! Twice, in fact.

The first time was in about '93 or '94. She had a major record deal with A&M (I think) and had been struggling with the production of the debut LP. A well-known pop, funk and R&B producer was tapped to do the record, and apparently he was going for a fully-blown and polished sound that was not at all what roots-loving Patty wanted. So she called up Newbury Sound to do a live 'n' dirty demo of what the record SHOULD sound like. That was the kind of thing that was up my alley, so naturally I was tapped to engineer.

The band that walked in the door that day were all Boston Hall-of-Famers: Adam Steinberg on guitar, Jim Mouradian on FenderBass, and Billy Conway behind the kit. I mic'd everything up and before long we were rolling tape. Patty was in a glass booth with my favorite old Neumann U87 in front of her, and the band rolled takes totally live. Incredible. One thing I remember fondly was on one of the playbacks in the control room (on the big Urei mains), Conway complimented the drum sound. He said, "Now THAT sounds like my drums! Why don't other engineers get that sound? That's exactly what I'm looking for!" That made me tingle with pride because as a member of Treat Her Right, he had had plenty of session experience with a couple of major producers. The only overdubs we did were some guitar things with Adam. Like he'd play electric on the live take and then overdub an acoustic.

And Patty was amazing. She sang flawlessly and with a lot of soul. It only took a golden touch of reverb at the console and her track was good to go. She reminded me of Aretha, Janice, Bonnie Raitt and Emmylou Harris all rolled in to one.

The only glitch was a political one. The studio had run out of DAT tapes to mix to. It was Sunday and the DAT store was closed. So I offered up a tape that I had with me which had some other crap on it. Her manager, a woman who was extremely in control of everything and not in a happy way, did not like this idea. But since there was little other option, that's what we did. She made me sign something that I would erase my copy and this was not for release and blah blah blah. So the next day I made a copy for Patty and the manager and that was that.

Did I erase the original that I had made?

Well guess what I found the other day? Hehehe...wink wink!

Sounds incredible.

The second time I worked with Patty was when I was producing tracks for Laurie Geltman's "No Power Steerng" CD. The sessions were in '95 or so, at old Euphoria Studios in Revere, which by that time was really showing its age. But we did some great songs in there, and Patty came in to to do backups on the song "Elbow" as I recall. Again, Patty was a one-take wonder.

Hot Rockin' Nights at The Ol' Bucky

Finally some time to blog. I'll see if I can get two topics up today.

First, I had a dream last night, that I was walking down the rubble-strewn corridor of an old hotel that was vacant and seemingly under renovation. Down the end of the long hall, there was one room still in it's original condition; plush with dark wood, warm lighting and bookcases. There was a dark haired older woman in there who said she had lived there for forty years. That's when I was awakened by the big lightning storm that blew through here last night. Big boomers! One strike was literally within yards of the house.

As I laid there with the storm going, I was haunted by the dream. Then it occurred to me that, long ago and for a brief time, my band House of Joy actually rehearsed at the Buckminster . Yes, Hotel Buckminster, the famous vintage hotel in Kenmore Square with the Pizzeria Uno on the ground level. Who knew that rock bands used to rehearse there? I mean, I had nearly forgotten it.

This must have been '89? '90? I DO think there were people living there on the upper floors. There was literally plaster rubble all over the place. You'd walk in and there was a front desk with a guy at it, take the crappy elevator or stairs up to, I'm pretty sure it was the second floor we played on. There were several bands playing in the old rooms up there. In fact, 'BCN DJ Shred's band was in the room next door to ours. They were kinda cow-punk, as I recall. Anyway, our room was on the Brookline Ave side, just about 10 feet above the street, and our window looked out across the pike at the lights of Fenway. It was summer and hot. Between songs we could often hear the cheering crowd coming from the old ball yard. Because there was a constant flow of people parading up and down the sidewalk below our window, and it was too hot to close the window, now and then a couple people would actually stop and listen to us from out there. We'd wrap up a song, and there'd be impromptu clapping from the street below.

Good times at the old Flop-House Fuckminster.


Obviously the "Bucky" was restored and polished back to glory, and it still stands today, offering elegant and pricey accomodations to visitors to Bean-town. (And I guarantee you there are no bands practicing there anymore, and likely never will be again).


"Hello?....No! For the hundredth time, this is NOT the HOUSE OF CHOY!" Glammy Times on a rooftop, HOJ, circa 1990.

Talkin' to Loretta

Boston Rock Royalty: Nervous Eaters circa 1980

This is interesting...not really a Boston Rock story so much as a recent discovery. First I should say that Blogging since arriving here in VT has been almost impossible. At the house we're on dial-up....excruciating...and at work, well, I'm working, so...

Anyhoo, I've been discovering Neko Case, and liking a lot of what I hear. As I'm checking out her stuff on I-Tunes, I come across a song called "Loretta". Wouldn't you know, it's a cover of "(Talk to) Loretta" by the great Boston '70s and '80s band, Nervous Eaters. Wow, huh? I always loved that song. I had a chance to see the Eaters in a later '80s incarnation when chief Eater Steve Cataldo had Billy Loosigian on guitar. I recall seeing them in a sweaty and packed-beyond-capacity Rat. Billy has always been my favorite Boston axe-master, and I did have the pleasure of recording him once.

I wonder a couple of things. 1) How did Case even find that song and, 2) how many of her fans know it's not one of her originals?

Here's a Nervous Eaters web-page where you can rock to Loretta, the original version.

Bern's Turn: Long Live Boston Rock!

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

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!)

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!

Sahar

Little did I know then that ten years later I would be rocking on the big stage of the Middle East “Downstars”, with the most famous of the club’s Belly Dancers, Sahar, shimmying right next to me. As I sat eating my hummus in ’86, there was a bowling-alley below me; one of those odd candle-pin joints you only find in the Boston area. Converting those lanes in to the famous “Downstairs” rock-club was still two or three years off.

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...

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...

Dallas, '85: Hail Mary I'm Movin to Boston!

The Beloved BU Hoodie!

Before I actually made my move from The Lone Star State to the Lob-Ster State in Sept. of ’85, I paid a brief visit to The Hub. I’m guessing it was February or March. It’s pretty much a blur, but I got a tast of the raging Boston rock scene. I know one place Lisa took me was Jumpin’ Jack Flash in the Fenway, and I’m pretty sure Scruffy The Cat was playing. While I was here I bought a hooded Boston University sweatshirt; white with red letters. (I had been accepted by BU in 1978, but had opted not to go there).

Back in Dallas, sweatshirt weather was almost over, but I wore that sucker like a uniform, pretty much every day. One such day I was walking down Greenville Ave, daydreaming as I usually do, when a voice awoke me from my reverie. An odd shout. “Hey Flutie!” I looked up to see this dude walking my direction, but on the opposite side of Greenville. “Flutie!” Dude shouted again. It took me a minute to get it, but then it hit me. The BU shirt! Dude was referring to Doug Flutie, the Hail Mary Hero of The Orange Bowl. His Miracle in Miami was still fresh in America's mind. Now you and I and everyone knows Flute went to Boston COLLEGE, but it’s doubtful that Dallas Dude knew the difference between BC and BU. My reaction? Pretty lame. I think I said, “Yeah! Boston! WooHoo!” or something to that effect. I focused forward, quickened my pace, and walked on. Wow! I guess you could say it was my first “Flutie-Call!”

For years to come and almost right up to this day, I have heard the familiar chants of “Floo-tie, Floo-tie!” and "Flutie did it! Flutie did it!" For a while it actually became an inside joke among myself and a few close friends. Back in ’85, walking down Greenville Ave, it was all new. I was excited to be moving to Boston!

*An interesting footnote to this blog: Myself and all other life-long Dallas Cowboy fans know that the term “Hail Mary Pass” was coined in 1975 by our all-time great QB, and an amazing scrambler himself, Hall-of-Famer Roger Staubach.

The Final Power-down, June 29, 2007

Well, for all intents and purposes, it’s over. I’m powering down the Flying Scotsman studio at my house for the last time. Don’t know when I’ll be doing another recording project. My priority is to now focus on baby, family and work. In Vermont. I’ve had this studio here in the house for six years, and some really good projects have come out of it -- mixes for bands like Muck and The Mires, The Fathoms, Grand Evolution, and Temper have been printed to my old reel-to-reel master machine here. I have to say the old Otari and I went out on a high note, having just-this-minute finished nine songs for Mike G. & Associates. Mike is the most rockin’, most soulful Americana artist I’ve had the pleasure of working with in years. He’s the lead guitarist for Grand Evolution, as well as the front man in a Neil Young tribute called Young Rust. That experience has served Mr. G. very well, as he has concocted an original sound that encorporates the best of old-school and modern rock. The guy’s got IT. I mean he really has it; great lyrics, singing and guitar-work. It's real organic with little or no studio trickery involved! Be on the lookout for this CD when it comes out. It was tracked at my old Altitude studio (now called 37’ Productions) by MY great associate, Sean Mclaughlin, and mixed by me here at the house, surrounded by moving boxes. So it’s done, I love it, and I’m proud of it. The last couple of days in the sweltering heat was melting both the equipment AND my brain, and you can hear it in the tracks...they're hot...overdriven. Appropriate that the last album I did was one very much after my own heart. Here’s Mr. G’s page: http://www.myspace.com/mikegsolo The tracks up there now are pre-studio demos of the songs. He’ll be putting up the finished mixes soon, so check in and give a listen.

Here’s Seany Mac’s site: http://www.37ft.com/