Pop! Quiz?

October 20th, 2009 § 1

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Hey kids… Pop quiz!

What show sold out the fastest in the history of Stache & Little Brother’s?

Nirvana? The Ventures? Tiny Tim and Camper Van Beethoven?

No. Nope. Nada.

It wasn’t “Jim Beam presents Lucinda Williams and Joe Ely,” Smashing Pumpkins or Sun Ra either.

It was…

Daughtry. In seven minutes. Yeah, that’s right, the American Idol also-ran Chris Daughtry.

And you know what? That success couldn’t have happened to a better guy. Believe it or not, dude man has a heart of gold.

Yes, I’m a cynic too, but the guy was at the top of the charts and he still thought he owed it to some of the little guy night clubs who had helped him get up there. We lucked out because he needed a connecting date between those guys, and the band wanted a chance to pull their act together in front of small crowds before working up to major venues.

Ben Hamilton, my talent buyer at the time, doesn’t watch TV and didn’t know who Daughtry was.

I thought it would be the biggest headache ever, far worse than dealing with Bob Pollard’s Budweiser-pounding entourage, some local open-mic hip hop artists or that troll in Nashville Pussy.

And Daughtry’s business people were absurd, asking questions like “what’s your marketing strategy?” well after the high-speed sellout. We had to compromise on numerous production issues, which was not at all unusual when the act was accustomed to playing on much larger stages. Still, we had to remind his people that he wanted to play there – an independent mid-sized club with limitations that network television would never encounter. They neglected to ask us in advance to hold back a large number of tickets for their guest list.

Consequently, I expected big hassles from the road manager. That wasn’t the case. Anything I had thought was bound to go wrong was painlessly resolved on the day of the show.  And Chris himself couldn’t have been nicer.

He wanted to shave and the men’s room mirror was covered with stickers, so he went into the women’s room. Shortly thereafter, my better half, Tracy, who had just arrived to pick me up for dinner, ran in there while my back was turned. She was startled when she found the pop star grooming, and he said “Hi there. Go ahead. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t listen,” and started humming a tune.

His longtime bandmates and crew were also easy and not unlike the majority of underground rock bands.

The crowd, however, was filled overwhelmingly with women who apparently don’t get out much and didn’t seem to know how to act at a concert. I’m not sure where they learned that if you voted for a contestant on a performance television show, it somehow gave you propriety over him and all other people in the general area, like bar staff, doormen and stage personnel. They requested that Chris dedicate songs to them in return for their tireless telephone-dialing efforts. Some of the crowd showed up at 9 a.m. and made a general nuisance of themselves all day.

Regardless, once again, the old book cover adage about judgment applies. Not everybody that hangs with “dawgs” wakes up with fleas.

Nice guys

October 6th, 2009 § 0

eatmyshorts“I’m a nice guy,” said punk rock star Eric Davidson, when I tried to discuss our strained relations.

“Yea, me too,” I thought. But I didn’t go into his place every few months and knock fiberglass ceiling tiles down.

That, however, was a minor inconvenience in my world. And though it usually cost a few bucks to replace two or three of them, and itched like hell when I couldn’t get Skippy, the sometimes fix-it guy to do it, what the hell. The New Bomb Turks brought us a full house and boffo beer sales.

But the night of the benefit, things got personal.

We were trying to raise money to move Stache & Little Brother’s down to the Short North, and a series of benefits were scheduled to help pay the tab. The architecture bills, remodeling costs, legal fees for the change of use and numerous variances, etc. etc. etc., ended up costing over $200 grand, most of which was borrowed from good friends, digging me into a hole that I never thought I’d get out of.

The benefit shows and those last few months at 2404 N. High raised way less than we had hoped, and I was drinking heavily, even for an Irishman like me.

But that night, I was sober. I was back by the sound board and the kids were a little wild. Tera, our soundperson, had just commented on how calm and tolerant I was being when some knuckleheads climbed up on the light truss. It was just a skinny metal pole, hung between two pieces of flimsy wood, and I was afraid that the whole rig would crash down on Eric’s “nice guy” head.

So I went to the stage and asked Davidson to hand me the microphone so that I could speak to the crowd through my P.A.  He refused to hand it over, stepped away from me and hid it behind his back. I blew up.

I hand-signaled Tera to kill the sound, and when the song was over, I addressed the hecklers in the crowd without amplification. I said something about them being pseudo-punk rockers and and that anyone feeling up to it could follow me out back for a private discussion.  There were no takers, thank my lucky stars.

I foolishly threw a beer bottle, which sailed past Matt Reber (the bass player’s) head. Somehow, he and I are still friends. Then I gave the band back the night’s take, at their request. The next day I wrote an apology to those in the crowd that I felt didn’t deserve my anger, and posted it at Used Kids Records. That note, of course, ended up in The Other Paper.

Eric later became a music critic and wrote about Little Brother’s, calling it “blasé.” Though they did play there a few times, I think they preferred Skully’s.

Eric also wrote that politics has no place in punk rock, although I think I saw his name on a pro-public option health care petition. I’m still a liberal, whose favorite punkers — The Clash, Patti Smith, The Minutemen, etc. — are all about the body politic. And Eric and I, of course, are still “nice guys.”

Were you there when the lights went out?

September 28th, 2009 § 1

tishhinojosaDarkness heightens the senses.

At both Stache’s and Little Brother’s, we lit the stage and bar and allowed the audience to sink into the silent black nether regions. Besides, the furniture was kinda shabby and the Stache’s carpeting is best left forgotten.

One night of music at Stache’s was darker than any other.

Tex-Mex chanteuse Tish Hinojosa had played Stache’s a number of times over the years. Her warmth and charm, the beauty of her voice and the soulful humanity of her politically conscious lyrics made her a joy to both work with and watch.

Her last Stache’s gig came as I was actively looking for a new location. (And for those who don’t know or remember, Humpty Dumpty didn’t jump, he was pushed. )

After a short set, all of the power in the building shut down, leaving the place pitch black.  A quick trip outside confirmed that we weren’t alone. The whole block was without juice.

But the timing was magically fortunate — the trio was in between tunes, and had actually planned to stroll the club and play a completely unplugged segment of the show when the lights went out. The crowd stayed calm and joked about my not paying the power bills as my employees dug out candles. The beer was already cold and we had lots of ice on hand. As they waltzed into the crowd wielding an acoustic guitar, bass and accordion, the show went on as though the power outage had been scripted.

The three musicians promenaded and polka-ed through the aisles, serenading the audience members, who acted as the light crew with flashlights and lighters. They stopped for a while near the pool tables, then at the short wall that separated the bar from the club. Just as they got back to the stage, yeah, you got it, the power returned.  The stage was again bright, the sound system, A.C. and the cash registers all returned on cue.

Tish ordered three cervezas for the band and they finished their performance. On almost any other night at the club, that long of a power outage might have cleared the room. I can’t imagine Jesus Lizard or Laughing Hyenas pulling that off.

Side note: Also in the audience that night was the elderly couple that owned the former public library building that would soon house Little Brother’s. I was their tenant for three years before they sold the building to the Simon Legree who brought the place to its end.

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