"I like your pants around your feet..."

Subject: guitarist - Rock Bottom

Venue: Longshot Saloon, Portage Des Sioux, Mo

Friday, August 18th

As I traveled up the “Berm Road” snaking along the Mississippi towards Alton, I noticed a bright but subtle flash of light in the dark summer sky. At first I thought to myself, startled, “What was that?” My first instinct was it was something flashing from Alton. Fireworks? There’s nothing to celebrate. Radio tower beacon? Eh, that seemed to take up too much of the sky.

It’s been so long and so rare that we’ve had rain this summer, I almost couldn’t fathom it was lightning! But as I trucked further down the road, my suspicions were correct: a summer storm was brewing off in the distance.

I cursed myself for not having checked the weather before I came up, especially before playing this venue: for all intents and purposes, we play outdoors! It’s a front porch covered with a screen, but basically we’re barely sheltered from the elements.

Now, I used to be a real weather junkie. I constantly watched the Weather Channel. Some of this had to do with the gorgeous weather girls they had, and I had a real crush on one back in the day. Until she left for Detroit. The Weather Channel was never quite the same for me after that.

In the past few years, I found myself leaving the TV on the local weather loop for background noise, as I really don’t watch all that much on TV. But the cable company, in their infinite wisdom, moved that channel up off the free side to the digital side, robbing me of my constant weather fix.

As it was, I didn’t check the forecast on the Internet, and as I approached Portage Des Sioux, the rumbling storm off in the distance seemed to be inching closer and me closer to it. I grew concerned that tonight wasn’t going to be much fun. Potentially even dangerous!

At the Longshot Saloon, Carson was in a particularly bitchy mood. Seems he caught all kinds of grief loading in, having the door open, and letting out the AC. He also seemed to have the need to vent this on me. For 20 minutes straight. I was scrambling to get my gear set up and hide! I’d do my best to stay out of his gaze tonight, lest he start whining on and on again about it.

A cool breeze blew through the “stage porch” as the weather outside began to change. If it stayed like this, I wouldn’t complain! Of course, the hot lights and the cool breeze would make for some interesting tuning problems as the temperature changes would play havoc on my strings. I was going to have to prepare for anything tonight.

C.J. and Boozie rolled in, and Carson turned his tirade towards them, so I got to hear it again, and again. C.J. rolled his eyes at me as Carson grumbled. “He needs to change his tampon,” I told him.

Also, in between rants and curses, he too was gravely concerned about the impending storm. “It’s to the north and to the west,” he told me. “Should hit in about a half hour, I reckon, right when we go on.”

Like clockwork, as we started our first song of the night (running our typical 15 minutes late), the deluge came down. I glanced across the stage at C.J., and the rain was really coming in through the screen on his side. A misty haze swirled past him under the lights. Uh oh, this isn’t good! Really cool effect, but H₂O and 120v? That’s a recipe for disaster.

Behind Boozie, the rain also started to press through the screens, soaking his two floor toms. When he’d strike them, water would shoot straight up like a fountain under the canary yellow glow of our light show positioned down on him.

I didn’t even want to look at the back of my amp!

We concluded the first song, and Carson whipped out some tarps he had stashed away, and we scrambled to cover mainly the lighting rig power packs and our amps. My power strip was resting in a puddle of water on the wooden deck, and gingerly (after unplugging it) I moved it to drier land. My finicky Zoom sound processor gave me a fit as my power adapter has a short in it, so it died immediately after I moved the power strip. After five minutes of screwing with it, we were back on, and hammering away at the rest of the first set.

I swear lightning struck out in the parking lot, perhaps several times! We’re loud as hell, but then CRACK! Nature’s P.A. Like a bomb going off behind me, drowning us out! That will get your attention, holding a live wire of a guitar in a pouring rain!

This was our first night playing this month, and we seemed a bit rough around the edges. C.J. and I went over a few tunes earlier in the week, and we sprung them on the guys. With the sparse crowd, tonight seemed like a good night to run through them.

Much to Steve’s surprise, we broke into Heart’s Barracuda, and while Steve scrambled for the words at first, his voice took over, and the song came off surprisingly well. We received quite an ovation at its conclusion; one that I didn’t think was warranted! Nothing like that spontaneity pulling an unrehearsed song off, and the reward when it pays off. It’s like ecstasy.

As I looked out to the crowd, if you want to call it that, our small following we did have seemed very bored. Chrissy wasn’t drinking and Theresa wanted to be somewhere more happening. We weren’t getting any inspiration from their table!

Tonight was C.J.’s birthday, and he was in a mood to party. I’m always in a mood to party! But, with this crowd, and our soggy start, it was going to be hard to get this birthday party off the ground.

The rain let up and the stage began to dry out some, but it pretty much killed any crowd from wandering in. Those that were there, and forced to stay because of the rain, slowly trickled (pardon the pun) out, leaving us there to “practice”.

“How can he pay us?” Steve wondered out loud to me on break. I just shrugged my shoulders. You do feel sorry for an owner at times like these, but, I also don’t want to get stiffed! He’s the one taking the risk. It’s not my fault he hasn’t learned the three rules of nightclub success: location, location, location.

“You know,” Steve declared, “if we brought fifty people to this bar, that would be about a third of the population of Portage Des Sioux!”

I hadn’t really thought of it that way, Steve. And, he underlined the inherent problem. Not to get off on a rant here, but one of my pet peeves is dealing with owners that think “I’ll hire a band, and they’ll have this following, and bring a crowd in for me”. We’re not the fucking Grateful Dead! We have a devoted group of regulars that do travel to see us, but at a maximum it’s a dozen or so! It’s the bar’s job to built up a clientele. It’s our job to keep them there, and when we come back, they tell friends we kick ass, and they look forward to our return, building a following at the venue. That’s what we’ve done in places like Eddie’s, or 501. We don’t have a traveling band of followers that wander the East Side with us. The Eddie’s crowd is the Eddie’s crowd. The 501 crowd is the 501 crowd. And none of them will be found in Portage Des Sioux. I doubt they even know where it is.

But, I digress.

We managed to fight through the night, C.J. got a couple birthday shots (the REAL Hot Damn, please!) and at the end, the owner ponied up and paid us without a fuss.

“Maybe you guys can start earlier tomorrow?” the owner asked. He does get a dinner crowd, and I suppose he was hoping some of them would stay if we started earlier. Looking for some way to get things going. Can’t say I blame him! “Say, 8:00 or something?”

Eight?

“Well, I dunno,” shrugged C.J. “Our singer doesn’t get off work until then. I see what we can do.” That wasn’t bloody likely.

Most of my pay went to Steve, as I owed him some money for staking me in poker a few weeks, and he bought beers. Buckets, actually. For the past two weeks. I also coughed up some coin for the burger I had earlier in the night, while hiding from Carson (he even scrounged some fries of me!). That left me with about $30, if that.

As I headed out the door, guitars in hand, C.J. asked “where you headed?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Home, I guess.”

“Let’s go to Front Street.”

Hmm, that sounded like a plan.

Actually, we debated it for a second, and I said to take it to Ten Pin around the corner from Front Street. C.J. agreed. But, on the way there, I realized Ten Pin doesn’t have bands on Friday night, so with a phone call to C.J. trailing me, we were headed to Front Street instead. Better chance of a late party going on there.

While my cell phone lay in my lap, I also noticed a text message from a flirty friend of mine. Exciting! She said she was out of town, and wondering what I was up to. I texted her back some flirty banter, and within moments, my phone was ringing! I ended up talking with her all the way to Front Street, and also while standing outside for a spell. A group of buddies hung out on the stoop of the bar, waving at me, wondering what the hell I was doing, and who the hell I was talking to! Kind of embarrassing. Too bad she was out of town, but there was no way in hell I was driving to meet her. Besides, she didn’t invite me to anyway.

Front Street was pretty dead as well as I bellied up to the bar for a beer. Jared was onstage jamming, so my first impression was Jokerz Wild was playing tonight. I couldn’t recognize the drummer though, so it wasn’t Floyd. DJ T-Bone was singing with them, belting it out.

At the song’s conclusion, Bret grabbed the guitar, and I realized the band was in fact Frantic; Jared was just sitting in a song with them. Mike, former Sinwater singer, and the fellow who filled in for Steve at Mingo’s, took the helm, and Brian Tinnon was on bass. Christ, I know everybody in this circuit, and have jammed with all of them at one time! Spanky climbed behind the drumkit. Like I said, I know ‘em all!

As they fired up another tune, Jared’s woman and 501 bartender Angela sauntered up to me and we began to Dirty Dance. Sexy! Jared, you lucky bastard! Jared soon joined in for a “threesome”. Hell, I wished I’d been here all night instead of the rain risking getting electrocuted! Angela was feeling frisky, arching over the pool table, and really getting into the music. Quite a show!

Jared, you lucky bastard!

Little Lindsay came bee-bopping over, dressed all cute in her lime green satin top and loose fitting black pants. Hey, baby! She danced a bit with us, and I do what all drunk guys do; I mentally undressed her! She’s such a doll! Without warning, Jared, in one fell swoop, pantsed her, pulling her baggy capris straight to her ankles! Nice going, Jared!

Poor Lindsay stood directly in front of me baring her sexy little panties, pants around the ankles, eyes as big as saucers and her jaw agape! God love ya, Jared!

She scrambled to hoist them back around her waist, and cold cocked Jared on the arm.

Naturally, when Jared wasn’t looking, she got him back, tugging his shorts to the floor. That didn’t faze Jared, who spun around and pulled her pants down again!

I’m really starting to like this guy!

He pulled up his drawers and took off running, and Lindsay hobbled after him, pants still clinging to her ankles, and her cute little hiney in the air, sporting her t-bar. This was better than Larry Flynt’s! Cheaper, anyway!

She came back fully clothed, and we talked some, and I watched her dance. Hard to take my eyes off her, now! She’s such a cutie, I couldn’t help it anyway. She and T-Bone are off again, no longer an “item”. For the time being, I suppose. As she danced, I’d catch her glance over at him, then back at me. What a sexy, coy little smile she has. She was feeling pretty frisky tonight herself! Then she’d glance over at him. Then back at me. Ah, like sand through the hour glass, so are the days of our lives…

Then, in a flash, it was time for Lindsay to go. She gave me a peck on the cheek, and took off, probably with her other guy friend she’s been paling around with. But, she made my night, that’s for sure.

C.J. remained quiet and subdued throughout this whole extravaganza; in fact, I’d almost forgotten he was at the table next to me! We wandered outside at closing time, and said our goodbyes. C.J.’s birthday had come and gone, and I think the real party was at Front Street. I was almost dreading Longshot Saloon again tomorrow. But, they promised the “Jagermiester Girls” would be there. They said that before, and they never showed up.

I trundled over to McDonalds for “dinner”, choking a double cheeseburger down as I folded my last two dollars in my pocket and hit the “Berm Road” back to the homestead