Tuesday, August 29, 2006

Snap Your Fingers, Snap Your Neck

Subject: guitarist - Rock Bottom

Club 501, Wood River, Illinois

Friday, August 25th, 2006

This past weekend I found myself in what has become somewhat familiar territory, lending my services out to Derrick Howard, playing guitar with his new group, or what he’s attempting to craft as his new group, Bonehead. Last time it was Brad and Floyd formerly of Jagertyme backing up. I knew that Jay Rolens was going to beat the tubs tonight, which was going to be a neat experience for me, since I’ve played with all of his uncles and his father in Baywolfe back in the day. I had no idea who would be on bass.

Derrick emailed me a list of tunes, asking me to send back what I could do. My, we’re actually starting to get prepared! I looked it over, shot back the ones I remembered somewhat, and others that were staples. I also suggested there were a few I could learn if he’d like, one being Crazy Bitch by Buckcherry which has been quite the rage lately. He quickly emailed back “learn it!”

Well, instead, I went to Harrah’s and played poker. They have tournaments there through the day, and I’ve been trying to win some money, seeing how I fare in a bigger stakes, 100 person type events. It’s thrilling to be seated at a table, professional dealer, WSOP everywhere, the whole atmosphere! I could get used to this…

I found myself with a good stack of chips pretty early, and probably chip leader at my table. I was making good reads on my opponents, and noting their styles, tendencies, and looking for “tells”. I was in a zone.

One hand, though, I got involved with a hand that wasn’t one I normally play, but in all honesty, I can’t sit and wait to play pocket aces or pocket kings! In this format, you have to play some hands after “the flop”, and try to out play people through reads, bets, and raises. And that makes it fun. Fun when you win.

With a King and a 10 both of diamonds (a weak starting hand, but had possibilities to improve) and “on the button” (last to act, the strongest position to act in No Limit Hold ‘em), I got into a hand where I knew I had the best hand after the flop. There was a pair of sixes on the board and a big, fat king! I knew my opponents didn’t have a 6. With a bet of 200 to me, I called along with another opponent I’d been watching closely.

After the next card came, I tried to bully my opponent to fold with my chip stack, as I read him as having a King like me, but weaker “kicker”. I was right, I’d pretty much read his hand: K8. Unfortunately for me what I didn’t read was that he’d hit his weaker “kicker” on the fourth card, giving him a higher two pair than I had. Ouch. Fifth “street” didn’t help me, and I lost about 1600 in chips in one hand. A weak hand that I wouldn’t normally play.

But, all was not lost. I still had 780 chips. Not long after, I woke up to pocket queens. I pushed “all in”, hoping that they’d all fold, really, giving me the blinds. But maybe someone with a smaller hand would call and help me out.

They did. Sort of. A guy called with a pair of Jacks.

“You have kings?” he asked. Uh, no. Queens, as I showed. “Oh.”

A note: if he though I had kings, why the hell would he call me?

I was an awesome favorite to double up here, probably 80% to win the hand.

At any rate, as you can guess, he flopped a Jack (and there was only two left in the deck) and a groan came over the table from my compatriots. I was toast. Bad beat city. Two hands that I pretty much played correctly, but my misfortune got the best of me, and I was sent packing. Tough luck. As usual.

Well, I had work to do anyway.

I returned home and sat down at my computer with my Les Paul, and ran through Crazy Bitch while listening to a copy of the tune on MySpace.com off someone’s profile (thanks, Shana!) A quick cram session! Hopefully I’ll remember it come “exam time”…

Arriving at 501 around 8:30, I made my load in to the warm greeting and strong hugs of Lindsay, the 501 sweetie. Always a pleasure to greet her. Jared (Jarrod? Hell, I’m not sure how he spells it) and Angie were there as well, and Jared jumped up quickly off his barstool and lent a hand loading in, bringing in my heavy cabinets. Thanks!

Derrick had set the stage, and Jay’s drums were in place as well. Neither were to be found, however. With the situation as it was, I decided to wait to set up until Derrick arrived, and settled at the bar for a cheeseburger and Bud Light, chatting with Lindsay, Angie, and Jared.

Rob Boyer, AKA Jager Vito, stumbled in with his arms loaded with gear, and again Jared popped up from his stool to assist. So, that meant I had the pleasure of jamming with Rob on bass tonight! Very good. I’ve jammed with “Vito” on a number of occasions, and he even filled in with Knucklehead on one of Paul Joseph’s double booked dates. Vito is a sweet person as well, very easy to get along with.

I mean, Brad is cool too. He’s a solid bass player, great voice, and as familiar with everything Derrick and Jagertyme ever did. So, either way, I knew I’d be in good hands on stage right. Just so happens tonight it was with Vito.

Derrick arrived not long after, as did Jay, so I sensed that it was close to time for us to go on. I needed to wire my rig still, and get my amp warmed up. I polished off the cheeseburger as quickly as I could, and jumped on the task of firing up my rig.

A shadow from the past, Jay’s uncle Danny made an appearance with his lovely wife. Danny was a drummer for Baywolfe before he left to start a family of his own, and his older brother Bob, vocalist at the time (and jack of all trades) took over behind the drumkit, and they picked up a female singer (see Gretchen Wilson…).

I somehow expected I’d see someone from the Rolen’s clan tonight, and Danny was the most logical. So, while I was a bit stunned to see him after all these years, I wasn’t all that surprised!

“Hey, you big ole horsecock!” I greeted him! At Granny’s Rocker, everyone was a horsecock or moosepeter.

He smiled, seemed a bit nostalgic, and said “Hey, ole’ moosepeter!”

Much to my surprise, Carson, our Rock Bottom soundman stuck his head in the door. He’d seen my Durango parked out front, and decided to take a look inside. I’d realized I’d left a white extension cord at the last gig, and Carson confirmed he picked it up. He seemed hesitant to fetch it, though. After kibitzing with Derrick a bit on sound reinforcement issues, he took his leave. Not long after he left, I found a substitute cord for power. I’d hoped he wasn’t leaving just to fetch that for me!

I pulled Violet out and gave her a quick tune. Surprisingly, a couple strings had slipped! Down almost a whole step! I found that very odd. With a turn of an allen wrench and some quick adjustment, she was back in tune.

I ran my hand down the neck on a quick warm-up exercise, limbering my fingers and getting the feel of the neck and such, when basically, Violet bit me! Something from the neck poked at the side of my thumb, like a splinter, or something.

What the hell?

Upon further investigation, I discovered the unthinkable: Violet’s neck was broken. The truss rod and fretboard were holding it together, but along the back, near the second and third fret, the maple back was cracked, and had shifted. Of all the things! I was devastated. Surprisingly, while I played it, it was still in tune, even with a few tugs on the whammy bar! That’s Floyd Rose for you! Those locking tuning systems really do stay in tune!

I searched my memory as to how this could have happened, and there is only one instance that I can recall. When I returned home and unloaded my Durango a couple days after the last show, Violet did fall over onto my bedroom floor when I set her next to my dresser. I figured the gig bag had absorbed the shock of the fall and it landed on carpet, but it must have caught just right, and snapped the neck. I was screwed.

Naturally, that put quite a damper on things for me the rest of the evening. With the stress of things in my life lately, and the challenges I’ve had to face, and continue to face, this was, well, just something else to face too, I suppose. I was kind of numb. It’s one thing to lose in poker with a bad beat. But poker is a gamble. This isn’t.

Yes, it can be fixed, but it will be costly, take time, and I have little money or time to afford. Violet is a workhorse for me, and we have a packed schedule coming this month. Most of that will go to pay for the damage done in one fell swoop.

With it still in tune, I thought maybe, just maybe I could use it on a song or two if I had to. Early in the first set, Derrick called out Living Colour’s Cult of Personality, so I gave it a try with Violet, much to Derrick’s surprise.

“You’re going to use it?” he said in disbelief.

“It’s still in tune,” I told him.

However, when attempting the very difficult opening run of that piece, I noticed another side effect of the neck shifting: the action was now much higher it seemed. It was impossible to play that song. I was being far too unrealistic. It was toast.

“No, no, I can’t do it,” I told them, and waved it off. I set Violet back on her stand quietly, and retired her for the time being. I don’t know when she’s going to be back in action.

Friday nights are often slow at 501, and this one was no exception. The first set was basically a private performance for Danny and his wife. We each had a list of songs Derrick had printed up from the list I’d sent back to him, and seeing as there wasn’t much of a crowd to keep riveted, we took our time, picked out songs, and chatted. Pretty laid back, and mellow. And yet still fun. What we played sounded good, I thought.

Lindsay helped ease the pain of losing Violet though, as she brought shots for us all! After a round or two, we started to find a decent groove, and plowed through the songs as best we could.

Jay sounded great on the kit behind us, and his drums were magnificent. Quite a nice set of tubs he has. Powerful, rich, booming. And Jay plays with a level of experience that is beyond his age. I don’t know that he’s been playing live that long, I’d never seen him play in a band before, but thrown into this situation with no previous rehearsal with us, he played like a seasoned pro. His tempos were right on. In fact, when we played Mr. Crowley, he played it exactly like the album tempo, which is much slower than we used to do it in Knucklehead. Scrappy played it with a little faster interpretation, which I liked, actually; it’s easier for me to play that solo quickly, believe it or not.

Here, I had to slow it down to album speed, which meant I couldn’t “cheat” and smear notes as I often do! Ouch! Oh well, only Danny Rolens was there to hear it, and he’s heard me play worse.

At the end of the first set, as Jay crawled out from his kit, I gave him a handshake and told him “one down!”

“That’s right!” he said with a grin. “First set’s out of the way.” He then glanced at the sheet of songs and glanced back at me, raising his eyebrows in concern, and shaking his head.

Yeah, welcome to the club…

Jager Vito and I met at one of the side tables, and we talked through the break about the “good ole days” again, and about what The Stand was up to, his old band that keeps flirting with doing some shows, and their two guitarists are long time acquaintances of mine. We reminisced about this and that, rambled on about him and her, and basically cackled away like two hens. I’d forgotten (or didn’t know in the first place) that he was a bassist in Conquest. We talked about Dan Toth, and the South City metal band Megalith. Vlad The Impaler”! Those guys were almost signed to some indie label back then when their guitarist was killed in a car crash. Sad story.

Interestingly, neither one of us seemed to discuss what the hell we were going to play next! Didn’t really matter anyway.

And, I made sure to do my share of shots. I had some woes to drown out now. I was still reeling about my misfortune with Violet.

Somewhere in the first or second set, when I looked out and saw Danny, I was overcome with the urge to play Blackfoot’s Train Train. So, naturally, I did! It was less than spectacular. Vito didn’t really know it, so we coached him through, and it sure seemed easier to play and sing in the Granny’s days.

Naturally, we got Danny up to play a song, and he obliged, despite not having played drums for quite some time, he claimed. He looked over the list, but nothing really struck him. We offered some suggestions, but nothing really seemed to strike his fancy.

“What about that one Jim always used to sing?” I couldn’t quite make out what he said, or who he was talking about, but then Derrick piped up.

“Priest? Got Another Thing Comin’?” he said. Danny nodded. “Sure,” Derrick said, looking at Vito and I. Then Derrick added “you’re singing it,” looking straight at me.

Right! Well, I do know the words. Where the hell is Steve when you need him? “Where’s Jim Murphy?” I asked. “Oh, last time I checked, he was in prison…” That garnered some laughter from the boys. But Derrick quickly corrected me.

“No, he’s out!” he said.

“That’s right!” I said. I’d heard that he was fighting it, that the charges were trumped up and he was entrapped. It never really did figure in to me, that Jim would have done what they’d alleged.

“Yeah, he’s back with Strikeforce,” Derrick added.

“Well, God bless him,” I said, and tore off into the Priest in his honor. My voice cracked a bit from the high falsetto stuff at the end, but in all, it wasn’t too bad for a bunch of drunks. Danny sounded like he’d just played Stages last night. Didn’t miss a beat.

Steve Hall showed up not long after (but not in time to save me from singing Priest) with the lovely Theresa. I told him my woes at the poker table, and then dropped the bomb: Violet was out of action. He was stunned to hear the sad news.

We also got to talking about next weekend’s show at 501 Front Street in Alton.

“Yeah man,” he said, “Boozie called me about that. He said Carson doesn’t want to do a one nighter, and that we’re just going to cancel it, and go down to the other gig the next day.”

“Really?” I said. Steve confirmed it. That sucks! “I need the damn money!” I told him.

“I dunno.” Steve said. “That’s what I heard.” My luck just isn’t getting any better.

Break time meant more shots, more Jager, more lovely Lindsay (yes, I flirt shamelessly), and time spent schmoozing and chatting with everyone. Believe it or not, but a couple people actually started to show up. Still a sparse crowd, though.

Danny and his wife left soon after, but it was a pleasant trip down Memory Lane seeing them both again. Too bad we didn’t do any Dr. Pepper Shooters.

With Steve in the house, we broke out some cool tunes. Sweet Child was a crowd favorite, as always. We also rumbled through Queensryche’s Jet City Woman somehow. Derrick carried most of the water again on that one, and I did my best to find my way through it. Surprisingly, I sorta remembered the guitar solo! And Chris DeGarmo’s style is very difficult for me to fake! But, that was probably the best part of the song I played.

Scott, his wife Rhonda, and his brother and friend also made an appearance. They shot an awful lot of pool that night. Seems like Rhonda is some kind of pool shark.

Scotty got up and jammed some Crue with us on drums, and something else, but hell if I can remember what we played. I can tell Scott has the itch to play again. Not a “full time” weekend thing, but just get out and jam. Make some magic. It’s something that burns in your blood if you don’t do if for a while, I know.

We found ourselves jamming on other crazy songs inspired by nothing in particular as the night wound down. Towards the end of the night, a random voice shouted “Voodoo Chile! You don’t have to tell me twice, not when I’m pounding Jagerbombs!

Derrick jumped behind the drumkit, I guess either because Jay didn’t know it, or Derrick just wanted too. Perhaps both! I sorely missed Paul Joseph singing the tune, as he does a great Hendrix voice. I did my best Stevie Ray imitation, and had some fun with the song despite having to play it on the Les Paul. That kind of limited the tonal range of my solo sections influencing the dynamics of my improvised phrasing, and not having the whammy bar for tricks made it more challenging. It wasn’t my best, but for 1:45am and a handful of people, I guess it would do.

From there, Derrick pushed us into LSD’s Some Fucking Shitass. I looked through the crowd for Steve to join us on vocals, but he’d ducked out. With no vocal mic on the drumkit, that must mean I was singing this one too! So be it.

Again, not a stellar rendition, but close enough for government work, as they say. Who the hell even knew what song we were playing? That one is about as eclectic as you can get! If you didn’t see us play it at Granny’s or Stages 14 years ago, you wouldn’t even know the song.

As it turns out, at the end of the night as we were getting ready to leave, I found Steve out front. His car wouldn’t start. Bummer! Seemed like some of my shitty luck was rubbing off on him. Theresa had asked me to get Derrick’s attention, because I was told he has some knowledge of cars. More than Steve, and probably more than I do. The tow truck had arrived however, and when I mentioned it to Derrick, he seemed to think the tow truck guy would be better suited to help them than he would.

I went back in and finished my bucket of beers, and contemplated what to do next. No tear down for me tonight, so, did I want to hit a bar or just go home? And, which bar? Hit Eddie’s? Eh. Drive to Alton. Maybe.

Someone asked if I was giving Steve and Theresa a ride home, and I accepted quickly. It made sense, because Steve lives just blocks from my house, and that also made my decision easy: I was going home.

However, when I stuck my head out the door to let them know I was ready, Steve had his car towed, and had left with the tow truck. Nothing left but a vacant parking space. Ok. I would have gladly given them a ride, but it honestly wouldn’t have made much sense since he was having the car towed, really. And with that, Derrick mentioned hitting 501 Front Street, so I piled into my Durango my two axes, and hit the highway.

Front Street was buzzing for a Friday night, and Leadfoot was still jamming a song or so. I bellied up to the bar and ordered some beers, making small talk with whoever had something to say. Derrick was close behind, as was Scott and Rhonda making an after hours appearance. I was now shifting into after party mode, and it could be a long one!

T-Bone had his mix on, and there were still a couple hotties out dancing to it, enjoying the party. I didn’t really pay much attention, though. Derrick and I hammered beers, and Scott talked shop and such. It was obvious this party was winding down quickly, so Derrick and I contemplated where to take it next.

“You wanna hit the Outlaws Clubhouse?” I asked Derrick.

“I dunno,” he said. “I’m not sure who’s going to be there.” He glanced around him, looking for some one. “Let’s run up to Ten Pin, talk to Dozer, see if anyone is going to be there.”

“Let’s hit it!” I was getting into party mode now. Scott and Rhonda said their goodbyes.

We pounded our bottles as the bar was clearing out, and made the uphill trek along the river bluffs to Ten Pin on Broadway, just around the corner. Derrick had grabbed a “go cup”, and as fate would have it, an Alton patrol car cruised by the bar as we exited it. We schmoozed with a couple ladies as they jumped in their car, and the police took little notice of us, continuing around the block.

At Ten Pin, a handful of late night revelers stood hunched over the bar, including Outlaw member Dozer. Derrick and I ordered up fresh bottles of Bud Light and parked at the nearest stool. Derrick made his rounds through the bar talking to familiar faces to him, but really didn’t recognize anyone. Mike the owner rambled over and stood more than talked. Mike is a pretty quiet guy. And, I was beginning to notice I was running out of steam. My party was coming to a close.

With a brief stay at Ten Pin, Mike was getting anxious to close up. Seeing Derrick and I stroll in with that party look on our face may have made him nervous! I was starting to feel like I was ready to head home anyway.

“Well, what do you think,” Derrick asked. “You wanna head to the Outlaws?” While it sounded like a good idea fifteen minutes ago, now, it just sounded like sitting around an empty bar, drinking until 6am. It had lost its luster.

“Naw, I’m getting tired,” I told him. “I think I’m going to hit it.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “Take it easy, Derwood. See you tomorrow.”

I strolled out onto Broadway, making my way to my parked SUV. McDonalds was just down the road, so a stop for a double cheeseburger seemed in order. Seems to be becoming a ritual!

As I choked down the onion-laden grease bomb, I realized: we never did play that Buckcherry song! All that work for nothing!