"The South's Gunna Do It Again, Biker Style!" Part II

Much to our dismay, Carson was nowhere near ready to start the show, despite the fact C.J. and I had arrived late. In fact, we muttered to ourselves about what the hell he could have been doing the last 7 hours, as he’d arrived at 11AM! I sat back, grabbed a beer, and tried not to look as pissed off as I was, as Carson started to rig some contraption to “fly” the snake over the crowd's head back to the board. I guess he had concerns about running it across the ground. Whatever. Just get the shit hooked up, and lets play!

I’m not exaggerating when about an hour later, we were still waiting for him. The natives were getting restless, as I began to hear people mutter “let’s hear some music!” Big, burly, biker types too, mind you. Not people I wanted pissed off at me!

A sexy little bleach blonde waif with a cowboy hat, painted on faded jeans, a low cut tee shirt, and dark sunglasses was wandering about with a cameraman in tow. Not a clunky “Eyewitness News” type operation, but a smaller, hand held, “home porn” type affair… She approached us and introduced herself as a hostess of a cable access rock n roll show, and asked if we would “grant” her an interview. My words, not really hers. She had a sexy southern accent, but I couldn’t help noticing her dark sunglasses were covering her serious black eye. What was the story behind that, I wondered?

“This will be aired in 5 states!” she declared, rambling off a number of places, Arkansas, Kentucky, Tennessee, Indiana I believe. Steve’s eyes popped open.

“Really?” he said with a sly grin. “Cool”. That’s about all he said. On and off camera. Apart from singing his ass off, Steve usually has little to say, to be honest.

We lined up in front of the stage, the helmeted boar’s head by our side, and acted like “rock stars”. Meanwhile, I was looking over her shoulder at Carson, wondering how much fucking longer this was going to take before he’d give us the go. I was getting antsy. Was this going to be another outdoor catastrophe? He gave up flying the snake, and ran it along the ground.

She started her interview introducing ourselves (oh, so Steve did say something on camera, “Steve Hall, Vocals”. That was about the extent of it), and immediately she turned to C.J. I chuckled, because, let’s face it, that’s probably all she really wanted to interview! The real “rock star”! C.J. was cool and suave. It became apparent that, quite honestly, we’re a pretty boring bunch of “rock stars”. Of course, because we aren’t rock stars at all. Just four guys who love to play music, and drink. A lot! And that’s pretty much the interview she got. How thrilling for the people of Kentucky, Tennessee, and Indiana.

The interview went quickly and painlessly, and I couldn’t help but think that we came across as complete bores. She was sweet and cordial as she wrapped it up, and told us she could send us a DVD of it. Still haven’t seen that. She wandered off into the crowd, looking for her next feature. Truth is, I stared at that tight butt in those jeans until she disappeared. I’m a dog, I can’t help it! Nice!

I turned to my right to see what kind of progress Carson was making. No microphones, stage in disarray, and he, well, Carson was aiming the fucking lights! Are you kidding me! We’re 40 minutes late, there’s nothing miked on stage, and he’s aiming the fucking light show! We need to have a serious time management discussion with this guy. C.J. began to show his frustration, and gave Carson ten kinds of hell. Then he started talking to me about finding a new soundman. We were livid.

Looking back, I guess I feel a bit sorry for Carson, as the mood was turning pretty dark back stage. He of course, unbeknownst to us, was battling cancer, and had a monstrous task setting up that whole show. But, at the time, that meant nothing to me. I wanted to hang him.

We waited longer and longer, as the sun began to set behind the dark profile of the naitive pines. Boozie kept a cooler full of beer in the truck bed parked by the stage, and I’d stored some beer of my own there. Quietly, I waited, drinking another cold can of Bud Light.

More murmurs crept from the crowd, and we tried to explain to the powers that be the situation as best we could. The moment we could go on, we’ll be on. All in all, they took it pretty well. I ran across Curt, a former Baywolfe roadie. He was working staff at the festival. In fact, the whole thing is put on by people from St. Louis, so most of the people around weren’t actually locals, I don’t believe.

I noticed a bit later the television hostess was interviewing Theresa and Mrs. Boozie, who were both decked out and looking sharp. Would have loved to have heard that interview! A crowd was gathering around the stage, eagerly waiting to hear this “Rock Bottom” band. To hear anything!

After what seemed like an eternity, Carson gave us the thumbs up, and we took the stage. Outdoor gigs are always hell on guitar tones and tunings, but, in all everything seemed to be in order. The first couple songs were full of tweaks, smoothing out the sound, but I wasn’t unhappy with my guitar at all. Playing before a festival crowd is always fun and a sizable gathering was starting to form. It was a huge field, and I didn’t think we’d fill it, of course. That would be an amazing performance, like on the scale of playing those massive festivals in Brazil or something! Castle Donnington! This was much cozier in comparison, but, as the sun set, and I looked out over the lights into the crowd, I saw more faces than empty patches of grass.

As we kicked out tune after tune, we were winning the crowd over, and we fed off that. We’d been forgiven for starting so late, and they were turning on to us. A thrilling feeling. I noticed lots of girls dancing, shaking hips to the songs. That can only be a good thing!

The hotdog guy a few tents over from the stage brought up an armload of beers for us and Steve passed them out. Now yer talkin’! Steve grabbed this guy's ballcap and wore it for a few songs, and we thanked him profusely, plugging his food tent over the mic, telling everyone to get some.

On a very personal note, one troubling situation began to develop. I needed to use the restroom. Soon! Without going into gory detail, my bowels began to churn about halfway through the set. Yikes! Why me?

That naturally took most of my concentration for the latter half of the set, as I kept from soiling myself. Mercifully, at the set’s conclusion, I managed to scuttle off to the portapotty not far off on stage right.

As I relaxed on the “throne” I heard a series of huge explosions off to the left. What in the hell? From the ventilation holes in the top of the john, I could make out the bright orange of flames lighting up the evening sky! Holy Christ! I had to stand, pants around my ankles, and peered out through the cracks. With a blaze of glory, some nut with a flamethrower shot another blast at the bonfire pyre, igniting it. Charges had been set in the motorcycle atop the blaze, with thundering effect. Good Lord! Had I not been in the portapotty, I would have undoubtedly shit my pants! Wow! I had no idea that was coming! The stunning outline of a blazing bike engulfed in flames lit up the night. It was quite a scene.

On break, I met tons of friendly folk, all very positive about the show so far. Good people. We were made very welcome there, and an obvious mood began to develop from the rest of the band: we need to do this again!

I shared beers with several off to the side of the stage, and enjoyed the mood, glancing off at the bonfire to my left on occasion, smiling. The Stars N Bars “birdcage” out in the field was illuminated with a light, and I’d noticed it wasn’t long before some ladies had gathered the liquid courage to climb in, and a gathering was forming around it. This should be interesting.

Someone approached Steve about the wet tee shirt contest planned in between the next set, as though they were planning Steve to MC it.

“Oh, that’s Deron. You want Deron for that,” he said, pointing to me lounging on a tail bed, can of beer to my lips.

Huh? Oh no! You’re not doing that to me! I’m not giving up my break to become a game show host!

“Aw man,” I said, “you guys don’t have someone that does that?” I really wasn’t relishing the thought of putting a “lampshade” on my head and transforming myself into “the life of the party”. After a set, I just want to relax, grab a beer, and hell, watch the titty contest for myself!

“Don’t worry,” Steve assured them, “we’ll take care of it.”

“Yer the friggin’ lead singer, you do it!” I told him.

“Naw man, that’s all you,” he said, trying to butter me up. “No one does it better than you”.

Christ, I’m going to get “Tom Sawyered” into doing this, I just know it.

As I took the stage for the second set, some drunk girl followed me up the stairs. I guess she thought the wet tee shirt contest was starting. She was too incoherent to understand that it wasn’t despite my telling her so. She stayed. For a while! She had a nice body to be honest, and a glazed look on her hardened but attractive face. She was obviously itching to get naked. Hold yer britches there, honey!

The second set tore off, and we know that’s the strongest of our sets. It was beautiful. The mood was electric, and the music flowed out from us. Everyone was having a blast, and that fed off me, as I gazed out onto the festival crowd, jamming like a true rock star. It was almost like jamming air guitar, only I was really playing! It was larger than life.

This is how it should always be.

Meanwhile, my personal dancer helped me sing a few songs, and honestly, I got a kick out of it. I even pulled the mic down lower for her to sing into it! It was a party! Naturally, she took that as an invitation to just take the mic for herself, and before long, I don’t think I was singing at all! Yer a star, baby! Steve kind of glanced over, noticing my harmonies were no longer present. Fuck it! Let her have fun!

Our southern “hostess with the mostest” crept onto the stage, and led my inebriated backup section off the stage by hand. Aw! Good night! Have fun! I loved it, I was all smiles. What fun!

I turned back to the crowd, living it up. The music was loud, Steve was belting it out, and I felt 10 ft tall. Of course, C.J. and I look like we’re 10 ft tall to begin with, but, I don’t often feel it. I did tonight.

Violet sounded a little thinner than I wanted, but, that’s outdoor gigs for you. Before long, I’ll fire up Black, and all will be right with the world!

One song later, I turned to find my backup section had returned! Well, welcome back! Who is in charge of security around here, anyway! Oh well! Have fun!

The second set wound down with Highway To Hell, and Black sounded marvelous. I was playing much better than I’d played last night at 501. It all came together for us.

I gazed out over the scene; to my left, the burning silhouette of the motorcycle still glowed over the bonfire, with an outline of partiers gathered around it. Towards the stage, untold debauchery was occurring within the “birdcage” as two mostly naked ladies danced and played to each other before a drooling crowd. And before us, faces stretched out into the darkness, all bobbing heads, pumping fists, and hollering. Almost something out of Dante’s Inferno…

As the set came to an end, and we piled off the stage and into the cooler full of beer, it was becoming more and more apparent I was going to have to put on my “game show” hat and MC this wet tee shirt contest. Wonderful! Uggh. Oh well, I can think of worse assignments.

“Come on, man” Steve said, “you’re gunna do that, right?” Obviously he didn’t want to be saddled with it. Steve is uncomfortable doing this kind of thing. This would be like pulling teeth for him. And, yeah, it is kind of “what I do”. Fuck.

“Awl right.” I said grudgingly. I grabbed an ice cold beer from the cooler, and stepped on the stage.

Honestly, from that point on, I really don’t know much about what happened. For all intents and purposes, it’s an “out-of-body-experience”, so to speak. I just open my mouth, and I have no idea what the hell I’m saying. I just run with it.

I can remember at first we were having some difficulty getting contestants. Now, this was usually the case in the days of the old Granny’s Fanny Contest. Although a bunch of women have all intentions of getting in, they don’t want to be the first up there. In fact, they don’t even want to be the second or third. Then, of course, some get talked into it.

My sarcastic demeanor wasn’t helping things either. Like I said, I just wing it, and what ever comes to mind, I blurt out. Since I wasn’t really in the mood for this, I suppose, to some extent I was a bit dry, and a bit more scathing than usual. (If that’s even possible…)

The southern hostess came up to assist me, and she helped coax a few ladies onto the stage. That helped. She could connect with them, and it wasn’t as scary as being invited by my Ron Jeremy looking ass. I kept up with the witty banter, and a carnival like atmosphere hung in the air.

We got some guys to chip in money as a trade off to pour the water on, and before long, we had a dozen contestants, $400 to first, $100 to second, and DJ Boozie Fizzle (Boozie) on the iPod! Bust it, Boozie!

Lady after lady paraded by, with loads of water poured on their shirts. Of course, this was inconsequential, because those shirts weren’t staying on! There basically were no rules as I remember, as you wouldn’t expect any at a Biker Rally! Some of the contestants were very good looking. In fact, the first one was very hot. The first three were all quality looking women. And very nice naked! Woo hoo! What’s your name, #1?

Some were, well, they had been ridden hard and put away wet. About what you’d expect at a biker rally! I’m not sure what they were thinking, but they were good sports, and having a blast! That’s really what it’s all about, and I certainly didn’t want to embarrass them. I tried to make them feel like stars for a night!

Then, there was Theresa, Steve’s girl. She was around contestant 4, or 6 or something. She’s a fitness queen, with a great body. And, well, breasts to match. I suppose. To be honest, this was the uncomfortable part for me, on two levels.

First, she’s one of my oldest buddy’s girlfriends, so, I’m really not going to gawk at her bare breasts shimmering with moisture under the hot stage lights. I’m really just not that kind of guy! The other aspect was she was, again, Steve’s girl, our singer, so I didn’t want anything to come across like this was rigged, or that the contest was slighted in her favor should she win.

And she should win. Trust me!

So, I did my best to basically ignore Theresa while she was out there, and not give her any more credit that any of the other girls, just to keep it on the level. And to keep my sanity. When I see them together, at X-mas, or barbeques, I don’t want to have to look at her and all I can picture is those tits up on that stage, drooling hooligans drenching her with water, and the sounds of hollering horny men “showing their love” as she works it, using “skin to win”, and make some cash. I did my best to let that all go!

And, of course, this was another reason Steve really didn’t want to “host” the contest. How can he host a contest that he hopes his girlfriend will win? That would be very suspicious. I was destined to host this, it seemed.

Tits, tits, and more tits! They just kept coming. And the water kept flowing. In fact, there was a serious danger! These drunk knuckleheads, obviously overcome with lust as they had front row seats to this thing, recklessly pour water over every contestant, pouring onto the PAR 56's on front of the stage! Yikes! This could get out of control. I did my best to point it out, and manage the situation, but, mostly I just held my breath, and prayed every time a new set of titties paraded out onto the end of the runway that they weren't electrocuted!

Basically, I'm having an out-of-body experience by now, I'm not in control of my mouth, I'm "life of the party". I don't remember a damn thing I said, it all just flowed out onto the mic. I would direct things, to keep it moving. I had a formula I would follow, but what I said, I didn't know 1 second before I said it. Kind of Zen, really, when you think about it. I was in the "moment". Truly in the moment.

I do remember the last two had fake names for obvious reasons, and I claimed they were part of the witness protection program. I amused myself with that line!

We paired down to four, and had another quick dance off. Looked to me like Theresa was going to win this, hands down. She was really working these guys up into a frenzy. I certainly didn't want to come across like I knew her, rooted for her, or even really look at her tits, to tell you the truth. In all honesty, I didn't really look at any of them that I can remember, because I was in "the zone".

Except number one. I remember hers! I must confess, she struck my fancy. Actually, her boobs were fake, which I’m not always a fan of, but she was pretty. Very pretty. In a field full of biker women, and about 10 beers in me, she was fucking Aphrodite! Maybe that's why I wasn't really looking a tits. I'm a face, eyes, and smile guy. Always have been. Boobs are just bonus. I suppose that's why I was a success as MC as well. I don't really get tongue tied looking at boobs.

Instead of calling the contest after paring down to four, I brought the two top girls back who were guaranteed money and let them dance one more time. I was sure Theresa was the undisputed winner, there was no question there. I just thought let’s give them some more to hoot and holler about, and add to the drama. And, hell, I wanted to watch number one again!

First up was my lovely first contestant whom I'd grown attached to. She received a rousing round of applause. Very popular. A very strong showing.

Then I brought out Theresa, and the crowd erupted. Undeniably the crowd favorite! Not too hard to call this contest. Theresa was the star of the night.

I announced her as the winner to the delight of all involved, and the excitement hung out in the air as the two lovelies walked off, and Steve greeted Theresa by the drum riser, grinning from ear to ear. She hugged me, and I still did my best not to stare at her tits…

Boozie shouted from behind his post in the drum cage "I'm going to divorce court!" I had to laugh. Yeah, that wasn’t a sight to want to be caught watching by you wife. That was pretty raunchy.

Afterwards, I sat on the back steps, drank a beer, and tried to become very still. Just rest, breathe, and let myself "come back". I stared at the wooden steps, relaxed, and tried to get a moment’s rest before the start of the final set. People patted me on the back as the walked off the stage, congratulating me, I suppose. I dunno. I was still finding my way back into my head.

All around me, people were snapping pictures of the two winners. It was bedlam. Theresa was very proud, and Steve proud of her. I caught a few glimpses of the runner-up as well, for my own personal enjoyment.

One guy became a bit too friendly and after taking a picture with Theresa, figured it was alright to have a feel, and check out the winning merchandise. Not cool. Theresa was visibly angered, as her smiles turned to scorn. I went into bouncer mode, and thought, “uh oh, I’m gunna have to step into this.”

The situation defused as Theresa walked away, and that dumb drunk wandered back into the crowd.

There were more fireworks though, as Boozie wasn’t far from being wrong. It seems Mrs. Boozie, who was highly inebriated, was genuinely pissed at Boozie for being on stage for the contest. I suppose she thought he’d snuck up there to get a better view and gawk at the naked women, when in reality, he was providing the music for the contest. Despite his protests, she seemed unmoved. Oh well, drama I don’t want to have to deal with. There’s one more set to go.

The third set was a more of a ghost town. After midnight, the crowd had really thinned out. Most people were spent after the contest, and after a very long day of partying, they began to wind down. Our best songs yet to come!

Still, as with any biker rally, you’re going to have some hard core partiers, and once we started playing, some heads reappeared. In all, we went out with a bang, had a great time. I had a very good buzz on by now, and the intoxication of the night’s events was overwhelming, even if the crowd had bled away after the contest. The energy was still strong despite the growing patches of grass between listeners.

We played our last song, said our thank yous and good nights, yet they demanded an encore! Wow, hadn't really counted on that! We mustered Have A Drink On Me, which was not what I'd liked to have finished with, but what the hell? They caught us off guard!

I wound down afterwards, in very good spirits after what I considered a highly successful performance. I quickly wrapped up the cords so I could make an easy getaway when I needed to, then settled in to do some drinking, relaxing, and meet some friendly folk.

I was greeted by more drama, as the Boozies were still fighting. Mostly alcohol induced, if you ask me. As they finished packing, Boozie slammed her hand in the truck door, I’m told completely by accident, but that fueled more tensions. She was in tears, and some pain, it seemed. And poor Boozie, he just seemed like he couldn’t do anything right. I hoped they'd be ok, and that it didn't spoil the night.

Steve and Theresa took the money and went home, fools! After winning and earning all that money from the gig and the contest, why on earth make that ass long trek after a night like this? Stay at a hotel! Oh well. Good luck to you! I’m going to bed! Where’s my beer?

C.J. and I stayed around, drinking with late night partiers we’d met. The grounds became very quiet, and I noticed we were about the only ones still awake, out partying. I was kind of dreading the drive back to the hotel. I’d been drinking, and with a beautiful night like this, I’d kind of wished I’d just had a tent set up, and crash there. Maybe next year?

Before long, topics obviously turned to music and this older biker lady broke out a beautiful acoustic, and harmonica and we all began to play.

Now, I’m not really a big acoustical player. I studied classical guitar in college, but that is a different animal. I grew up listening to my father sing and play all the time. For some reason, I just never learned to play like he does.

As it turns out, C.J. is a regular "Camp Fire King", with a litany of classic acoustic songs to sing and play. We had a great time! C.J. would belt them out, I’d sing back ups, and this woman would blow harp. Quite a treat! I even played "Best of My Love", the first song I ever learned in a sad attempt to be a Camp Fire King of my own. I was really tanked, and sounded horrible! Barely remembered the song.

“Here, C.J., your turn!” I said, quickly handing him back the guitar. I decided to cry "Uncle" and abort any further attempts at dethroning the "Camp Fire King." The night belonged to C.J.

C.J. and I pounded a few more beers, and as the biker lady shuffled off to her trailer, we grabbed some brews for the road and the hotel, which probably wasn’t the wisest idea. We’d had quite enough! We snaked through the dark country roads, and soon were back on well lit highway. I was approaching 5:30AM, but surprisingly, it was still pitch dark out. With the Super 8 in sight, I was ready for bed. Why the hell did I bring all this beer back?

C.J. and I remarked in the hotel parking lot how much fun we’d just had, and that since they asked us back next year, we couldn’t wait to play here again. Hopefully, it will grow, and be even better as more people find out about it. It was one hell of a party.