I am breaking one of my rules for this one. The name of someone still alive will be mentioned. He will be in a lot of these stories I am sure. He asked me to use his name, and who am I to turn down a brothers request.
Still early days, still far from innocent but young and stupid. Not much has changed between then and now. Still stupid, still not innocent, but I digress. The scumbag saloon was still pretty empty. I met a man that is like a brother to me.I didn’t recognize him but saw him limping behind the bar with a cane, working his ass off and not taking shit from anyone not even his own body. The kind of man that demands respect without even opening his mouth at least in my eyes at the time. Long haired and ugly, seemed to fit the place perfectly. I thought he was the owner, I didn’t say that, just asked if I could try to put concerts on there. He said yes, I didn’t meet the actual owner for months. I do not know if she knew what was going on in the beginning. Found out his name is Mike. He helped set it up and change it all.
It was a start, a chance at something. we were doing shows on a donation basis passing around a cigar box, no money was being made but it was something. I wish I could say I remember who played, the people that were around, but I don’t and am not going to start bullshitting. I have heard of how it was in days past, but I would like to think that this is the beginning of something that could match those days. The foundation was there, had part of legendary gospel family, a drummer for a one of the bigger if not biggest funk bands, an actor that has been in tv and movies, and a lot of other people that were doing things on that big of a scale but maybe not fully legally. I can’t say there was a feeling of what was coming, I don’t think any of us could see what would happen, and honestly I was expecting failure. The nights that wreckless fate came through and the singer was trying to do high kicks like a drunken david lee roth tucked away in a small cutout by the front door with the vocals being ran through a shotty p.a.
The fucked up thing is it was already feeling like home. You could say and do whatever you felt like but, had to know your actions could come back to haunt you. I was taken right away and I have no fucking clue why. I have seen others taken in the same way. I think the place and people call to certain types. The outcasts, rednecks, one’s looking to escape or drink away everything and let it all hang out good, bad, and horrible. It set the tone to debauchery, drunken nights, drug use other peoples not mine I stick with tobacco and alcohol, and brotherhood.
As far as setups go this will be the last of them, going to skip ahead to the day that really started it all.
unpaid professional boozehound 