How curious is it that a simple two word name coupled with music can have such an emotional impact? State Fair. It is one of those events that brings out the best and worst in people. It can be something to which we look forward, especially as children. It can be a magical place where a simple two dollar toy can release you into a magical fantasy world where Pirates and liars and thieves rule and you are the chosen one who will bring order to the chaos. Little Jimmy Redding is swinging his plastic sword overcoming an imaginary foe, another little child named Daisy is happily holding her father’s hand. It is just the two of them. Who knows where Mom is, perhaps in a burned out building in the South end of Springfield, or if she is lucky in rehab or jail. But this is Daisy’s time with Daddy and has been for quite some time. He smells the warm, velvet aroma of funnel cake, beaming down at his princess as she looks up at his larger than life frame. She smiles at him skipping along to keep up with his long strides grateful for every moment she spends with him.
She sees another couple who are arguing. Kerwin is missing a few teeth and looking pretty shabby. She is named Mona and is holding her own child who is trying to cry as quietly as possible, hiding behind her and clinging to her mother’s leg. She cries quietly because she knows mommy’s new boyfriend doesn’t like it when she does that, especially when he is drunk. But it doesn’t matter, this was the last straw, Kerwin is history. By the time he gets to feel his hangover tomorrow morning Mona will be gone. The happy little girl looks away from this scene back to her daddy. He reads her body language and reassures her that she never has to worry about that kind of crap again, by pulling her in close and giving her a little squeeze…a gesture that clearly tells her that it is okay to feel sorry for the other little girl, but also indicates that she will grow up with that kind of chaos as a faded and distant memory, so distant that it might have even been a bad dream.
Those kinds of instances and memories can make a State Fair such a somber and sorrowful place in the midst of calliopes, parades, and colorful entertainers with petrified smiles. In the agricultural building , Walter Bukowski, a 55 year old man, is pushing a wheelchair. His Father, Waclaw, has his hand on the arm rest of the chair as his once strong and confident fingers shake and twitch from errant misfired electrical impulses sent from his brain. He is feeble and tired, but happy to once again be in the farm building. The smell of the manure and hay… the sight of Holsteins, sheep, and a sow who patiently lays in wait as her piglets suckle, rejuvenates him as he brought back to a time when he was a younger man and the standard which set the bar in this Agricultural display. He disregards his body as his mind takes him to the happiest places in his life. Not back to the steppes of the Carpathian Mountains in Austria but here in this grizzled and historical building thankful that he is here one more day to experience this with his loved ones. His son fights back a tear as he remembers the once immortal figure he is now guiding through his waning years. His own precious memory has him walking next to the tall man in the cowboy hat and boots and leading his blue ribbon winning heifer back to his stall after displaying it in the building across the way, the Coliseum where they had seen so many hockey games. They would sit in the box seats leaning over the edge as Dad confidently led his livestock through the competition. They would sitting in the same seats where “Coliseum Charlie” would sway behind his tower of empty beer cups drunkenly swinging his tee shirt above his head cheering for the Indians as Eddie Shore looked on in disgust and yelled for him to put his shirt back on, but he let Charlie come back every week. At least his feet weren’t on the seats. Walter looked around was it this stall where they used to camp out with the cows? Perhaps it was even that stall right over there, Yes he is sure that was the one. But does it matter which stall it was? He knows in his gut that this is the last time he and his dad will be at the State Fair together. He wonders why he has to live with this painful memory, because he feels like missed the boat. He has no child with whom to share this wonderful experience. He could still have children perhaps, but they would never know him to be as strong as their grandfather was. He looks at his sister who seems to be preoccupied with her own distant but similar memory. She is thankful that her daughter is holding her Grandfather’s hand, the one that doesn’t twitch. She is thankful that she didn’t leave the farm to go for the big paycheck like her younger brother did, taking a job as an engineer with one of the technology companies on Rt. 128 near Burlington. She was the good daughter who kept the family farm going and turned it into her own thriving business. She was thankful that her brother was here for a change, so she didn’t have to push the chair all day. She couldn’t bring herself to say “Dad” She pushed “the chair.”
Crowds of people clamor out of the State buildings with their bags of fried clam cakes and spun maple sugar treats just in time to watch the parade pass by. Behind the Budweiser Clydesdales and their barking Dalmatian , and green purple and gold bedecked Mardi Gras krewes riding on their floats with their satchels of “throws”, a local American Legion troop proudly marches. All of the members of the color guard fought in the Big War. The younger veterans, the ones who were spit upon when they came back from their war, marched behind them grateful that they have been finally been accepted and recognized for their contribution to democracy. But the Big war, WWII, was the one that claimed so many victims after the white flags came out, long before anyone knew what post traumatic stress disorder was and what it did to a lot of these proud men who fought for our Freedom. They look sad but determined, honoring the 2000 of their comrades who are falling every day. With veterans passing at that rate, eventually as with every war, the last remaining veteran will be buried hopefully leaving behind a free world even though it was unrecognizable to them when they passed . A world that looked so different than it did in the days when they knew who their enemy was on the beaches of Normandy or in the air above Midway island, or a in a ruptured and sinking PT boat in the South Pacific.
Across the fair on the midway, the first little girl we encountered, Daisy, grips her Father’s hand tighter as a very shady looking carnie allows his diseased brain to focus on her and stare just a little too long. A stare we just don’t want to think about, but are forced to endure more often than not as we read horrifying accounts in the daily newspapers. Again Dad’s intuition kicks in as he utilizes every vestige of his scary biker image to stare down this vile predator. Yes he is a loving and sensitive father, but those boots have seen their share of ass kicking. Very few people, other that Phish bassist Mike Gordon, can identify with or better yet, live to tell what can happen when an outlaw biker thinks you are getting inappropriate with their underage child. The carnie however, was no rock star and his balls shriveled as Dad did not relinquish eye contact and moved in his direction, forcing the carnie to run back into the safety of his filthy trailer. Sitting on a bench nearby, two of the local ladies from the Lion’s Club dining hall comment to each other on what they just witnessed. They had been keeping an eye on this fellow agreed that the carnie was going to get his ass kicked if he didn’t cut out his shameful staring.
Behind the Lion’s Club volunteers, who were enjoying a large and sinful looking cream puff was Kerry the corn dog vendor. His run of bad luck was over. The weather had agreed with him this week and he ended up with a good location across from the midway. He doubled what he thought he would take in for his efforts. Oh was he tired. But he was happy. He didn’t have to punch a clock. All he had to do was deal with the customers and hope to get out of the parking lot alive with his receipts. He made enough money to take care of the past due mortgage payment, He had been scared…Wednesday was the day. Now he was going go to the bank two days early with a payment which would bring him current. He smiled at his two children who were in the food cart with him frying the dogs and mixing more corn batter. In their eyes their dad had the coolest job in the world. He smiled once again and hugged them both. He was listening to a song appropriately titled State Fair by The Drunk Stuntmen. Inhaling deeply he took it all in. He loved every bit of it. The memories, the stories people would tell him. The different accents and dialects he encountered, and that was just from one county in Eastern Mass. He loved all that the fair represented. The fears of the young child going down the giant slide or stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel for the first time. The hopes of others that their hard work would pay off in various competitions and a blue ribbon emblazoned with the words “Best in Fair” would rest on the mantel next to the ones Grandma won years ago. He loved this song for what it represented to him. It took him to places he had not been in years and projected him further down the time line than he could ever have imagined. He felt he knew the band. He saw them one night at an outdoor theater in Northampton. It was oppressively hot and muggy , and raining. The spot light trained on the stage cut through night looking like a pie shaped ray of a movie screen on which was projected a black and white surrealistic piece of grainy celluloid which looked very unlike the falling raindrops and bugs they actually were. In his mind this was the beginning of the movie he was experiencing now as he saw the fair roll along. He felt like he was watching the song, witnessing the fair on that magical wedge of silver.
It was so muggy that night, the black flies were landing on his bald head and drowning in the sweat and moisture. He had to keep wiping them off with a soggy napkin in his pocket. A situation like this would normally be intolerable to him. He did shudder when Bow Bow, the bass player said he inhaled a bug through his nostril. As uncomfortable a situation it could have been, he was mesmerized and transfixed on the happenings on stage. This was Northampton, he was at a free show and what he was hearing was more like what you would expect from Pink Floyd which you had just paid $75 to see. And they were even short a key player, who had a commitment out of town.
The band was just like him. They worked their asses off, because that is what they did. Maybe they would get the big payday one day, but until that happened he was sure they would keep doing what they were doing . They were the best he had ever heard. They were a band which was tucked into the corner of a local bar but had fans World wide. A band with a cool name he just happened to hear on a college radio station one night during his commute home. He saw them and noticed they had a heart and soul which could fill a theater. They just needed the right break just like the one he had gotten. Maybe their break was forthcoming as Mitch Easter, the guy who did REM’s first two albums was slated to produce their next release.
Two years ago Kerry’s kids didn’t know him. He was always working in that restaurant and that was killing him. What is the point of being the best chef in the Valley if you are going to be a distant memory to your children. You might as well work yourself to death if you are not going to be available when you are alive. Now he and his kids sell corn dogs laugh and joke about the customers who were challenged to various degrees either from alcohol and overstimulation or the ones who were best described as morbidly obtuse. Now they could spend precious minutes, hours and days with each other. Learning and teaching each other life’s simplest lessons and figuring out the difficult lessons together. Oh life is so much simpler and rewarding. Good life and good times with family, good music and a couple of games of horseshoes every now and then. A life second to none at the State Fair.
Paul Brown
Total of 5 hours from hamp to the Coma. Damn Nickleback (and Staind, *and* Daughtry ((I never once voted for you)) gunkin up the works. Note to self; next time try lawn chairs and helium baloons.
Rob Skelton and Pitchfork played first. Great groves with his tight new three-piece. Despite some early technical problems the set was superb. I know a lot of these songs and have played in various incarnations of Skelly's band. This one definitely had it *goin on* with solid drumming from Jim "M.C.T.V." Humphreys and tight bass from Bassy. Some cameo MCing from Mike and the crowd was good to go. "Check it ouuuuut!"
We played a spirited yet restrained set of rock with a side of Hank 3.
Chris Blood, soundman extrordinaire gave a copy of the show to us which will soon be up on http://www.archive.org
The talent on the dance floor could have opened it's own agency. Nice job.
We didn't start a tab cause last time it was an issue. Lo and behold they tell us at lights on that they were going to comp the whole thing. Nothing like making up for lost time. Thanks Dean and the rest of the staff. You guys rock.
Off to John's for some Slim Galliard and more in front of the fireplace. Perfect.
Sleep at 5. Up at an ungodly 9am by a rarin to go SS. Got to get to Bourne for Judy's BLT's.
An aside: Sometimes if you ask for pickles, even though they don't normally come with your sandwich, and the manager of the store is your best friend's Mom, she may just open up a jar of Bread and Butter gerkhins and your day is complete. And it's not even noon. You should be so lucky. Thanks Judy.
1p-4:Relaxed for a few hours along the canal. Very relaxing I'll say.
I can't get into it right now but a development has occured in this 1-4pm timespan that will double-handedly change the way we use tobacco-smoking paraphenaila and how we also view some essential tools of the modern camper. I kid you not. More to come. Stay tuned.
4p. Set up the gear with a pig roast happening at the same time. I hope our stuff smells this way forever.
5p. Cookout at the Sanderson's with the band, Matt Caldeira, Matt's girlfriend Amanda (who was enchanting), Matt's cousin Matt, Daisy, and a couple of folks I didn't know. Still don't seeing I can't remember their names. Sorry guys. Along with the assortment of grilled meats, little necks, cracker's and cheeses and Hobo Beans (which has changed the way I think about hobo's possibly forever). There was something else on the menu. Something I come to anticipate as much, if not more than my Birthday or possibly even Christmas.
Ahem!
JUDY SANDERSON'S WORLD FAMOUS TACO SALAD!!!!!. I say world famous simply because we cannot *prove* that it was enjoyed by the astronauts on the last space shuttle mission. We also can't prove that it didn't happen. So I say the bowl is half full...oh wait a minute...it's almost gone. Damn. If I gave away the secret recipie Judy would kill me and I know you don't want that to happen right? *Do* you? I didn't think so. Anyway...
Sumertime funtime songs abounded. I can't remember them all but you might if you were there.
"Bonesy" is our new friend and tip jar given ceremoniously to us by the park security (who was might cute) You'll get to meet "Bonesy" at the next show. Hurry though. He is made of Chineese plaster (there's no joke in there I swear) and may not last too long (and, I must mention that there was no joke in that last phrase as well. That, fine folk, I can assure you. I wicked swear.)
Set break was made more fun by...wait...these two words have not escaped my lips before this night...PUDDING CAKE!!!!! With Freaking Ice Cream. Thanks Judy (and Daisy)
Bamm and Kathy (and Calvin) were there making the 2nd show in as many days. You guys are great. Great Ryan again. Great to see the Sanderson's, the Brandon's, my Aunt Lynda, The Freitas', The Donnellys, The Demerols, The Ripleys, and all of you great people who make this 9th annual event so special.
And so, another Bourne post-gig singalong down by the water is broken up by the cops. We had more fun than them I can assure you.
Dave drove me and Bow home. Thanks Dave.
Lunch on the way: Double Cheeseburger, small fry.
Desert: Boston Cream Donut.
Drinks: Jack and Cokes
You should be so lucky
Yours,
Freddy Freedom
Stuntman Steve would like to add:
Bourne Scenic Park just keeps getting more fun. It all started 9 years ago as
an anniversary party for Stuntman Steve's Parents celebrating 30 years of marriage. Since then it has grown into the years best original family stunt concert.
This year it was held on Saturday July 14th.
The day was perfect 80 degrees with a breeze.
Longtime friends of Drunk Stuntmen stood shoulder to shoulder and beach chair to beach
chair. The younglings were playing together and insisting that their
parents accompany them to the dance floor for a spin around the
pavilion. The campground sold out Saturday morning and the management
knew it had in part to do with the band. BSP had been told multiple
times by campers that they had chosen the times for their vacations
based on the Stuntmen's performance. Next year plans are in place for a
group stunt tent site. If your interested you will want to get in touch
in March.
The Stuntmen are proud to host this event, and flattered with
the support of their longtime friends. It's great to get to know the
second generation of Stuntfans.
Thanks again,
SS
Total of 5 hours from hamp to the Coma. Fucking Nickleback (and Staind, *and* Daughtry ((I never once voted for you)) gunkin up the works. Note to self; next time try lawn chairs and helium baloons.
Rob Skelton and Pitchfork played first. Great groves with his tight new three-piece. Despite some early technical problems the set was superb. I know a lot of these songs and have played in various incarnations of Skelly's band. This one definitely had it *goin on* with solid drumming from Jim "M.C.T.V." Humphreys and tight bass from Bassy. Some cameo MCing from Mike and the crowd was good to go. "Check it ouuuuut!"
We played a spirited yet restrained set of rock with a side of Hank 3.
Chris Blood, soundman extrordinaire gave a copy of the show to us which will soon be up on http://www.archive.org
The talent on the dance floor could have opened it's own agency. Nice job.
Charms, you were missed.
We didn't start a tab cause last time it was an issue. Lo and behold they tell us at lights on that they were going to comp the whole thing. Nothing like making up for lost time. Thanks Dean and the rest of the staff. You guys rock.
Off to John's for some Slim Galliard and more in front of the fireplace. Perfect.
Sleep at 5. Up at an ungodly 9am by a rarin to go SS. Got to get to Bourne for Judy's BLT's.
An aside: Sometimes if you ask for pickles, even though they don't normally come with your sandwich, and the manager of the store is your best friend's Mom, she may just open up a jar of Bread and Butter gerkhins and your day is complete. And it's not even noon. You should be so lucky. Thanks Judy.
1p-4:Relaxed for a few hours along the canal. Very relaxing I'll say.
I can't get into it right now but a development has occured in this 1-4pm timespan that will double-handedly change the way we use tobacco-smoking paraphenaila and how we also view some essential tools of the modern camper. I kid you not. More to come. Stay tuned.
4p. Set up the gear with a pig roast happening at the same time. I hope our stuff smells this way forever.
5p. Cookout at the Sanderson's with the band, Matt Caldeira, Matt's girlfriend Amanda (who was enchanting), Matt's cousin Matt, Daisy, and a couple of folks I didn't know. Still don't seeing I can't remember their names. Sorry guys. Along with the assortment of grilled meats, little necks, cracker's and cheeses and Hobo Beans (which has changed the way I think about hobo's possibly forever). There was something else on the menu. Something I come to anticipate as much, if not more than my Birthday or possibly even Christmas.
Ahem!
JUDY SANDERSON'S WORLD FAMOUS TACO SALAD!!!!!. I say world famous simply because we cannot *prove* that it was enjoyed by the astronauts on the last space shuttle mission. We also can't prove that it didn't happen. So I say the bowl is half full...oh wait a minute...it's almost gone. Damn. If I gave away the secret recipie Judy would kill me and I know you don't want that to happen right? *Do* you? I didn't think so. Anyway...
Sumertime funtime songs abounded. I can't remember them all but you might if you were there.
"Bonesy" is our new friend and tip jar given ceremoniously to us by the park security (who was might cute) You'll get to meet "Bonesy" at the next show. Hurry though. He is made of Chineese plaster (there's no joke in there I swear) and may not last too long (and, I must mention that there was no joke in that last phrase as well. That, fine folk, I can assure you. I wicked swear.)
Set break was made more fun by...wait...these two words have not escaped my lips before this night...PUDDING CAKE!!!!! With Freaking Ice Cream. Thanks Judy (and Daisy)
Bamm and Kathy (and Calvin) were there making the 2nd show in as many days. You guys are great. Great Ryan again. Great to see the Sanderson's, the Brandon's, my Aunt Lynda, The Freitas', The Donnellys, The Demerols, The Ripleys, and all of you great people who make this 9th annual event so special.
And so, another Bourne post-gig singalong down by the water is broken up by the cops. We had more fun than them I can assure you.
Dave drove me and Bow home. Thanks Dave.
Lunch on the way: Double Cheeseburger, small fry.
Desert: Boston Cream Donut.
Drinks: Jack and Cokes
You should be so lucky
Yours,
Freddy Freedom
Stuntman Steve would like to add:
Bourne Scenic Park just keeps getting more fun. It all started 9 years ago as
an anniversary party for Stuntman Steve's Parents celebrating 30 years of marriage. Since then it has grown into the years best original family stunt concert.
This year it was held on Saturday July 14th.
The day was perfect 80 degrees with a breeze.
Longtime friends of Drunk Stuntmen stood shoulder to shoulder and beach chair to beach chair. The younglings were playing together and insisting that their parents accompany them to the dance floor for a spin around the pavilion. The campground sold out Saturday morning and the management knew it had in part to do with the band. BSP had been told multiple times by campers that they had chosen the times for their vacations based on the Stuntmen's performance. Next year plans are in place for a group stunt tent site. If your interested you will want to get in touch in March. The Stuntmen are proud to host this event, and flattered with the support of their longtime friends. It's great to get to know the second generation of Stuntfans.
Thanks again,
SS
A short ride to Derita a town just north of Charlotte NC. Heavy traffic on Sugar Creek Road. James had turned the heat off on the Crockpot because he was unsure about our arrival time. The pot roast was reheated and quickly eaten. Thanks James, thanks a lot. We have not been able to put many bodies in this room. We seem to get a few devoted fans everytime but never all of them at the same time. The Pucketts sure do love us and we will continue to go back as long as we are invited. Better luck next time at the races. It's time for everyones favorite time "Welcome new fan time!" We would like to welcome Chris and Carla(Carla I'm working on the tattoo) and the " You look like a rabbits" Nice juke box and thanks for a place to lie down. I did not know amps came with laminated instructions. They must have stolen mine at the store. Stinkin Downtown Clowns.Kirsten thanks for the beers and the dancing it was appreciated.Puckett's is a unique venue and should be experienced. It's been in the Puckett family for many years. As the story goes it started as a feed and farm equipmnet store some 110 years ago. Local farmers would stop in after a days work because old man Puckett would have a cooler full of cold ones. Eventually people got drunk and stopped working in the fields. This quickly led to them getting up and going fishing instead. After fishing they would stop home get their guitars and banjos and go to Puckett's for the coldest beer in NC. Soon the major feed companies moved into Charlotte and made earning an honest living too difficult for Puckett. So he did what any of us would do, he started charging his friends for the beer and that pretty much brings you all up to speed. Freddy would like to add: A big 3D thank you to Puckett's for the Swimsuit issue. Finest mag for a van full of dudes on the road. Ab-so-LUTE-ly! Tom's house was fun for me not only because it was a house and we were welcome, but I got to sleep in a Hello Kitty bunk bed. A finer sleep was n'er been had. Kids artwork is always great but Tom's kid Melissa colored in a Leprechaun at school with the caption "If I caught a leprechaun I would play with him. I would take the gold." Well put. Xanax works. We had so much fun driving away a few miles from the house that we did it again, twice. Scott forgets stuff places sometimes. You probably do too. It's ok. We've all been conditioned for the funny looks we sometimes get but that's what you get from funny looking people. It's way more fun to give them. We gave a few at the Barbecue Center in Lexington. Hailed by some as the finest BBQ in NC. It was damn good. Dave got the cheeseburger as it was on special. They poured hot bbq sauce from a coffe pot into a serving decanter to dip and daub as you wish. It's the little things sometimes that remind you how big the world is. " When they sleepin'...I be up" (Sportcenter random soundbyte) . I would like to extend my hopes that everyone who stayed home in Asheville enjoyed their poo sandwich. Found but not bought at the animal shelter thrift store: A Clay Aiken t-shirt with the quote "He is the potter...I am the clay" Jeremiah something or other. A fond farewell to Don Ho. He truly was the original nappy-headed ho. You should be so lucky.
After recording all week with morgan in the Cooler we descended into Asheville like true hill folk to see if we could still play our new songs. Nope, sure couldn't. Oh well next gig. The Westville Pub is a pretty cool room with friendly folks. We were fed a good meal and they provided a PA. There were some folks in attendance besides our friends and there friends. I wish Little Friday had stuck around longer. I ended up putting the SG back on. We had to be a little quieter than we like to be these days but it's good practice. It's just hard to make the ear splitting distortion you need to have fun. We played two sets got tipped and payed a little. A big thanks to Nick's folks! You guys were way too generous. Next time the beers are on us. I think we'll be back. Freddy's snippets: Today 4/13 is Slogan Day. Today's slogan "Don't ask." I, Freddy Freedom today admitted to the room that I was getting snippy. This is unacceptable. How can people live with dirty bathrooms. It's uncivilized. Are we poo throwing monkeys? Sure we are, but jeez...Last night's best quote-"I keep thinking I'm stepping on a cat but it's just my shadow"-DD Ingle's at 3 am is just as much fun as at 3 pm. Dave and I did finally find our Cadbury "creme filled!!!! Eggs" Little boxes, four for a dollar. Yes we shared but Dave got a belly-ache from eating too many. See what the Easter season brings out in us. We're much more relaxed than we were in Jersey. New slogan-"Pay for the water, smoke from it later." Smoke on the water indeed. "Choo-Choo Yay!!!-SS "Cough-cough"-DD I am, as some of you know a recovering cookie-hater. This week has brought about new clarity that may bring me half-circle. More on this later. We have to go to the barbecue forest to find maddening new adventures. You should be so lucky.
OK. I(SS) finally can empathize with all the people I thought were just navigationaly challenged when they couldn't find their way around the one-way wagon roads of Boston. Norfolk, you deserve an asshole award for streets that don't end, begin, or exist. I would also like to add that either no one knows where they're going or are lying about actually living there due to the fact that no one could give us proper directions to the club. Thanks. Thanks a lot
We had a really good time. No, for real. The owner and the employees were all friendly and welcoming. Nick Fernandes in the kitchen was even from Fall River. I mentioned that I (FF) played with the illustrious Marc Dennis. Nick immediately sang the chorus from Marc's hit "Superman". Marc Dennis never had a song or a member of their band called President Spiderman though. Why would he? Back to the Taphouse, great food and drinks. TJ is the mountainous man with the sly smile who's running sound. He tells us (and to my ears 4 other people at different times) that he had smoked a joint before work and he was feelin' good. He tells us also that he doesn't want to get too drunk to work so he planned on just drinking PBR all night. TJ got drunk fast. TJ the DJ in his other life played great rock-a-billy and Outlaw style country over the PA system while we prepared to show the Taphouse how we roll. When we hit the stage just about 11pm the room had 12 to 20 curious bystanders. We kicked it off like in NYC with some fast country numbers and flowed into some heavier material. We played well together and had won over the crowd in two songs. Whiskies found their way to the stage far to frequently and the owner said, "you guys can come back anytime". OK now that we know where it is we will. Wouldn't you just know it, we got directions to the nearest cheap hotel. Um, yeah you guessed it. more bad directions. We woke up in a Motel Six in Idontknowhere Virginia found the nearest IHOP and began the pouring of syrup. Mr. Durst felt compelled to harrass the poor sucker dressed in the ragged Uncle Sam outfit peddling an income tax preperation facility. Sam just waved and smiled. At some point in the night we arrived in Marshall for the first time in two years. Thanks Johnny Crash pad.
NYC: going back to saturday. No traffic, no blowouts, no blow. Tolls though, plenty of tolls. Welcome back Foulke Hero Frank. This just in: Newly appointed official Stuntmen-sanctioned named fan...ladies and gents...welcome to the spotlight...Rodeo Mike! Illana you should be so lucky. Slacker.
Countryish start with Stuntgrass, Rock Paper, Mystery. Sounding good, but all good things must take a break. Hello Keating (with consort ), Lenny Johnson, Doug at the bar, and the other well wishers who congregate wherever we may pause. Just try to escape the chaos. You should be so lucky. Carl claimed the show was not long enough. He was beaten severely. Kristen and Joe finally witnessed the madness. We think they liked it. Thanks for the crash. Every time Al says anything, milk flies out of Steve's nose, even if he's not drinking milk. Freaky. 3:30 am: Still in the city but our driver won't stop for Pastrami at the Carnegie. Even though our driver has been talking about these freaking sandwiches for most of his life. I firmly believe we did something bad in an upcoming life. Steve is taunting our driver by waving a dollar bill around as we sit at the toll booth. "...maybe I'll just throw this out the window..." Steve says in a late-night kind of voice. Later, Steve will claim to have no knowledge of this whatsoever. You should be so lucky.
Morning comes quick when that's when you go to sleep. All ready to go to Roanoke, er, Norfolk. As the bedtime story goes, the three broads looked in the cave and it was empty. Baby Jesus was gone but the cave was full of smoke, good smoke, easter smoke. Now, as we sit unmoving in the driveway it becomes clear to me what has happened. The van is full of smoke...good smoke...EASTER SMOKE! It's our easter miracle on East 56th street. Thanks carl. CAAAAAARRRRLLLLLLL!
Noon comes and goes and so do we. Steve takes the first shift behind the wheel. Goodbye sleeping bag. More on this later. As we drive, a gray sedan approaches on the left. Here's what happens next. The car is full of dudes. 4 dudes. Jersey dudes. They are all laughing. Why are they laughing? I'm not sure if they were laughing at us or themselves. You see, the two guys in the back seat had their pizzles out and were making the universal "wanky-wanky" motion. Wow! Steve hucks an impressive sounding loogie at said car full of douchebags, er, Jersey boys. Then Steve does the most natural thing in the world a person would do at time like this. He asks for a "Faggot" sign from the back and tries to run the car off the road. Not one but 2 signs are produced from the back. A simple "Fag" and a more caustic "Faggot". Steve throws the "Faggot" sign back as he is not only crazed and dangerous, but his internal spellcheck doesn't recognize the double "g" in "faggot" A confirmation from a party of the first part and the double "g" stays. But alas, The sign proves to be not only a hilarious break in the muscle-van action but also unnecessary as the gray sedan speeds by us at a very faux-hetero speed of 95 or so. I can only guess they were late for the 45th annual Point Pleasant Easter Bukkake. Steve, realizing what has just occurred recommends that he go to sleep for a while and he does. Scotty takes the wheel and we're still on our way to Norfolk. You should be so lucky.
Frantic. Bob and Polly and the girls show up 15 minutes early. I'm pulling my belt closed with one hand and brushing my hair with the other. "I hope you don't mind that I'm a little early". Well you're taking me to Europe so I don't have much of a choice.
>
>9:42 Everybody's here but SS. Cilman asks if he should call him. I tell him he can call all morning but he won't answer. After all we weren't supposed to leave until 9:45. When SS shows up I ask Bob what time it is. He shrugs and tells me he's not wearing a watch. I make him look at his cell phone and he sheepishly tells me it's 9:44.
>
>The usual problems arise at the airport. People getting lost and Bob sweating through 3 shirts. Arrive in Zurich or "tssurriccch" as they have a tendency to say. We meet our new friend Marcello. He's a big hulking russian looking guy who likes to laugh. He's the driver for the chorus as well, aparrently for me and SS. We ask him where the fun is and he happily brings us to Club Helsinki. On our trip there we go through the red light district where Marcello says to stay away from unless we like "Junky Whores". Which we don't.
>
>Inside things are cozy. It's a concrete box with a long bar and stage. A guy named Add and the Trio from Hell is about to play or so it says in duct tape on the wall. Had a few beers. Great surfabilly. Heinz is the guitar player and is very friendly. He plays a black tele with a "b bender" (look it up people) and they are great. 30 minute sets is a new thing for us. But when your songs are under 3 minutes it's ok. Rienke, (pronounced Rink) is the bass player and he makes unbelievable old school country comps which he plays between sets. Very surreal. Some girl gets up in the middle of the second set and sings a tune. This gives us an idea for later in the week. The band gives us a shout out which is nice. Marcello gets drunk and we have to leave the van at the club while taking a 25 franc cab ride to the hotel.
POW!!!
Wow. Don't beleive what they tell you about those retreaded tires. They sound just like new tires do when they blow. People ask me if I don't like the takeoff and landing of planes. But, for the most part those things are cake compared to blowing a tire on our van full of equipment and socks, sleeping bags and mouthwash. It's pretty scary folks. And you can almost expect it. It's never happened to me thank goodness but it's bound to someday.
So we ride on this tire (mind you it's still got air in it, just no tread.) through the toll and get a tip from the tollbooth worker on a BJ's up a few miles.
(tollbooth worker):"But you gotta be a member"
(Steve):"Oh I AM a member."
This of course is a complete lie which Steve has so firmly commited to that nothing can possibly go wrong.
11:30 am Steve M. Sanderson (registered Costco member) is issued a temporary BJ's membership card while on vacation.
3:39 pm "Fuchs Lubricant"-Seen on side of truck.
4pm on the road with $220 worth of new tires. YeeYah!
8pm Food stop. Me, SH, DD Wendy's
SS-Friendly's
BB-an unfortunate experience with the new KFC "Snacker". Bow got buffalo sauce all over him.
12:30 am: Just pass South Of The Border. Stop at motel with cable.
Soft core porn on the tv (bonus) involving a Herculese type warrior and a woman genie. Steve claims to have seen it before. I believe him.
Slept 2-7am: Breakfast waffles are great. Their even better when you get to make them in one of those "pour-it-in-and-flip-it-over" dealies.
We are all aware that we are only supposed to be a group of 4 (when will this end) but 5 Stuntmen are neatly making waffles in the breakfast/reception room.
Steve is heard to be singing the Mike Flood song "It's all in the open now" Having not heard the song I don't understand.
Sometime in the am: As we roll through some area which has a ghastly smell Steve yells from the front for me to close my legs.
Bow claims that SS now owes me a quarter.
Seen on a t-shirt somewhere just past Daytona: "Better to be a notorious drunk than and anonymous alcoholic".
Steve has a great new mottoe for New England: "Come on up. Slip on the ice, and break your fuckin' neck."
8pm. SH, BB, and DD come pick me up. Head to SS who had to put the merch together. 8:20pm on the road.
9pm. stuck in standstill traffic in Enfield, CT. 10:15p decide to go home, get some sleep, and try again at 6am.
10/18 6am. Depart from Stearns Ct. Roll up a fattie of kind.
8:00 am. (near Meriden, CT goddamn you CT)
Back right tire blows out. Steve carefully pulls us over on a busy 2 lane interstate with hardly any shoulder.
8:05 Call for the impeccable roadside assistance of the Automobile Association of America (AAA). We're a regular.
For those of you not there this won't be as funny but aparrently when our tire blew, a big chunk of it flew off and smacked a red '99 Corolla and the dude pulled over fast. We weren't paying much attention to the guy until he pulled back on the highway and sped away from us. Lucky bastard.
9:00 am. The "AAA battery service" van arrives to rescue us. A mid 20's obese man approaches. He is ill equipped without the proper tire iron. He asks to use ours which we didn't have or we probably woudn't have called him in the first place. It is raining heavily at this point and we're all standing around the van a mere 2 hours away from home. What the fuck. I mean really. 15 years of this shit what with the hammer of the Gods coming down on us and all can we please get a fucking break.
"THIS IS CRAZY!" exclaims our fat friend as he uses his foot with all his weight upon it to loosen our lug nuts with a 5 inch socket wrench. (I'm not making this up you guys.) He then tries to use the jack he has which is way too small and basically has to be operateed while the person is completely under the van. Steve tries it for a while and has a little better luck. It's times like these that I'm glad they don't ask me to do certain things. For now I'll just try to remember what happened best I can and then type. So then the "AAA" guy asks us...no wait...yes...he asks "where's all the stuff you use when this shit happens?" Ha! That would be back home stupid. So anyway then this dude turns to the oncoming traffic and yells at the top of his lungs in the rain..."FUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!"
When things like these happen you try to maintain some sembalance of composure as if of course this kind of thing happens all the time. So between Lugnut and Steve the tire got changed and we were ready to continue on another dare against the world. That's what it seems like sometimes. As if whoever's in charge says, "These guys, I don't want to get them completely discouraged but throw some shit in their way. You know, just some innane bullshit to make them wonder, is someone watching us?" When of course, they are.
Al Johnson
You, yes you, can say with some certainty "I helped book a gig for my favorite roots rock band, Drunk Stuntmen" Because, as you'll soon know, they give the band who wins their category the opportunity to play at some bar on Worthington St. in Springfield, On September 21st, some time at night. We'll keep you posted, you keep us runnin'.
Much ado about muffins. Ah...muffins.
Fred's trip to Thailand went pretty well until he met up with an ox cart makers daughter and all her sisters. As usual Fred could not make up his mind and ended up marrying all of the sisters. Now you know what has been causing his back problems. The only thing I don't understand is why he makes all his wives wear those funny uniforms.
New Orleans
The ride in was loud due to the blow out nailing the exhaust. We felt like badasses in a hot rod. Noise pollution aside the old red van sounded cool. I like driving by things with the sound of the engine echoing off it. That’s what it sounds like to everyone you pass.
Wow! The place looked destroyed. Boarded up houses, vacant houses and piles of trash that use to be houses. There we very few people around. I guess the people that did not have anything to come back to started over again somewhere else. I hope the people who redevelop the 9th Ward and that other neighborhood don’t price out the poor. I know some greedy leech somewhere is ready to pounce and do the wrong thing to fill their wallet.
The French quarter was intact and vibrant. The old soul was still there. There were a few less people, but then again it was a Tuesday. We walked around and watched a puppet show. (see photo gallery) I bought everyone cigars and we soaked our feet in the fountain for a while. Al found himself a junk to Thailand and married several women.(See photo gallery).
One Eyed Jacks was a beautiful old style New Orleans music club. A small bar in the front room with a 300 or so capacity room in back with a great bar(the old El Matador bar) and stage with great sound. Reo welcomed us and introduced us to our new bartender friends Missy and Meagan.
We got up on stage and rocked through a healthy hour long set. In the last third of the set 5 shots of Jack show up and to our surprise there’s Joe and Lisa our friends from Fall River that we met at campo C.
The next day we toured the wreckage from Katrina. All I can say is when the network news deems things unnewsworthy it does mean the problem got fixed.
The Happy Talk Band followed up and were fun. Reo talked to us about a better night and more promotion for a show in the Fall.
Thanks guys. See you soon!
We had dinner at the Capitol Room. It has great food with a fun, post college, family atmosphere. Try the Cajun encrusted tilapia.
The bartender took Freddies water in a rude due to being young kind of way. She turned out to be ok. The nice can helped a lot.
I played two games of foose-ball with Ann-Marie vs. Angela and Kent.We split the series 1 to 1. I think Kent was pissed although I also think he kinda likes it when I beat him. Angela what have you been doing to that man?
We played our hearts out. Jac Cain opened with his Poonhounds. He also tended to the sound duties. Drank late at some bar after the show with Barb and the gang. It's always good to spend time with the folks from Raleigh. Thanks for your continued support. We hope to see you again in the fall.
13 hour ride to Raleigh this time. Took the 91-84-81-64-95-85-1-route. No tolls more enjoyable ride. It’s got less roadside fast food and more unique dining options. Soft Rock and I did all the driving. The rest of the band was very happy with us. Oh yeah, gas is finally about the same price everywhere.
Upon arrival in Raleigh we were greeted by our friends sound man extroidinare Jac Cain and our new friend from the Pour House Marianne. Sadlack’s has one day left before major renovations and we can’t get away from the club to pay respects. For those of you who are wondering what or who Sadlack’s is, needen't wonder anymore. The original Krispy Kreme (and of course spellcheck is all over these last too words) is also close but we just dream too big. No donuts today.
Don Dixon is the early show. Do you remember “Praying Mantis”? Well do you? Great guy, great songs. Thanks Don.
Arrived cold. We got our crap up to the second floor via the dumbwaiter. Thanks to Brett’s mom, our lovely bartendress, for stocking extra MHL’s. Matt Hebert and Bob Hennessy take the stage. They sounded great. That Matt is so sensitive! In the van between sets whilst Bow and Carl and a few other good-natured partakers were partaking, some young shitbag belonging to a failure as a parent tried to get into the van not knowing it was full of partakers. (Apparently kids have been breaking into cars in the neighborhood) Bow almost killed himself and Carl as he climbed through and over anyone and anything in between him an the young shitbag. Young shitbag being young and a thief was a much better runner than Bow. Screaming obscenities and shaking his fists in the air as only Bow can, he gave good chase for multiple blocks until realizing he could no longer breathe.
Back at the club Peter Newland had begun his set. An hour and fifteen minutes later someone finally hit him with a tranquilizer dart that had the same affect his twenty similar sounding songs had on most of the audience. The Lonesomes were finally up. Jim the ultra professional came up to us and said we are going to keep it quick so you can get your whole set in. I replied,” you’d better not we’re here to see you!” As always the Lonesomes were perfect and we danced and made merriment.
When it was our turn we got our shit in a pile quickly and took the stage. Peter Newland unfortunately said he could only stay for a couple songs because it was getting late. I heard Bow gasp and I just smiled. I own the first Fat record and really like it. Peter thinks he’s pretty important and that’s great.
We launch into six songs and it’s a little awkward for a song or two. Then it locks in and starts to rock. After six we invited up Craig Strubel to play some harp. I swear he’s going to be considered one of the great harmonica players someday. It’s nice to have him around. We play a new version of Iron Hip. I slip in the mantra, “a bird is a bird a fish is a fish but a dog is a person”. The crowd is dancing people are clapping. The night makes over a grand that gets split between the humane society and the Red Cross. Things might be just a little bit better and you can all thank Peter Newland. Thanks Peter!
SS
p.s. Freddy said I have to mention how well Matt Hebert mc'd the raffle. "three pairs of earrings, you could start your own earring company" .Way to go Matt!
The hotel is nice. By now my drunk is turning into a hangover. Mild though, on a one to ten it’s only a five. Freddy and I unload the bags and their luggage and retire to our rooms to unpack. We have a group lunch waiting for us. This is when it dawns on me it’s afternoon. Holy crap I’m tired. Whoa wait a minute look at all that Brie. I make myself a Brie and ham sandwich and sit down for a minute at a table alone. I’m hungry and tired and it’s not a good time to be near any people. Thirty seconds later the staff from the Lyric Theater is sitting at the table with me. I run back up to the buffet. Grab a hunk of cheese and a baguette and head for my room. It’s just before the theater reps give their welcome it’s so good to have you here speech. They ask where I’m going as I grunt ,”Tired, talk later, thanks.” 24 hours later I wake up and throw away the hard bread and dried up cheese.
At some point in the night Fred wants me to go to a pub with him. I think I went for one drink and went back to bed. Fred could not wait to get out and spend some money and have some fun. Some nice young lads barley old enough to drink sent him to an Australian chain bar. Where he was crowned, King Fosters the Drinker, and they took turns entertaining him with their best American accents.
These events take place on 10/15/05
Wake up, again? Wow it doesn’t hurt. I can’t believe I actually slept. I never fall asleep the night before a tour. Sure, sometimes I get drunk and stay up until an hour before we leave and then sleep three hours past the time I should have. Holy shit! You mean to tell me I packed last night. I’m ready to go and can sit and enjoy a cup of coffee with my wife? MMMMM she makes the best fucking coffee ever. Well this is different she’s not yelling. She’s talking to me. Wait a minute; I’m not awake am I? Wait there’s the phone. No, I’m definitely awake. The phone has not stopped ringing here in five or six years and people have the audacity to chastise me for not answering it sometimes. Fuck you! You do what I do for what it pays. No never mind, I want to do it. You don’t deserve it. Right the phone is ringing. I knew it I knew it I knew it! Fred waited until thirty minutes before the bus leaves to call for a cab. I don’t think he even knows that you can call and schedule one the night before. Well the coffee was great and anything for Fred. He’d do it for me. Shit he even calls once in a while just to see how I’m doing.
In the Land cruiser bye bye to the mutts, I always miss the mutts, get Fred and get to the bus with ten minutes to spare. The wife slipped me the tongue I must have been a good boy. Oh no I wasn’t. I’ve been remembering to brush my teeth more. Hey there’s the Young at Heart Chorus. Every time I see them, no matter how frequently, they make me happy and if I’m already happy they make me happier. I swear it’s what touring with the Muppets must have been like. I love the Muppets so much. All aboard! Next pick up spot is the Basketball Hall of Fame to get all the Chicopee and Springfield chorus members. Fred and I run in to grab a cheeseburger. MMM fresh crap. I’ll enjoy every, chew, taste and swallow until about a half an hour later. That’s all I remember about the bus ride to Newark.
Easy as pie through the airport. Here come the metal detectors. Last time we left the country it was hot out and I wore shorts a wife beater and flip flops. The logic being that anyone who looks this much like trailer trash has no idea where to get or how to build a bomb. What I mean is if I’m barely wearing anything there’s no place to hide shit. This time however it’s been raining for two weeks straight and the valley is about to flood. I’m covered in metal. There are the zippers on the leather jacket; the motorcycle belt buckle the oversized bad ass buckles on my boots and of course the harmonica in my man-purse. Man that man purse ruins the look. I take it all off and fill up three tubs with my stuff. I walk through No beeps Hooray! Wait. Why are they putting the man-purse through again? Have I offended their sense of fashion? Is England full to the rim with euro-fags and they’ve stopped allowing more in? Maybe they only let real euro-fags in and I’m not euro-fag enough. Could I have just confused their senses of fashion and their not sure what category I should be judged in. Yeah that’s it. That’s always been it. Always.
Nope it was just the harmonica. Freddy’s through. Let’s go pay way to much for some vodka in that bar that would have a lot more room to drink in if they would only take the stupid fake car out of the middle of the floor. Martinis check, frequent flyer miles check and Dan Richardson check.
Three seven dollar martinis later we go to check on the boarding process. Just as I thought , slow. Bob Cilman is very concerned we are not waiting in the line of a hundred peole waiting for the doors to open ten minutes from now. Fred tells him that we are the last two guys he has to worry about. There’s no fucking way that plane is leaving without us on it. We go back to the bar for one more and of course duty free for a bottle.
On the plane everything is in order. I get my duty free purchase. It goes in my man-purse under the seat in front of me and I await flight. Soon the little gay flight attendants and their grumpy female counterparts will be coming around offering beverages. Fred and I will order ice water after ice water. Stoly on the rocks anyone? I’m pouring so you can be sure they’ll be strong. Wait a minute I’ve started to laugh uncontrollably. I mean like I did when I was ten. Like I did the first time I tried pot. The only thing I remember is Freddy thrashing his pillow like a crazy person and me trying to get him to touch Ed’s head. By the time we landed Ed had decided he would not be sitting in front of us on the way home. Furthermore I believe that Diane our beloved tour manager took the liberty of seating Fred and I apart from each other on the flight home. Holy shit I’m going to London with the Muppets. This is gonna be great. Wait a minute it’s already great and we are barley to Iceland. More soon!
About the help, help is always welcome. We would have been over years ago if no one had ever helped us. There are too many people to even mention. Here’s a big thank you to you all. It’s got to be good help though, help that is in a similar flow to what’s going on here. We are happy because we like what we do. If we were to change what we do to fit in with current profitable trends we would become sad and then like a sad person eat until we became too big to fit through the door of the club. Then we would only be able to play outdoors and sometimes it would be too cold to play. You want us to play don’t you?
Do your own stunts build your own bike and then pedal to wherever you want. Here’s to everyones path, make sure you wear sensible shoes.
Thanks for the great responses about the newsletter last week. I have no rants this week. Please come to the shows this month. The weather is better and it's time to see if your knees still bend. Wear your fun dancing clothes or don't wear clothes at all.
I was privy to the development of a plan to cut Bow Bow's hair for charity. If he wakes up this morning and remembers anything it should take place on May 28th at the Route 63 Roadhouse. Speaking of the Roadhouse we had a great time watching the Red Sox get their rings and tool on the Stankees. (Those of you who did not attend, stink)
Steve Sanderson Solo, hosting the open mic at Middle Earth in Bradford Vermont Wednesday night April 13th. Thursday will be spent pounding nails. Friday the Black Squirrels will open for The Resophonics and the Benders at Middle Earth. Saturday the Drunk Stuntmen will play all night. Middle Earth is a great sounding music venue with yummy food.
April 22nd: Iron Horse Music Hall in Northampton, a double bill with The Swinging Steaks at 10 pm and Drunk Stuntmen 11;30 til close. Tickets are selling well. You may want to get some.
Be on the lookout for the new Drunk Stuntmen T-shirt. We love our new Tees and have Mark Bode, Brian Grady, and Sven Huggins to thank for them.
Mike Flood
Mike will be having a CD release party at bar 19 next to the Calvin Theater in Northampton on Wednesday the 25th of May. You can get the new album "Beautiful Knowledge" there or at http://mikefloodmusic.com. It's music for your brain, some need not apply.
Thank you all!
Please send this newsletter to someone who might enjoy it.
SS
The Band that wouldn’t go away is here to stay. First European tour is a success.
Drunk Stuntmen were once described as “the Band that wouldn’t go away.” I’m sure the person who uttered this observation could be easily be tracked down and identified, but who has time for that? We will assume, more than likely, it was someone who had to do with booking bands. After 12 years rocking the Pioneer Valley and their fair share of national touring, they finally did go away. But do not fear the Stuntmen will be back and they will continue to do their own stunts. More on the stunts later, if you please.
Yes, indeed, that loud, raucous tattooed bunch has left us. Defying all the odds, and I wish I’d put money on this, Drunk Stuntmen left their devoted fans in the Pioneer Valley and made their first trip to Europe. Drunk Stuntmen are a band that would seem more at ease participating in one of Fred Eaglesmith’s legendary weekends, or playing with the world renowned founders of Hillbilly Surf, Southern Culture On the Skids. An unlikely pairing provided their ticket to Europe as they backed up Northampton’s beloved Young at Heart Chorus at the world premier performance of their “Road to Heaven” tour at the Luxor Theater in Rotterdam, NL. The Young at Heart Chorus, a group of elders, most of whom had reached their teens by the time WWII broke out, live up to their name by performing a unique song list encompassing anything from the Rolling Stones, to the Clash, to Santana.
Stuntmen front man, Steve Sanderson said, “You have heard the songs they perform so many times, but when these old folks sing them, the meaning of the song changes so profoundly.” Sanderson admitted to being overcome with emotion during one their practice sessions, a feeling whom anyone who has ever seen the chorus perform the Bob Dylan classic, “Forever Young,” has experienced.
In addition to performing with the Young at Heart Chorus, the Stuntmen have filled in the blanks with a tour of the Netherlands promoting their latest recording Iron Hip. They played to enthusiastic crowds in Amsterdam, Heythusen, Rotterdam and appeared at the Axis Festival, an annual display of Music, theater, and dance in Assen. The Stuntmen were also featured live on radio station VPRO’s Club 3 voor 12, which is broadcast in front of a live audience. The show’s host recounted the tale that the “Drunk Stuntmen were formed around the moonshine still in the backwoods of Western Massachusetts at a time when honest music was being mugged and beaten to death in a dark alley somewhere in the bowels of corporate America.”
Of the radio experience, Steve Said, “First the Dutch look at us wierd, and then the music starts and they come around to the connection between the way we look and the music we play. Being on VPRO radio was sort of like being on American Bandstand with out Dick Clark.”
When “Not Dick Clark” asked if they make honest music and what honest music is, Sanderson asserted, “I hope we make honest music. I think honest music is what comes from the heart,and don’t try to be anybody else, just be yourself and see what comes out.”
“Not Dick Clark” also asked if they had ever been to Europe. Freddy said no, but Steve offered the information that he had been in Europe before as the tour manager for another band. To which “Not Dick Clark” asked “It wasn’t ZZ Top was it?” alluding to Stuntman Steve’s elongated beard.
“Nope, My beard’s not long enough.”
When prompted with the question, “Have you ever been in a band where you were not yourselves?” Steve responded, “Well, actually this band at times, long ago wasn’t itself. It took a while to grow to become.” (I bet NDC contemplated the word grow is as another opening for a long beard joke.)
And when did they realize they had become themselves? “When we stopped getting booed.” Quipped Lead guitarist/pedal steel player F. Alex Johnson. And the name? "Freddy fell down and didn't spill his beer." He later went on to marvel that he was a Drunk Stuntman. Some things just stick. True story, and it happened in NYC on New Year’s eve. You can listen to this interview and live performances Downtown, Out of Bed, and Stars, from the album Iron Hip at http://3voor12.vpro.nl/3voor12/maps/index_overzicht.jsp. Click the icon for the third hour of the show.
One of the more raucous Stunts in Europe occurred at the Axis Festival in Assen. Early into the set they popped a fuse and lost electricity. Undeterred by the lack of current Stuntman Steve raced down into the crowd to deliver an acoustic version of “Drunken Sailor”, soon to be joined by JJ. O’Connell on tambourine and Freddy singing his guitar parts, to a very enthusiastic crowd. A bird’s eye view of the scene caught on video by Bow Bow will be featured on a soon to be launched members area of their web site Drunkstuntmen.com.
Honest Music
If there was ever a performer who played honest music, It was Frank Zappa. Hell the man played a spinning bicycle tire with a violin bow. Talk about being yourself. He eschewed the mainstream, producing and recording his own material. And his live performances were legendary feats of musical theater. Decades ago Frank Zappa took his fans on a musical journey. No, not the one about the Mud Shark, and the Edgewater Inn. This journey began in a garage in California. Through the persona of a Big Brother type character, the Central Scrutinizer, our dear deceased maestro took it upon himself to describe to the listener what could happen if you should decide to choose a career in music. Joe’s Garage painted a farcical satire dotted with tragic interactions between the bands and their fans. Okay time warp forward, 30 years later. The Central Scrutinizer sure sounds a hell of a lot like Clear Channel. What does it take to succeed if you choose a career in music in 2004? It can’t just be knowing some “nice songs.”
To find an answer the obvious places to look would be MTV, VHI. Or you could check out NICK or the Disney Channel where teenaged Pop Tarts are prancing around catering to their target audience where looks pre-empt talent 24/7. I get that hang dog look and wonder what is wrong with me? This stuff is popular. It is what millions of people want. Look at American Idol…this is what people Obviously want. But it has no substance leaving a taste in your mouth like a sandwich that’s had its use by date extended one time too many.
If there were only a simple answer to the question - what does it take to succeed in music? We would all be living the high life, in a gated community, with cabana boys, crew sluts, and plump, fuzzy beach towels, sharing pizzas with Warren and collecting never ending dividends from royalties and investments. You’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than lifting the bass line from a Queen song and turning it into an instant retirement fund, like Vanilla Ice did. Then again if you were Vanilla Ice nowadays, you would be on a reality TV show with Eric Estrada, Ha Ha!
Hmmmm. What does it take? An agent named Murray is probably a good start. A lawyer, a stylist, a publicist, a song writer, assuming your only talent is your voice, a tight pair of jeans and a nice set of knockers which will be worshipped by scores of deviants who hope you will reveal then when you finally turn 18. Shout out to Lindsay and Hillary. Lets see…oh yeah a producer, a production company which can put together a concert tour you can lip synch….FEH! And of course the blessings of a company like Clear Channel
It is almost as though REAL music doesn’t exist. I NEED A FUCKING ANTIDOTE!
Drunk Stuntmen. The name, to the uninitiated conjures up some vivid imagery, assuming of course that too much MTV hasn’t caused you to regress into a hypnotized mongoloid in need of a drool cup. You can imagine a trailer full of rowdies on a movie set. Getting schwilly on beer before they risk their lives jumping into a canyon or off a tall building through a wall of flames. Mr. Mojo Risin? Drunk Stuntman. Another drunken stunt that comes to mind, one of the most notorious and legendary of the 20th century, involved the grand daddy of alternative country. That would be the theft and cremation of Gram Parsons’ body in the Joshua Tree National Forest. Somehow two drunk hippies in a run down hearse loaded with beer and Jack Daniel’s and gasoline, Hi-test so “he wouldn’t ping” managed to pull that one off right under the noses of the cops. Hell, a cop at the airport even helped load the body into the hearse.
Fortunately, we have our antidote living right here in the Pioneer Valley, The Drunk Stuntmen…six guys. six shots of Jack Daniel’s “and please make it Jack Daniel’s”, the contents of a carefully packed van that has seen better days. Better days maybe, but at least it hasn’t burned down like the last one. All of these are the ingredients that make hours of magic and energy on any given night of the week. Yeah that’s right, Drunk Stuntmen, working class heroes. Practitioners of the fine craft, bringing us solace, rushes of adrenaline and general all around good times through music. Honest Music. No smoked mirrors or other forms of chicanery are needed. And they do perform all of their own stunts. Sometimes in bright blue polyester Tuxes, other times disguised as the Beach Boys, or playing an original score as an accompaniment to the silent film version of Peter Pan. Have no doubt they do DO all of their own Stunts.
These are the guys who have flipped your eggs, poured your coffee, cared for your special cousin, cracked that shit filled sewer line and replaced it so you didn’t have to look at those floaty things in the pot anymore. Front line soldiers in the battle against mediocrity, lip synching, and general lack of talent. What kind of stunt would these guys perform in the presence of Clay Aiken. Shit he is playing at the local agricultural fair and believe it people, he will draw a crowd.
Honest music digs deep. You feel it. You can feel the honesty to a fault. You feel the pain as you imagine your lover drifting away taking everything you had but your drinking habit as in the tune “Mary in a Bathtub”. You can also feel the triumph of love found and tightly bound, where one partner completes the either. All of these feelings arise when the Stuntmen deliver their melodic prose. The crowd identifies in a strong way. A long time ago a more prolific insightful writer than myself, went to Las Vegas looking for the American Dream. What he came up with was a sorrowful requiem, a grim reporting of turbulent and unsure times where the American Dream is often void in the lives of the masses and experienced by the few. It was a tale of a country embroiled in an unpopular and seemingly winless war. Unemployment was rising as quickly as inflation and the country was basically divided as to what the proper solution could be. Sounds eerily familiar doesn’t it? Fortunately for Dr Thompson, his accounting of the search for the American was also fucking hilarious, so it wasn’t all gloom and doom. The ravaging of the Las Vegas strip by Hunter Thompson and his attorney Oscar Acosta is undoubtedly one of the original drunken stunts.
The Drunk Stuntmen are the consummate heroes for the working class. Reminding their audience at every turn that the American dream is there for the taking. Theirs to be experienced and felt and danced to ‘til death do us part. The American Dream that has more substance than material wealth. You can find the soul of the American dream deeply imbedded in songs where “failure is a friend”, and “everyone can play guitar, good enough for this one bar.” The tunes resonate with images of frontier heroes, losers and gamblers. They outline relationships both solid, loving and triumphant and soiled and rife with dysfunction. Even teetering on the precarious cliff of being ‘imaginary” as is the case with the driving country tune “Heidi . This imagery combined with a deeply organic American country sound stirs one to remember why Workingman’s Dead was such a break though album at the time of it’s release. The simple and elegant country phrasings that people can identify with and kept them humming surprised even the Grateful Dead as they took a break from their soaring form of psychedelia.
Steve Sanderson the front man for the band commented on their relationship with the fans as we strolled down a Northampton, MA street. “People who don’t know us think we are rock stars and we intimidate them I guess. But the people who talk to us after the shows realize that we are just like them and we have lot more in common than you would think. Unless you are a pussy and won’t talk to us to find that out.”.
Drunk Stuntmen fall in with bands like Wilco, Fred Eaglesmith, Sun Volt, Uncle Tupelo and other countrified rockers. The three guitar front line of Terry T-bone Flood, Steve Sanderson, Al Johnson aka Freddy Freedom increases the likely hood that they can actually play Skynryd songs as good if not better than the band currently disguised as Lynrd Skynryd. Steve says, “You can only play so many tunes at Bike week in Daytona before the crowd has to hear Skynryd.” Rounding out the line up are Scott Hall on keyboards, JJ O’Connell on Drums and J. Scott Brandon on bass. They are influenced by classic rock, Willie Nelson Johnny Cash and just about anything they can get their hands on.
As we we’re leaving a show recently my friend Becky, who really doesn’t get out that much, gushed about the energy level produced during the evening’s well attended acoustic performance at the Silk City Tap Room in Florence, MA. She was even more moved that the band took a break from their load out duties to have a quick chat.
“You never really get a chance to see music like that, and it was pure and honest with no pretension. They are really nice guys. And most important, every one was listening to the music, it wasn’t a typical bar crowd.”
The show at the Silk City can be chalked up as another one of their Stunts. Why? Well for starters it occurred on a Monday night. It was one of those rare occasions that defies explanation and everyone who was present that night Knows this to be true. And the crowd will be back for more. These guys got what it takes.
They like to drink and be drunk. More importantly they like to write good songs and play them with an extroidinary amount of passion. They will make you wonder why you spent so much time listening to crap on the radio. They will make you forget who left you for good and feel good about the person to your left. It's going to be a long night. All will be forgiven. All will be forgotten. When you wake up with a pocket full of quarters and a wristband on your ankle, you'll remember screaming at the top of your lungs at a stage full of strangers, turned best friends, and then you'll know why you went.
Drunk Stuntmen are coming.
The music starts now.
Do your own stunts.
Drunk Stuntmen play the Screaming Pig May 6th and 7th in Provincetown, MA. (508)-487-5804
http://www.drunkstuntmen.com
413-218-7833
I'd like to apologize for the lateness of this response but there have been some technical difficulties, which prevented me from receiving your email sooner. This of course refers to the comment, which was made in a Drunk Stuntmen newsletter. The comment in question stated that we are grateful for the attention the Advocate has given us even if only half of the data was correct. Let me explain.
I have been a musician in the valley for 14 years, (and publicist for 8), and I know that the Advocate does a lot for the local music scene. Many issues have featured local artist on the cover. Features, editor's picks, reviews, and of course Gary Carra's "Nightcrawler" devote plenty of space to the furtherment of the careers of some of the finest musicians this valley has to offer. For this I am grateful. For this, the Pioneer Valley is lucky.
Which half, you ask, of your coverage is incorrect?
Two years ago Drunk Stuntmen played a show at St. John Cantius church as part of First Night Northampton. This was given ample coverage in your paper as was many other offerings on this busy night. A few days later we embarked on a 2 month tour of the South. In the middle of our tour, someone posted on our website message board that they had gone to St. John Cantius on the following two weekends to see Drunk Stuntmen as it was listed in the Advocate. This occurred for a total of four weeks after the initial event. Not just one person was misled but many. This is bad for business.
On the cover of your Dec. 9th issue, you featured Steve Sanderson from Drunk Stuntmen, as well as Eileen Hall from The Young at Heart Chorus. The article, written by Daniel Oppenhimer, was about the Stuntmen/Young at Heart collaboration, which was to occur at the Hippodrome in Springfield on Saturday Dec. 11. It was a fine article. The problem that arose was that at the very end of the article it stated that the date for the show was Dec. 10th not the 11th. Many people spent countless hours writing, arranging, rehearsing, and promoting this show. Gary Carra devoted his whole article that week to the show. He listed it as the correct date. You have to admit that this creates confusion. You have to admit this is bad for business.
In a non Stuntmen related incident, Daniel Oppenhimer wrote a short piece in the Nov. 25th issue in which he espouses the virtues of Ware River Club. He complains that WRSI should play and promote this band more often. WRSI at the time was playing this band in regular rotation often chatting up the listeners about the band, the songs on the new record, and their upcoming shows. Incidentally Phil Straub, a DJ on WRSI wrote a response to this claim stating basically what I already said. In his response the editor included the date from which the original words were printed: "The Riverloution starts here" Nov. 25, 1004. While this last oversight might be picky (some would say hilarious), it is another example of carelessness on your part. Someone's not paying attention.
While some may say that any press is good press, I beg to differ. Any press is good press except when it is inaccurate press.
I appreciate your continued support of the local music scene and of course Drunk Stuntmen. I hope this clarifies your querry, and I hope it is taken as constructively as possible.
Yours,
Al Johnson
rock salvation to eager ears.
Drunk Stuntmen, Still on the path of rock righteousness, needed a ride to Holland and Belgium so they hitched a lift with the world renown Young @Heart chorus
After the success of the unlikely pairing the stunts proceeded on to complete a very successful tour of Holland with songs from Iron Hip and the soon to be released Trailer Life, all this touring done independently, without label support. That you could say is a fine stunt in itself. Immediately after touching down on American soil the stunts went right back into rehearsal for the new series of collaborations called “Young at Heart Chorus and Drunk Stuntmen Back to Back” This time the show would contain many more originals and a six piece horn section. A multimedia video presentation making every one not on drugs get a dose of what it might feel like.The two hour show was a smash hit. Drawing capacity crowds to the Academy of Music in Northapmton and The Hippodrome in Springfield not to mention a media attention blitz, the cover of every newspaper in the valley, interviews with the Boston Globe, NPR and Time Magazine.
>
> Good luck keeping up with these independent overachievers but if you think you can you can, head over to www.drunkstuntmen.com and find out
what there up to or what they might be planning next.
>
For interviews please contact Steve Sanderson: 413-218-7833 or email:stuntmansteve@drunkstuntmen.com
Life is good. I'm trying to calm down a little. I was in the studio today and got a little over stimulated. Thank heavens for the case of Hyland Brewery beer that Todd stashed in our van Monday. MMMMMM tastey. I would like to offer my apologies to anyone I offended at the Stein night party. Krysten please stop buying me whiskey! It was an honor playing a beers birthday party. Oh, and thanks to Surfer Dude for the ride home.
Trailer Life is nearing completion. We had to reschedule trumpet parts for Monday, but other than that we are still on schedule to begin mix down on Wednesday. Mastering with Jeff Lipton will be on June 6th and then we need to send the puppy off to the duplication house. Please if you have not sent in your $ for the pre-release package now is as good a time as any. Follow this link to detailed instructions on how to pay by check or credit card. Please make checks payable to Drunk Stuntmen.
http://www.drunkstuntmen.com/news66524.html
Don't miss the play I'm presenting this Saturday. If you go, you might laugh yourself silly!
Thanks for all your support!
SS
Academy Arts and Steven M. Sanderson Present:
Varla Jean Merman's Girl with a Pearl Necklace (an act of love)
Academy of Music Theatre Northampton, Massachusetts
Saturday May 21, 2005 at 9:00 PM
Box Office opens at 7:00PM · Doors at 8:15PM
General Admission Tickets $15 in advance; $20 day of show
Producer's Premium Seating $30 includes post performance reception at Silk Road Cafe
Tickets at Pride & Joy · Academy of Music Theatre in Northampton · Food For Thought Books, Amherst · Glamourpuss in Hadley and Blue Moon Coffee, Springfield or by phone @ 413 587 1247
Girl with a Pearl Necklace; An Act of Love written by Jeffery Roberson with Michael Schiralli and Jacques Lamarre · costumes by Philip Heckman · directed by Michael Schiralli
Sponsored by The Valley Advocate · Salon Herdis · 88.5 WFCR · Academyarts · Pride & Joy · InNewsweekly · Thorne's Marketplace
"Girl With a Pearl Necklace: An Act of Love", written specifically for Merman's talents by her creator, Jeffery Roberson, with Michael Schiralli (who also directs the production) and Jacques Lamarre, is the story of a girl (Merman), whose biological clock is ticking and who is desperate to get married. The drama asks: Will Varla be institutionalized in a state of matrimony or installed in a state institution? Will the girl with a pearl necklace find that special someone who will get under her skin and see through the Vermeer? With a hope chest filled with new videos and songs, Varla Jean Merman's offensive marriage act has something old (Varla), something new (her face), something borrowed (if you stretch the legal definition) and something blue.
Varla Jean Merman made her feature film debut in the comedy "Girls Will Be Girls", a performance that won her the 2003 Outfest Film Festival Best Actor Award and the Best Actress Award from the Aspen HBO Film Festival. Merman, whose other important theatre performances have included the Off- Broadway and national hits "Enough About Me: An Unauthorized Autobiography", "Varla Jean Merman's Holiday Ham", "Varla Jean Merman is The Bad Seedling", and "Varla Jean Merman's Under A Big Top". Varla Jean's creator Jeffery Roberson co- starred with Varla in the Hartford Stage and Long Wharf Theatre productions of "The Mystery of Irma Vep", the Broadway and national touring companies of the hit musical "Chicago", and in the recurring role of Rosemary Chicken on ABC's "All My Children" (sparking a hot new catch-phrase, "Ooh, Bacon!"). Varla is back in the U.S. after a triumphant Australian tour that included two sold out performances at the world famous Sydney Opera House. For additional information on Varla Jean's landmark career, visit her website.
Varla Jean Merman Online
For Information and Tickets
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
email: varla@comcast.net
phone: 413.587.1247
web: http://www.northamptonartscouncil.org
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bringing up the topic of food was a clever ploy to wax poetic about a new sandwich that has taken over the space in my brain usually reserved for unimportant matters. The tender crisp bacon cheddar ranch from BK is this author's vote for best fast food chicken sandwich/commercial. With Darius Rucker (Hootie for the noninformed) decked out in a purple Nudie style cowboy suit with buxom babes splashing ranch dressing upon streets paved with cheddar cheese and giant strips of bacon tumbling through the kingdom. I couldn't resist including the lyrics as I find them not only hilarious but hard to find. This is the full version which is usually stripped down to half or a quarter this length (kind of like the forbidden full version of the Cheers theme that only Scott Hall knows). Keep in mind that this is sung to the tune of "Big Rock Candy Mountain" from the O Brother soundtrack.
When my belly starts a-rumblin',
and I'm jonesin' for a treat.
I close my eyes for a big surprise,
the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.
I love the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch,
the breasts they grow on trees.
And streams of bacon ranch dressing,
flow right up to your knees.
Tumbleweeds of bacon,
and cheddar paves the streets.
Folks don't front 'ya cause ya got the juice,
there's a train of ladies comin' with a nice caboose.
Never get in trouble, never need an excuse,
the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.
I love the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch
no one tells ya to behave.
Your wildest fantasies come true,
Dallas cheerleaders give you shaves.
Red onions make you laugh instead,
and french fries grow like weeds.
Ya get to veg all day,
all the lotto tickets pay.
The king who wants you to have it your way,
that's the Tendercrisp Bacon Cheddar Ranch.
The sandwich is pricey. $4.72 to be exact. But it's one helluva big sammich. I managed to ensnare Steve, Bow, and Durst into the food foray. The only complaint: The bun could be better. Other than that it lives up to the hype. And on we go.
When we got to the Roadhouse at 7:30, Jamie and Carol, and Tommy were there and getting things prepared for a night of good rockin. Jamie told the lot of us to "drink as much as we possibly can". Powerful words Jamie, powerful words indeed. Millers were dispensed and we loaded in (no pun intended). As we were setting up a 10 foot party sub was being birthed from the protective wrap that had been its life support system for the ride over. Steve's first thought was that he just threw away $4.72 at BK. I quickly assuaged his fears with the observation that he already knew what a piece of Party Sub tastes like (Market St. Superbowl Pats vs Green Bay) yet he hadn't indulged in the TCBCR before tonight. The communal experience goes beyond mere words and will most surely fill the spot where his cash had been like ranch dressing fills the nooks and crannies of a corn dusted bun.
It took a little while but the room quickly filled up with Stuntfans and heavy drinkers alike. The hills are alive with the sounds of Stuntmen.
Started the first set off with some country rompin. Stuntgrass, Lay Me Down, and a new song, the Steve Sanderson penned Made of Wood. It features Fleabone on mandolin and myself on steel. It's a mid tempo countryish little ditty with hooks galore and a haunting melody. It's written about the house Steve grew up in in Taunton and his folks' recent sale of said house and exodus to Florida. Here's a sample:
"It was made of wood
and love was understood
not bricks or tin
now we’re sellin the house that I grew up in"
So the set progresses and gets the folks on the dance floor. Bow sang "Just My Imagination" in The Stones style for a lady in the hilltown crew who's birthaday it was (or was it a clever ploy to get Bow on the mic?). The energy kept building and building and the drinks kept coming and coming. After a quick break we got right back to it but this time no warmup slow songs. "Downtown", "Low", "Clown to Be", "Clear Channel" followed by what..."Radio Radio" Oh yes it was a fun set. On and on it went until a rousing version of J. Geils "(nothin but a) Houseparty" closed out the night. I did a little investigating and determined that It was actually more than a
houseparty and alerted the proper individuals. I can't give too many details of what happened after the show and before the sun came up. However, I would like to apologize to the several people I convinced to set their clocks ahead an hour. It could have been the other way around and I'd have been in big trouble.
As Steve pulled down the road leading to the Meadows at 5 in the am he says, "We're going to my favorite place...and we're gonna get stuck in the f#@$in' mud. Well this got Bow's attention who redirected Steve. As he peels off in the opposite direction of the impending mud, something big and heavy and glass fell out of my bag and onto the drivers seat floor. Hmm...I wonder what that could be?
Pork...beef...water...vinegar...
FF
Freddy loves three things, rocking out, food and his mamma.
SS
blue, he starts doing pushups, then the electric slide, then somersaults forwards and backwards. Ladies and gentlemen we have found a real Drunk Stuntman. He had a couple of buddies and a lovely lady friend in his group who brought in a bottle of, ahem, Jim Beam. I forget who said it but one of us blurted out(regarding the discrepancy of Jack to Jim) "and all this to save a lousy three dollars"...we love our fans.
So anyway we played the freakin song and didn't mind the Jim nearly as much chilled (while still minding a little). Oh I forgot to mention the thoughtfulness of Bow's sister for bringing a mixed case of holiday beer and "others" for some good old b.y.o.b. action. The Smirnoff ice almost gave rise to an incident involving Dave Durst and involuntary gag reflexes, thanks again. After the 2 hour plus show, which included a mini-set of Fall River's own Freddy Freedom singing about stolen jesus figures and getting stuck in the middle of Bedford St. in the rain. So, show's over and we get invited to the "Mobile Heated Party Unit" or MHPU for short by our new friends for a little banana liquor and some good times. This would be a 4 Harley sized trailer with a heater and a 911 themed wall mural. So we quaffed a few shots of the yellow gold and headed out to "The Belmont" apparently Fall River's most famous bar that I never heard of. We were promised 1920's speakeasy charm with a hint of whorehouseness. Signed sealed and delivered was all this and more. I (Freddy) found out that my Mom and Uncle used to go to the Belmont and sing and drink, much like we did except for the singing. Great place. Awesome people. Viva Fall Rive! What's the best way to say goodnight to this lovely town. Why heading out into a raging snowstorm of course. Steve took the reigns and delivered us safely through the frozen tundra. Steve is wicked cool. Wicked, wicked, cool. Kudo's to Dave Durst who racked up the first point for a Drunk Stuntmen drummer in our ongoing radio song guessing challenge. Ask any of us about it and see how we light up with anticipation at the idea that we can talk about it. Tune in next time when I tell you all about P-town and the Shire. Cliff Eberheart I got your number fool.
FF
The night started with a performance by Mike Flood and after a few sound difficulties he was making us think without us even knowing it. Be on the lookout for the release of his new album “Beautiful Knowledge.” Next up was Easthampton’s own National Carpet. They rocked through a short set of well-worded and well-sung rock songs. Thanks to them for sharing the night with us. I’d like to thank Glamourpuss Vintage on Route 9 in Hadley for my stylish embroidered jumpsuit. Thanks Elaine! Trueself Tattoo gave away a $50 gift certificate to the lucky lady who guessed the number I was thinking of. I don’t know who’s worse: me for thinking it or her for thinking I was thinking it. Congratulations to Chris Ellis for knowing what Freddy Freedom and his imaginary girlfriend Heidi were having for their Valentines Day dinner. Enjoy the T-shirt.
The Squealing Pig was a really fun time. We realized we had left our mic case in Soft Rocks car and tried to do the show sans electricity. That plan was foiled as soon as the first guy as loud as Ernie walked in. Ahbi came to the rescue with a radio Shack mic stolen from the club across the street. When we return to the Pig on 2/25 we will be full band, bring your earplugs, the club is small but really fun. Thanks to Ahbi, Alexis, Tony ,Olin and Emily for a wonderful time. We hope your blizzard party was fun. Next time we'll bring the party favors.
Our apologies to anyone who was crazy enough to make the trek out to Fall River for the blizzard show because when you got to the Narrows (rescheduled to 2/24) we were at the Portuguese men's club having supper and shots of the sweet nectar of Portugal. All of this was happening right across the street from where our beloved Freddy grew up. For any of those who have been around long enough to remember the song "Moniker" you could actually "drive right in and get stuck in the middle". For the record the Stuntmen were at the Narrows at 5:30 willing to put on the show but when we found out Judy and Lynda Johnson were not coming we immediately cancelled the show. Dave Durst provided one of a bagfull of laughs in Fall River this past weekend. The Marconi Club on the corner of Bedford and Johnson St (Named after Freddy's great, great, grandfather...no joke) was the setting. With the Sagres flowing and the inimitable sounds of Jorge Fererria pumping out "Viva Fall River" (also no joke) Dave ordered up the house special. For those in the know, that would of course be the "Chourico Bombeiro" or "flaming chourico". Curious? I know you are. So what arrives to Dave's surprise was a 7 inch length of well cooked chourico served in a ceramic brown pig...on fire. Dursty gave it his all trying to blow it out so as to eat said flaming chourico, but alas his lung capacity was not that of the average Portugese snowplow driver. Sheepishly he handed over the blazing pork to Anna (our lovely bartender) to do the job. Somehow, in the melee of it all, the napkin Dave had on the table suddenly went up in flames just as he was about to dive in. Luckily Dave's instincts as a former circus employee kicked in. He quickly blew the napkin over the other side of the bar where it landed safely on a bottle of 151. Anna took it from there and stamped it out on the floor saving us all from impending embarrassment. A fantastic meal for all followed and we whiled away the time as the snow laid down it's savage whiteness of white. It's just a good thing we never get a round of shots on fire...or is it?
After dinner and turning down plowing jobs the Stuntmen loaded into Saint Pedro and headed for 495 North. We made it as far as Auburn exit 10 on the mass pike. We got us a room at the comfort inn and settled in for the night. Everyone is home and safe and we hope all of you are too. How'bout them Pat's.
==============================================
Drunk Stuntmen were the focus of an extensive feature in the Mar/Apr 2003 edition of No Depression. No Depression is the world's premier magazine covering alt.country (whatever that is) music. Subscription copies of the issue are circulating already. It is scheduled to hit newsstands the week of March 3, 2003.
Commonly, a band's first feature in No Depression is limited to a stock photo and a couple columns on one page. The Drunk Stuntmen feature is eight pages long, led off by a two-page full band photo and the headline "Barroom Blitz: Massachusetts' Drunk Stuntmen found their way out of a jam through the sounds of the south." The feature was written by No Depression co-editor Peter Blackstock and includes photos by Shawn Rocco and co-editor Grant Alden.
The article includes a thorough musical history of the Stuntmen, a full band interview, and praise for the band's new album Iron Hip. "From the straight-shooting opener Downtown to the dramatic ebb-and-flow of Low to the instantly catchy pop of Out of Bed to the powerful balladry of Stars, Iron Hip represents a significant step forward in songwriting from the band's first two records. It may be a lost cause, however, for the Drunk Stuntmen ever to capture in the studio the sheer energy and charisma that radiates throughout the room when they're onstage."
According to the No Depression Web site (www.nodepression.net), the magazine is distributed directly to over 180 independent record stores and newsstands. International chain stores that carry No Depression include Tower Records, Borders Books and Music, Barnes & Noble, Virgin Megastores, and Chapters (in Canada). International circulation accounts for 11 percent of the magazine’s total.
Drunk Stuntmen would like to extend enormous thanks to Peter, Grant, Shawn, and the entire staff at No Depression for their interest and support. We encourage all our fans who aren't subscribers already to pick up a copy of No Depression issue #44 next week (and send in the card to start your own subscription if you know what's good for you).
after a drowsy, teary goodbye with Heidi at 6 a.m.(Arrow and Cassius didn't budge. too cold), we hit the road south. it's cold in N.E. and we left with 3 fresh inches of snow on the ground. 14 hrs later it had relented to rain and serious fog. we arrived in Blowing Rock, NC in the Blue Ridge Mtns. and home to Canyons Restaurant. the shroud of fog meant we missed out on the scenic vistas this area is known for, but the place reminded me of the Harvest Valley Restaurant on Mt. Tom. Nora greeted us very cheerfully and got the grub together for us weary travelers. Brad behind the bar did his thing and we settled down for a fine meal. Seth on the sound got us situated onstage and then we headed to our accommodations for the night. the place was called the Green Park Inn and it was a resort with a "Shining"-type feel to it. we immediately found out the place was indeed haunted. we also learned that part of "Dirty Dancing" was filmed here. 1st rate digs for the 1st night of tour. we got back to Canyons and hung out with Ryan the night mgr. for awhile. with a whopping crowd of 5 (i had predicted 2, scott: 4), we hit it. 4 college kids from nearby Appalachian State were whooping it up in front of us and it turns out to be their bud Brad's(not the bartender) 23rd birthday. being the only people in the room, we bonded with them quickly. our present to Brad was to grant his request for some Johnny Cash. "Folsom Prison" and "Stripes" made the dude happy. it was a fun time on a rainy tues. night in the on top of a Blue Ridge Mtn. with some good fun kids. Ryan was apologetic about the low turnout, but you can't complain when you get a great meal and a posh place to stay. many thanks to all at Canyons in Blowing Rock, NC.
4/9
we left the Green Park Inn and Mr. Torrance and an ax in Scatman Carruthers' chest. went down the mtn. in pea-soup fog. no scenery to speak of. the fog finally lifted and we headed east down I-40 to a little place i've mentioned once or twice in Raleigh, NC. that's right folks i'm talking Sadlack's Heroes! there's a sign in the parking lot that we like to park in front of saying "Parking For Sadlack's Heroes Only". the people here make us feel like heroes every time we're in Raleigh, for sure. a beer magically appears in your hand immediately upon arrival. we got there early enough to have our favorite rock n roll sandwiches, then we set up. the cast of characters showed their faces one by one. Johny from the great band Patty Hurst Shifter at his spot and the end of the bar, and our favorite Raleigh photographer Mary gave terry a pic she took of Tall Girl when we were in town last. on my way to the bathroom i noticed some familiar prose hanging from the bulletin board. my diary excerpt from our last Sad's escapade was posted there. i was touched people, really. i had a nice moment recalling what i wrote and the best part was that at the end of it someone had scrawled "Fuck the Stuntmen! We Miss Tall Girl!". seems you made quite an impact here Tall! a delightful woman saw me reading the diary and someone informed her that i was the author. she said she loved the diary but did offer one correction to what was posted on the wall. i had referred to Sad's star softball player as "Punchout Bob" based on terry's interpretation of what was really "Pawnshop Bob" (Bob used to work at one). cursed southern drawl strikes again! apologies to Bob. everyone seemed to think "Punchout" fit Bob as well, though. he's good people and took it well. we got the show underway and the room filled up as usual. met some new friends (and partners in soil management or something), Heather and Stymie. 2 cute girls, one weird ass name. thanks for buying the cd and for the email too. see you in the fall. old friends Suzie Guzzi, Ben, Lisa, Angela, Kent were in attendance. it was Kent's birthday the day before so in honor of his being the all-time pitcher in our DSM vs. SLX softball games, as well as his birthday, we gave the old bastard an autographed game ball from our last trouncing of the SLX squad. Angela had received the 1st game ball so their mantle (or the closet, wherever they keep them) has 2 losses displayed. got nothing but love for ya both! we of course had a great show and closed up Sad's and headed to the late night bar, Jackpot, with a crew in tow. it seems our good friend M. doled out some "bliss" to herself and a couple stuntmen before we got there. it kind of led to a short stay at Jackpot as a very happy Steve took a running belly flop onto a crowded table (after being warned not to) and got his ass tossed out. apologies to Sheriff Todd for leaving you hanging at our turn on the pool table. i got to the van and decided it my cue to find a quiet place in our pal Lisa's apt. down the street. as i was leaving, i was apparently the only one to witness steve losing the ability to walk in the parking lot resulting a full faceplant into a huge puddle. that was the last i saw of Jen, Melanie, Rose-Ann, and the boys that night. they eventually made it back to Jen's and crashed after tending to steve's boo-boos. i got to Lisa's and gratefully crashed with her 3 cats eyeing me and making weird sounds at me all night. apologi