Something About The Way The Clouds And Her Mixed

Something About The Way The Clouds And Her Mixed

09.25.05 (8:41 pm)   [edit]
Serious stuff first.

I just got off the phone with Sheryl. Our friend Tal is visiting from Europe, and they were on the way to taking him up to Michigan when they were in a car accident. Tal and Katie are fine. Sheryl has a broken ankle.

Katie talked to me, but sounded very sad and tired. What a wretched day for all of them. I wish I was there to help. I'm fairly useless to them here.

My own day has been very uneventful, which is exactly what I wanted. This is the first day I've had off in over a month and a half. With the crazed band/Katie-visit weekend schedule, Monday back at work is almost a breather. Since I just had this three-day festival to play in, and they were supposed to be in Michigan tonight, I had to give up my Katie-time for the week. Which sucks (especially now that they've had this accident), but I really, really needed the time to do nothing much.

I did a bit of shopping for half an hour, but haven't left the apartment otherwise. Some cleaning, some CD organizing. Lots of fucking off doing next to nothing. Thank Christ.

The past few days have been great. I left work at lunch time Thursday. (They were great to me about the time off.) I went to Steak & Shake, had lunch, and invited Amanda up to Fairmount to see the band play. She looked very interested, though she had no idea where Fairmount was. Of course, no one else does either. I gave her directions and she said she'd try to make it up Saturday. I was buzzed out of my head. and spent the entire weekend having far too many unrealistic dirty little daydreams about coming off stage to my current favorite little wish-she-was-my-groupie.

"Oh Doug. You are the greatest bass player ever in the history of everything. Let me 'serve' you."

And of course, I never saw her. But I didn't really expect it. I just wanted it too bad.:)

I got there a bit late Thursday. But still ten minutes ahead of the fucking STAGE. Kinda hard to set up when there's nothing to set up on. So we got it together and finally played an hour and a half. Being Thursday, the night before the festival really began, we were mostly playing to locals. Probably 150 of them. Nice little turnout, and we played well if not great. I spent the first three songs feeling like I was in some weird version of ELP because our guitarist was completely inaudible, but that got fixed.

We dealt with a few minor annoying post-gig issues (more to do with local politics than anything that a normal human being would give a shit about) and i went back to my parents' to sleep.

Friday morning I manged to fit in a quick genealogy trip to the courthouse in Marion. I went with the intention of looking for land records, but my curiosity over the last thing I found there led me upstairs to another room. When I was there last, I found the paperwork for my grandparents' divorce, which mentions my mother and her two brothers. I'm glad my divorce ended up the way it did and we're working with each other so well on when I can see Katie. My grandfather had a set schedule down to what time he was allowed to be there, and exactly when he was expected to bring them back.

But Mom told me that Grandma had taken him back, then left him again. I'm not sure how this worked exactly, because I haven't found any indication of a second marriage.

Not to HER, anyway.

My trip Friday included three women in the office looking at me like I was out of my fucking mind when I started laughing my fool ass off at what one of them brought me. He remarried almost immediately after the divorce in 1956 and was divorced within a year. No kids mentioned in the papers, but who the fuck knows. Trying to put the pieces together from what Mom told me, it would seem that Grandma "took him back" while he was married to another woman. I'm not sure about this. I have no idea yet. My Mom recognized her name but knows nothing else. And I'm not even going to think about asking Grandma. I would like to clarify the timeline though, because I'm still confused how all this happened.

It was kinda entertaining to me, actually. I drove to the library to look up more records (Marion's library has one of the finest, maybe even the best genealogy collections I've seen in any small-town library, and there's loads of stuff microfilmed there that you'd normally have to dig through a courthouse for.) and was chuckling a bit. My image of my grandfather at that time is of a real bastard. And you know what? I wish I could go back and kick his ass for passing some of that shit down through my mother to me. I think I have more of him in me than I know what to do with, and I hope that if I have grandkids they don't think the same shit about me. Fuck, I'm trying hard enough now not to screw up Katie's head with my bullshit.

I zipped out from there to Gene's funeral. Got pulled over for speeding on the way, but didn't get a ticket. He saw my bass in the back, the clothes I was wearing, and asked where I was headed. "To a funeral for my cousin. Then directly to play music over at the James Dean Festival." He told me to slow down (I was going 61 in a 50 zone) and let me go. I was driving about 52 when he passed me like i was standing still. Cops in that area always strike me as being highly bored.

The funeral was cool, if such a thing can be said. Lots of people. Over 500. I sat with my cousin Gloria Jean, who I'd last seen before Christmas when we were at Grandma's house. Katie played with her grandkids. Gloria Jean is two years younger than my mom. Her mom left home when Dad was 8, and my aunt was always distant from the rest of us until the few years ebfore her death. My sister spent a lot of time with her then, and was very affected by her death five years ago. Gloria Jean has always been around though, and has been closer to Grandma than any of the rest of our generation. I spend very little time around my Dad's side of the family,so it was good to be there with her.

I knew Gene was a biker, but I had no idea how seriosuly he took it. half the people there were in Harley shirts and had rode their bikes in at the family's request. The preacher (in a Harley jacket) said that the town of Sims had called him the Sims 7:00 alarm because they knew they'd hear his bike then. He worked in an auto plant. Very typical Indiana kinda guy. With a big heart, and it was encouraging to see how many people had loved him. At one point, I saw a guy and his little girl (about 8 years old) walk outside. It took me a minute to remember that it was another cousin's daughter with her Daddy. They were outside hugging, and she was crying. And I sat there knowing that I knew him far less than most of the people there, and was kinda sad about that. I looked at the pictures that had been put up everywhere and had a strong flashback to the mid-70s when I saw one. I remembered him looking like that - long blonde hair, somewhat resembling Kerry Livgren in the early days of Kansas. And I remembered April's funeral when I was eight. He lost his little girl when he was only 21 years old.

He leaves two other kids. In their mid-20s, great-looking kids who now have no daddy. They rode their Harleys out to the cemetery. The ones he'd given them.

It was sad, but it was also a celebration of his life. I'm glad I was there. I hugged his kids and my cousin Pam on the way out. I had nothing worth saying to them. Who the fuck does right now?

At the graveyard, I talked with Pam's mom. My aunt Margaret (married to my Dad's older brother John) and I had what must have been the first true conversation we've had in 20 years. I see her at Christmas and say hi and bye and that's about it. She's always been very kind, and in recent months, I've been wanting to go see her and John, and talk to them about family thigns that I wasn't there to know. Uncle John would remember his grandparents (my Dad was born after thety both died) and though he was young himself when they died, he might be able to fill in my knowledge of them. My Uncle Neil is the oldest (now that Aunt Ellie is gone) but his memory seems to be more scattered, and frankly, he's so fucking nuts that I don't beleive a thing he says. That's not a bad thing, by the way. I LOVE my Uncle Neil. He's absolutely BATSHIT in a way that only a balding toothless dirty old man can be. The crazy bastard was walking around outside the funeral home showing everyone pictures of his mannequin. A fucking MANNEQUIN he bought an an auction. "Jeannette came out one morning when it was in the front room and screamed her head off. Scared the shit out of her! She yelled 'Get that damn thing outside!' Hehehehehe."

He's fucking insane. I want to be just like him when I grow up.

I should have tried harder to talk to my aunt Roseanne, but it seemed everyone else already was. She found out last month that she has emphysema. Same thing that killed my Mom's father. Roseanne goes through two lighters a day, as Bill Hicks might say. I've never seen a woman smoke that much. She's one of those great country women that comes off like a total hardass, but is actually veryloving in her way. She was writing me often after Katie was born asking for pictures. She's on a machine now, but seems to be mostly doing well.

It took half an hour to get out of the cemetery. It was jammed full of cars and bikes. And I seriously hope that the girl in the Mustang in frony of me was on Gene's side of the family and not mine, because I was wanting to have some good old barnyard lovin' with that fine piece of country-girl ass. Holy SHIT. Twenty-something moody-loking girl who probably knows all the words to the complete Avril Lavinge catalog. I really have it bad for emotionally-damaged girls with long straight hair.

I didn't have time to go back to the church for the dinner, so I drove into town for a gyro sandwich and int Fairmount. Picked up my bass at my parents' and restrung it. I've been on the same set of bass strings for two years. But I boil them soemtimes, and I had a nice clangy tone for the gigs.

We got our shit set up on the somewhat-dangerous stage (basically a bunch of heavy-duty folding-leg tables stuck together, and I thought a few times this weekend thatI was going to go headfirst off the stage when one of the legs collapsed, but it never happened) and prepared for the gig. Ran through I Fought The Law for soundcheck. For the first time since I've done this (Ten years? That long? Holy shit.) we actually sounded good onstage. I usually can't hear half of what I'm supposed to hear, and get four thousand decibels of drums in my ear at all times. I know this is rock and roll sacrilege, but I'm thrilled that our drummer plays electronic drums. They usually sound good, and they don't DESTROY MY GODDAMN HEARING. Voume fucking control, bitch. Volume fucking control. I definitely appreciated that.

We played well. We wore the "gay shirts" again. (See a previous post for that story.) We've played better, btu I was very happy with it.

Then the main events.

Mitch Ryder beat my goddamn head in. Holy FUCK, that old guy rocked. He came out and I kinda laughed. Yeah, he's from Detroit, he looks like he just ogt off shift at the auto plant. He opened with Lou reed's Rock And Roll, which the band BLITZED through. I guess this isn't his usual band (he told our keyboardist that if you really wnat to see him, see him with his band back in Detroit) but they rocked like all fuck. Laid out the riffs like they weremade of steel. Pounded the motherfuckers. Mitch didn't move around much (I found out later that he recently had a double hip surgery) but vocally he delivered wonderfully. Doesn't sound like he used to. Sounds fuckin' great anyway.

Several years ago we had a wonderful time opening for the Crickets. But Friday was the best time I've ever had at the Dean Fest. To play as well as we did then be followed by a true fountain of driving '60s rock and roll, still hammering it out better than guys a third his age, it was one of the greatest experiences in my 19 years of bass playing, An absolute fucking honor.

He was in our keyboardist's car within 60 seconds of coming off stage, back to his hotel. I shook his hand, told him that he totally kicked my ass and it was a thrill to open for him, and thanked him for playing Jenny Take A Ride. I sorta wish I'd pushed harder earlier in the day - it was originally supposed to be me taking him back to his room, but somehow Steve ended up behind the wheel. I'm glad for him. He got to talk football and auto manufacturing with a rock legend. I would have probably drooled on myself.

Next up was Lou Christie. I should ahve stayed, but I was flying so high from seeing Mitch, and from themix of adrenaline and sheer exhaustion, that I needed out. I heard two of Christie's songs, and quite enjoyed them. My parents told me I might have ended up liking him even more than I did Mitch. Maybe. I wish I'd stayed.

When I got home, I took a call from my friend Tim. he lives in Michigan and was back in town visiting in-laws and going to a Phil Keaggy show in Ft. Wayne.(Dammit! I really need to see Keaggy again.) He wanted to get together Saturday morning.

so he got to witness Gig Three for the weekend. We got to our singer's house at 10 AM and setn up for the weirdest thing I've ever done. We were in the parade. Our drummer's Dad pulled us on top of a flatbed tralier. Since our band name is derived from The Wizard Of Oz, we put up a background of the Emerald City, and our guitarist's wife put together severalcostumes for people to dress up in and follow us in, throwing candy to the kids on the sides of the street. She was Dorothy, and she NAILED it. My God, she's cool. Matt (who is one of the finest human beings I know himself) got damn lucky with her. She's got a great sense of humour, she's smart and quick and funny and fun, and absolutely, stunningly beautiful. She did a WONDERFUL job of putting this together with the singer's wife (who is also fabulus, and was a very good Scarecrow) and visually, it was extremely cool.

Musically, I wasn't sure it would work. It did. We crammed into this tiny space on this trailer, and hung on for dear life. When Denver first took off driving, I nearly went ass first itno the drums. I sat down for a couple songs, but sitting on the side of the thing also hurt my ass, so I stood back up. And nearly went face first itno the amp. We were only going a couple miles an hour, but it was rather unstable.

But it worked! We played the simplest stuff we know, and there were a ton of people along the whole route who obviously really enjoyed us. Tim and the drummer's mom followed along taking pictures. The only way I could be comfortable standing up for most of the 25 minutes (five hours total time into a 25-minute parade) was to be in a position where I was holding my bass straight ahead of me, turned to the side. I either looked like a rock god, or a total fucking poseur.

Afterwards, Tim showed me pictures of his recent trip to England (he was in Liverpool the day the London bombings happened) and took off for the Keaggy show. We've talked and emailed some, btu it was the first time i've actually seen him in nearly four years. It was nice.

Tim and I recorded a bunch of Neil Young tunes together some years back. We did a version of Come On Baby, Let's Go Downtown that you can find here:

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Yeah, it's still Geocities (I'll take the time to get a real page soon, hopefully) so you'll probably either not get it at all, or it will take a few tries. Sorry about that.

I'm doing the lead vocal. Tim is doing the lead guitar and backign vocals, and the nasty grungy gutiar in the back doing rhythm and fills is me. I'm playing bass, Tim is manually playing a drum machine. Neither of us can play drums worth a shit. This track was harder to record, and I was sick of it by the time we were done, but listening back, it's one of the best things we've done together. We might get around to more sometime.I'd like to.

I ran home for dinner (Mom boiled some chicken for a few hours and made tacos, and I ate WAY too much of it, which destroyed half an octave off the top of my vocal range, which I found out on the way back to Fairmount singing in the car) and got back for another set-up and soundcheck. There were TONS of people down there. I've never been there on a Saturday, but it was packed, and we really wanted to keep them there for the gig. There was a Dean look-alike contest before us, and we'd be going on late.

Back home for a shower and to pack my shit up to come back to Indy right after the gig. And I loaded up myself too - I hadn't drank at all for a few days. But this was the end of the weekend, and I felt like letting go and really enjoying myself.

My little plastic bottle of orange juice and no-not-anything-else-at-1 00-proof-all was half empty when we hit the stage. There was a shitload of people, but it was well past 10PM and many left right away. But we hung on to a lot of them for most of the hour and a half set, until the end when we were down to less than the first gig twonights previous.

We opened with Cheap Trick's version of Ain't That A Shame. I rode a B note for a long time, and was a complete poseur. Didn't care. I gave up any thought about anything other than playing as well as possible and looking as good as I could for any of the bazillion young ladies out there who would just love to have a fat hairy bass player....uh....be anywehre but near them.

As I said before, I figured Amanda wouldn't be there, but I was still somewhat hopeful that she was there somewhere. I dug in hard and I've probably never been more animated onstage for an entire gig. I do it for a song or two, not for a whole hour or two. I played my ass off. Not a lot of subtlety - I'm lucky my wrists aren't a fucking mess from trying to break strings like I was - but right in the groove and just the right amount of flash. Matt told me afterwards that I looked like Gene Simmons. Which I would have punched him for if it wasn't pretty much what I was going for. Hey, I'm playing rock and roll here. It's no longer of any use to me to pretend that anything I'm doing is truly anything more than entertainment created for the purpose of making drunk white people dance. Why take it seriously anymore? I've never felt like I was playing bass for money or pussy, but here I am. I need the money, and if I don't get the pussy soon, somebody is gonna get a Squier P-bass in their ass.

It was fuckin' fun as hell.

Even breaking down was great. A guy came up with a sack of burgers for us, and were were greeted by young women asking for autographs.

Very young. Goddammit. If they were 15, I'll eat my E string. But hey, they dug us. Mark said "Well, you've gotta play to the teeny-boppers for a while and move up from there." Fine, but I don't want to go to JAIL. Where's my waitress???

There was a fairly nice looking redhead there too, probably about my age. She seemed to know a couple of the guys. And barely looked at me. Fuck.

I drove home happy. Stopped in Muncie at La Bamba's for more late-night food.Got home at 2AM. Went right to bed and woke up at 10:30 this morning. It's been a great weekend, and even with all the insanity (and back pain that came to hit me like a motherfuck this morning when I got up, payback for three days of running my ass off and trying to be Jack Black) it was all the proof I need that I'm heading in a good direction lately. I'm broke, my weekday job is hardly going to keep me going, and I'm still working through a lot of inner shit from watching my utter failure as a husband finally bite me on the ass, but you know what? I take very little of this seriously when I'm doing what I'm here to do. Which is to be the obnoxious low-end for a rock band, apparantly. It's a great job. I'd love to do it every night.

I do miss my girl, though. Going two weeks without her hurts. But I know she's safe with her mommy, and is probabyl trying very hard to help Mommy out now after the accident. She's such a great, thoughtful kid.

Last week, I took her to Dayton. We had lunch with friends and went to the Air Force Museum. As we were pulling itno the museum's parking lot, I was listening to Warren Zevon's version of Raspberry Beret. Singing along. Katie was in the back, just sitting there. Halfway through the song, she asked, "Daddy, is the girl in the song pretty?"

Wha...wha...huh?

"Uh, I suppose so, honey. I guess she had to be pretty for him to want to write a song about her. The guy who wrote it is caled Prince. the guy singing it is named Warren Zevon. He's one of my favorites, but he's no longer with us. He died recently, but I love his music. Do you like it, honey?"

"Yeah, it's pretty cool. I bet the girl in the song is pretty."

"Not as pretty as you, Katie."

She has the greatest little grin when she's eating up a compliment. You should see it.

Love,
Dougie