Volume 10 – #3 – March 2007

Did I ever mention how much I love rain? It wakes me up; invigorates me. It rained a lot in Texarkana (extreme northeast corner of Texas) when I was growing up. It’s really green and lush there but the air can get miserably sticky and steamy at times during the summer. I always felt it was more like the Deep South than most of Texas. That soft-focus haze seemed to always be hanging heavy. Denton, on the other hand, is dry and windy. More western-style. Bigger sky. Lots more cowboy hats. I’ve heard that a tree line runs right through Denton. The terrain becomes scrubby here and hints of an imminent desert. Cactus is easy to imagine in Denton. We don’t have the big Saguaro variety found in Arizona, but some species can actually live here, especially if it rarely rains. But today, it is raining. Washing away the early spring allergens and the dusty sap that’s coated everything in town. The sound of falling drops hitting the roof of the Brave Combo office is one of life’s grand pleasures. And it’s a precious joy because we Dentonites will soon be stumbling around like parched zombies raising our angry fists at the cloudless sky. So, when this inevitably happens, how do we turn crisis into opportunity? Maybe Denton should have a little Wild West village with a fake boot hill cemetery. Everyone could dress like pioneers and put on little honky tonk shows. Hey, this is a great idea. They do it in Dodge City, Kansas, why not Denton, Texas, where the West really begins. We could find one of the city’s abandoned strip malls and put up a bunch of funny old-timey facades, like a saloon, a bank, a restaurant, a jail, a video store, a Starbucks (to get the people there), a CVS Pharmacy (also to get the people there) and a livery stable. It would be really cool to build replicas of the PSYCHO (Alfred Hitchcock movie) motel and house right at the edge of the cemetery where Billy the Kid and Abraham Lincoln will be buried. This has so much potential. I’m getting goose bumps. Maybe we can finally attract those snooty North Dallasites and their sacred money to Denton. Once we get them here we can seal off the town and make them dress like us. They’ll be trapped and will have no choice but to spend their money in Denton. We’ll probably snag a few Ft. Worthians in the process. All the better. We can call our tourist trap something catchy, like “Old Settler’s Town” and should make some glossy brochures to put in all the area truck stops showing how interesting it is. I envision a gunfight in front of the saloon scheduled every fifteen minutes, followed by some CSI: MIAMI-type actors checking out the crime scene (like they do on most television shows these days) and then we’ll have a biscuit-eating contest. And, of course, there will be our own “Old Settler’s Town” Idol singing contest every night just before the patriotic fireworks extravaganza and the awe-inspiring anthem “God Bless Old Settler’s Town,” sung by the losers in the contest. When you figure in the underground runaway mine car ride and the three-legged races up the grain elevator fire escape, it’s easy to see how success is a reasonable expectation. Also, don’t forget that Denton is the only city in the USA to have produced two Miss Americas. We’ll work that in somehow. Maybe they (Phyllis George and Shirley Cothran) will agree to come back to Denton once a year and arm-wrestle each other. Any interested investors out there?

Speaking of rain, I like it when the sky gets dark and ominous just before a storm. The air feels great and smells great. The elephants run and hide and the alligators slither deep into the sewers. It’s fun to look at the local weather radar on TV and see if any patches of red are creeping toward Denton. If the sky turns green and it starts to hail, one can expect the warning sirens to go off. These are indications that a severe thunderstorm is minutes away or that tornadoes are likely. If dead people start climbing out of their graves and birds start whistling familiar melodies, it may be too late to take cover. We were in Ft. Worth one time, meeting in a museum lobby with some choreographers that were presenting a dance concert featuring our music when, suddenly, softball (not baseball) size hailstones began to fall, or rather were shot, from cannons in the sky toward earth. We all ran to the basement as skylights and windows shattered above us. After several minutes, we emerged to find the lobby polka-dotted with these mounds of white and the museum grounds outside completely covered in them. As it turned out, a tornado did hit downtown Ft. Worth that afternoon, critically injuring a skyscraper that housed a big-deal steak restaurant, which eventually took over the space that was, at the time, home to the legendary nightclub, Caravan of Dreams. Hooray! Another place for humans to put dead cow flesh into their mouths wins out over one of the most celebrated music venues on the planet. Smart move. Big loss.

Check out our itinerary. The Spring Festival Season is almost upon us. Big shows. Lots of merriment. Mucho musica. People in shorts. Crowded parking lots. Food on sticks. Porta-potties. Need I say more?

One of my main jobs in Brave Combo is deciding which songs we will perform, in what order, at what tempo and with what intensity. The band rarely knows, as we take the stage, which songs we’ll be playing. I usually make a set list, but generally only follow it about 50% of the way and often change my mind about the first song two or three times after the set list is finished and taped down. I try to do requests, especially if I’ve said to someone, “No problem, we’ll work it into the next set,” but sometimes we just don’t get around to everything. And, as I’m going to sleep in my motel room, I tend to recall all the promises I made to fans at the gig that night that I didn’t honor. These things stay with me longer than they should, but I also know how hard it is for someone to make the effort to go out and hear live music. Only unique, sensitive, special people do it anymore. And I want to reward, as much as I can, those stalwarts of the scene that are doing more than most, to insure that live music doesn’t die. We appreciate each and every person that walks through the door and pays to get in. And if he/she strolls over to the merchandise table and buys 10 CDs, we usually invite him/her to join the band. Another aspect to my job is assessing the audience to determine how to approach the show. What’s the average age? How much volume can they take? Do they look anxious or impatient? How fast can they polka? Can I get away with not playing “The Chicken Dance” and/or “Hokey Pokey?” Do they look more like rockers, roots rockers or rootsy traditionalists with a sense of humor? What’s the female to male ratio? Are they already drunk? Is alcohol even served? Can I get away with saying anything that pops into my head? All of these things are in the equation. After I add everything up, I multiply by two and them divide by six, and that gives me the answer. It’s simple unless you think about it.

Let’s talk music. We have several new things to play and sing for you guys. One is a groovy little Dutch song I know only as track #15 from a CD my friend, Wim, sent me. There was no label, so I don’t know the name of the song or the artist, but it’s extremely happening, in a Brave Combo way. Another new exciting experience is called ”The Picnic Polka.” This is from a CD that our friend Greg sent to Ann Marie. She’s singing in Polish again. She’s gone “Polish polka” nuts, actually. We’ve created a Polish polka-devouring monster! The girl’s got a future, I tell ‘ya. Plus, she has the same early-life polka credentials I have. None. She grew up in Monroe, Louisiana, which probably grooves to about the same beat as Texarkana, which has never been polka. Yet, she loves to hear those eerie old-world Eastern European melodies filtered through working class Polish/American dance bands from the Northeast and Upper Midwest United States. Danny also recently brought in peppy arrangements of “Just Because,” Frank Yankovic’s big polka hit, with himself on vocals, and the classic standard, “It Had To Be You,” which he’s making Jeff sing. And, if you haven’t heard “The Denton Polka” yet, you’re in for a musical “eureka moment.” It will make your mind explode on the dance floor and cover you in your favorite aura color. With that in mind, plan to attend one of our life-changing seminars (gigs). We’ll make you feel like a star and will probably let you sing a song with us if you’re nice and can really sing, at least a little. So, wander off into your own private BC Universe and think the unthinkable (yet thoroughly possible). It’s a new day. Let it all hang out! The mouse fooled the trap!