Volume 4 – #6 – June 2001

It’s June 2001; a good time to think about our solar system. We have a star called the sun and some planets circle around it, quite predictably. At the same time, someone is driving home from work in Des Moines and someone else is trying to figure out which cat is using the dining room rug as a litter box and someone else is buying a package of chewing gum from a vending machine in Singapore. Way out in space the planets get funky and do their thing, whatever that might be. There’s an asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter that could have been a planet at one time. Speaking of Jupiter, it’s enormous. And it has more moons than we once thought. Saturn and Neptune, too. Venus appears to be a toxic mess. I mean, what would constant ammonia storms be like? It would be really hard to get to the 7-11. No one would want to go anywhere or work or build roads or plant flowers or anything. Wow. Maybe everyone would just meditate. Cool. It freaks me out that Venus is happening right now. As is Mars. And Pluto. Jeez, they don’t even think it’s a planet anymore. It’s more like a caramel covered pencil sharpener or a fur ball or something. And you know what? Probably no one that’s alive now will ever know for sure. I think we’ll know about Mars in my lifetime, but Pluto, I don’t know. I might be wrong. I’ll start reading THE ENQUIRER again and stay on top of it. I hate the jokes about the word Uranus. It really bugs me that our society thinks it’s so funny to give as many words as possible dirty or gross or sexual meanings. I’m a prude I guess. I’m not fond of farting machines either (you push a button and hear a fart), though it would probably be funny if people swallowed farting machines so they could hear them inside themselves. You know, as some kind of yoga tool. I’m sorry, I veered off track. Back to outer space stuff. When I was young I wanted to be an astronomer. I spent my allowance on astronomy books and cheap telescopes. And then one day that telescope turned into a guitar and I became very earthbound, concerned only with my immediate sphere of influence. However, I must say that the Moon, our very own single beautiful moon, always knocked me out. And it’s usually right there for all of us to enjoy and marvel at. One side’s hot and one side’s cold. It’s perfect. Hey, did you know that Sputnik (the very first man-made object to orbit Earth) was about the size of a basketball? The Russians made it and I guess it was sorta downhill for them after that. The Race For Space! The Race For Space! My God, humans are ridiculous, myself included. We just want to know what’s really going on or at least what’s on TV next.

Musical equipment is a drag. You know, like amps and keyboards and drums and horns and guitars (especially strings) and microphones and cables and accordions and pedals and anything else that can break or just stop working. I know we’re hard on this stuff, but that’s no excuse. We play with love, damn it, and the stupid equipment should know that and just put up with it. I really hate it when nothing works and my voice is shot as well. At that point there’s really no reason for me to be up on stage. Hmmm . . . .I guess I could whistle for a few minutes. People seem to like that (in small doses). What really sucks is when even the backup stuff doesn’t work either. We might as well be meditating on Venus.

Hey, we’re adapting and arranging a new song by Mozart. He was in the band in the beginning, but I haven’t heard from him in a while. Boy, was he a workaholic.

In the mid 1970’s I had a band in Denton called Room. We were a rock band, but there were also definite traces of what would become Brave Combo. We enjoyed shocking the audience with songs and styles of songs you wouldn’t expect to hear in your typical R&R environment. We actually played a few polkas and waltzes. And attempted a little bit of latin, but had no idea what we were doing. But we also put a lot of energy into the visual aspect of the show. My friend, Rob, who co-founded the band with me, was great at building solid, functional stage gear (sound systems and lights). We even had a totally killer fog machine and a strobe light. The fog machine was so killer, in fact, that one night, at a gig, our light guy, Smitty, dropped too much dry ice into too much boiling water, resulting in some serious burns for him and so much fog that I was concerned our audience would pass out. It was floor to ceiling fog. Thick as soup. Funny, but really scary. It’s just funny now. Smitty healed fine, I think. The band had five members and a crew that fluctuated from two to six people over the two years that we performed. I played a Fender Rhodes piano, Rob Howe sang, Joe Fiser played bass, Jon Whitsell played drums and Clarence Griffith also sang, his specialty being hymns and little nasty songs. I had very long, thick, wavy hair. Rob was really tall (6′ 7″ I believe), Joe had long, wild, black hair and looked kinda scary (he was a club bouncer), though he wasn’t, Jon was tall and lanky and Clarence was much older than the rest of us (around 60 at the time) and toothless. Now that I think about it, we were all serious misfits and most were involved in some rather extreme behavior, some of which you might find interesting, if not shocking. But those were excessive, yet tolerant times. Commonplace activities in those days would be hush-hush now. This was the beginning of the end of hippie innocence And, we were younger and dumber. And though some of the things that happened were pretty dark I remember it all fondly now. We rehearsed in an abandoned motel on I35. It was great. The owner of the property took to us and basically let us have our way with the place. We knocked out walls here and there and some people actually moved in for awhile Someday I’ll write the Room story (probably not, actually) and will tell all, but right now, somehow, it would just seem like sensationalism and THE MACHINE’S PUMP ain’t E! TRUE HOLLYWOOD STORY. A few years after the band broke up I got a call from Clarence around 4 AM. He had been released from the State Mental Hospital in Vernon, Texas and was living and working at The Lighthouse For The Blind in Kansas City. Anyway, he wanted to sing me a song and play a little guitar for me. I didn’t care that he woke me up. We all worried about him and wondered how he was doing. He had lived most of his adult life in prison and it seemed like he’d been kicked around forever. He always said that the Room band was the best thing that ever happened to him, but he had some unacceptable behavior (not aggressive) that eventually got him a ticket to Vernon. In a way Room toughened me up enough to know that a band like Brave Combo was possible. By comparison, Brave Combo is structured and sensible; almost corporate. I guess the significance of Room had to do more with lifestyle than music, though most audience members paid pretty close attention when Clarence would sing a familiar Protestant hymn followed by something totally tasteless. A particularly memorable gig was a Halloween party at a flea market where a 90 year old woman died. She was dressed like a ghost was wearing a skull mask. One more thing. We were a very loud band and I have a photo of a Denton policeman unplugging us as we were performing on the square.

That’s enough walking down memory lane for now. Come out and see relatively tame, sane Brave Combo when you can. We’re heading west this month and are playing some cool venues and events. If you live near Denver, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Santa Barbara or Los Angeles, you are in luck, my friend. We hope to rock your world and make your life a tad more confusing, in a good way. Check our itinerary for details. Also notice that we’re coming to Boston and Stowe, Vermont soon.

Speaking of heading out west, the Donut (our van/bus thing) has over 200,000 miles on it now. It runs on polka power (and gasoline, of course). It’s summertime and our minds become lighthearted and thrill seeking. Be careful but don’t be a wimp.