--The band was initially formed for one show and one show only. The Arvada West High School Talent Show. It wasn't supposed to go any further than that. The previous year I had performed in the talent show with my usual pick-em-up-at-the-last-minute band, whose musical skills ranged from barely adequate to "I own a guitar". That, however, was besides the point. I was used to jamming with non-musicians. I myself was in a band long before I ever took up the guitar - or any other musical instrument. By this point I had been playing for about five years (this being 1992) so, I knew I was responsible for pretty much the whole sound. That too, was besides the point. I was there to play a musical joke. Part of my "Weird Al", I-really-want-to-be-a-stand-up-comic persona. I played a sort of shuffle version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit". It sounded terrible. I had no equipment - we we're underrehearsed. But that made it even funnier. And I got a good laugh. Plus we had someone with accordian. Whether or not he could actually play it was moot. It was still an accordian.
--We went on second. Before us was a rather goofy outfit equipped with what seemed like several thousand dollars (and pounds) of computer doo-dads. They took more time to set up than the other thirty bands combined. They were dressed (for no apparent reason) as bears or chicken or something... They were called "Prosaic Trenis Pucks". Pretty much everyone said their set was awful. And I agreed. Horrible Techno-Industrial type crap. Lots of sampling. Not my cup of tea. Later on the bill was a band by the name of the "Hot Bearded Clam Mashers" fronted by the extremely musical Aaron Wheeler. He told me that one of the verses he was singing was based on something I wrote. So I watched them with a bit of anticipation. It still wasn't really my kind of music. More like Funk. But still I was impressed by Aaron. Definitely one the most naturally groove oriented people I've ever met. When he spoke he would say stuff like "Buffalo Bill in a Beat Box" and it was wonderful. Also, unbeknownst to me at the time, another band signed up, but was bumped. This short lived conglomeration apparently involved one Avery Rains. According to Ave, there were too many bands on the list as it was, and when one of the organizers overheard him discussing how badly they were going to suck, guess who got pulled from the schedule?
--Well, that's what happened last year. I didn't win (obviously). I wasn't expecting to that year or this. But I was planning on doing something similar this year. Namely, a polka version of "Enter Sandman". A friend of mine, named Tomas Fuerte, asked if he could play drums. He had never played before - but he knew where he could get his hands on a kit - so I said yes. He also mentioned that he knew another guitarist and a bass player who might be willing to lend us a hand. The guy with the accordian (that he couldn't really play) was up for it, and so we made a date.
--Now, I have often attempted to jam with other people. And I really wanted to be in a real band. Not one of these silly joke bands, but something I could really jam with. The problem was, every time I went over to whomever's garage to practice they were... well... heavy metal. I mean, I tried. That's how I learned the chords to "Enter Sandman" in the first place. For some reason, all high school musicians are metalheads. I will admit that it's one of the few popular genres to appreciate "chops" more than "looks" (consider how ugly some of those dudes are). But it was just too flashy and fast and soulless. I never got into metal. And they would never listen to my more comical or acoustic/folksy/blues ideas. So none of these combos lasted more than one or two jam sessions. And that's pretty much what I was expecting when I first climbed down the stairs of Avery Rains's basement. He was a skinny, skater/stoner looking punk. As was his companion, the bass player Seth Axelsen. Now, I had a few classes with Seth before, but I never really knew him. He had only taken up the bass about a year before, and sort of looked like he didn't realize there was a difference between the bass and a "real" guitar when he bought it, and now sort of regretted it.
--From the beginning we were called "The Phlegmtones". I came up with the name. I got it out of a Dave Barry column, in which he discusses several quote-unquote bands he has played with, including the Phlegmtones. I thought the name was funny. Since we were a joke band - and we weren't going to actually achieve any sort of recoginition close to what would be required to have him sue us - the name stuck. So we were the Phlegmtones. Of course, the real problem with the name is that for a fairly simple duo-syllabic word, nobody could ever spell it right. We have at time been called, "The Flemtones", "The Plegmtones", "The Phelm Tones", "The Phlemtones", and "The Phlegmnotes". So, it was never entirely original (of course I never mentioned to the other guys how I swiped the name) - but once when I mentioned the band to a professor of mine, he said that he thought he had heard of us. Well, it turns out that his wife was in another band called The Phlegmtones too. So I didn't feel nearly as bad about the plagarism. Besides we were THE Phlegmtones. No one ever confused us with anybody else.
--Well, that first afternoon, we ran through the song a couple of times. I was not overly impressed with anybody, no one seemed to know even the rudiments of music theory or the names of notes or anything. Tomas was doing ok on the drums. I was never really big percussion affectionato, and pretty much figured anyone could play the drums. We weren't bad. I thought we could be funny. Better than the last talent show. Nothing much. But there was one moment...
--Now, I had tried on several occasions to write songs. In fact I had a bit of a catalogue that was chock-full of quote-unquote funny lyrics. But nothing memorable musically. Chords that just sort of laid flat next to each other. No riffs or lines or real melodies or anything. But that was ok - they were just there as props for my "jokes". And I pretty much figured that songwriting - I mean writing of something that moved me musically - was something that was given to a small but special breed of people whom all had record contracts and lived on big mountains. But at one point in the proceedings, Ave busted out into this finger tapping chord sequence. In 3/4 time! In E flat!! It went from an B flat to a B to a A flat. And I thought this guy was an idiot. What was he doing? If he transposed it up a half step he could use some much easier open chords. You can't just descend chromaticly on a major chord! Still I was impressed with the finger-tapping and thought I might be able to steal it someday.
--But something happened... The next day, I still couldn't get that "song" out of my head. So I dashed off some of my supposedly hilarious lyrics for it and brought it to the next rehearsal. It had a sort of demented calliope atmosphere to it - so I wrote "Psycho Clown". By that time Ave had written a chorus for it. He then turned to me and told me to write a riff. Now, I have never "written" a guitar lick before. I was still completely unused to the concept of the electric guitar, and soloed only on blues songs really. But, I came up with something that was, ok... We ended up running through this song at practice more often than "Enter Sandman", the song we were actually going to perform. Which was fine with me, 'cause I figured we'd all be on our separate ways in a week or two. Still we were practicing at a fairly alarming rate. Well, for me anyways, more than once a month is unusual. I had never spent this much time with a group before.
--So of course - they canceled the talent show. Apparently only two acts signed up. Us and the "Burlap Band". Now the Burlap Band was one of these ideas that Tomas and I had. We would get everyone we could find with any sort of musical instrument. We'd all pile on stage and just sit there making noise until they physically dragged us off. Now we had about twenty or so people (including everyone else in the band) and we definitely NOT going to practice. But we never got the chance to do it. The show was gone. I had band practice that afternoon (the other band, not Burlap). I figured that I could tell them all there, and then I would have time to rush over to my church, where I was going to perform at their much more subdued, talent show. Trust me no "bands" were going to be performing. More like a piano recital or something along those lines. A barbershop quartet. A dance piece. Violin and flute duets. I was planning on doing a solo acoustic version of the Talking Heads' "Psycho Killer". You know, to sort of startle them a little bit.
--Well, I'm sure you can guess what happened next. I told 'em that there was no more reason for us to be. Our lone gig was canceled. They asked, "Since we spent so much time practicing, why don't we play your church show?" I said, "Why not?" And so we started to move. Well, everyone except Rob - the accordionist - who for some reason I can't remember just wasn't there. Now, I had never had to actually played a show with drums or amplifiers or anything before. I had never realized what a pain they are to carry and load in the car. And if I knew how loud they really were, I certainly wouldn't've brought 'em. Well, it took us forever to set up (at least compared to the piano duets and choral singing that comprised the rest of the show) - so everyone was excited to see us. We were like second or third. Ave's brother Clint came along and agreed to just stand on stage as our "spiritual advisor". Aaron Schilling, a friend of mine from church, who had shown up to play the sax, joined us without ever even hearing the song.
--There were a total of about thirty people in this small gymnasium. Just before we went on we had worked up this whole routine. I walked on stage in front of the curtain with just my acoustic guitar, and told the crowd my band has just broken up, and proceeded to start the song solo. And then we opened the curtain and out popped the rest of the group. I strapped on the electric and Ave, who was much better at it, really sang the song. Cute little gimmick. I don't know why we did it. Probably just to justify my bringing the acoustic along. We would've gone great, only this was both Tomas's and Seth's first time on stage ever. And since Tomas wasn't exactly rock-solid rhythmically to begin with, well... we all just got further and further off the beat. We were out of sync, out of tune, and WAY too loud. When the song was over, we got some polite applause, but you could tell they hated us. Now, I had had some mediocre responses before. I've played some cruddy gigs. But I had never bombed before. I mean really BOMBED. And it wasn't half as bad as I feared. In fact, I was kind of glad to have gotten it out of the way. But I was sure the rest of guys would hate me. It could be quite embarrassing. First time on stage to go over like that. Well... if this was the end of the Phlegmtones, at least we'd gone out with a blaze of glory. But when I finally slunk off-stage, there they were - laughing themselves silly. At how bad we were. At how shocked the audience was. No one from the crowd would talk to us as we spent the rest of the night hauling junk out to the car. But they all thought it was great. That's when I knew that this was a band I could do something with.
--But what, I wasn't sure. I had played talent shows and open stage at the local folk music club (Swallow Hill). But I had no idea how to get gigs. Like a real rock band. Luckily, Ave was already a bit of an old hand at this. Apparently after the last school talent show, Ave had joined the "Prosaic Trenis Pucks". And they had developed a bit of a following. So he knew where to start. And he also knew we weren't ready. This where I began to see another side of Ave. The overly cautious, perfectionist side. For we didn't go on stage again for over a year. But in that time we did do some recording. That's an old habit of mine. Since no one showed up for my 12th birthday, every year after that I had my parents foot the bill for some sort of production instead of giving me a party. Some years, I would rent a video camera and make a "movie". And then later, I would put together one of these joke bands. We'd rehearse one day, and then go into the studio, and record a whole quote-unquote album in six hours. No one ever really heard it, much less did we try and sell it, but it made me happy.
--We were called "The Bookhouse Boys" - a Twin Peaks reference. Oddly enough an Oregon power trio gain a small measure of notoriety using that moniker long after we had disbanded. Generally the group consisted of me, Rob, who really couldn't play an instrument, my borther, Colin, who didn't really know how to play one either, and my cousin, Josh, who at least OWNED a bass. That was the line-up for our first two yearly sessions. The third one however, Josh had to cancel due to being out of state. Not really a problem, but in our haste to replace him (we were recording in about a week) both Rob and I found ringers. Rob brought in Brit Till (that's his real name), who had been playing classical guitar since he was like a fetus. Extremely talented, but didn't really mesh. And I called up Aaron Schilling, whom I had known from church, to play sax and some guitar. Our temperments were similar. A goofy, comical approach to music. So the next year, when my birthday rolled around, I turned to him to get a whole new band started.
--Well, Rob still had to be in it. Because he was my best friend and it was my birthday. The rest of group I met for the first time at the practice session. Aaron on the sax, naturally. Trent Brown on guitar. Trevor Mariotti on drums. Ken Sabo on bass. We settled on the name "Acme" (which I'm sure was probably used before, but oh well...) These guys were good. Friends of Aaron's from the high school jazz band. I was impressed. Rob even decided not to show up for the recording date because he felt so out-classed. Of course, Alex Farrell - who was a friend of theirs was also invited. He owned a flute, but really didn't know how to play it. So I was surprised when these REAL musicians let him goof around with it on one of the tunes. We went to a different studio than the one I had always used before. We actually did over-dubbing instead of trying to do it all live. And we went back into the control room afterwards and even mixed it. Swanky!
--It was, by far, more professional than anything I had ever done before. Everyone I played it for said it sounded good enough to be on the radio. And the other guys in the band would laugh whenevr they heard that. "We've only practiced once", they'd say, "Imagine how much better we're going to be." And I did. I was psyched. Finally a real band! So picture my chagrin when, two months later, there was playing at our high school pep rally, "Steve's Facade" - a band that consisted basically of everyone from "Acme" - except ME! I was crushed. Devastated. When I told the Phlegms about the whole story much later they were furious. Since then, they concocted this massive rivalry with "Steve's Facade". Even when Aaron moved on to the much more sucessful ska sounds of "Furious George & The Monster Groove", they still held a grudge. But I still like Aaron. We were never close, but still... In fact I had once thought about asking him to join the Phlegmtones, when the others politely asked me not to ask him. Now I don't know whether or not these guys were together as a band before I met them, and they just used me for the recording time. Or whether, like Aaron said, they just couldn't use me for the pep rally, because I wasn't in Jazz Showcase or whatever and didn't know the music teacher. I don't know, although they never asked to join them after that pep rally. Still I was hurt.
--But that was a long time ago. And now, finally, I had a band worth really recording. One that I felt I belonged to. Granted we weren't as tight or professional as "Acme" (I mean, "Steve's Facade"), but that's ok. This was MY band. So on Labor Day, right before I was to ship out to Olympia WA, to go to college, I scraped together a couple hundred bucks to book a studio. I was also splitting the cost with Aaron Schilling and Trent Brown, who were going to use half of the session (since I couldn't afford nor did I need all day for the Phlegmtones). We went out to Time Capsule Studio. Now I spent all day there, helping out "Steve's Facade" after our half of the session was over. They were finishing up the album they started (I don't know if my birthday recordings were intended for inclusion). Since both Trevor and Ken had gone off to college already, I was in there all day - for both sessions, still not knowing what my status was with THAT band. They even had me playing drums on one track - which I had never done before, but still they felt I was more qualified for than Tomas. Which I'm sure hurt his feelings.
--It was the longest I had ever spent consecutively in the studio. I was having a great time. But Seth and Ave had to split when our half was finished. Apparently those two, along with Aaron Wheeler (ex-Hot Bearded Clam Masher) on drums, had formed "Zucchini Repairman" and we're going to play the Mercury Cafe's open stage night that night. This initially made nervous. I didn't want to be betrayed like that again by another band. But really, I didn't care. I was going to school in a couple of days, and figured it was there that I would find my first real real band. Turns out later that they chickened out, but both Aarons were there for these sessions resulting in the tracks, "Headin' Back To Country" (unreleased), "Psycho Clown" (unreleased), "Why Do You Paint Your Face Like A Skull?", "65 Sold (The Cow Song)" featuring Aaron Wheeler on drums, "Questionnaire?", and "Love Me Now, Dammit! (the Jazz Song)" featuring Aaron Schilling's sax solo.
--Well, I sang the last two. In fact, Ave and Seth had already left by the time I recorded them. That's probably the only reason why they let me put Schilling on record. That and it was delibarately cheezy lounge song, so they thought his presence was appropritate. I had to (for the first time ever) attempt bass on the Jazz Song. Besides, since I knew chords and they didn't, I could pick up their stuff, but I was totally at a loss as to how to communicate my songs to them. Still it was a fairly even partnership at this point. The night before we had recorded a couple of tunes acoustically (because I knew Time Capsule had sucky acoustic mikes - and besides resetting everything would take time and cost us money) "The Hey Song" and a rare duet between Ave and I, "Serene DiPablo-Pablo". These were recorded into a single microphone upstairs in Ave's house. Ave even played Drums (with brushes) on "The Hey Song". Not the best technically (although we did any number of takes we wanted as opposed to the one-shot we got in the studio). This was o.k. by me. I was leaving for college, and didn't figure the band would last a whole lot longer anyway. Now I was used to being the crazy, creative one, and was unused to playing straight man to Ave. But I began to see myself as Paul McCartney to his John Lennon. Dick to his Tommy Smothers. Silent Bob to his Jay. Which was odd. I was used to being the only one with any musical talent. Still I thought the sessions were ok... So I went to Washington.
--Well, when I came back for Christmas break, I was surprised to find that the legend of The Phlegmtones had grown substantially. Even larger than the "Acme" tapes. And all this despite having never really played live or the fact that Ave didn't really let a lot of people listen to the tape. So we practiced some more. We would mail each other tapes of songs we had written. I would learn theirs. They would occasionally listen to mine. But while I was away, Ave was getting more and more frustrated by the inexperience of Seth and Tomas. At one point Ave even called me and said, screw it - let's just be a duo. Now, I needed Seth and Tomas. I knew them, and quite frankly Ave scared me. Besides, this was, in a lot of ways, my first band. This was it. This is what I was dreaming about all these years. And I didn't want to screw it up. And my other attempts at getting started musically in Olympia weren't going so well.
--I had answered this one guy's ad. The name's Jason. On his flyer, which just listed his influences and phone number, was The Beatles (my all-time favorite band) and the Talking Heads (whom I didn't mind) and a bunch of other people I had never heard of like Camper Van Beethoven. He was pretty good. A little esoteric for my tastes, but quite skilled. We jammed a bit, but I could tell I wasn't what he was looking for. Not enough equipment, not enough technical know-how, not disciplined in musical theory or world beat rythmns. Didn't do enough drugs. But he was still nice to me. Besides I wanted a creative collaboration, and he - obviously - wanted to be in charge. But we never found a drummer or bass player and called it quits after a couple weeks. Or he just stopeed calling me, and I forgot to call him. Whatever.
--The other band I tried featured me and some guy named Syllas on acoustic guitars, sharing vocals with a very talented lady, Jessica, (who also played flute, but mostly sang) and my roommate, Ken. Now Ken had never even so much as bought an album in his life, knew nothing about music, and was in the band primarily because he wanted to be my friend. But he creeped me out. He would be up with the lights on at 3 a.m. naked, playing computer games. And when I say he couldn't sing... Now this normally wouldn't bother me too much (after all I can hardly sing), but this was a quote-unquote serious band. Not like the Phlegmtones. Not jokey. Just like I always wanted, but never thought I would be good enough for. Acoustic, folksy, great. And he just sucked. But we couldn't find a way to get rid of him, since he sort of founded the group, so we just went our separate ways. We never quite had a name (or even discussed having a name). We did one open stage and bombed miserably. It just never gelled. I think folk musicians tend to be of the solo singer-songwriter sort. We had a hard time collaborating. Well, maybe just I did. Syllas and Jessica actually had a good time coming up with arrangements and stuff. I just wasn't quite ready to give up my youthful silly goofy stuff yet.
--However there was one big improvement to my musical life that came from all this: the four track recorder. Now I had never used one of those before. Even when I went to the studio I rarely overdubbed. Added the vocals later, at best. Now I could be the whole band. Loved it. I kept borrowing and borrowing it from him. It had everything I loved about going into the studio - only I didn't have to bring anyone else. I was never big on EQ graffic equalizer DAT dolby tape hiss noise reduction hi-fi whatnot. So to me they sounded just as good as all those 24 channels and $2,000 microphones. I convinced the rest of this "group" to use it to record a Christmas album. (I told them it was an inexpensive way to make gifts). They were unethusiatic about the project, but I loved it. Not the album, the recorder. It pretty soon became obvious that this musical unit was not going to work out, but still I maintained a friendly relationship with Syllas, just so I could borrow the recorder. I made dozens of demos and mailed them off to what was increasingly becoming my only hope, The Phlegmtones. So when Ave told me we were going to be a duo, I panicked. And I mailed the following letter off to the three of them:
Dear Tomas,
--I'm dropping you a line for 2 reasons. 1.) to let you know that I've moved. I have a new address and phone number now so if you want to get in contact with me you'll have to use this:
--My second reason for writing is to tell you some feelings, thoughts, and ideas I've had over the last few days.
--I have been in many crappy bands over my life-time and I can tell you what doesn't work. (I'm not entirely sure what does but I have a few ideas). Being in a band is kind of like the worst parts of dealing with girlfriends, best friends, siblings, and co-workers all wrapped up together. It's a pain in the ass and a lot of work, but in the end it's worth it. A band is a unit. And each band is different. The only people who truly know what each band is like are the people in it. It's a kind of smile that they give each when they're all onstage and it's really starting to cook. It's the kind of smile that's says, "Nobody else is really here but us." But getting there is really tough. I've never really been there, but I'd like to get there and think the PhlegmTones are my (and our) best chance of getting there. First we need (more of) two things:
--DEDICATION. This is tricky. It means giving up a couple hours every day to practice. It also means a willingness to invest yourself. When you're alone practicing or whether you're together jamming, it's a drive to push yourself a little further to get a little more than last time every time. Goofing off is good occasionally (and where really good at musically goofing off) and a lot of great songs are written that way. But once we've got the songs created, we need to work on them (or have them work, depending) and that takes dedication. It's a little thing like warming-up (and tuning up before practice), re-playing the songs so you don't have to re-learn them at rehearsal. Sobering up and meditating before coming to a jam session so that you can leave behind all extraneous stuff that doesn't matter and just concentrate on the music. It means you try your best to make every rehearsal, and when you are unable to, be sure suggest an alternate time and place. I know, I know, it doesn't sound like a lot of fun, and at first it isn't, but trust me after a while it will be worth it.
--PATIENCE: Despite all our best efforts, sometimes a jam just doesn't work. In fact, a good percentage of the time nothing entirely helpful or useful comes out of a practice. And sometimes, we just have to realize this, accept and go on. Maybe one of the band members isn't having a good day, or can't concentrate, or just isn't feeling very musical that day or whatever. In those situations, sometimes it's best to take some time off from real work and just goof-off musically. I know this frustrating when you are concentrated and ready to work and nothing is happening, but when this happens go into a sloppy free-form pointless kind of jam. But then take charge, and when you think everyone has had enough be sure to stop the bad jam and check to make sure that everyone is now ready to work. Sometimes, however this doesn't work, and you are unable (despite your best efforts) to get any work done. Then, it may be time to quit playing for the night and go upstairs watch a movie, listen to an album, eat a pie or whatever together and then call it a night. I know this can get infuriating, especially when the band doesn't rehearse as often as you'd like as it is. But some of these things you just have to mark up to experience and deal with. With a band as well developed personality and concept-wise and so slack (un-tight) musically as ours, naturally it's going to take some time to get it together, but when we do, it will be worth the wait.
--Of course, I'm not saying that this is the end-all and be-all to fixing the problems in our group. I may be totally off-target. There may be some things that I left out. I'd be happy to discuss any further ideas you have. And, as usual, I'm afraid that by defining and analyzing what should really be a natural and spontaneous spirit, that I may be killing it's only chance for survival. Still, I think its worth it.
--Now, I hate to be a hard nose and have to draw the line somewhere especially since I already feel that I'm taking too much leadership and authority over this band. But still I feel that if the four of us can't make a real commitment to working on and fixing these areas, I regret to say that I may have to quit the PhlegmTones. I'd really hate to have to do that (and I may not be able to) but that's how I really feel right now. And it would really be a shame because you guys are really the greatest band I've ever worker with ever. In fact, if not for the PhlegmTones, it's quite likely that I will hawk my guitar and quit playing forever (I could use the money and frankly I don't enjoy playing by myself anymore). If only two of you decide to keep with it and one of decides that you can't hack it, I may be persuaded to stay. After all, I am pretty bored and desperate out here amongst the trees.
--Still if you guys can find it in your hearts to get it together make me a practice tape (with vocals extra loud please - that way when I throw my guitar on, we'll still be able to hear you) I would be thrilled to death. Call or write me, once you've read this letter and have made you're decision.
--Sincerely,
--Scot P. Livingston
--P.S. Let Seth see this letter as soon as you get it. I still don't have his address.
Metzershmink!
And so we stayed together. And when I came home for the summer we made plans for our "big debut"...
--The Mercury Cafe open stage. One of the few unsolicited venues were you could bring a full electric band. We rehearsed, and rehearsed, and rehearsed. Rob, the accordionist was going to play with us. He wasn't very good, but we all agreed that the sight of an accordion would be worth it. Rob himself, must've gotten over his fear of playing with good musicians, or still didn't believe that we were on the level of "Acme" For some unknown reason, we were all given pseudonyms. Ave became Schmedrick Finkelstein. Seth was Grass McTabernacle for a while before settling on O. Pendtheodore Vaishnervass Ouda Ouda the 3rd. Tomas accidentally gave himself the same stage name as an infamous over-weight cross-dressing gay porn director, Chee-Chee LaRue. And I was given the role of Jon McRamahamasham. I don't know where that came from. It wasn't my idea. I didn't like this, I was proud of the band and wanted people to know I was in it. But Ave was sure we were going to fail, and wanted to disguise himself.
--And we began canvasing. Something I'd never done before. We wanted to make sure someone came. We made up hundreds and hundreds of flyers. We went downtown and just gave 'em to people. Well, actually, Tomas did most of the giving. The rest of us were too shy. But we did A LOT of promotion for our big debut, but we didn't know what to expect. Now, by this point in my life, I had seen a couple of big shows - Ringo Starr, Tom Petty... and I've been to a few coffeehouse acoustic open mikes, but I had never really seen a rock club before. I came from a theatre background, where everyone sat down. That's how you could tell if you were good or not - the standing ovation. That's what hooked me on guitar playing in the first place. My teacher didn't believe in recitals. So I had been playing for like three years without anyone ever really hearing me. But, I decided to do some of my Dr. Demento-inspired parodies for the summer camp talent show I decided to accompany myself for the first time. And that's when I got my first standing ovation. For someone as socially awkward and shy, this kind of unqualified show of devotion was intoxicating.
--So I walked on stage at the Merc and there they were - already standing... dancing... only inches from my face. I could reach out and touch them. And they were a lot of them. For some reason EVERYONE showed up. Our first real show, and still it's the biggest crowd we've ever had. We were smoking. Everything fell into place. Now, one of the "songs" we had rehearsed was something called the "Mad Audience Guy". Now in this, we all played softly as Ave introduced the band, and then suddenly the music turned heavy, and Ave would jump off the stage into the audience and ... well, yell at himself. And then he'd jump back on, and he'd start apologizing. I was not a big fan of this song. First of all, I've always resented bands that had someone singing without playing an instrument - and obvious Ave could not do this while strapped to a guitar. Second of all, it seemed like the sort of improv music we were doing was secondary to the on-stage antics - which I always hated. You can be crazy, but it's all about the music - in my mind. Now, I was only singing one song that night. The Jazz Song. I had taught Seth (who was rapidly becoming a fairly good bass player) the bass line, but Ave still couldn't play the chords, and he didn't want to do anything at all on the song, but I convinced him to take a deliberately off-key whacked guitar solo where the sax used to be. Seth had one song as well, The Cow Song. he still hadn't mastered the art of playing and singing at the same time, so Ave played the bass on that one. Even Rob got one song, our sole cover of the night, David Byrne's "Buck Naked". It was our consession to him in order to get him to play with us. We were headed in a definite funk, Primus-influenced direction, as evidenced on "Pumpkin Man" (which was our best song at the time). Now, this was o.k. I'm not a big funk fan - but I didn't hate it, and sure we were a little lopsided on-stage - Ave getting more songs than I, but still in the studio we were even. Now on a whim, I decided to wear my good Sunday suit to the show. I'm not sure why. Odd whim. The rest of the band just wore their street clothes. But we were a success. Big time. I had never seen anything like it. The MC, Baggs Patrick, immediately invited back for another show next month, before we even got off-stage. We were rock stars.
--The next show a month later, however, didn't go nearly as well. We were underrehearsed. We felt we didn't need to practice anymore. We were rock stars! And then Ave didn't want to do the same set as last time, to give the people something new, and we didn't know the other songs as well. Our expectations were too high, and it just didn't gel for some reason. The crowd wasn't as big, or at least didn't seem as impressive. The crowd still went nuts though, and everyone assured us we were great. And at least Rob was there. He was supposed to go to Chicago for school like three days before the show, but we felt like we needed him there. He was part of our sucess last time. He was our good luck charm. So we all bursted in on him while he was working at BlockBuster and begged him to take a later flight. And somehow we convinced him.
--And we got invited to play the last real day that the old Elitch's amusement park would be open at its old location. Kinda cool we thought, but first we wanted to do some more recording. This time at Free Reelin' Studios. Once again on labor day. This was going to be a tradition for us. We recorded "Loud Guy/Quiet Guy", "Pumpkin Man", "2-2-0 (Second To None)", "The Mad Audience Guy"(unreleased), "Rotten Egg On A Plastic Spoon", the improvised instrumental "Winking At You", plus a couple of duets between Ave & myself, "Polka Polka Polka" the middle Eastern flavored, "I Know" featuring Aaron Wheeler playing some sort of ceramic hand drum and an accordion solo by Rob. Rob however had left by the time of the Elitch's show. We also attempted a couple of my tunes. The fairly typical (for me) "Cheet-O Story" and "Are We Men Yet?" which was originally intended to a be a slide guitar piece with the feel of a real swamp stomp with three part harmony on the chorus. However by the time the rest of the band had got hold of it, it turned into a fairly standard rah-rah rock number, with me attempting to growl through the whole thing. Not exactly what I had in mind, but at least Ave was playing guitar on both of them. I was slowly learning how to teach Ave how to play my songs - provided they were simple enough. We were already talking about our first album, which Tomas really wanted to call "Tijuana Smut", but first we had the Elitch's show. Once again, the audience was smaller than the last time. We were set up in the gazebo, and at the end of the show, while Seth and I made some random jam, Ave jumped into the moat surrounding us and started splashing and dancing around. Once again I felt this was totally distracting to the music, but the audience ate it up. Also, for this show we all dressed up in some thrift store, ugly plaid and stripes complete with bow ties. Tomas and I weren't really big on this idea either, but we figured it was a special occasion.
--But first I had to go back to school. I hated it. I felt we were starting to build a little momentum, and here I had to leave the band for four months. It was terrible. I was bored. All I could think about was the band. The excitement of being on-stage. I wanted to still work on the Phlegmtones, even though I wasn't there. So I took the studio tapes, some of the practice tapes they mailed to me, and some of my four-track demos, and compiled it into an album which I called "BLiSHMA" - which is a word I made up that has absolutely no meaning whatsoever. I mailed the tape off to one of those audio duplicating services. I spent $50 making fifty copies. Designed some covers and mailed 'em off to the rest of the band. Our first album.
--Now, by this point, Ave and Tomas had been having some troubles. They were not getting along. Tomas had not taken to the drums nearly as well as Seth took to the bass. Tomas didn't have the robotic exact tempo of the drum machines Ave was used to playing with. Heck, Tomas didn't even own a set and was just borrowing Ave's. They would get in fights all the time. Ave would throw Tomas out. I would fight to bring him back. We even replaced with a guy named Andy for a while, but that didn't work and after a week Tomas was back. Andy was a much better drummer. He really liked us. But it didn't click. I do remember him once suggesting that we wear dildoes on our heads, which Ave and I nixed saying, "we're a kid's show". Andy now plays for one of Colorado's more sucessfull Christian Rock acts. But things were not good with Tomas. Ave would get so frustrated he would quit. And I refused to be stuck with just the other two and so we re-united. Granted Tomas wasn't a great drummer, but I had never worked with any drummer before, so I had no idea how really inadequate he was, so I often stuck my neck out for him. I thought he had potential. Besides, I was really close to him. He and would talk. Long "college bull" type sessions. He took me to the Village People concert. I didn't really feel like I knew the other two as well. But apparently my failure to name the album "Tijuana Smut" was the last straw for Tomas, by the time I came back for Christmas break, Tomas had quit the band. Or thrown out depending on whom you ask.