CLEVELAND AND CHAPEL HILL (MAY 20-23)
MAY 20 (Philadelphia to Cleveland)
Off we go into the wilds of the Midwest and South, and all in a weekend. Thank Elvis the Marshmallow has those cushy pilot seats!
Perhaps there is a perfectly sensible explanation, although I doubt one would ever hear something sensible from PennDOT, but I cannot understand how one could have multiple traffic jams on Interstate 80 in the middle of Pennsyltucky on a Friday afternoon. Rush hour in Bloomsburg?! I think not!! The only thing that kept us going were the high-octane Espresso Brownies prepared by my lovely wife. A tip o� the MT cap to Jill, Official Baker of Mondo Topless.
Our otherwise laborious trip to Cleveland was enlivened by a remarkable �brush with fame.� Whilst stopped for fuel and sustenance at a Petro Truck Stop outside Bloomsburg, we ran into none other than Marky Ramone! This encounter would be noteworthy in itself, but was made even more special by the fact that he was accompanied by Jerry from the Misfits! �Of all the truck stops in all the world �� Anyway, seems Marky�s band and the Misfits were scheduled to play Cleveland on Saturday. We offered to put them on the guest list for our show, and left with mutual expressions of esteem.
I pause here to commend to you, gentle readers, the buffet at the Petro Truck Stop outside Bloomsburg � �tis not very often one can assemble an entire meal of foods in complimentary shades of beige. So if you�re stuck in a traffic jam on I-80, as you are likely to be on that forsaken stretch of byway, give the Petro a try. You�ll feel 10 pounds heavier inside of 15 minutes.
Eventually, we won through the traffic snarls, the torrential downpours, and Kris� �genius rock� CD�s, and arrived at our destination � The Grog Shop, Cleveland, OH. Luckily, the fact that we were late for the designated load-in time was immaterial. The reason, gentle readers? We were sharing the bill with Surf Legend Dick Dale. Dick Dale, as he refers to himself, needs things �just so.� And with a team of roadies to set up his equipment RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STAGE so no other band can have room for their equipment, Dick Dale is bound to have things just as Surf Legend Dick Dale likes them.
The trials and tribulations of dealing with Surf Legend Dick Dale were eased considerably by Kathy and Chris at the Grog Shop. They sure know how to treat a band right (hint � free PBR in the convenient 24 oz. can).
We were able to find a bit of room in front of Surf Legend Dick Dale�s piles of amplifiers and enormous drum kit (for a SURF BAND ferchrissakes!), although the scowls of the hovering Dick Dale roadie led me to believe that mayhaps we were a little too close for comfort. Nevertheless, when we finally launched into our set, there was quite a nice size throng of people, some of whom even seemed to appreciate our �geezers playing garage� act. In fact, other than the couple standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME with their arms folded repeatedly looking at my set list to see how soon we would finish, I�d say we were a modest hit. I even espied a number of gals dancing! Almost like being in The Strokes, I�m sure. And in a triumph of willpower, I didn�t kick the skulking Dick Dale roadie in the face when he moved my amp in the middle of a song. All in all, a most enjoyable set to a good-sized crowd. Warms the cockles o� my heart, gentle readers.
I shall not comment upon the performance of Surf Legend Dick Dale. �Tain�t my cup o� ginseng.
I�m sure Sam would want me to recount the story of the opening band�s groupie and what she told him about wearing one of our t-shirts, but this is a family tour diary, and he�s married. So there!
Following the show, our gracious host Jessica further cemented her reputation as Cleveland�s best kept secret (Hah! Not after dozens of people read this!). Before scattering us onto the floor of her apartment for the serenade of snoring, she took us to an all-night hot dog joint. I�d be happy to recount the name for those of you planning your Midwestern fast food junket, but it was late and I can�t remember. Anyway, two chili dogs at 4 am are just the thing to send a fella to blissful slumberland. MMMMMMMMMMM.
MAY 21 (Cleveland to Chapel Hill)
You know, that Sam is a nice guy, but he lies. I distinctly remember him telling me Cleveland to Chapel Hill was only seven hours. Well, it�s not. Try 9 �, OK?
Another van trip: Sam checks his cell phone every half hour, Kris gorges on increasingly nasty types of jerky and potted meat product washed down with every type of energy drink he can find,
We arrived in Chapel Hill in time for a few games of embarrassing pool. Also nice to have some time to visit with another Sam, beau of my sister Lynn. Loud, fast and stupid rock n� roll one night, daylong interview for a job the next, eh?
Those of you familiar with the previous adventures of Mondo Topless will doubtless recall the praise I have heaped upon Jimmy and the Teasers. Well if you don�t, you shouldn�t have to read my pitiful scribblings on the subject, hie thee hence to www.jimmyandtheteasers.com and behold their majesty. Damn, they are one fine rock n� roll combo.
By the time we took the stage, well the floor actually, the heat and humidity of a basement club in Chapel Hill were quite impressive. Oy, was I schwizn! Evidently, so was the PA system, which decided that our musical stylings were simply too much to handle. After a brief break for Sam and Kris to twiddle knobs and utter imprecations, we resumed the sonic onslaught on the quite boisterous assemblage. And if I may be allowed a small �thank you� to SuperVal and C-Bomb for gracing my side of the stage, er floor, then I shall offer it. Despite the electronic snafu, I�d say �twas one of our better performances.
And so it was �Onward to Mayhem� for the mighty MT. Well, more precisely, it was �onward to a motel and attempting to fall asleep before Kris started snoring the finish off the pressboard furniture.� Sunday found us wending our way homeward to Lunchadelphia. One long weekend tour behind us and another coming up �
YOUNGSTOWN AND ST. LOUIS (JUNE 4-7)
JUNE 4 (Philadelphia to Youngstown)
Will we never learn?!? A scant two weeks since we last plied the wilds of Northern Pennsyltucky via I-80, and again we are waylaid by construction tie-ups. And this time no Marky Ramone to divert our attention from other horrific sights:
Of course, it�s always important to keep the proper sunny disposition in the Marshmallow:
We arrived in Youngstown and found the club, Cedars, to be most hospitable. To wit: I inquired of the bartender, whom I later found out was the owner, as to any specials for the bands. His reply? �We don�t need �em, draft beer is a $1.� I concur good sir, and I shall avail myself of same! And when your daughter Mara serves them and calls me �honey� every time, even better.
And special MT kudos are due to Brian, the promoter in Youngstown. In addition to promoting the hell out of the show, including a piece in THE VINDICATOR, the local paper (really), we were treated to reduced price falafel! Well met, sir. Well met indeed.
As for the show itself, I doubt that the crowd, which was surprisingly large we thought, was there specifically for our brand of geezer rock. Nay, they seemed far more intent on the young �uns in the other bands Wesker and Tough Call purveying the emo. No matter, in the end we seemed to win over a few converts to our emolessness. And this was another of those unique shows where the equipment was aligned in such a way that I could clearly hear Tom huffing, puffing, snorting and otherwise exclaiming throughout. Always gives me that warm MT feeling.
Brian went above and beyond the call of your average promoter and offered us accommodations for the evening. I am sure most of you gentle readers will not be surprised to learn that I fit quite comfortably in one of the �youth beds� Brian�s kids sleep in when they visit. Sometimes it pays to be Napoleonic in stature. And as if comfy beds weren�t enough, I awoke to find that Brian had made a full pot of strong java. Best I had the whole damn trip! Kris also sampled some of Brian�s smoked barbecue chicken, but I was too timid for such gustatory pleasures at 8 a.m. And so, �twas onward to the Gateway to the West.
JUNE 5 (Youngstown to St. Louis � The Cicada Trail)
Blah, blah, blah � Sam drives � blah, blah, blah � John drives � blah, blah, blah � Tom drives � blah, blah, blah � Kris:
Not being an entomologist (a fact that makes my parents so disappointed I�m sure), I know I cannot fully appreciate the 17-year cicada phenomenon. However, as a Marshmallow driver and passenger, I can certainly enjoy the resounding splat and resultant gooey mess that a few thousand cicadas make upon contact with the windshield of a speeding Marshmallow. And gentle readers, southern Illinois is definitely cicada country! That kind of carnage almost makes a 9 � ride on I-70 worth it. Well, not even a little bit, actually.
At this juncture it seems appropriate to commend to you The Cowslingers� �Cowslinger Theme� from their (unfortunately final) record �West Virginia Dog Track Boogie.� Truly captures the �glory of the road.� Trust me.
And through the hail of cicadas, spurred on by the dulcet tones of The Cowslingers, we made it to beautiful Saint Louis, Missouri!
Almost like reading a travelogue, eh?
Our show was at a fine establishment called Lemmon�s in St. Louis. The pizza was mighty tasty (and free, woo hoo!).
We shared the bill with The Gentleman Callers, a fine local combo purveying the sort of straight-ahead garage rock that ought to appeal to any right-thinking Midwesterner. Also on the bill was the Maxtone 4, who provided as they put it �A slice of pop in the rock n� roll sandwich.� Indeed they did.
And to no one�s surprise, whom to our wondering should appear but Beatle Bob and his eight tiny reindeer � well, maybe no reindeer, but he still has that hair:
It wouldn�t be a St. Louis show without Beatle Bob doing the Beatle Bob Dance. So Bob, hope to hear our next single on your �radio show� real soon!
I�d have to say our only complaint about Lemmon�s is that with all the tables set up for dining, we were left with that �Villapiano�s Experience� (�Table 18, your pizza is ready�). But we�re semi-, uh quasi-, professionals! We adapt! We just play louder so you can�t have an enjoyable meal. St. Louis is still tops on the Mondo Topless list of places to play. I guess the increase in decibels helped because I detected movements redolent of dancing in the crowd (even from some who climbed onto chairs!). And spurred on by Beatle Bob, we were goaded into an encore � certainly NOT a common request.
I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge Maggie, the promoter of the show, for making young Tom�s night, nay week, nay YEAR. Telling him he�s an �epic drummer� and engaging him in drum-geek talk is the way to his heart alright. Too bad Beatle Bob intervened to cut the conversation short, eh Mr. Connors?
After wearily reloading the van, we were led to the house of another of our favorite people, Nancy from ProVel Records. She has been gracious enough to host us on previous jaunts, so the fact that she�s willing to repeat the mistake makes her Aces in our book. So happily ensconced amid the coconut carvings and Elvis memorabilia, we drifted off for a restful 4 hours of sleep before remounting the Marshmallow for the 15 hour drive home.
JUNE 6-7 (St. Louis to Philadelphia)
Sucked.