Tonight
one show only: LITTLE OTIS AND THE UPSETTERS. Send me some loving Send
it I pray How can I love you When you’re so far away Won’t you send me
some kisses I still feel their touch I love you so badly I love you so
much So much So much My days are s ...o
lonely My nights are so blue I’m here and I’m alone I’m just waiting on
you There’s no Otis. We’re all happy as shit to have a regular gig so
no one’s upset but the band’s name tells the truth, “We’re a party
band. Please to meet ya.” The name is a play on the two R&B artists
we want to emulate – Little Richard (with Jimi Hendrix on guitar
covering all the horn lines) and Otis Redding (backed by Booker T)
topped off by the sound of Sam The Sham and his Pharoahs. There’s a
popular group in the area called the Exciterz so I do a play on their
moniker for our band The Upsetters. We eventually split a profitable gig
billed as A Night To Excite and Upset You. It’s a peculiar mix of
crowds. We’re homeboys and fraternity girls. They’re gothic and leather.
But the night comes off great as we rotate the sets. It was the first
time that’s done in Bowling Green and it’s pure theater and profitable.
Everyone gets paid that night. A good party always rocks. The thing
about rock and roll, like salsa, is that it allows you to do what’s on
your mind and accent it with a kicking beat. If your clever enough you
can transcend the form. A lot of bar bands do on a nightly level. We
didn’t (later groups I formed did particularly the El Extreme band out
of Albany) but Little Otis has a good time hitting the ceiling with a
couple of tunes we wrote ourselves. And we screw with the covers. I
bring this Old Chubby Checker record in slugged Twistin Round The World
for the band to cover. In our hands the horn section (two trombones and a
sax) did the bebop riffs from Dizzy Gillespies Salt Peanuts and the
guitar laid an Ozzy Osbourne type lead. We split the voices in thirds
with a Mitch Ryder shout and the drummer did his best runaway train beat
stoked by our congas and timbales that had the room gasping by the end
of the three minute tune. My vocal partner in The Upsetters Rasman
Norman helps me polish off an original bilingual reggae tune titled
Biscuit Head that’s featured by the Talkwork Series in the early
nineties and helps me land a deal with Blue Lunch Records nine years
after we write it in a parking lot. The Little Otis formula is
deceptively simple: 60 Percent Cover Songs Every variation on the Latin
Chords of Louie Louie Hang on Sloopy, La Bamba, Guantanamera et al 40
Percent original Tunes Heavy Metal/Punk Bass Player Jazz Drummer Meat
and Potatos lead rock guitar Country Western second guitar Blues Harp
Player Be Bop Jazz alto sax Orchestra Trombone Player
GratefulDead/Finkadelic Keyboard player Lead Female Singer – soul Second
Male Voice – Reggae doubling on congas Lead Male Singer – R&B/Salsa
doubling on timbales Guests:Anyone from the town who thinks they can
keep up. Props – What you got -- well eat anything We experiment with
crazy college coeds and mushrooms besides smoking and selling pounds of
weed until we loose Timbo our harp player in a police sting. But, we’re
paying $230 a quarter pound for some serious green bud University boys
drive in from across Ohio and Michigan so it’s a nice party while it
lasts. The key to our success lays in getting the boys in the band to
find a common ground musically. This is my form of politics adopted fom
Eddie Figueroa at the New Rican. My form of revolution. Look for a way
to get the sound of the Real America translated into something new and
universal. The cover playlist reads like a 60’s WABC Top 40 Hit parade
while the originals twist the lessons learned from the covers to create
our own special sound. Music 101 Raw. A rock band is like a marriage of
cultures. If you can make all the pieces hum in unison then you reach
Nirvana. My bass player Ron Wagner is a second generation German
farmboy from Bowling Green who learns bass by playing along with
countless records. Every kind of record. He masters heavy metal base
while deciphering the long classical pasages that infects so much of
metal. His attention to time and how the bass effectively wraps itself
around the drum beat adds an edge to the group. I teach myself timbales
by listening to countless records. He teaches me to ride the top beat as
color not a lead. We understand what we’re trying to do intuitively.
Ron catches Devo’s first night as a bar band in Akron, “They’re
terrible and get booed. Look where they’re at today. Anything’s
possible.” Ron gives up the farm a few years ago but stays in the local
music scene heading up the largest audio supply business in the region.
Anything from a one room cafe to the annual tractor pull concert at
the Fair Grounds. He takes me deep into rock country during the Otis
days; to places where farmers work hard hours sometimes tripping on LSD
while they plow their fields. At night they want to get a little drunk,
jump around a bit, have a little fight and end up at the farm. He books
us into the Varsity Club. They remove the plexiglass in front of the
bandstand a couple of months before we arrive but they still have a
double barred steel rail around the stage. “Yo, what kind of place is
this?” “Rock and Roll, Lou. Look, we can’t get too blasted tonight.
It’s best to stay on our toes.” “Hey, what are you talking about?”
“Just be cool.” “Yo, what kind of place is this?” The place starts to
fill up and this crew of brawny farmboys and girls come in and begin to
drink. I mean drink. Drinks on the bar, the floor, the pool table and
even in the bathroom. They’re smoking doobies outside and dosing in the
shadows. There’s a bunch of regulars left over from happy hour. These
weathered old mules can knock you out with a knuckle. We kick off the
show and hit them with every Delta 88 rocker we have. They’re jumping
around. Things are going nice and then from the corner of my eye I see
this old farmer get up, hoist a pitcher of beer and bean this farmboy in
the head. Pandemonium breaks loose. Cups are flying, girls screaming
and through it all Ron just keeps saying. “Play the song out and back
to the head!” Well, sure enough by the time we get back to the top of
the form the bouncers throw at least seven people out and the place is
back rocking. Damn. I never have any delusions that I’ll become a
rock star like Devo but I now know how it feels when all the musical
pistons are firing in a band and the engine is blowing mega rpms. The
entire room tilts, the dancers are in sync and not a note is missed. You
can feel the music as it rushes over you like a wave. Now picture 10
people doing that at once on stage playing their own composition; mixing
different styles but making sense on a primal level. Now take the next
step and imagine 200 people experiencing that in a club. It stops time.
This is the real Rock and Roll Experience in the United States. It’s a
tribal thing. Just like a Salsa jam. Anyone who tells you different
hasn’t felt it yet. Besides, it’s fun for a while if you take it for
what it is, an experience. Still working full time at WBGU in 1984, I
book the band a weekly gig on Tuesday nights at The Tradewinds on Main
Street. It’s a second floor club which is cool because all the fun clubs
in my world are always on a second floor. Showtime is 9:30. But the
club has a chicken wing happy hour from six to eight. I give the town my
version of the New Rican Village and rig it to start by showing a movie
at 8:00 booking stuff like Goldgfinger and Zardoz. Plus we presented
videos created by my crew at the TV station. The band kicks in at 9:30
and we’ d play until one. I’d have breakdancers from Toledo do a floor
show. We manage to draw two hundred paying customers every Tuedsay and
build that night up. If you’re into it, a bar band is a business that
you can do on a local level and make some tax free bucks. Whose going to
report 50 bucks a night. Playing the Tradewinds I meet my first gay
punk band – Proof of Utah. They draw their inspiration from novelist
William Burroughs and play quick two minute tunes about shooting down
art canvasses, their friends and the other bands around them. Their most
concise piece is a tune that lasts less than 40 seconds. The lead
guitarist hits his strings with a beer bottle creating an awful
feedback, the drummer beats a fast assault on the tom tom drum and the
singer simply shouts, “All my friends are in bands and they suck!” The
song comes to a crashing halt. Such is life in their crowd. They dose
my drink with PCP Halloween 1984. My girlfriend’s best friend finds me
wandering on Main Street and takes me to our apartment. Paulette tells
me my eyes are rolling in my head. The last thing I remember is walking
out into the apartment courtyard. There’s fresh crystallized snow on
the ground flickering like a thousand little stars. The sky is a strange
orange red. The full moon is a brilliant white beam that overpowers
even the courtyard floodlights. I can see the words I speak in front of
me frozen in the air from my breath. I wake up the next morning alone
naked in my bed but I don’t know where I am or how I got there. The room
feels like a mausoleum. I get flashbacks to the courtyard scene and
find my dream book where I describe meeting George Washingon Carver in
sea of peanuts, “I listen all around me because He speaks to me in
everything” and then some strange heiroglyphics.” It freaks me out. I
call my brother in New York and start making plans to go back to the
city. In the meantime, I run a Country Western Bar for my girlfriend’s
parents called The Corn City Bar for three months while I wait to settle
up with WBGU. There is a matter of three thousand dollars they owe me.
My getaway/bail money. The Corn City Bar in Deshler Ohio is my real life
set of Deliverance. Everyone is gone in that town. Mexican, White and
the occassional Black. Deschler is known as the crossroads of the
B&O railroad but it’s heyday has been long gone. It’s poor farming
country dotted with raucous bars and outlaw families. One particulary
nasty outfit is the Pardo family. A bunch of Mexican brothers who raise
hell. The Wheeler brothers are a handful too. Hippie White Boys who
rustle cows and butcher them when they’re hungry. When any of these guys
get drunk they square off. Paulette’s parents have a special jalapeno
juice they slip into their drinks if trouble is brewing and it cools
them out. But every once in a while they clear out a place. Country
Western bands are really funny as the night goes on. They get filthier
too so that by the fourth set the songs are rhyming strings of
expletives. But what the hell, everyones drunk. Really drunk. I end up
with two Mexican cousins in the back room of the Corn City and the three
of us play butt naked bingo. That’s a lot of work, I don’t care what
pornos show. We’re joined by their guera cousin. She’s half German and
Mexican. Without missing a beat she gets naked and joins us doing both
me and her cousins. This is not an isolated case but you got to hit
trailer park central before stuff like this starts to happen. Paulette
suspects I’m up to something and let me know what time it is in our
relationship. She gives me a pair of sneakers at Christmas and asks,
“What do you call a musician whose girlfriend just broke up with him?”
“What?” “Homeless. Hit the road jack.”Ver más
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