theclubsinger

Our band was officially ‘working the circuit’. After that marathon six hour event at the Emerald Lounge, the word spread that we were a good band – club owners started contacting Buddy, our agent, for dates. We were feeling pretty good about ourselves – the guys looked to add even more equipment to the astonishing arsenal and I looked to add even more clothing to my closet.

We decided to bring a light man and road man on board full time – if we worked, they worked.   We had such a slew of equipment, we needed an extra person to help haul it. This arrangement definitely cut into our net pay, but we all decided it was a must if we were going to be a serious rock band.  During a few local gigs at the Station Tavern, a few regulars were eager to help us move our equipment – Jim ‘Slim’ Baynes, was strong as an ox – and he worked for beer.  He was in. We called him Slim, but Slim he wasn’t.  He was enormous; wide and tall – Slim took up a lot of space. The guys in the band complained they didn’t like him in their cars because he was blowing out their shocks.  Since I didn’t even know what shocks were and I truly enjoyed his company, he and I became buddies – I drove, he laughed. He was one of those guys who finished every sentence with a chuckle. “Did you see the bathroom yet?”  Heehee heehee heehee. “I think I left the directions at home” .  Heehee heehee heehee. “I just put your speaker on my foot“.  Heehee heehee heehee. “I’m not that hungry – I’ll just have three cheeseburgers’.  Heehee heehee heehee.

We had procured more than a dozen ‘parcans’ – really big and unpleasantly hot stage lights. We also had a bunch of ‘fernels’, ‘leecos’ and ‘pin beam’ lights—a full compliment of awesome rock band lighting.  Finding someone to work them all was even easier – and this one worked for free.  ‘Bart’ was the roommate and cousin of Chris, our rhythm guitar player. He looked like he should be in a band  – skinny jeans, strategically-ripped shirt, spiked “A Ha” hair and a super spaced out look on his face.  He spoke slowly and carefully, as he described to us his big plans for the light show, and since his words were slurred, we all thought he was on something.  Bart planned on building a control unit – he knew exactly what he needed for his kit and told us he needed about a week to get it assembled.  Since we had so many lights, I became suspicious that he could have the ability to create anything as complex as a lighting control unit – he was coming to our gigs on a bicycle.  Chris later told us he had been in a serious car accident two years before and lost his drivers license as a result of the head injury. This is what he told us, anyway.   Since he was Chris’s cousin, we decided to see what he could do.

Our next job was at a popular night spot, Dutch’s Place. This would be our first gig with our ‘crew’ and we were anxious to see what Bart had created.  A few hours before we were to head out to the gig, we all met at Chris’s house to get all the equipment packed in the truck and Bart wanted to show us his control unit. Chris was shaking his head and grinning as if he was all ready to plead the fifth with respect to his nutzo cousin.  Bart comes up from the basement, confidently holding what appears to be a wooden box in his hands.  No – a half a box…  it was a 3 foot by 3 foot piece of plywood with sides. Kind of like a table. Made of plywood. Oh – there were switches.  Light switches.  Several of them, actually.  The kind of switch you flick up for on and down for off – there were 15 of them on this piece of plywood.  No way, I thought.  This guy is fucked up in the head.  Light switches??  We had thousands of watts of lights … We all just stared at it, thinking this will definitely catch fire tonight ….  We had no Plan B, so we had to take our chances.

Dutch’s Place was in a good location. Right on a busy highway, they would bring in a wide array of customers from up and down the Jersey Shore, and a weekend night would definitely be a standing room only crowd.  As we brought in our equipment, we were getting a good night club vibe as we noticed Dutch’s had a pretty cool thing going, with the dark colored walls and floors,  leather seating and neon lighting.

The first thing I took note of, besides the owner’s eerie resemblance to a witch (she had warts on her nose and all) was the fact that almost every woman in the place had a tattoo. And a leather jacket.  I mean, really – it was as if it was a requirement for them to get in.  There were men, there, too – it’s just that the women looked so … manly.

Before we were to start, I headed to the ladies room with a friend of the band, Sandy. A striking blonde with no tattoos or leather jacket,  Sandy stood out.  One of the ‘leatherettes’ was pressed up against a mirror, tweaking her eye makeup, and just starts to yell at her:  “What are you looking at?!” Sandy and I were startled as we were both just waiting for a toilet to free up, and then the tattooed gal continues, “I can look at whatever I want, bitch – and you better get lost, ‘cos I gotta knife in my purse and I’ll cut you from ear to ear –  and  I won’t get in trouble ‘cos I’m from New York!”  I wasn’t aware of any New Jersey/New York diplomatic immunity type of thing, but I believed this broad and so did my friend.  We stayed away from the ladies room after that.  By the end of the night I was muttering ‘Dutch’s: Where the men are men and so are the women’…  I got a good look at the men’s room as well.  It was an unavoidable view from center stage every time someone opened the door. They had a grand troth-style urinal spanning several feet along the wall, and I was able to observe gentlemen sidling up to it, whizzing away, throughout the evening. It would eventually overflow.

It was obvious that Bart was super into being the lightman for the band – the whole time he was setting up the lights, scrambling up and down the ladder, running extension cords, plugging it all into ‘the box’, he didn’t stop – he didn’t speak, smoke, drink or even blink.  He was in the zone. Based on looks alone, we were all still planning on an electrical fire and took note of all the exits.

And so at 10pm we began, and since there was a good rowdy crowd already, we opted for Chris to start us out with some hard and chunky Judas Priest to set the tone for the evening, ‘You Got Another Thing Coming‘….

Blam ……. Blam…… blam…..Blam……. Blam…….blam……

One life I’m gonna live it up

I’m takin flight I said I’ll never get enough

Stand tall I’m young and kinda proud

I’m on top as long as the music’s loud….

Maybe it was the Judas Priest, or that he was in a band with his cousin, or the lingering trauma of a head injury: whatever it was, Bart was feelin’ it!  Manning his control unit that he had set up on a spare dinner table, his legs were spread three to four feet wide, his body pressed right up to it, he was on top of every note we played.  Nodding his head with each drum kick, he worked that box –lights on – then off. He flicked those switches hard!  And they worked!  Flicked on, some off.  Then all on – and whoops – all off! With each song, he got more passionate with his light box.  Although he was in sync with the songs and still managing to control the lights on stage, it appeared as though he was starting to schtoop the light box.

Fortunately there were so many people on the dance floor, his sex act with the box really wasn’t so noticeable.  And with this crowd, they didn’t care so much.  The last song of the set was Ozzy’s ‘Flying High Again’ ..  and it was quite evident that Bart’s ‘choreography’ was off the charts. He was going crazy on his light box, as if he were tuned in on every syllable of the lyrics:

Oh no, oh no (boff boff boff boff)

Here we go, here we go now (boffffffff)

Oh no, oh no (boff boff boff boff)

Here we go now (boff boff boff boff)

Got a crazy feelin I don’t understand (BOFF !)

Gotta get away from here (BOFF BOFF BOFF)

Feelin like I shoulda kept my feet on the ground (BOFFooooooops@#X**AAARRRRRGH!)

Waitin’ for the sun to appear 

Bart had boffed the light box so hard, it fell right off the table and Bart went right down with it: flat on his back with both of his feet up in the air, kind of suspended like he was just enjoying how fantastic that all felt.  The box was on its side but miraculously the lights were still on. We just watched him, eyes bugging out of our heads, wondering if an arrest was imminent.

As the song continued, the lyrics were quite fitting as we finished up that set and wondered what to do about Bart’s Boffing the Light Fantastic…

Mama’s gonna worry

I been a bad, bad boy

No use sayin’ sorry

It’s something that I enjoy

 

If you could be inside of me

You’d see, you’d see what light I see

Flyin’ high again, alright!