Nine Hundred Nights Page 8

  I made it back into the dressing room to find Wendy straddling Ingy's lap and she's grinding away as they make their way down each other's throats. It was so intense I averted my eyes and did my best Jim Perkins from that nature show 'Wild Kingdom'

  "Here we find the guitar player and his mate in their natural habitat as they copulate to produce offspring, completing the cycle of life."

  Wendy ignored me and kept on going, but Ingy managed to let me know in between slurps that he got the bouncer to let Wendy in. She was under-age by a year, and I figured that it was the first of many 'favors' we'd be asking of the door and bar staff at the places we'd be playing. I kept my back to the suck-fest as I dried off, deodorized and changed my shirt.

  Sean poked his head in "Less than ten minutes, don't leave the room."

  He looked to Ingy for some sign but got nothing; I assured him I wouldn't let him leave. A minute later Jimmy came in…here's something you probably wouldn't notice about drummers unless it's pointed out. Jimmy's the most polished looking of us, and he deserves it…because he works at it, meaning he has big and perfect rock and roll hair that he takes nine friggin' hours to style. He just came in from the bar where I have no doubt that he was charming the shit out of some of the girlies. He's wearing the 'perfect looking' jeans and a white silk pullover shirt that's got a wicked blue abstract paint splash or something…anyway it's the coolest T-shirt I've ever seen. He's wearing these capezios with tiny pirate heads on them (remember this is the 80's where people actually wore 'Members Only' apparel.) The guy is perfectly quaffed and dressed for the club crowd. However, he came into the dressing room and in two minutes stripped down to his Fruit Of The Loom's and pulled on an old black pair of spandex stretchy bike shorts, track flats with no socks, a black tank top two sizes too big so it hung loose and finished the ensemble off with a red bandana that had been ripped in half along the diagonal, the half rolled up and tied around his forehead to keep the sweat out of his eyes since both his hands were busy when he was playing. Drumming is a physically demanding activity, and heavy metal drumming even more so. He had to have freedom of movement, kind of like a wrestler. After the show though, give him ten minutes and he's back to 'Perfect Looking Jimmy'. The man didn't have a shortage of energy.

  Tommy and Kenny come in reeking of weed and in good spirits, followed by Sean.

  "Five minutes. Let's go." Sean says as he lifts Wendy off of Ingy "Wendy, go assault somebody at the bar."

  She takes it good naturedly and leaves while Ingy gets to his feet. I start laughing my ass off. In a few seconds, everyone but Ingy is crying with laughter. Ingy's wearing purple colored spandex pants and the erection Wendy produced is beyond obvious…the pants actually enhanced it. I point to the package being featured and he looks down and cracks up; instead of being embarrassed he started humping Jimmy who wasn't quite done dressing. It's even more creepy for Jim as Ingy wasn't short-changed in the penile department.

  Jimmy of course freaked out "Get the frig outta here dude!" Ingy ignored him as he tried to get in behind Jim, but Jim was not to be trifled with "I'm not kidding man, go fuck Wendy!"

  We were still laughing at Ingy and Jim, when we took the stage for our second set. We started the second set with 'In Trance' by The Scorpions; Sean had Bill Kardos working a fog machine for the song. When we took the stage there was this cool looking fog clinging to the floor and Bobby-the-light-guy had deep dark blue lighting on us. I smelled the stuff and coughed a few times, but was thoroughly impressed by the look. As the song progressed I coughed more. There is a break in the song, near the end, where the band stops completely and Tommy and I harmonize softly for a ten seconds or so (in music terminology, we sing a cappella, sotto voce…don't be too impressed, I Google'd it). As the break approached I was convinced that I was going to be hacking up a lung while he sang his part; luckily, I was able to hold off the coughing and hit my part with a clear throat. At the end of the song I had a physical sensation that reminded me I hadn't had a chance to visit the bathroom, as my back teeth began to float…of course I had about forty five minutes to go before I could. I'm pretty sure it appeared to the crowd that I was doing stage moves when I was just trying to hold it in.

  The Tracers gig taught us that you can't judge a club by its cover (no pun intended), that crowd was every bit as whacked out as the miscreants at Legend.

  We had another job the very next night in Brooklyn at a place called 'The Company'. It was a tiny place with rowdy people and we had a great time.

  Sean kept us rolling in jobs and we started to see people, just a few, who followed us from place to place, which made us feel pretty good. When you know there are a few people who are going to cheer for you at a new place, it sort of emboldens you to hold nothing back. Things were going great, we had achieved a lot of what each of us wanted; we were playing the music we loved in clubs, having fun and getting laid too. This should have been the happiest time for us...but as so often happens, reality intervened.

  Track 8

  Ingy

  In the wee hours of the morning the bright white house-lights are on at Legend as the band and a couple of roadies break down the equipment.

  The DJ's voice boomed over the PA "Last call. We're closing in fifteen minutes, LAST CALL FOR AL-CAH-HOL!"

  I approach the sound board as Scott and Bobby are chatting in low tones and hand Scott a coiled up cable and as I'm about to return to the stage Scott asks "Bro. Can I have a word?"

  "Sup?" I ask without enthusiasm…I'm tired.

  Scott has headphones on, he hands me a second pair and he hits play on the console. It's obviously a recording of tonight's performance and it sounds good for an impromptu live taping.

  I arch my eyebrows as if to say 'So?'

  Scott turns a knob on the sound board and the guitar playing sounds sloppy and off time.

  "That ain't me." I say immediately.

  "No shit." Scott says, then he hits a button and the music stops. The two take off the headphones "We've been turning him down more and more. At this point I only turn him up on the harmonies."

  I sit silent in thought, and after a pause, look at Bobby, who shrugs his shoulders and nods a sad smile of confirmation at me.

  "I'll handle it, please guys, please don't say anything to anyone...in or out of the band. Can I have that tape?"

  Scott pops it out and gives it to me and I trudge off to finish helping with the tear-down.

  The following Tuesday night at a WHITE CASTLE burger place in Hackensack, Jimmy and I are on line to place an order. White Castle became an instant tradition to the band members, in any combination or number, after a night of boozing. The burgers are sliders, about half the size of a regular hamburger, but they're cooked on a bed of onions producing a unique taste. The little sliders are served in individual white cardboard boxes shaped like a castle.

  "Saaaavory little burgers." Jimmy says enthusiastically, looking past the order counter to the hoard of burgers on the big griddle.

  "People of every ethnic, religious and political background are equal in here. All wait patiently in line for their white paper bag of American goodness." I spread my arms and announce loudly to everyone waiting on line "So many burgers, so much harmony."

  "Like I said, saaaavory little burgers." Jimmy repeats.

  "Savory little burgers indeed." I nod in agreement.

  We step up to order and I turn to Jimmy "Hungry, right?"

  "I'm starvin'."

  "50 cheese burgers and 4 fish filets, two fries and two large cokes." I turn to Jimmy "Snack tiiiiiime."

  Ten minutes later Jimmy and I are in his mother's Vista Cruiser station wagon, parked under a lamppost in the White Castle parking lot. Lined up and neatly packed across the entire dashboard are an uninterrupted row of empty White Castle burger boxes. There is neither reason nor rhyme for this; it's just OUR way, not unlike the spider building its web or a beaver building a dam. There is a similar 'chain' of boxes lined up across the top of the front seats
behind us and on top of the head rests as well. We have news radio playing low in the background as we continue to eat at a steady pace and both of us are starting to think about where the next 'line' of boxes should be placed since we're going to run out of room soon.

  Jimmy is talking about work in-between bites "...so they're gonna finish the framing and he'll give me more hours on the finishing. I need the cash."

  "Cool." I swallow a mouthful of burger and take a breath "Jim, I need you to listen to this."

  I pop the cassette tape into the stereo and turn the volume up.

  Jimmy recognizes us immediately "Who taped that, Scott?"

  I nod.

  "It's not bad." he says.

  I turn the balance control to the right and the guitar playing is tight and powerful.

  "Nice man." he comments.

  Then I turn it to the other extreme and Jimmy's face immediately registers concern. Jimmy turns the volume up further and then lowers his head in concentration.

  "Is that Ingy?" Jim asks incredulously.

  I arch my eyebrows and he looks somber. Jimmy fast forwards to the next song and repeats the exercise, then stops the tape "What are you thinking?"

  I say slowly "I think we have to sit him down and talk to him."

  "No shit we have to sit him down." Jimmy says, but notices something more in my expression "What?"

  "Jim, I know you guys have known each other forever. I'm not trying to..."

  Jimmy cuts me off "No no no. In the first place, don't even worry about that bro. In the second place, he sounds like shit. How did we not hear this?"

  "We play with low stage volume, so everything is through the PA. They've been turning him down more and more each gig."

  "They better keep quiet about this..."

  I interrupt him "They're not gonna say anything to anyone. Truth is I'm grateful they let me know...they could have ignored the problem."

  "He's skipped practice a few times now. He's spending too much time with Wendy and not enough time practicing. That's the fuckin' problem!"

  "Yeah I agree. Let's talk to him, just you and me. Ya know, easier to save face?" I say reasonably.

  Jimmy contemplates the situation for a moment "OK. But let's talk to him tomorrow…" he turns the tape back on "…cause this....this SUCKS!"

  "Shut up and have a savory little cheeseburger."

  "I lost my appetite."

  "Jim, they went through a lot of trouble to make these burgers for you. Whadya' think? Just anyone can throw a square slider on a grill and make...THIS?" I hold up a burger in its little white cardboard box and position my other hand as if it were a communion wafer in church "This is something magical, you can't just treat it like it's something else. It's The Castle bro."

  I hold the burger box up to Jimmy's face and wait, fifteen seconds later Jimmy takes it.

  The next day Jimmy and I sat in his back yard waiting for Ingy to show up. I was worried about this, people get defensive very easily and if we didn't prevent that it could really cause the situation to come off the rails quickly. We heard the glass door to the back yard open and looked up to see Ingy coming out. Jimmy opens the lid on a small cooler full of beer that's beside his chair; Ingy takes a can, opens it and takes a sip as he plops down into a well-worn lawn chair.

  "What's up? You said it was important." Ingy asks.

  "Need to talk to you about something, and I want you to take it seriously."

  "OK." Ingy says neutrally, but he sits back and crosses his arms defensively.

  "Your playing has gone downhill." I say, looking down at the grass between my feet.

  "What?"

  "Your playing, it's gotten really sloppy bro. I don't mean any offense but..."

  Ingy cuts me off "Oh you don't mean any offense but you're saying my playing sucks."

  "I said your playing has gone downhill. You need to come to the practices and you need to play by yourself too." I insist.

  "Is that what this is, because I missed a practice?"

  Jimmy puts his beer down on top of the cooler and says "Ing, I asked you to listen and take it seriously. You didn't miss 'a practice', you missed three practices. You spend all your time with Wendy and you're playing sloppy."

  Ingy leans forward with his elbows on his knees "Look, you want me to make every single practice...say so. But don't give me this 'my playing sucks' bullshit."

  "Play him the tape Nick." Jimmy says, the tension growing in his voice.

  I pause a second, hoping to slow the buildup of what I know is probably coming "Can we not turn this into a shit fight? We don't..."

  "What tape?" Ingy asks.

  "Scott tapes the band once in a while, we got the last one and listened to it and it's the reason we're talking about this."

  Ingy looks indignant "So? Play the tape."

  "Ingy, you won't take my word for it? All of a sudden you don't trust me huh?"

  "If you're telling the truth why won't you just play it?"

  Slowly I reach under my chair and produce the little stereo boom box from the practice studio. I hit play, and adjust the balance control back and forth for Ingy to hear.

  "That boom box sucks; you're using that to judge me?"

  Jimmy shoots back "Dude! For fuck-sakes we listened to it on my system first and it sounds even worse on a good system!"

  "Hey you don't want me in the band you could just come out and say it."

  Now I'm getting annoyed "Will you shut the fuck up! You have to practice like the rest of us Ingy, you're not a fucking prodigy. You have to practice."

  Jimmy jumps in "You have to practice bro. You can't be missing practices because of your girlfriend. You can't spend all of your down-time with Wendy."

  Ingy stands up and sets his beer on his chair "Don't tell me what to do and don't talk to me about Wendy. She's none of your business."; he storms off the way he came in.

  "Well...that could have gone better." I say.

  Jimmy has known Ingy much longer, so it's natural that he's less patient "He's offended? Yeah? Well I'm fuckin' steamed! He wouldn't even listen. I'm not playing with him sounding like that. Either he does what he has to do, or he's out."

  "Tell you what? Let's see if he comes to the next practice. Maybe he'll cool down and be reasonable."

  Jimmy brooded over that for a minute but eventually agreed.

  I added "And I'll call Tommy and tell him not to come."

  "Tommy?"

  "The singer covers up a lot of timing mistakes, without him we'll hear everything." I said.

  "Good call. Let him rest his voice too."

  At the practice studio Jimmy, Kenny and I are finishing a song, while Sean is watching from a chair and nodding off after a ten hour shift at the supermarket. When the music stops Sean shakes himself awake and sits up.

  "You told Tommy not to come, right?" Sean asks.

  "Yeah."

  "Then I guess Ingy's ditching another practice."

  "Looks that way."

  "Ya know, not for nothin' but his playing has been getting sloppy." Sean says.

  Jimmy interjects "We noticed. Nick and I had a conversation with him about it."

  "What'd he say?"

  "Basically, he told us to fuck off." Jimmy says with anger.

  "He didn't tell us to fuck off. He got upset. He was unreceptive." I say as I'm taking a seat "This is a big problem."

  Sean is looking through the paper, giving no outward sign that he considers it a major problem.

  I repeat "SEAN…" waiting for him to look at me, and when he finally does I say with emphasis "…this is a BIG problem."

  "Jimmy, you and Kenny know him the longest, what do you think?" Sean asks.

  "I'm pissed off. His playing sucks and he won't listen. He's skipping practices. How do I feel? I think he's giving us no choice, it's time for a change in the lineup."

  "We have a gig at The Rising Sun on Saturday." Sean replies "We're not gonna' cancel."

  "Gig or no gig, I'm no
t playing with him sounding like that." Jimmy says annoyed.

  "Nick, can the set be done with one guitar?" Sean asks.

  "It won't sound as good, but yeah, 'course. Are we really talking about this?"

  Sean turns to Kenny "Yeah, we're really talking about it. Kenny?"

  Kenny doesn't respond right away, but after it's clear that they won't continue the conversation without his answer he asks reluctantly "Is it that bad?"

  Jimmy holds his hand out to me and I retrieve the tape from a little compartment in my guitar case and hand it to him. Jimmy pops the cassette tape into the boom box and plays some of it for Kenny and Sean.

  "What happened? He was way better." Kenny asks surprised at what he heard.

  "Nothing magical, he stopped practicing. If he could remove his dick from Wendy for five minutes..." Jimmy says.

  "Well…he's a friend, I can't make the decision. Whatever you guys think."

  Jimmy's irritated by Kenny's comment "He's my friend too Kenny."

  "Look, we've been getting applause, maybe they don't notice." Kenny says.

  "They were turning him down!" Jimmy says.

  Kenny looks at Nick and receives a reluctant nod.

  "It's true Ken, Scott told us. He feels bad about it. I can't fault the guy." I confirm.

  "Fuck it. You guys do what you want, I'm out. I'm not playing with him like that." Jimmy growls.

  "Jesus what are we losing our minds now?" I say "Jimmy, relax. I'm with you, Kenny is with you. Sean?"

  Sean nods.

  "Kenny what do you think Tommy would say?" Sean asks.

  "He'll go along with whatever the rest of the band says."