this is a genuine rare bird book
Rare Bird Books
6044 North Figueroa Street
Los Angeles, CA 90042
rarebirdbooks.com
Copyright 2022 by Jerry A. Lang
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever, including but not limited to print, audio, and electronic.
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Rare Bird Books Subsidiary Rights Department
6044 North Figueroa Street
Los Angeles, CA 90042
Set in Dante
epub isbn : 9781644282793
Publishers Cataloging-in-Publication data available upon request.
THANKSTo Adam Parfrey, for first hearing the rhythm of it. Tom Roberts, for convincing me it was worth it. Tyson, for seconding the motion. Jeff Larsen, for helping me take it out of the box, and George Pavlids, for helping me assemble it. Crystal Blue, for the cover photograph. This is dedicated to Jennifer.
Contents
Hello again. Just in case you found this book without its accompanying volumes, one and three: This is the second book. Volume number two. It could probably be confusing to pick this up without reading the first part and wondering why in the hell are we starting here? The first book is my childhood, up until my teenage years and after. But these books all go together as the complete story, I dont know why anybody would break up a happy family of books and just leave this one. (Maybe its that sexy cover?) Who knows, things happen. I would suggest finding the first book, reading that, then this one, and then somehow finding book number three and reading that one. Otherwise you wont know how this story ends and you will probably never get a decent nights sleep ever again, staying up, wondering. It could drive a person crazy. But for now, here we go, volume number two.
On tour, there are more ways for things to go wrong than for things to go right. We proved this many times.
We played a big show in LA opening for a band from England, GBH. Dont ever be fooled by the punk/DIY tag, this was still the music business, just on a lesser scale. They still had all the scummy trappings of Led Zeppelin, just on a way smaller level. Chris Tense hated the rock and roll side of all of this, and when we played in LA, he let his inner Germs side come out. If he could have gotten away with hitting one note all night, he would have done that. Instead, it was the old tried and true spitting, sneering, heckling, and insulting the crowd routine. And Tense could heckle. We ended the show with me throwing a glass beer pitcher at the crowd and then jumping into a sea of bodies to start fighting. I remember getting a few good punches in before being knocked to the ground and then lying there thinking that Id made a mistake. But I was again soon using the measuring tool of my fathers fist and thinking this isnt that bad as I was getting stomped by a pack of boots with chains and bandanas tied around them.
Luckily for me, Goldenvoice Promotions hired giant security guys at their shows, and within a couple seconds I had this guy named Tiny (why are huge guys always named Tiny?) sorting out the mob with me. He grabbed me by the neck with one hand and brought me to my feet and through the crowd. Safe. When we got back to Portland, the rock element in the band didnt appreciate the punk humor and Tense was once again asked to leave. That started a musical chair rotation of whos who, and we would bring different guys in and replace them the next month. For a short time, we had three-fourths of S. Hippys old band as backup in Poison Idea. Then one guy was thrown out, another longer-haired guy came in. These people were all nice enough guys, they just came from a totally different world than Tom and I. The newest guitar player went on another tour with us and didnt really enjoy our negative camaraderie. Unless youre completely engulfed in the chaos and alcohol, you could really see the cracks in the negativity, and the humor can only mask so much. Sitting in the opening bands house in Salt Lake City with a combination of all the drugs I can think of, gallons of alcohol, and between the extreme European fetish films and a tape loop of a disgraced politician committing public suicide, it got old fast for the new guitarist. That was his breaking point. He quit the band on the ride back home. I swear when I slammed the van door shut and his hand got caught, that was an accident. I could see how someone might think that was a going-away fuck you, but even Im not that calculating.
When he stepped down, PI had just started recording tracks that would become our third album Feel the Darkness . We also had started booking our first tour of the East Coast of the US. Now, by this time, the band had been together for a few years. Groups from around the world would tour and come through Portland over and over, they were road warriors, but we were just getting out to the East Coast for the first time. We all had our safe bubbles of drunken security in Portland. Some of us were in our twenties and still living with our parents. Tom was selling cocaine with a steady clientele and making enough money to keep him going. We had become a sheltered, coddled, and very dysfunctional band.
When the last guitarist quit, we were on tour in Salt Lake City. We called the house of the guy we had stayed with in SLC and asked if he would want to move to Portland, play guitar with Poison Idea, and live in a tent in Toms backyard. Who wouldnt want that? So, for the East Coast tour, we recruited our latest guitarist, Aldine Strychnine from SLC. Also in the band at this time was our newest bass player, Myrtle Tickner. His real name was Charlie. Tom and I had a thing about giving band members new names and encouraging them to reinvent themselves once they were in the band. A little like The Family.
Myrtle Tickner is a really good bass player. He had played in a band called the Oily Bloodmen, and Id see him around town and make small talk. He was a smart guy, and I think he had studied philosophy in college. Charlie, as he was then known, was a long-distance runner, and when I was living at Glenns house, Id see him jogging by even though he lived a few neighborhoods away. This guy was serious about running. One night, Glenns family was away and I had the whole place to myself, so I invited some people over. We were drinking and listening to music. I spotted Charlie jogging by and shouted out to him. He came over and had a few drinks. Id just gotten The Pogues first album on import and was playing it. I hadnt realized that Charlie was something like 100 percent Irish, but here he was listening to The Pogues while drinking Guinness. I thought all of those songs were originals, but I later learned that some were Irish standards, almost lullabies like Mary Had a Little Lamb would be to me. And Charlie just seemed really happy and at ease. I cant remember if his band broke up or if we nicked him, but it wasnt too long before he answered the call and was the new bass player in PI. He was a bad drunk but a good guy. He became great friends with Tom. He loved the bandthe music, the attitude, the atmosphere, and our schtick. He lived the life. Booze was his demon. Theres a picture of him with a battered face and a broken tooth. That came about because he got drunk one night and went through the food bins at Safeway. The security guard discovered him, then beat and kicked the shit out of him. He broke his tooth and ripped his eyelid. When Charlie joined up, Tom rechristened him Myrtle Tickner. I have no idea where the name came from. Tom just loved unusual-sounding juxtapositions.