How does this sort of thing even happen?? It all started when Pito
Larson asked me to set up
the Suaves and the Brothers in my home-state Missouri, and so I say “Yes of course, I will try” and I call all over, (I was a senior in high school when this happened), depositing dollar after dollar into the school pay phone, calling up absolutely every club I can think of but this is difficult to get a real person on the other end, especially when you are doing the calling at about 9 in the morning on a Monday, so that led to nothing.
Only days left! 2 maybe!
And so, THE LIONS CLUB!
In Jonesburg, that’s where I think to put em up at. No place else,
and I promised em so
I figured I’d at least give em the goddamned Lion’s Building. Jonesburg is a small-small farming community of about 300 people (maybe), which is about 60 miles west of St. Louis. (I gave Piotr some WACK-ass directions though, so he figured Jonesburg was MUCH much closer to St.
Louis than he’d bargained for) I make a million shitty flyers, promising un-dreamt of ROCK
power, and this media blitzkrieg proved to be at least slightly effective, as there were, to the best of my recollection, maybe 20 kids or so that showed up later, armed with various liquor drinks and ready to get rocked by some shit they’d never heard of, but with no show!! My
friends and I, we’re impatient and, thinking that Larson and Co. got lost or (blasphemy!)
decided to ditch us, and that no one from school would show up.. we close up shop. We take
down our decorations, cart up our beverages that we’d planned on selling, and decide to head
home. But wait!! What happens?? What the fuck?? Here comes the rock!! In a godawful
brown junk van, here comes rock. My mom spots Pete and friends outside the gas station (I
think), and so, for their trouble, for coming all this way for seemingly NAUGHT, she treats em
to a meal at Frumpy Joe’s, our local eatery.
Joe’s is a nostalgia-ass tacky place, walls decked with innumerable
junk gadgets and beer memorabilia and old political campaign signs.
The King Brothers are impressed by the size of the cucuumbers on Joe’s salads, as they are not
accustomed to such large vegetables. Me and Pete chat it up about Couch and old
no wave and whatever else. I fight the King Brothers with drunken fist!!
Then, we decide to head back to my crib (because I have a large workshop with lots of weirdo
equipment, 2 dump trucks, etc.) because.. Good Lord, I have no idea why.
Larson and entourage buy some fuckin’ Milwaukee’s BEAST at the Amoco, and we head for Camp David to play a show for me and 7 or 8 of my friends They unload the equipment, I lug in a big ass heavy rock from afar to keep the drums in place, we discuss the lighting briefly and
the 25 Suaves are ready to go.
What is that fucking SHIT?? Pure rock like the voice of God erupts
from their amplifiers.
What the hell is it?? My ears hurt. I’m confused. I’m very entertained. This chaos starts and stops, with applause and laughter in-between (we thought they were songs, maybe??) Finally, after much stuttering “musical” turmoil, here’s a song. Discernable beat, weirdo guitar and Pito sing. The Parlimentarian pours Beast all over himself and rolls around in it, I hit myself in the face with a trash can, and The Sexiest Robot In Culverson County tries not to get clobbered as he video tapes. Pete gets down, dances like sex his-OWN-self. Frantic, graceless guitar, smooth strawberry dance moves, and Jeff’s awesome sunglasses. I flip into this wheelchair I stole from the local casino. Pain!! My fat ass struggles to get up, Pito incorporates my onanistic stunt into his song by crooning “Look at this man.. layin’ on tha flo’..” or something to that effect. Orgasmic rock pagaentry, much pomp and circumstance and yet, none at all!!
-DJ Party Girl looks partied out.-
“Detroit!!!” Yes. A fine song. And, I believe that it is with “Detroit”
that the Suaves end their wonderful set. Next up, King Brothers. The Brothers
with the least regard for personal safety. The Brothers with the funkiest
“flava.” Suits, drummer afro (no shirt), completely decimated make-shift
microphone stands. I don’t know these tunes! I don’t know what this is!!
Keizo plays guitar with a red bucket on his head. He falls into the wheelchair
and is pushed around by Dr Thunder. He climbs on top of the amps, on top
of the dump truck and jumps to his death. He crawls underneath the trucks.
He hands the guitar to Richard Jaspering. Good Lord!!!
We dump a potted plant on the ground, roll around in it, smash 8 tracks and records. Maybe
the best show of the 20th century. After we were thoroughly double-fisted by rock (FUCK), they
follow us to the Budget Inn, and it is there that we part our seperate ways.
Thank you Pete.
Thank you for bringing the rock to Jonesburg.