Spike in Vain
Robert Griffin - Guitar, Vocals, Bass
Andrew Marec - Guitar, Vocals, Bass
Chris Marec - Guitar, Vocals, Bass
Bruce Allen – Drums
Scott Pickering - Drums
Kevin Schering - Bass
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I grew up in the same neighborhood as the Marec brothers. In fact, I was friends with their little sister, Holly. The Marec brothers used to walk everywhere. I'd see them constantly. They looked different from other teenagers/young adults, but not extreme or off-putting in any way. They looked super cool.
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One of my all-time favorite records, whether by a CLE band or not, is S'n'V's Disease is Relative. I remember seeing them playing a gig down in Kent at JB's Down before they put it out (on their own Trans-DADA Records!), trying to finance it by going around the club selling charity candy bars to people from those little carrying boxes like schoolkids do to raise money for their school! Pretty funny - but well worth the effort!
The Offbeats
Tom Miller - Guitar, Vocals
Bob Richey - Drums, Vocals
Larry Lewis - Lead Guitar, Vocal
Scott Vocca – Bass
Doug Enkler - Guitar, Vocals
Bud Wright - Drums
Carl Miller - Bass
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The Offbeats existed from summer 1981 to fall 1987. We began as a mix of pop, punk, and hardcore (or simply "thrash pop," as some 'zines called our music). Later the sound became more of a loose (i.e. drunken) form of punk rock 'n roll. Along the way there were a few record releases and a whole lot of personnel changes, making our history a rather convoluted affair. I wouldn't blame anyone for skipping the remainder of this bio, but for the rest of you, what follows is a chronological list of some stuff that happened.
1981:
Tom "Tommy Hawk" Miller (that's me) and Bob Richey of the recently disbanded GENERICS began rehearsing with Larry "Keith/Lair Matic" Lewis. Larry was previously guitarist and vocalist with the AK-47'S and BRONCS. He wrote a lot of songs and was a much better guitarist than I was at the time. John Lovsin was also hired to play bass on a temporary basis.
The first gig was is in September, a benefit for CLE MAGAZINE at the Pop Shop. The name Offbeats was chosen a week prior to the show--simply because we needed to call ourselves something. Also in the band at this point was a female keyboard player whose name escapes me. At the show, Bob told the sound guy to "take her out of the mix" because her keyboard sounded like a doorbell. She quit shortly after this, or was asked to leave, it doesn't matter which. Moments later we went to Cave Studio and recorded Larry's song "Lost in Rome," John's "Key of E," and one of mine, "Ned." The first two ended up on the CLEVELAND CONFIDENTIAL LP (Terminal Records) billed as solo recordings by John and Larry. "Ned" is unreleased; as far as I know, there are no copies of this tape in existence (which may not be such a bad thing). The Offbeats song on CLE CONFIDENTIAL, "I'm Confused," is actually an old GENERICS recording.
In November when John quit to join the military, we played several shows as a three piece, with myself and Larry switching off on guitar and bass.
1982: In January I asked my friend Scott Vocca to play bass. Scott was a banjo picker, not a bassist. Although he quickly became a good bass player, I now wish we would have also done some recordings with him actually playing banjo too. Most of my great ideas have always been in hindsight. Around this time I wrote a bunch of new songs, most of them fast thrash numbers. This was at odds with Larry's more "pop" approach. Understandably his interest began to wane.
In the spring we recorded 5 songs; these ended up on THIS TAPE SUCKS and SHED YOUR PRIDE, two low grade tape comps put out by yours truly. Also that spring, Scott and I met Tom Strange and Jimi Imij from Kent hardcore band ZERO DEFEX. One night we got drunk with them and at some point in the evening, Scott and I got the brilliant idea--egged on by Strange and Imij--to shave our heads. Talk about a BAD hangover the next day.
We continued to play shows, slowly gaining a following in N.E. Ohio's tiny hardcore scene. After one of them, at the Bank in Akron, Larry quit. Almost immediately we also kicked Bob out of the group for skipping practices. He was also playing in the re-formed PAGANS at the time. Of course, drummers that want to play punk rock in Cleveland circa 1982 were a rarity--and Bob was a great drummer--so since we couldn't replace him, we decided to break up. I joined a band called AGITATED, named after an Electric Eels song. Scott got married and conceived a child.
In October Scott and I recorded some songs with Sean Saley from STARVATION ARMY on drums (Sean learned these songs by air drumming to an old practice tape). To date none of these recordings have ever been released. This, however, inspired us to re-form the group for real.
1983: At the beginning of the year the Offbeats played their first show with Larry "Bud" Wright and Chris Justus on drums and guitar, respectively. Bud and Chris were about the most polite, nice guys I had ever met. Bud used to thank me constantly for inviting him to join the band. We played many local shows around this time, mostly at the Lakefront and Pop Shop. We also got a big deal gig opening for the DEAD KENNEDYS at the Engineer's Hall in downtown Cleveland (current site of the Marriott Hotel). 1200 people came out of the woodwork for this. Jello himself requested us, along with THE DARK and POSITIVE VIOLENCE. Giving the opening slots to whatever hardcore acts they liked was the DK's policy on tours--their way of "keeping it real" with the local scenes, I guess.
Around this time we recorded a bunch of songs at a studio called "The Island." Most ended up on the Offbeats first piece of vinyl, WHY DO YOU HANG OUT? Some people have told me over the years that they think this is the best thing we ever did. I think they're out of they're fucking minds. To me the sound quality is truly crappy, as is my "singing." Personally I think the highlight of the record is Scott's "1, 2, 3, 4!" belch at the start. I also like his song "Who the Fuck Do You Think You Are?" (about the Zero Defex, I believe--inspired by that skinhead haircut?) "Maybe" is also OK as a song, although I'm not particularly fond of this rendition.
In this version of the band I was doing virtually all the lead vocals. I missed having another singer, so before the EP came out I decided to replace Chris with my friend Doug Enkler. He had just returned from college, where he had played in a cool band called ONE MAN'S HEAD. He wrote really great songs and could sing better than me. Yes, telling Chris he was out was really hard, but--like a jerk--I do it anyway. Probably a better idea would have been to have just kept Chris AND added Doug, but I didn't think of it at the time.
Not long after Doug joined we played our first out of town gig, in Athens, Ohio. During the show Doug got thrown out of the club for knocking over PA equipment. I have a tape of the performance that I love, where you can hear stuff falling over, and the sound guy is yelling, "Knock one more thing over and I'll break your head!!!!" Finally he killed the power and Doug (pretty drunk, I guess) was escorted out. We were then told we had to finish the show without him, or they wouldn't pay us the 200 bucks they owed us. Of course we needed the cash to buy gas (and beer, and pot...) so we had to do it. In the end we got paid--and somehow we also skipped town with the opening bands money. Naturally they bad mouthed us all over town, so we never played there again.
1984: In the spring we recorded a dozen or so songs at a 16 track studio. This was supposed to be for our first LP (never released). 4 songs ended up on I CAN SEE YOUR HOUSE FROM HERE, our second 7 inch EP (the title came from the punch line to an old Bill Cosby joke). One other recording, "Alaska/Society," went onto the THEY PELTED US WITH ROCKS AND GARBAGE Comp LP. I still think these are the best recordings we ever made.
Before our new EP was released, Scott quit--the company he worked for transferred him to Florida. We were, of course, sorry to see him go, but didn't blame him for getting a real life. Scott's spot was taken by Carl Miller (no relation, just another good friend). I enjoyed having Carl in the band. Like Scott, he was a pretty cool guy and he fit in well.
We played NYC for the first time in the fall, at CBGBs. It was a pretty stupid afternoon all-ages show. The few people there largely ignored us. NY was always the worst place to play, in my opinion. Around this time I think we played Pittsburgh too--at a fucking dump called "The Electric Banana." We did pretty good there, if I remember right. We always did better in less "hip" markets (since we were never hip).
1985: I got a crazy notion in my head--I guess we all did--that we should "get serious" and sign to a real record label. To that end, we recorded a demo tape of new material, slightly more "rock 'n roll" than our previous thrash outings. Then we remixed it...and remixed it again....and again, never really getting it right. I'm sure we all had a swell time playing shows during this period (one major gig: opening for the DEAD KENNEDYS--again), but what I remember most about 1985 is recording, making press kits (hard to do when the press largely ignores you), and sending out demo tapes. In lieu of a record contract, we also made plans for our 3rd single, OUT OF BREATH b/w DON'T TAKE MY ADVICE.
1986: Early in the year, after many mailings of second generation demo cassettes, a guy named Michael Crumper called back. He was from RELATIVITY RECORDS in New York City. He loved our songs. So did the president of the label, supposedly. No, they'd never seen us play, but they offered to send us a record contract. I didn't really believe it...no one could be THAT stupid--but they actually did it. Holy shit! Of course it was a terrible contract--a 5 LP option with a really lousy royalty rate and a $10,000 advance that we had to pay back out of OUR percentage--but there was never any question in my mind that we would sign it...and we did.
Shortly after inking the deal we were told to find a producer and re-record the album. Somehow Tony Maimone of PERE UBU was lined up for the job. Then we heard he didn't know anything about producing, so he was out, replaced with Brian Sands. Brian--now this guy was a real character. To put in bluntly, he was a total drunk. Also a fucking nut. I liked him immediately. I guess he'd recorded a bunch of stuff in the late 60's and early 70's, pre-punk Cleveland underground rock. What we needed was someone to keep our own drunken bad ideas in check. What we got was a guy who was arguably worse than us! In Brian's defense, he was a blast to record with. Perhaps Brian was lousy at mixing a song, but he was really good at mixing gin and tonics.
Before long we found ourselves at Suma Recording, spending about 5 grand of Relativity's dough. Unfortunately, once the hangover wore off we realized what we had was a tape worse than our original demo! Yeah, we fucked up--but part of the blame, I believe, also belongs on Paul Hamman's shoulders. As the engineer at Suma, you'd think the guy would have pulled ONE of us aside and said, "this recording sucks," but no, he let us proceed without a peep.
Once we sent the tape to Relativity they hit the roof. At this point they should have done themselves (and us, in the end) a favor and booted us out the door. What they DID was fly a guy named Randy Burns out from LA to do a salvage job on the tape. His claim to fame was engineering a MEGADEATH LP. He took one listen and convinced us to re-record the whole thing FOR THE THIRD TIME--and we only had 3 days to do it before he flew back to California! What a mistake! Salvaging the original tape would have made for a WAY more interesting record than the rush job we ended up with. Yes, the sound quality was arguably better, but the performances were not. Everything was played way too fast, every song sounded exactly the same. Bud in particular, was extremely unhappy about this. Randy was always yelling at him, "hit the snare drum louder!" I guess this really fucked with his playing style. However, after 3 sleepless nights, we finally had a tape (way over budget) that would become EVOLUTION OF THE STICKMAN, our debut LP.
We ended the year by playing a short but fairly successful east coast tour (we lost less money than usual). We also released the OUT OF BREATH single on St. Valentine Records as a "teaser" for the album.
1987: What should have been our crowning achievement--a soon to be released LP on a major independent label, instead marked the beginning of the end for the band. The previous year's recording process had created a lot of tensions. I think we were all basically sick of each other at this point. Going on several short out of town "tours," we would often get on each other's nerves.
Our record was released on April 1st. April Fool's Day. Very fitting. To begin with, we hated the cover, thought it was a piece of fucking shit. It was basically forced upon us by Relativity. We also had some personality conflicts with them. We thought they were uptight and pretentious. We countered this with REALLY obnoxious behavior. An example--we played a showcase for the label in NYC. Earlier that day Doug and I were razing Crumper about...I don't even want to get into the details, actually. Just stupid shit, basically being obnoxious and getting on his nerves, which was easy to do. Real smart thing to do to the guy who had just signed us! At the show I sort of laid off of him, but Doug kept it up, making fun of him rather mercilessly for about 2 hours. This did not exactly endear us to the record label, but to be fair to Doug, I had egged on a lot of it earlier in the day. Luckily we redeemed ourselves a bit by playing a wild show. I remember Doug spent a good portion of our performance laying on his back on the stage, incredibly drunk but still rocking out. Relativity loved this--or so they said. I guess in their eyes we were being the goofy, nutty drunks that the early Replacements usually were. Crumper loved the Replacements. He had some far-out delusion we would become Relativity's version of that band. Yes, he actually told me this. What a laugh.
In July, Bud quit the band very suddenly. Unfortunately it was not a very amiable parting of the ways. I was really sick of booking out of town shows, so when the LEMONHEADS offered to set up a joint tour, I jumped on it. The catch: they do the booking, we supply the musical gear. Bud had a major problem with letting them play his drums. There was no talking him into it. Basically he handed us an ultimatum: either him or the tour. We choose the tour, so he quit. Realistically though, if Bud was upset we didn't choose him, he also had to have been relieved to be done with our rotten tours. At any rate, we recruited Regan "Sly" Sylvestri as drummer, the last personnel change we would ever make. He managed to learn our set in a week.
The first show of the tour was in Cleveland (naturally), where we met the Lemonheads for the first time. I went up to Evan Dando and the bass player: "Hi, I'm Tom. Have a good trip out here?" "BITCHIN!!!" "So...we're thinkin' you guys might want to play last tonight...." "RAD!!!!" Did you check out my guitar amp? Think it'll work for you? "BITCHIN!!!" The Lemonheads circa 1987 were about two months removed from 12th grade. Like us, their first LP had just been released on an independent label. Evan was not yet the seasoned rock star pro he currently is. Trying to engage the band in conversation resulted in little more than exclamations of "BITCHINRADRADBITCHIN!!!!!" I couldn't take it. I had nothing against them, just little in common. Although I was still in my twenties, they made me feel old. After the first few nights we gave up trying to hang out with them and basically steered clear as much as possible.
I can't remember too many details about the actual shows. I do remember the Lemonheads generally going over better than us. They were young, cute and played nice pop/punk songs. We were not as young, not as cute and I guess our songs were not as nice, either. The major problem we had was NO PROMOTION. No posters at the clubs, no records in the stores, no ads in any magazines. What the fuck? Where the hell was Relativity?
In Minneapolis we ran into a girl named Kat on the street. She was forming a band with her roommate, who played drums. They were gracious enough to give us a place to stay and in return we kept them up all night drinking and cracking jokes. Kat played her demo tape for us. I remember not being real impressed. Actually, I thought it sucked. Over the years I've found myself to be utterly clueless about what other people might like. This incident is a prime example--the band she formed was called BABES IN TOYLAND. Like the Lemonheads, they were soon light years ahead of any band I was ever in, popularity-wise.
When we got to our show at Maxwell's in Hoboken we found out what had "happened" to Relativity. It seems all the people who had signed us either quit or were fired. The new people had nothing to do with signing us, so therefore they were not interested in us. I can't believe they even showed up for the gig. We tried to talk to them before the show and they all but yawned in our faces. Their disinterest in us was all too clear. I don't even know if they bothered to stay and watch us play.
By this point we were all rather cynical and jaded about this whole Offbeats thing. All of us, that is, except Regan. He seemed truly happy to be in the band, being the fresh new guy. One night we stopped at his parents house on our way through Connecticut. He amazed us all by telling his folks that he was "thinking of turning that scholarship to Yale down...in order to play with the Offbeats." BAD idea, Regan.
Our last show with the Lemonheads was in Boston. They were home. We, on the other hand, were fucked. We had 5 more shows left that I had booked independently: Syracuse, Philadelphia, Washington DC, somewhere in Virginia and somewhere else in North Carolina. About 5 miles out of Cambridge we suddenly lost all oil pressure. Our friend Jim Smagola was on the tour with us as roadie/fix-it guy. Yes, he knew engines...and what he knew was that our oil pump was blown...oh, and guess what? Replacing it entailed unbolting the engine mounts and jacking up the entire engine block! To their credit, Jim and Carl were determined to fix our wounded vehicle on the spot. They actually tried to lift the engine with the tire jack...and they almost succeeded. It was a Herculean effort, but one that came up just slightly short. Exhausted, they finally packed it in shortly before dawn, promptly falling asleep. In the early morning light Doug and I finished the last of the beers and walked to a pay phone to call a tow truck. 5 days and 500 dollars later we were on our way home. The van was fixed but we were now in debt and had missed every one of our remaining shows.
Our last ever gig was about a week later. We played with STARVATION ARMY at Cedar's in Youngstown. I don't remember much about the show except that the crowd was sparse, it being a weeknight. On the way home I got pulled over for speeding. After the state patrolman had handed me my ticket and we were back on the road, Doug announced, "I've had it. I can't take it anymore. I quit." That was all there was to it. None of us tried very hard to talk him out of it, as I recall. No one brought up the idea of continuing the group, either.
About a month later I got a notice from Relativity in the mail. Our contract was terminated.
Tom Miller
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You'd have to get through the Offbeats bio for this to be much of a hoot, but it sort of stands on it's own as far as Enkler stories go. In 1988, a guy from A&M Records in NYC named Michael Crumper called and said his boss, a famous A&R guy, was interested in our band California Speedbag. Obviously we were very impressed and, by that time, ready to kiss some corporate ass if it meant a real record deal. While making small talk, he mentioned that he used to work for Relativity and the subject of the Offbeats came up. "THE OFFBEATS!!" he said, "do you know those guys?". "Oh, yeah" I said, hoping to get a little camaraderie going with some guy from a big time label. "Those guys trashed my apartment and Enkler made fun of a zit on my face for 2 days!!" he said, " Fuck those guys, what are they doing now?". I said "Uuhhh, I think Doug's working in a gas station or something". I lied, hoping maybe some of the stink wouldn't stick. "That's a good job for him" said Crumper. When nothing happened, I could always blame it on Enkler.
Gary Lupico
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Offbeats legend Doug Enkler.... where do you begin with favorite stories about that guy????? I think back to a gig we did with them down in Columbus. If I remember right (which is quite questionable), it was a club called Molly Browns.
We (the Pink Holes and the Offbeats) made the 2 hour journey down in a couple of cars and knew the big payoff was something around 50 bucks a band. The Offbeats couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 songs into their set when Doug brandished his guitar as a sledgehammer and took a high swing at the disco ball which hung lonely above the front of the stage. He was right on with his aim. It spun, crackled, spewed some glass and in a moment of defeat, fell to the floor. It was just a few seconds in time, but it still shines brightly in my mind....it was a glorious 'punk' versus 'disco' moment. A small victory for the 'new' sound. When the night had ended, we tried to collect our cash. The barkeep calmly worked some figures on a piece of paper and then raised his eyes up to ours, and stated "ok, you guys owe me 77 dollars. Disco ball costs 200 and you took in 123 at the door".
Short argument, but then we (the two bands) just covered it. Freddy Pants said fuck it, it's ours then. I remember it laid in his yard for about 4 years getting rusty. This tale is the one that always comes to my mind though when I think about Doug. It has nothing to do with the band but still cracks me up.
I was living on Waterloo right off E.152nd near Collinwood in the mid 80's. I used to have a lot of drunken barbecue parties at that site. Everyone and anyone was welcome. One time the party was just raging and I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and passed out, oblivious to the clatter below.
I awoke that Sunday morning with a thumping head and laid in bed wondering what mess awaited me downstairs. Then my closet door slowly swung open, giving me quite a startle, and out came Enkler. He had found refuge in about a 3x4 space and had slept in there. All I remember him saying as he stupored out was, "morning", like it was a typical day in life. Maybe it was............in his.
Cheese
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Postscript to Columbus story from Doug - Not that I blame them, but the Offbeats just left me there, sitting on a stoop in Columbus Ohio. Luckily once over my "punk triumph" revelation in my head, a friend happened by, put me up for the night and drove me home the next night as Squelch had a gig the following nght at Major Hoopple's.I arerived to find Messrs. Miller, Miller and Wright armed with our Relativity contract, which I signed on the hood of Tom's Monza.
D
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Some more rambling about 'dem Offbeat dudes. Tom Fallon (Freddy Pants) used to have these 4th of July parties every year.
There was a peak from about 85-89 when they became incredibly fun and hugely attended. One moment that comes back to me is a time when it was long past nightfall. I was standing alongside the one storey house in the driveway with Tom Miller and Tim Kelly, knocking back some beers, leaning against some cars. Within view was the majority of the gathering who were carrying on directly behind the house. Grills still glowed with the dim light of charcoal and a rear house light also faintly lit the backyard crowd. Miller drained the last ounce of brew from his bottle down his throat and very nonchalantly tossed the empty bottle up upon the peaked roof. In that dim light, I watched it roll down the slope, gather some momentum, and kick off the gutter into an airborne arc.
As my eyes followed its downward path, I saw it connect directly and then bounce off John Petkovics head. I burst into laughter, while Miller and Tim maintained stoic faces. John glared at me with hatred, convinced it had been my prank. That started a long time of tension between us. But it had been such a random moment.....anyone could have been hit or it could have fallen unnoticed to the ground. It was just funny in a cartoon way.
Another remembrance from those bashes, and it very well could have been the same day, was when Doug Enkler had sworn off the booze. I always admire people when they take on such strong stances cause I have battled mightily with the bottle my whole life. Anyhow, Doug had been clean for a few months and was just hanging with a good attitude. I watched him chatting it up with some friends, munching slice after slice of watermelon. Then it hit me. The melon he was inhaling had been vodka spiked hours earlier. I don't know if that is funny or not, but it stays with me as another 'offbeat' moment.
Cheese
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This relates to hitting Cheese with a watermelon rind (which fucking HURTS, I might add - sorry, Buddy, ya owe me)I don't really recall his tale, but I do remember tossing dirtclods down onto the beach one night when somebody played. The odds of actually nailing Jim Smagola in the head from that distance were slightly wider than borrowing a quarter from Krane, or getting Cheese to hand over the last Schlitz at 3 a.m. Lo and fucking behold it happened - I never saw Jim more pissed and ready to wail (once again, sorry, pal) and he was a "friend." I played the old bait and switch - thank god cuz he would've killed me- confusing the issue between me, Tim Kelly and Krane, who, fortunately were cackling in disbelief at my dirt clod prowess.
D
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Right before their Album came out they had a record release party of a pre-album 7". They rented out the basement of "The Lido Lounge", a strip club in Lakewood. They handed out copies of the record at the door (which ended up being random 7" records in the yet unreleased 7" sleeves (and I got a weird look when I asked for another copy to take to WRUW (before I had really looked at the first)). The Management of the club really didn't take a liking to the crowd, or to their lack of spending much cash at the bar. All it took was someone in the crowd to comment about the fat owner for him to cancel the show in the middle of the Offbeats set.
ODFX
Jimi Imij - Vocal (lead)
Tommy Strange - Lead Guitar
Mike Hurray - Drums
Franklin Tarver - Bass
Brad Warner - Bass
Johnny Phlegm - Bass
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ODFX AKA Zero Defex, aka Zero Defects was a hardcore punk act from Akron. Guitarist Tommy Strange (Tom Seiler) was the former guitarist for the Bursting Brains, singer Jimi Imij had been in various groups the most notable of which was the V-Nervz, drummer Mike Hurray (on stage: Mickey X-Nelson) was from the Nelsons (where he played bass). I have no idea about the history of original bassist Franklin, one of Akron's very rare black punk rockers. He didn't last long and was replaced temporarily by Johnny Phlegm (John Despins) who never considered himself a true member of the group.
They found me, Brad Warner (aka Brad No Sweat) thru an ad in Scene magazine. I was the bassist who lasted longest and I play on all their "pro" recordings such as those that appear on the New Hope comp and on R-Radical Records' Peace comp (now on CD!).
The band was fun, fast and nothing if not political. Tommy, the main songwriter was heavily influenced by DC bands like Minor Threat though he secretly dreamed of playing Jam-style pop. The band broke up in 1983 and it was all my fault.
See, I thought we had ALREADY broken up and had plans scheduled for the day of a very big gig in DC (Rock Against Racism on July 4th, I think -- I missed it for a god damned bar-b-q w/ my girlfriend -- it's a long and embarrassing story!).
I went on to release 5 LPs of Syd Barret-like psych-pop on Midnight Records under the band name Dimentia 13. Now I'm in Tokyo working for the people who make the ULTRAMAN TV show and releasing my own CDRs (write me at doubtboy@gol.com for more info). Jimi's doing art in Kent. Tommy, last I heard, was in San Francisco working at Mordam Records. Johnny Phlegm is in Michigan. What became of Mike Hurray? Last I knew he had a pet wolf in his backyard -- maybe he was eaten!
Brad Warner
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i think i was in 10th grade then...in wadsworth, ohio...land of blue tip matches...my friend jerry kruger and i saw a flyer for black flag, playing at the strand theatre... so we went on down... black flag didn't make it... but it ended up being 2 bucks for o-dfx, urban mutants, offbeats, and a slew of others... the theatre was all run-down and rat infested...and the place was even more tore up after that night... a day or two later there was a dude doing the marque up and we asked (in our naive, innocent tone) "when you gonna have more punk bands here???"... his reply: "never again".
Logan Firestone
Starvation Army
Doug Gillard - Guitar
Jim Krane - Guitar
Frazier Sims - Vocals
Sean Saley - Drums
Tim Kelly - Bass
Johnny Phlegm - Bass
Dan Phillips - Drums
John Scully - Drums
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In '81(?)Starvation Army formed as "Burning Theater" or "Chosen Few" In Elyria, OH (Fraser Sims, Doug Gillard, Sean Saley)....Starvation Army's original guitar player was Doug Gillard in '82. There was no bass player at that time. I (J. Phlegm) replaced Doug for a short period during '82. Alex Struhall (sp? later of a skate punk band-can't remember- Civilian Terrorists?) followed me in '82 (still no bass player). The "classic" S A line up (Krane, Kelly, Sims, Saley) formed in '83- later that year they added a guitar player from Connecticut on lead guitar (name unknown).
They straggled on until Fraser joined the "real" Army sometime in '84. Kelly and Krane formed Jippo, then Squelch. Saley left to join D.C.'s Government Issue. Tim Kelly, Fraser Sims, myself and Numbskull drummer John Scully reformed the band in spring '86, and recorded two E.P.s-"New Way to Burn" and "In the Red". I quit after a brawl with Tim Kelly at the Euclid Tavern in January '87.
I was replaced by Tony Urso- the band recorded the cassette "Ticket to Oblivion". I rejoined in August '87, played 5 or 6 gigs(along with Urso) and quit again in September. I was replaced by Tom Miller (Offbeats) Drummer John Scully quit and was replaced by Sean Watkins. The band recorded an album ("Execution Style"?) with this line up (Miller, Urso, Kelly, Sims, Watkins). Sims left (quit or was fired) in late '88 or early '89, and Sean Watkins replaced Sims on lead vocals.(No original band members were left at this point. ) Danny Phillips joined on drums and the band recorded one more album (I believe it was "Mercenary Position", but I may have the order of the albums reversed). Starvation Army disintegrated in '90 or '91.
Johnny Phlegm
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Dayton, OH - Sometime in the late eighties. SA is playing in a club to about 10 people. In the middle of the show the entire audience leaves the room. We stopped playing to see what the hell was going on. We walked outside to the front of the club and watched with the whole audience as the bouncer/doorman was getting the shit kicked out of him by some necks from across the street. For me, that was symbolic of what it was like to be a member of SA. Fraser is the best lead singer in the City of Cleveland. That was my primary reason for joining the band.
JHS
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I met SA in 1990 on a tour with my band Alien Boys from Germany. We had fucking cool 3 weeks touring the eastcoast circuit and the midwest. Two years later they came over to europe and we toured Germany, Austria and Scandinavia together. Great, those guys. I wonder what has become of each of them. Danny, did you build your frictionless perpetuum mobile-car?
Tom Alien
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Reaching adolescence in the suburbs of Mentor Ohio was pretty fucking boring. In the latter part of the seventies into the eighties while I was still in junior high I started to listen to bands like Devo, The Clash, The Jam, and even New wave shit like early Adam and the Ants, Joy Division, and Flock of Seagulls.
My older sisters played a lot of that music. One of my sisters who was a senior in high school and four years older than me hung around a guy named Kevin Kelly. I thought this guy was the coolest. He drove a black GTO circa 1967-68 (I think), and listened to really off the wall music. One afternoon I looked in his car and saw a Germs tape. I went out and bought it and that was it for me.
The first local scene show I saw was at the Mentor Civic Center in 83 and The Offbeats, The Holes (I think), and a few other bands played (maybe Starvation Army). From then on I went Downtown to see shows at The Lakefront, Cleveland Underground, and eventually Kent shows at JB's down. During high school I met a guy named Brian Kelly, who I eventually became good friends with for quite a few years (unfortunately we lost touch many years ago which is my own fault). Through him I met his brothers and a few other musicians involved in the scene at the time.
One dark evening we were at a party (Brian and I) in Mentor getting real drunk on Red, White and Blue and other things and decided to go to the East Side to visit. When we got to the home a few of the members of Starvation Army were there (I'll leave out where and who) and were already well in outer space. We hung out for a while, but things soon got out of control. The chimney was pushed over and the house was set ablaze. Instruments and luggage were thrown into Brian's car and we sped away.
We never really talked too much about it after that. Beyond all that these folks were some of the nicest people I ever met "no posers" just real. I don't think they would remember me, but I wish them well and on occasion I throw the shitty cassettes into the stereo and treat my wife and daughter to some of the greatest music to come out of Cleveland to this day.
Joey V.
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It happened in '89 maybe it was '90. We were on are way back from a trip around the country sleeping on beer-stained couches. We were a completely self contained unit. Contained in an 8' x 14' rolling laundry basket we called a van. We travelled with a case of Ramen and a miscellaneous box of dented cans Tony had picked up for a quarter and promptly tore the labels off. Everyone loves a mystery. We placed bets as to the contents. Tony made a big show of not wasting the precious liquids contained inside. "Nectar" he would say "Full of nutrition" and then he would gently lift the can to his pursed, quivering lips.
Ramen can be eaten straight out of the wrapper like a giant wrapper using the packet of MSG at your discretion. We preferred to get hot water when we stopped for gas. This had never been a problem until the day we pulled into a gas station in Wyoming. It was nowhere, but for the little man behind the counter it was everywhere. That day he denied us our hot water and nobody was in the mood for giant crackers. Dan went in first, Dan always went in first. He was in charge of anything related to driving He could even jack-off while driving and would do so into some unfortunates sock whilst we were nestled in the back having dreams about Cliff Burton and that guy from the Minutemen. Tom followed him in and went for the hot water. Don Knots see him and says "That waters for people what buy somethin" and Tom replies " We are buying something, gas" guy says "Nope, It can't be gas, gotta be food". Well our three dollar a day per diem didn't allow such extravagances. Besides fuck him.
Tom exits with his steaming plastic cup of sustenance and here comes Mr. Magoo tailing him. Dan had moved to the front of the van to check the oil and the rest of us were lulling around preparing our own meals. Dude starts bitching at Tom near the pumps about his theft of the water. Tom being the reasonable one says "you want your water" and dumps it out. The guy gets upset and starts ranting about us messing up his place. He's gonna call the cops. Yeah we got time, we'll wait an hour for Smokey to show up.
"Get out, Get out" he starts screaming. In the meantime Tom had walked over to a KOA campground a few hundred yard away. We drove the van over to finish are morning routine. Tom had gone into the campground facilities to get some tap water to finish preparing his meal when here comes that guy running towards us yelling "Where's that kid, Wheres that kid" then quickly figures it out. He goes in. Seconds later they emerge grappling with the cup whose contents dump out, further infuriating him.
At this point people are emerging from their trailers and tents, dogs are barking so we decide to make a casual retreat. Dan finishes checking the oil and tosses the paper towel on the ground. The guy is livid now, trembling in fact. Dan looks at him and says "look at you, you baby, you gonna cry". The guys response is "I..I.. might" well were pretty hard but nobody wants to see a grown man cry. Hooting with laughter we get in the van to leave. Dipshit gets in front of the van like his Mannix on meth. "You're a baby, You're a baby" we taunt him. "Get out of the way ya baby" we continue and toss some beer cans out the window for good measure. "Good bye, baby."
Tim Kelly
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Friday, June 8th, 2001: Betwixt Cleveland and Detroit
But, now that I think of it, I can remember an even funnier Lemonheads story, if I may seriously digress.
In 1987, we went on our first ever tour and we were, like, a bunch of wiry little 18-year-olds looking for whatever trouble we could drum up. We were also sort of popular on the punk circuit, so we found trouble everywhere we went. Anyway, we played a show in Cleveland at this place called (I think) Twister’s, which doubled as a dinner theatre place. We were opening for a popular local punk band called Starvation Army who were, well, sort of...dirty, for lack of a better word. They were all at least a decade older than us and very, very punk. Evan and I were playing pinball when these two teenaged girls came up and started talking to us. Evan told them we were in the band and they said bullshit and he said, “Yo, I can prove it.” Anyway, he started working his magical charm and soon they were not only convinced that we were in the band, but they were game for seemingly almost anything. (This is sounding like a Penthouse Forum letter, but I promise it won’t go that way). Evan brought them backstage and started really flirting in earnest. We found all of these costumes for the dinner theatre and Evan pulled out a cummerbund and said, “Hey, do you know what this is for?” The girls said, “Um, no, what is it for?” Evan explained that it was kind of like a bra and that, for certain dance numbers, women wear them to (sort of) cover their breasts. The girls were like, “Really? I never knew.” Anyway, he convinced them both to go into the bathroom and put on the cummerbunds in that fashion. Once they were obviously putting them on, Evan went and assembled all of the members of Starvation Army in the dressing room and told them to be really quiet. When the girls finally burst out of the bathroom, sporting nothing on top but these very narrow, tight cummerbunds, all of the guys from Starvation army started cheering. The girls then went back into the bathroom and refused to come out for the rest of the evening.
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We were once again touring the Midwest disproving the myth of the groupie when Dan decided to turn things around. He was a good looking guy back then. Think Eric Stoltz but secretly gay.
This was gonna be one of the best shows of the tour, opening up for Poison Idea. These were the fattest fucking punks since the Big Boys. Pig Champion, the lead guitarist was so immense he had to jam a stool under his enormous ass to prop himself up. His guitar dwarfed by his mammoth girth appeared the size of a ukulele. You could tell when he was getting into it because he would stand up.
The gig was a success, over 700 in attendance. We felt victorious and wanted to celebrate. There was always an after party even if it was just the five of us. We found someone to follow. Dan had found a friend who wanted to ride along. The convoy rolled out of town. The mood was festive. Ol Dan's gettin some, hurrah! We get to driving and driving when we realize were in the suburbs. It's too late to turn back so we follow our hosts into one of those faceless subdivisions we'd all run from.
The kid who lives there ushers us in and down to the basement. There's a partial keg of flat beer and some teenagers making out. We're mortified but per the Punk Rock Handbook we rally and decide to make the most of it. We open a few bottles of wine discovered on a shelf and commence celebrations. Well Mr. Poser comes charging down the stairs "My step-dad's home, My step-dad's home". "Everyone's gotta go cept the band". Oh, no! My mom's wine you can't.
Sorry sport, we did. He goes upstairs. I guess so his step-dad can tuck him in. See ya...fag. We grew bored and located a cache of dry goods in the basement pantry. We proceeded to throw dried beans all over the basement. I mean c'mon were professionals at this punk shit.
This gave us an idea. We were hungry. By now it was about 7:00 am and Dan and his conquest had gone out to further humiliate the van.
The house was still as we crept into the kitchen, found some grocery bags and went on a little shopping spree. Fresh eggs, bacon, bread and something for lunch were taken. We went to the van and since Dan's friend was obviously no stranger to a large breakfast and since she needed a ride home anyway we repaired to her abode.
We grilled her on the ride home about her roommates. Hoping they would be girls. She was vague saying she lived with her "Uh...friend. By the time we pulled into her driveway which was on the opposite side of the Denver sprawl it was a warm sunny morning. We went into the kitchen and started fixing breakfast. Dan and his gal pal decided to get cleaned up and headed into the shower. We're looking out the window into the backyard and see some dude back there. It must be the neighbor sunning himself in the sweet spot. He gets up and to our amazement comes right in the back door.
"What the fuck's going on in here" he's pissed.
"Were making breakfast" Tony replies.
"Not anymore, Get the fuck out" he seems to be getting more pissed.
"Can't we at least clean up" asks Tony wanting to be a gracious guest.
Dude starts shouting for the girl. "Oh, she's in the shower" we offered. He goes and starts pounding on the door. "Knock it off asshole" Dan yells at the door thinking it's us. Fraser gets mad because his blood sugar is low. He wants some fucking breakfast. He storms out the front door. The rest of us stay behind to watch the fun and just in case we gotta kick this guys' ass. The girl managed to calm down her friend.
Thankfully cooler heads prevailed and we all sat down to a nice breakfast, except Fraser who stewed in the van occasionally shouting "Fuck You" at the house.
We cleaned up and made Fraser a sandwich to go. That's what happened in Denver.
Tim Kelly
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The Useless Tavern, late '86. Fine establishment. Despite the fact that S. A. had done our duty and drawn a decent sized (and hard drinking) crowd, the bartender would barely serve me when I was paying, and he wouldn't pony up so much as a courtesy draft after we'd all (inevitably) run out of money. Maybe he disliked our churlish 'Who' imitation at the end of the set - kicking over the amps. No real damage done except to poor Fraser's head (which is, as frequently proven, quite hard and very durable).
Fraser made a heroic dive worthy of 'Wide World of Sports' and managed to catch my amp head before it hit the floor - "the thrill of victory!" Unfortunately he was buried under the two 4/12" speaker cabinets as they fell - "the agony of defeat!" One of the cabinets also tumbled into the PA stack, knocking it over. That mess barely missed the pinball machines. A week or so later I was standing at the bar. The same bartender poured me free shots until I couldn't stand up. No explanation, barely a word, he just kept 'em coming.
Bathroom Waldo
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Originally SA had formed as "Burning Theatre", influenced more along the lines of early Gang of Four and Killing Joke. But then, around December of '81, maybe January of '82, Fraser and I realized hardcore was where it was at and we changed our sound. First "gig" as SA went something like this: Doug Gillard, our original guitarist, was dating this girl- I want to say her name was Cindy, but thanks to lots of drugs in the ensuing years and the fact that this was nearly 25 years ago, who the fuck knows? Anyway, "Cindy" decided to have a party at her house in bumfuck Wakeman or North Ridgeville or someplace like that, and invited us to play, unaware of what she (and we) were in for.
We show up, hang out for a while, and then it was time to rock. We're setting up our equipment and the kids seem excited. "Alright! A band!"... people seemed happy to have us, even though we looked a little weird. We looked like punks and the rest of the partygoers.. well, they were comfortble with their feathered hair and Van Halen or Billy Squier t-shirts. So we hit those first few notes, feedback blaring, no bassist, and Fraser screaming his face off.
For the first few minutes, the kids stood there dumbfounded and frowning. By the time we were into the second or third "song" (read: blast of cacophony), they'd had enough. The boos, shouts of "you suck!" and "play "Freeze Frame!" grew as loud as us. Finally, here comes their show of appreciation with a shower of lit cigarette butts, plastic forks, and paper plates. We didn't exactly go over. The funny thing was, if memory serves me, as soon as we stopped playing, everything was copasetic. We escaped without a beatdown by the AC/DC crew somehow...
In the spring (?) of '83, SA had a new guitarist in Jim Krane and took it's first road trip, playing a few gigs in CT and NYC. Played a show at the Anthrax club in Stamford, CT with Corrosion of Conformity, which went over swimmingly. Hey, I even got to play Reed Mullin's enormous Tama drum kit for SA's set. Then, after a gig a Pogo's in Bridgeport, we headed for a much anticipated show at The Great Gildersleeve's in NYC with Roach Motel and, on their first tour, Suicidal Tendencies.
We opened the show- then Roach Motel played. Those guys were some funny MF's- ...then Suicidal hit the stage. During their set, Mike Muir dropped the mic he was singing into, broke it, and grabbed the bassist's mic and kept singing. The soundman wasn't watching when it happened. When he went to the stage to start wrapping up cables, he found the broken mic and came to US. I think he assumed Fraser was responsible as he was much more of an energetic wildman, thrashing all over the fuckin' place. So we're like "Hell no, we didn't do it, it was the singer from Suicidal Tendencies!" So the soundman goes to *those* guys. Next thing we know,
All of Suicidal (who were all buff, huge dudes), walks over to us with their equally muscular barrio/street gang roadies, and TELLS us that WE broke the mic and THEY ain't payin' for it. Now, considering that the three of us probably weighed in at a combined 400 pounds- equal in weight to 1 1/2 of those fuckers, they got right up in our faces and were like "YOU guys broke that fuckin' mic!". Sigh. Fearing for our lives, we "admitted" to it. Considering that the cost of an Shure SM58 in 1983 was probably as much or more than we were gonna get paid that night, we didn't get paid. Oh well, the gig was still fun .
In late(r) '83, SA hits the road again to play a show in Toledo with The Necros and, I think, The Offbeats. On the van ride there, and during the set and soundcheck period, everyone in our crew was becoming obsessed with a gigantic, honkin' zit on the bridge of my nose. I mean, it *was* ridiculous. Shit, now I'm 38 and I still get 'em. Stupid acne... Anyway, after the soundcheck, some of the people in our contingent decided they just couldn't take it anymore. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, I'm gang-tackled, held down, and I believe it was Michelle Munchkin that did the honors, driving her razor-sharp cat claws into my Mount St. Helen sized pimple. It exploded with such force as to bloody her t-shirt! ...ok, then we proceed to play our set, as did the Offbeats, but before the Necros could take the stage, a fight broke out on the floor. Next thing you know these jock assholes are everywhere, pummeling the shit out of punks and vice versa! Show's over folks! No Necros. Then, on the way back, in the van, I was sitting next to Jim Krane's hot bass-playing sister Kara, and decided, with the fresh crater on my nose, that now was a good time to put the moves on. My hand slowly found it's way onto her leg, and after sitting for a few awkward minutes, she finally was like "Don't". Oh well, can't win 'em all.
The Plague
Duke Snyder (A.K.A. Snorkle) - Bass
Bob Sablack - Lead Guitar, Vocals
Johnny Korosec - Drums
Mike Duncan - Vocal (lead)
Don Piccarillo - Vocal (lead)
Tom Madigan - Lead Guitar
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It occurs to me that my memories of bands usually involve moments that have little to do with their music, but more of the times that was spent hanging out together. Here is a quick tale about Bobo Sablack and Duke. I was in my truck, leaving the Cleveland Underground. I was, as usual, 'hammered' and didn't want to drive with any beer in my vehicle. I had one full can left, and so, stopped and hollered to a group mingling by the clubs front door, "hey, who wants this beer?" Sablack and Duke broke into a sprint towards me (insert Chariots Of Fire theme here), about a 20 yard dash. At the last second, Bobo shoved Duke, causing Duke to stumble then fall head first into the side of my truck. Dukes head left quite a dent. Sablack grabbed the beer, popped the top, and took a long chug. Duke, from the ground, called up "fucker! save me some". Them two always were like brothers.
Cheese Borger
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I got into Punk Rock/Hardcore while I was living in San Antonio, Texas. I traveled up to Austin on the weekends to check out shows. They were great shows. I saw every hardcore band from San Francisco and LA, as well as the local Austin bands, over a 4-year period.
I came home to Cleveland and caught the Dead Kennedys at the Engineers Hall, summer '82. I was amazed at the amount of people there. It wasn't until I returned home to live in Cleveland that I realized there weren't that many local punks at all the shows.
During the DK show I met a good friend of mine--Alex Strouhal. I think Alex thought I was insane because I was wearing an MDC (Millions of Dead Cops) t-shirt I made that had little stick men on it with blood shooting out of their heads. I slam danced for two hours straight and was wearing an army cap with a newspaper clipping safety pinned to the brim that said, "Politics As Usual." Alex said to me after the show, "Dude you're not from around here are you?" We chatted, and I told him I was from Cleveland originally and living in Texas.
Snip, snip and fast foreward a bit. . .
After returning to Cleveland, I met up with Alex again at the Pop Shop during a Circle Jerks show. He invited me stop by his apartment to jam and get high.
We got very high-I played a little guitar for him and he suggested we start a band. I agreed. That was the beginning of Pestilence. Hopefully, Alex and I will put together a band bio/story on Pestilence soon.
Anyway, I played guitar in Pestilence with Alex on vocals, Mike Zubal on bass, and John Skully on drums. Then they kicked me out (well, I was offered the choice of showing up to practice, or else). I tend to lose interest, and preferred getting high to any other activity known to man. So, I was out.
Alex and I were still friends and went to shows together. One night he told me I should come to the Lakefront to see Plague. In the short amount of time I was back in Cleveland I hadn't heard of them, nor seen any of their gigs. I asked Alex what their bag was, and he told me that Plague were definitely one of the harder bands in town. Enough said for me.
I liked the Lakefront-from the time I saw my first show there to when I was playing with Pestilence. That night in October '84 the usual crowd was there, well if you can call 30 people a crowd. Plague was getting ready to play. . .
I remember this wall of sound coming from this three-piece-and that the singer/guitarist sounded like Darby Crash (only ten times better) on vocals and that he had a "Hardcore meets Punk Rock meets Metal" guitar sound. It was hot and I thought to myself that they were indeed a hard fucking band. As Alex and I absorbed the music, it occurred to me that the said guitarist looked familiar. I screamed into Alex's ear, "What's that guy's name," as I pointed to the singer/guitarist. He replied that his name was Bob Sablack.
It hit me then-I went to high school with Bob. And this was very cool to me because no one I knew from school was into Punk/Hardcore (I left that high school after two years). I hadn't seen Bob in about 8 years at this point-so seeing and hearing him jamming and tearing it up was great. And I mean they were "on" that night; tight, hard, loud, mean, and pissed. I really liked what I was hearing.
After Plague finished I waited for Bob to began circulating; I approached him and said, "Dude, that was a hot set, I really enjoyed that." He thanked me and then I asked if he remembered me. He did right away, and we went over all the old shit. We laughed when we discussed how we used to write out guitar chord diagrams to songs while we were in HomeRoom and passed them back and forth to each other, and how I used to fuck with big jock types-busting their balls. Interestingly, none of them ever tried to kick my ass.
At this point in my meager Punk Rock career, I had decided I wanted to sing in a band and not play guitar; Bob had decided he wanted to play guitar and not sing. So, we chatted about the possibility of me joining Plague. Plus, I had instant roadies included in my entourage-my cousin Tom Mancini, and the illustrious and ever "down with the party," Dave DiVincenzo.
And so it was. I joined Plague and we played out with me on vocals, probably about 6 times. The last show was at the Cleveland Public Theater. Some of the high points of that show were when I found out that the Communist Party was making money there selling refereshments-I announced this to the crowd as soon as I got on stage. I didn't think Communists were interested in making money, or that they should make any under the guise of being nice to punks. They accomodated the show so I guess they had a right to sell stuff-but I wanted folks knowing to whom their hard earned "Punk Rock" money was going. A few minutes after my announcement, two underfed looking comrades began dogging me from the edge of the stage. They were posturing like I had a good old KGB beating coming to me. However, my passage into the bowels of the Moscow dungeon never occurred.
We played a hot set-featuring our favorite cover, The Meat Men's, "Lesbian Death Dirge." That song also created some friction with the lesbian contingent, which threw beer cans and cups at me for the rest of the night.
In closing-I was removed from the Plague shortly after that show. I snorted enough coke nightly that when I woke up in the morning I could scrape out the inside of my nose, chop the snot on a mirror, and get high all over again. I was pretty much unavailable.
That time was murky for me-but I remember being informed by Romana Strouhal that I had been replaced. I didn't even receive severence pay! Bob and I remained friends over the years and our guitar playing together evolved-we started another band that never took off, 22MC. It featured Bob and my cousin Tom Mancini on guitars, Tom Madigan on bass, and myself on drums. It was cool and we should have continued.
My final statement, and I have said this before to Bob, is that Plague should have never added me, or subsequent additions to the band--they were a great three piece. If you've never heard their first recording, you should, because it is hot! It is everything that the music intended to be at that time.
I had a lot of fun with Duke, Johnny, and Bob-we busted balls and laughed our asses off everytime we were together. And the music was good-and THAT my little Droogies, is priceless.
Don Piccirillo aka, "That guy who gets kicked outta bands."
Death of Samantha
John Petkovic - Vocal (lead), Rhythm Guitar
Doug Gillard - Lead Guitar, Vocal
David James- Bass
Steve-O - Drums
Marky Ray - Bass
Dave Swanson - Bass
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Death of Samantha seemed to exemplify all the great traits that the Cleveland music scene had over most other cities at the time. Like many other Cleveland bands, they realized that their audience was largely the same people each night, whether they played the Phantasy, Peabody's, or Cincinnati. They made sure that each show was uniquely different from the rest of their shows, not relying or resting on one setlist or running gag. This was unique to Cleveland, something Chicago, LA, and Boston bands seriously lacked. Some memorable highlights - Stevo being brought to the stage in a coffin, Get your picture taken with Stevo night (and get a safety pop), Doug's monster platform shoes, and John's unique ability to heckle most other bands. A cornerstone in Cleveland music history.
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Death Of Samantha, nothing but great memories of seeing those guys.
The Cleveland Underground - John with a crazy look in his eyes, ranting about not getting through a checkout line because he had one item too many, or lighting his arm on fire like twenty times during a song. (Penn and Teller eat your heart out). Doug Gillard blazing away on guitar, Steve-o dresesed as a female Elvis impersonator, falling into his kit, and David James steady on bass looking like "What the fuck am i doing here?" At one show at the Phantasy, I got so caught up in the frenzy that while headbanging I busted my head open on the monitor, requiring six stitches. I told the nurse it was a dance related injury. What more can you ask from a rock and roll show, kick ass edgy tunes, fire, blood and a trip to the emergency room. Death of Samantha is the one scar on my head I'm most proud of.
Floyd
The Pink Holes
Les Black - Vocals (lead)
Kurt Turd - Rhythm Guitar, Vocal (backing)
Dick Hertz - Drums
Freddy Pants - Drums
Cheese Borger - Bass
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One of my all time favorite Holes story to tell is about a time we were playing down in Kent. The basement of JB's. I think it was cleverly called JB's Down. The stage was built of plywood, and there was about a 2 foot clearance underneath. A few bed sheets along the backside hung about 5 feet out from the backwall. The space that existed there was 'the band room'. Just as we went on to play, I squatted atop a nearly empty pitcher of beer and shit and pissed into it. There wasn't much.....just a quick runny turd. Les had already pushed through the sheets and made his stage appearance. He was babbling into the microphone about something or another. I pulled up my pants, grabbed the pitcher of disgust, and joined him on stage. I placed it near his feet, without him noticing, and we proceeded to play. Much to my sadness, he kicked it over during the first song without ever realizing what was in it. I was hoping he would have put it to his lips. There the pitcher layed, dripping down between some cracks in the stage. But then it all worked out. As we played our last song, Les went into the crowd, then climbed underneath the front of the stage through the small crawl space. He soaked up into his clothing everything that pitcher had spilled. As the rest of us left the stage through the back and joined him behind the sheets, he kept asking,"hey, do i smell like shit? hey Bobby, do i smell like shit?". It was a few days before I would tell him the reason.
Cheese Borger
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There was the Pink Holes gig where Cheese Borger paused to eat a dozen whole, raw eggs on stage. Cheese started picking eggs out of the carton and popping them into his mouth and crunching on the shells, bits of shell and egg slime running out his mouth and down his neck. After about four or five, Cheese stopped swallowing them and filled his maw with about six or seven crunched-up eggs. I guessed what would happen next and backed away. Sure enough, Cheese spewed the giant mouthful of egg detritus on the crowd. It looked exactly like he vomited. I was thoroughly nauseated.
Jim Krane
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I Have about five funny cop stories.
This was the first. It was a St. Paddys day and I had spent it with Tom Fallon and Dave Atkins at Otto Mosers. After reveling there throughout the daylight hours, Dave drove us down to Kent where we were going to catch the Wombats play. We parked near the club and sat in the car finishing up some beers. I got out to take a piss and wandered down some alley. The alley ran next to a three story factory building and while I walked deeper into the alley, some fire escape metal ladders caught my eye. I climbed them to the top of the factory with the brilliant drunken idea of pissing off the top down upon Daves car. I thought that would crack them guys up. But as I stood upon the edge of the rooftop, a beat cop looked up and saw me. I tried to hide but he came up with a shotgun and then hauled me in.
Those guys made it to the show and did call the jail from there, but it was 75 bucks to get me out and they didn't have it. I told them I would just sleep there and Dave promised he would pick me up the next morning with the money (which he did....great guy!). A few hours later, as I laid in the cells bed, an officer came to the bars. "Got a message for you" he said. I figured someone had sprang me. He handed me the note and all it said was "don't forget that Pink Holes practice is at 7 tomorrow". Les had found out I was in there and he had actually called the jail and told them that. Just as unbelievable to me was that the cops would actually deliver the message. I can't remember if we practiced or not.
Cheese Borger
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One of my favorite Pink Hole memories (other than Mary Ellen Rottencrotch): The Pink Holes were playing at the old Cleveland Underground in the Flats. Me and my brother went down with a couple friends. Of course we were drinking on the way down and in the parking lot. So by the time we went in we were pretty "juiced."
I think Mr. Chris and the Tar Babies played first. So after Mr. Chris played we went back out to the car to wait for the next band and have few more drinks. When were going back in the cop at the door stopped my brother whom he noticed was trying to sneak in a can of beer. My brother got kicked out for the rest of the evening. So me and my brother were out by the car. I told him "wait 'til the cop is gone and then go back in".
Sure enough the cop left and we walked right in without a hitch. Just in time for the Pink Holes. During the first few Holes songs my brother threw a half full can of beer (which he'd probably snuck in) at the band that hit Lester right in the fore head with stinging accuracy. I'm sure Les had a welt the next day! Now pissed off, Les cut loose at the crowd: "YOU GUYS ARE A BUNCH OF FUCKIN' ASSHOLES!!? and my favorite "CLEVELAND'S NOTHING BUT A BIG LIT UP DICK!!" I still use that one. Which prompted the audience to throw more cans. The beer can shower continued the rest of the show. With Holes retaliating periodically.
By the end of the set there was a steady flow of cans towards and from the stage. After their last song the Holes came back out with a couple trays full of cans and bombed the audience with one last assault. The funny thing is my brother started the whole thing, and he shouldn't have even been in there.
Scott Stemple
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Another cop story My mom used to make great Halloween costumes when we were growing up. One that she had sewn up was a pair of black and white striped prisoner outfits, complete with a number across the chest. I used to wear one of the shirts a lot when we played out. And so it was the night that this happened. We were to play the Lakefront and Les and me, along with Tim Shaw and Larry Lewis, pulled up alongside the club to unload equipment. We were all drinking beers and as we started to haul the gear in we all set our beers on top of the car. Two plainclothes police pulled up in an unmarked car and arrested the four of us for open containers. They took us downtown to be booked. When they got to me, there was quite a chuckle in the processing area......the cops kept bringing over more cops saying, "look at this guy, he came dressed for the occasion". The law does have a sense of humor!
Cheese Borger
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The turd story goes like this; Me and Bobo Sablack and Bill Degidio were watching "American Werewolf in London" at Bills house one night. Also watching was Bills daughter Alicia who was about 5 or 6 and his son Kurt, who had to be about 3. He was just learning to talk. Anyway, Bills wife Barb got up to go to the kitchen for something when all of the sudden she let out this scream. "Oh my god, is that a turd?" she yelled. We all looked. Lying next to the pajama leg of Kurts 1 piece batman PJs was, indeed, a little turd. Apparently it rolled down his leg and was sitting next to him for the entire movie. "Oh my god" Barb yelled. As she got a paper towel to pick it up and throw it away, Kurt started screaming himself. "Noooo" he cried. "It's latching TV". He said L's instead of W's. I guess his little turd buddy wanted to see how the movie ended. We all laughed till we cried. Shortly after that, when it came time to pick names, I was originally going to go with Leo Tard, after WMMS' Kid Leo, but the Tard turned into Turd and we had to give credit where credit was due, and Kurt Turd was born.
Bob Richey
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When I first left Clevo for the country married life, the bands in the underground scene were Hammer Damage, Lucky Pierre, Devo, Dead Boys, Chi Pig, etc. When I returned from my failed stint at the country life marriage, the bands now were Faith Academy, the Plague, Starvation Army and the Pink Holes.
Some of my old friends from the 'burbs had never made the transition from classic rock to cool music, so I took it upon myself to enlighten them. I didn't want to scare them or blow their eardrums to holy hell, so I settled upon the Pink Holes to blow their punk rock cherries. We showed up hammered as the Holes were preparing themselves to take the stage.
Thinking I could impress my old buds, I took them backstage to meet the Holes. There was Les and Cheese, with broken beer bottles, cutting their arms and chests into bloody road maps. Meanwhile, Kurt Turd hunched over in the near corner, insanely laughed. My mission of enlightenment was over even before the Holes had taken stage. My friends hightailed it back to Parma and it would be years before we hung out again. Personally, the Holes blew me away...pure punk rock. It takes true dedication to the arts to turn yourself into chopped liver for a crowd of about thirty. They were the real deal, I never missed a Holes show after that (not counting their out of town gigs).
On a lighter note, that night during the Holes set, there was a power failure. During the black out, I seized the oppurtunity to grab Joyce's hot friend, Sherri, and plant a big kiss on her. She responded nicely, thinking I was someone else. When the lights came back on, she freaked. Some people say if you are standing on W.25th late at night, you can still hear her scream.
Floyd
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'member that one time when i was in your band.... and you guys kicked me out.... that was awsome.
Bob Sablack
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Aaah, The Pink Holes, I'll always hold the memories of going to see the Pink Holes perform dear to my heart. Les unable to sing the songs or mumble through them, Cheese's stage antics, not to mention his split knee jumps. I was always amazed at how this band communicated so well with the wild crowd and welcomed audience participation.
I remember one show, not sure where or when, maybe about 10 years ago, me and my best friend (who was dating Cheese at the time) went to their show, a couple of other bands played first, we stood in the back, sitting on a table. I can remember sitting there one second and the next, there was a loud thump as the table came crashing down. I jumped off the table right before it hit the floor and watched as my best friend sat there by herself on the floor, still on the table. Me and the whole place was staring at her, it even caught the bands attention, they stopped playing in the middle of their song to see what the commotion was. Needless to say, she was mortified and I was laughing my ass off. And as always, it was a great show.
Here's a good one.....It was during the time when my best friend was still dating Cheese, and we use to go to his apartment a lot,(which is probably a crack house now) well, we ended up crashing at his place one night, them in the bedroom, me on the living room couch... about a few weeks later, Cheese approaches his girlfriend with his phone bill and asks her (not sure of his exact words) "who in the fuck made all these 1-976 numbers on my phone? Love/Sex calls, horoscope calls?" She asked me about it and I flat out denied it. Throughout the years it's always been a joke between me, her and Cheese. That night, they probably screwed and supposedly, I sat on Cheese's phone all night talking to a voice wishing to get screwed or trying to find out if it's in my stars when I will get screwed.... and then there's Cheese, who later really got screwed with an outrageous phone bill. I still don't know who placed the calls Cheese, honestly, I don't remember, it's been so long! (just like the times you don't remember me knocking on your door) All I wanted was a cigarette!!
That's okay though, because I remember another time when me and Rob came to visit you and you gave us this disgusting painting that was made of ketchup, noodles, and all sorts of food, we took it because we felt PRESSURED into taking it and you found it sitting on the side of a road the next day! ha ha ha...!
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I had traveled to Boston with my brother's band The Pink Holes where they enjoyed a reputable following. It was a calm afternoon but had rained that morning leaving puddles. Walking along the street Les spots a little old lady ambling along. He sights her up and at the right time charges down the sidewalk, launches himself in the air and comes splashing down besides her. She's soaked. Man, I thought I was punk but somebodies Nana, shit.
Tim Kelly
Prisonshake
Robert Griffin - Guitar (lead), Vocals (lead), Vocals (backing)
Doug Enkler - Vocal (lead), Rhythm Guitar
Scott Pickering - Drums
Chris Burgess - Bass
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The first time I saw Prisonshake, they opened for Death of Samantha at the Phantasy. They kicked butt- and speaking of which; Doug was wearing a pair of sweat pants that were ripped all down the back and he kept sticking his ass in the crowd's collective face. One of my favorite shows of all time.
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Damn, I hadn't thought of the ripped sweatpants night in years. When I did though, I realized it was one of my fondest rock memories in Cleveland. Before I start, be aware that this story involves Jane Scott, so you may wanna stay tuned.
My apologies to "Anon" and his/her memory, but we played that ubiquitous palace of mirth known as the Phantasy that night opening for Mojo Nixon and Skid Roper. Mojo was riding his "Elvis is Everywhere" wave. At this point he was at the peak of his popularity, and had run out of ideas two years earlier - always an artist's economic apex. (if it's not evident to the populace that the trough is dry, invoking Elvis always seals it).
We had to fill time and ended up playing nearly an hour-and-a-half. It was likely that shortly thereafter we settled into our standard 30 minute set routine. After a while Mojo's crowd was getting tired of us. (I couldn't blame them, I was getting tired of us).
But performers should always feed off the audience, hence their irritation over the longish set fueled us to play even longer. As luck would have it, we had worked up a version of Bob Seger's "Ramblin' Gamblin' Man" for the show and unveiled it gleefully to the annoyed
crowd. What a gay old time we were having. And there were of course the sweatpants.
When we were traveling around in that era, I would wear an old pair of gray sweatpants to sleep in. The more we toured, the bigger the rip became. (go ahead, I gave you that one). Scott would always say "you oughta wear those for the show tonight," him being the drummer seated behind me the whole time; never really wanted to figure that one out.
Anyway, this night in Lakewood I did. Our sarcastic catch phrase at the time was "total rock," and before the show the ideas flowed. I'll never forget Robert kneeling behind me backstage with a magic marker and scrawling the word "TOTAL" on one cheek, and "ROCK" on the other. Talk about a team player, a man ceaselessly devoted to rock at the time.
So we were playing our songs, I pranced about as usual, and remembering that "total rock" was written on my soft white ass, I had to spread the cotton flaps once in a while so someone could read it at at least a 6th-grade level. Blah, blah, blah the show goes on. And on. And on. Then I notice a woman near the stage, yelling between songs and I give her my full attention. She's got a beef, I discern. Tiring of hearing my own voice, I invite her onstage to air her displeasure, as it were.
The rather plump woman greedily takes the offered mike and gives us a two sentence Christgau-like reaming (ya never feel it, it's too small) and caps it with something like, "I could've stayed home and looked at my husband's ass." Griffin then delivers his best line ever on stage, "I'd rather look at his ass than yours." The crowd erupts like a Gleason audience, and for once, they're on our side. The woman steps down, and we carry on. (I'd like to think we broke into the Seger song here, but that woulda been too perfect).
Eventually we quit. We're backstage at the Phantasy and I look over and see her. It's her. Jane Scott. Backstage at one of our gigs. I'd been reading Jane Scott since I was 8. Of course we all hated her and couldn't understand why this old lady was the rock critic when we were in high school. But as the years went by and rock seemed even dumber to us, I could appreciate her gig. I shan't claim to know her deal, but there's something to love about a rock critic who refers to international recording artiste David Thomas as a "Heights High grad." I look forward to someone putting out a "Carburetor Dung"-type collection of Jane's columns.
Now I had played a million shows at this point and had NEVER gotten a word in print from her pen. I do recall talking to her at the DKs show at the Variety for a minute, telling her how irrelevant the whole shebang was at that point. The better moment that night was glancing over and seeing Carl Miller, one arm maneuvering a Pabst Blue Ribbon, the other around Jane Scott, jaw flapping.
So Jane's back with us, skinny little reporter notebook in hand, pen scribbling, asking where we went to high school, the works. Then she asks about the pants, and more specifically what seems to be written beneath. And here unfolds my proudest moment in Cleveland rock: I turn, bend and spread so that Jane Scott can crouch, blink, squint, and faithfully transcribe the phrase "total rock" written on my ass. And that was the sum of our two-sentence mention in her P-D review. (I don't mean to toot my own horn, but as far as "cle punk" goes . . . beat THAT motherfucker!)
Enk
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I saw Prisonshake live a couple of times, but I was a scattered and foolish girl who often didn't pay very good attention at shows. Later, I was living in Chicago and was absolutely hating it, totally homesick for Cleveland. My best friend at the time (who had also lived in Cleveland once upon a time) worked in the distribution warehouse for Touch and Go Records, so he was always pilfering something or other and bringing it home to listen to. One night Ben called me over and said, "You have to listen to this album, it's totally Cleveland." He had stumbled across Prisonshake's I'M REALLY FUCKED NOW. The album really did sound uniquely Cleveland, especially during that early '90's era when everything else had a trendier sound (i.e. the "Am-Rep sound", the "Seattle sound", and so on) Prisonshake rocked in that I'm-so-utterly-exhausted-by-life kind of way that is unique to our fair city. They masterfully tapped into the negative energy thread that binds us (Clevelanders) together.
Karen Downie
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One time Scotty P. pooped in the parking lot across from Tommy's on Coventry. That was pretty funny.
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To complement the poop story, one time Scotty P lived up to his surname (P) and wee'd on his only remaining leather coat, the other having been left in Madison, Wisconsin. Apparently he mistook it for a toilet. It was the dead of winter. I felt sorry for him.
Interestingly, Arne Fine of The Clocks once regaled me of a story about someone coming into his bedroom during a party (Arne had given up being jolly and had gone to bed) and mistaking his bed for a toilet. Or perhaps the miscreant thought it was a leather coat. Sadly, no-one will ever know.
Burgess
FloydBand
Floyd Longworth- Vocal (lead)
Dave Malchok - Drums
Dan Garman - Lead Guitar
Tim Kelly - Bass
Carl Miller - Bass
Tom Kat - Lead Guitar, Vocal (backing)
Calvery Smith - Bass
Danny Phillips - Drums
Tom Miller - Rhythm Guitar
Robert Griffin - Lead Guitar
Todd Slaybough - Lead Guitar
Dino - Drums
Tom "Goody" Goodwin - Bass
Nick "Zoom" Summa - Bass
Tommy Fox - Drums
Pete Zylstra - Drums
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One of Floyd's better James Bond moves happened the night of the Baloney Heads reunion in 1988 @ Peabody's Down Under, when The Floyd Band opened the show.
Halfway through the Baloney Heads set (which Floyd was suppose to make an appearance on the encore "I'm A Drunk"), it was learned that the security at the club had thrown him out earlier. Why?
Well, it seems that a fun loving Floyd Band fan had shown up from her stripping gig at Saber's a couple doors down and the security had caught Floyd in the dressing room about to pork her during The Baloney Heads' set.
Bye, bye Floyd!!
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We were playing a gig in Youngstown with The Adults. This was just after the release of our LP, "I Burped And Puke Came Out My Nose". We were getting attention, and acting like obnoxious rock stars, although we weren't. Floyd, Dave Mallchock, Goodie and I retreated to Dave's sports car to snort some coke. Just as we were about to take off Crystal from the Adults ran up to the car and asked us where we were going. Floyd blurted out "We are going to get something to eat". Crystal reached into her pocket and gave us $5 to get her a hamburger. How bogus were we. We left in search of a hamburger joint, and got lost. After finding a Burger King, we returned to the gig high with Crystal's cold hamburger. We were fashionably late for the gig. We walked from the car, all strung out, right onto the stage and ripped into "Responsibility" as Floyd yelled out "Hello Youngstown, we never played a gay bar before". We were in a rock n' roll zone.
TomKat
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Bottle fight! The mere word conjures up fond memories...for Dave Mallchok anyway. Here goes. Starvation Army, the Unwelcome, the Offbeats, and Floyd Band, set off for a show in Columbus, the college part of town. What all of us failed to realize was that it was Springbreak, and everyone had gone home for the long weekend. So the show amounted to us traveling two hours to watch each other practice, and like practice, much drinking ensued. When it was over each band collected there 10 bucks, and hammered as we all were, someone told us about a party going on. Off we went, a drunken gang of Keith Moons ready to fuck shit up. Details elude me as often happens when much alcohol is invoved, tempers flared and bottles flew, or maybe just good natured bottle smashing {very punk thing to do at the time}, and I unsuspectingly rounded the corner, KLUNK, the sound of my head caving in, grabbing my head I'm seeing blood everywhere....MY BLOOD, and all I can hear is someone laughing insanely. Dave Mallchok had pitched the bottle and I had walked into it, an accident?...then why was he laughing like that. I lost it. Running the length of the room I launched myself into the air and landed with both feet upon Daves chest and began to pummel him with both fists much like the incredible Hulk might do. And still he laughs. He later apologized {laughin' all the while, and till this day the mere mention of it brings a smile to his face. Hows that saying go... with friends like that....
Floyd
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I call this one "the great clevo rock and roll swindle".It must have been about 1987,cuz Dave Mallchock and Tom {Goody} Goodwyn were still in the band, TomKat having recently joined, Got booked to play the then gigantic mainstream festival Riverfest. How did such a motley crew of underground musicians land such a high profile gig? Lies and deceit of course.
At the time i worked for an egytian guy named Saber who owned a strip joint called Sabers, a couple doors down from peabody's in the flats, he also owned the huge parking lot that was then across the street from peabody's, which would be the main stage for the oncoming riverfest event. The bands had been booked with 1st Light playing their peace and love set at ten pm. Saber knew i had a band but little else about us, to which i used to my advantage i told him we were a Pink Floyd cover band. How could I refuse, he loved pink floyd and insisted that we play after 1st Light, on sat, the best slot of the weekend. Hey, when ya got nothing ya got nothing to lose, I accepted his offer.
We got the word out with fliers college radio and word of mouth. The big day arrived, I remember Dave driving his van thru the crowd litterally one foot at a time, Kat arrived at night and had to walk from the top of the flats with his guitar on his back and his amp on a hand dolly. Here we were a band used to playing to a hundred people on a good night, in places like JB's down, about to play before thousands of drunken yuppy/redneck classic rock fans. Were we worried? Oh how we drank that day, balls of beer have no fear.
As we loaded our gear on stage as 1st light was tearing down, one working technican asked me where were the keyboards, To which I replied "Keyboards we don't need no steenking keyboards."
It was on, moments to go, a huge lightshow fixed upon our humble equipment, we took the stage ...1-2-3-...Dave was not up there with us. Now I had to stall. So I complained to the crowd that we couldn't start without our drummer, I got them chanting DAVE! DAVE! DAVE! After what seemed like an hour the crowd began to part like the red sea before Moses and here came Dave, with cases of beer under his arms.
Now I had the crowd chanting BEER! BEER! BEER! Dave wings the beer up on stage, the bags ripping, beer rolling everywhere, he climbs up the front of the stage calmly throws about 3 beers to the crowd sits down and clicks off 4 sticks.
We began with a punked out version of Mellow Yellow. Unfucking beleivabe the crowd ate it up. They were just that drunk, and we were on fire."Pink Floyd
I sneered, "We dont need no steenking Pink Floyd." We launched into our own set and got away with about 8 songs before the shut us down, not because of our music but because I was yelling across the river to the people on the dock at shooters, calling them lame michael stanley loving mother fuckers. The sound man stage right told me to apologize, to which i Respectfully told the crowd "I'm sorry....Your a bunch of lame Michael Stanley loving pussies!" That was that. We trashed our gear in true rock fasion gathered our remaining beers and left the stage.
And here's what's to me the most incredible part of the whole debacle, the crowd wanted us back for an encore. Meanwhile Saber had passed out drunk and missed our set, I don't think he ever found out. Bowie once said it and said it best "We can be Heroes just for one day."
Floyd
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Hey Floyd- what about the time we opened for the Slammin' Watusis and Butthole Surfers at the Agora? They had food and beverages in our backstage room -- real official-- except Floyd figured that the better looking women were in the OTHER room with the Butthole Surfers, so he kept going in there. Next thing I know someone's telling me that Floyd got beat up and kicked out, and I needed to go pick up our cash from the show. Turns out we made more than I expected-- I tried to be the one to pick up the cash after that.
Tom Goodwin
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Damn! Goody... Leave it to you to take a 5 paragraph story, turn it into sixty words or less, and get it all wrong. Once again, I will attempt to keep it real. We showed up for our sound check at about 4:30 as requested. The Butthole Surfers were already there doing there check. Plink, plink, plink, on the guitar for like two and a half hours, the Slamming Watusis and Floyd Band would get no soundcheck this day.
Gibby the egomaniac from the Surfers had to make sure his guitar made the right plink noise. We were never much for sound checks anyway but it would have been nice since we never played a venue as big as the Agora theatre before. It was time to go to our dressing room and get ready, and guess what? A buffet was set up with food and drink for the great rock stars, and we shared cramped quarters with the friendy Slamming Watusis. Finally showtime arrives, we take the stage, and another surprise? The Buttholes had demanded that their soundman alone would run the sound for the whole night, so now I'm on the mic singing but it was turned off. The monitors were on so Ithought all was well, finally I notice kids down in front motioning that they couldn't hear, so I grab Tomkats mic and guess what? No sound there either,
Some friends of ours in the crowd took matters into their own hand and went down and actually intimidated their sound guy and he eventually gave me the vocals back. With our guys there breathing down his neck, we finish our alotted thirty minutes without further incident.
We're pissed but we chalk it up to experiance and Dave Mallchock and I proceed to get truly hammered. The asshole Surfers do their tired watered down hawkwind rip-off set, by then Dave and I are plastered, and I tell Dave I'm going back stage to get my coat, but I'm so drunk I accidentally wandered into the Surfers dressing room.
"Get the fuck out !" Gibby screams at me, I'm like "oops just looking for my coat" and left. This is where things get really whacky, I stumble around back stage for like five minutes and oops, damned if I didnt wander into their dressing room a second time. "I said get the fuck out you asshole!" Gibby yells again. This time I go "excuse me superstar, I'm still looking for my coat" and leave a second time.
OK, I know this is starting to sound like something out of Spinal Tap by now but I was drunk, lost my way and ended up walking in too the surfers room a third time. Gibby lost it, he shouts "It's that asshole again!" charges up to me and gives me a quick push, and starts calling for security.
Never push a drunk punk on his own turf, without even thinking about the consequences, with that said Ibitch-slapped that arrogant prick. A bouncer grabs me and halls me to a back door puts his foot on my back and kicks me out the door. Two hours earlier I was on that big Agora stage and kids were cheering now I was drunk coatless and lying in an icy puddle.The glory of punk rock. I somehow got a ride to the Alterhouse in the warehouse district, as I'm walking in there is Dave hand-cuffed standing off to the side. Apparently Dave (the bottle fighter that he is) chose to blow off some steam by smashing beer bottles on the wall next to the Alterhouse. The good news was Dave had recovered my leather jacket.
So there is the real story , no "HOTTIES" in the Asshole Surfers dressing room, I didn't get beat up that night, and Goody did collect the money, fifty dollars I recall, if it was more than that Goody, you owe me some bucks.
Floyd
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In my fifteen years of fronting a punk rock band, many things have been thrown on stage, and at me. From the obvious; beer cans, chairs, garbage cans - to the more obscure; mannequin parts , TVs, hippies. But the all time craziest thing I ever got hit with happened at the infamous 1385 alley party around 1988. We were playing a midday party with Starvation Army, when in the middle of a song, (and I can still see it 'til this very day), a dead cat came spiraling in slo-mo directly at my head. Someone loved us enough to bring roadkill to throw at me, how touching! Said cat was dead for some, as rigormortis had long set in. I flung the stiffened cat into the air where it hit a telephone line, did a purrfect 360 loop and disappeared into the crowd. About ten years later, I'm standing in line at a bar and a pretty girl approaches me, asking, "Floyd ,do you remember me?" " nnnno?", I respond. "You hit me with a dead cat once". How many times in the world do you think a girl has approached a guy in a bar with that line? What goes around....Floyd
Another tale of Floyd Band fun, again about '88 I'm guessing, Dave Mallchock volunteered to move Lair Lewis and his girlfriend to Philadelphia. Having never been to Philly before, I went along for the ride. We thought we'd scout some bars for gigs and put up stickers everywhere. The night before we left was a going away party at 1385, an all nighter. The night ending with an old fashioned fireman's line, passing Lairs belongings from the house to the van, Cheese calling out the contents of each box as it came down the line, " records! condoms! police records! puke!" and so forth.
The farewell ceremony ended with tons of pink foam being strung all over Daves' van {leftover residue from a Pink Holes show]and off we went. As we arrived in Philly, pulling up to Lairs new digs, the tire went flat. Dave had that kind of luck. So we stickered up Philly , spent the night and in the morning Dave says " ya know New York's only two hours away". I had never been to the rotten apple before so off we went. During that drive Dave and I consumed massive amounts of beer,and Dave says were going straight to the legendary CBGB's. As we pulled up to the bar, one thing was on our minds, and that was taking a piss. We got out and proceeded to relieve ourselves. Midway thru the pissing, a spotlight hits us and a voice booms over a loud speaker, "This is the police ! Put your dicks away!" As any guy knows, it's impossible to stop pissing mid stream. We finished our business in total disbelief. The cops come up, noticing our out of town plates, and ask where were from. "Cleveland", I sheepishly reply. "Well do you always just piss in the streets of Cleveland?" "uhh yeah." Dave replies. "Smart ass punks, in New York we have privies" we were lectured. The cops were obviously just playing fuck-fuck with the yokel tourists. Daves' luck was like that. My New York lesson; While in New York keep it surreal.
Floyd
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Floyd Band the Cle-True story:
Floyd Band has the dubious honor of being the only band turned down for studio-rama 11 years in a row. We almost made the cut once but were bumped at the last minute cuz some DJ at the station had a hard-on for Numbskull. But what the fuck, we eventually gave up, i mean we couldn't play for free in our home town.
Floyd Band plays a women's prison. True story, well almost. Actually it was the Women's Pre-release center in the Central neighborhood. It seems that Daniel Thompson poet laureaute of the north coast thought we might be an uplifteng experiance as these ladies re-entered civilization, the place was completely locked down with women that had served theit time and had 6 months left to serve, big walls, barbwire on top. The guards took us in a room and warned us on how dangerous these ladies were, very comforting. The show went off without a hitch,They laughed, they cheered,and even sang the chorus and held hands during "I'm in love with a Lesbian". We raised their spiritual awarenes and taught them to embrace all that is wrong and negative in the world, with such anthems like "Innocent By Insanity" and "Trashy Girl" And most imortant of all they treated us like Beatle-Mania. Hey I guess we could play for free...behind bars.
Floyd Band once opened for Henry Rollins spoken word tour and he didn't speak a word to us.
When asked by Maxixmum Rock and Roll Magazine who they were listening to lately? The Dwarves said FloydBand" I burped and puke came out my nose". That meant more to me than all the positive reviews we got, just to think those sickest of all fuckers liked us.
Floyd Band once made the "in" column in Cleveland Magazine. Of course 6 months later we made the "out" column, hey I just put a check in the at least those fuckers noticed us column.
I once saw Jim Lanza actually tapping his foot during a Floyd Band set, it must have been an accident.
Floyd
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"What do Floyd from FloydBand and former all-pro Browns defensive cornerback Hanford Dixon have in common?" That question was posed to the public in 1994 over the airwaves of commercial radio.
The answer, "They both can be found on Cleveland Entertainment on-line." It was some kind of Cleveland entertainment internet service that called and asked me if I'd be interested in doing a radio commercial with Hanford Dixon. "Any money involved ?" I asked. "$250.00" came the reply. After picking myself off the floor I calmly replied, "sure why not". I mean fuck! that was more money than I'd ever made individually from Floyd Band. Visions of 8-balls danced in my head. A limo picked me up from my day job and took me to the studio. I'm shaking hands with Hanford (Top Dawg himself..woof woof!) and thinking "Dude, you should of copyrighted the word dawg." I refrained from mentioning it figuring he would probably be hearing that the rest of his life. I am by no means a sports enthusiast. Still it was pretty cool to meet him all the same. I even got his autograph. We were then given our scripts. I was to say "I'm Floyd from the Floyd Band" and "Cleveland on-line rules!" And here's where it got way cooler, one of Handfords lines was, "That Floyd guy scares me!" The commercial aired on WNCX, WGAR, WZAK, and a bunch of other stations that no one I know listens to so I never got much feedback on it, and I'm sure none of their listeners ever heard of me. But that was their fuck-up, I took the $250.00 and ran.
Floyd
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Floyd..you never did spell Cal's name right you bone-head.
The band was playing in Athens and after the show someone invited us to a party. They made the mistake of giving Floyd the address and we ended up walking into someone else's party, a bunch of jocks if memory serves me right. Needless to say, we were not welcomed and turned around rapidly ran for the door and I (Suzi Smith) feel on my ass. We went back to our motel room Cal, Kat and myself (money was tight back then, we had to share a room ). It was just three days after Cal and I got married. The honeymoon was over that night!
All kidding aside, those were some pretty cool days and we love ya Floyd. Smooch!!
S.S.
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I met Dave Malchock while in college in South Carolina. He was getting his teaching degree at the time. I got recruited to play in the orchestra for a production of "Little Shop of Horrors". Dave was playing drums. We wore Tuxes. We got to be good friends, and spent many nights partying. After that I joined Daves band "The New Manson Family" (it is believed this is were Marilyn Manson got the idea to call himself "Manson", while he was on his senior trip to Myrtle Beach). We also called ourselves "The Sand Martians" so we could get gigs at chili cook-offs and festivals. After graduation Dave loaded a VW bug and headed west to inspire the troubled inner city youth of L.A.
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This is a hard story for me to write cuz it means i must admit to going to see the Exotic Birds. It was one of those night when Squelch, SA, or the Pink Holes were nowhere to be found in the pages of the Scene. The Birds had a buzz on them about breaking attendance records and being the next big thing out of cleveland. I also heard another buzz that caught my interest alot more, that their shows were well attended by hot new wave chicks, I'm only human, I went.
My friend Dood and I arrived at the Phantasy drunk and stoned. The dance floor was popping, and i mean it literally. That new wave college crowd were all doing some lame pop up and down kind of dance that gave my stoned brain the impression of being inside a popcorn machine. The music was boring predictable synth-dance pop. It soon became apparent that none of the girls there were going to dance with two sobbering drunks like us, so we gathered up chairs and pulled them on the floor and danced with them. That was our first time chair-dancing, and I believe Dood and I were pie and ears or the chair-dancing fad that later swept the dance floors of new wave shows throughout Clevo in the mid 80's. I also noticed something during their set that earned me the title of "that asshole" to Trent and his mates. The titles to three of their songs were"Dance the Night Away", "Dancing on the Airwaves" and "Dance with Me."
Weeks later the lure of hot new wave girls and chair-dancing drew me back to see them again. Drunk off my ass as usual, I stood in the front and and between songs all night yelled "Play Dance the night away on the airwaves with me!"
A few weeks later I was in the Symposium and Trent an his band mates were hanging out, I could not resist going up and telling them how much i liked the song "Dance the Night on the Airwaves with me" Trent looks at his mate and says "It's that asshole." Of course everone knows how Trent went on to greatness as a pie and ear with Nine Inch Nails. And I have the fond memory of representing for all the punk assholes that suffered thru the lame synth-pop of the 80's. Next up, my adventures with Slam Bam Boo.
Floyd
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I never thought I would write this story, but some friends have been dogging me to submit it, so here goes. I want to start by saying that being the singer in a rock band is the closest a guy can ever get to enjoying the perks of being a hot chick with big cans. People buy ya shots, bartenders give ya drinks, strangers turn ya on to dope, getting in clubs free and the opposite sex notices you. This one covers all that territory, and is not for the weak of heart. Here goes....
I was hanging out in Tremont after a show at Edison's one summer night. A night of drinking & drugging, when I ran into a chick I had seen around. We talked, we drank and one thing led to another (as the saying goes). I ended up at her place. Having closed the bar we were completely hammered when the drunken sex began. I was quite surprised when midway thru the act, she requested anal sex (well those weren't her exact words), so anyway, being ever the gentleman, I honored her request. She directed me to the night stand where she kept the vasaline. I grabbed the jar, applied the lube and went about the dirty deed. After some extremely noisy sex, we passed out. The next morning, as we were getting up and moving, I noticed the jar of lube on the floor (and guess what?). It wasn't vasaline after all, but Apricot Facial Scrub. For those who don't know what that is, it's a gel women use to scrub there face clean (about the equivalent of wrapping ones dick in sandpaper). Of course she later dumped me, claiming I was nothing but a pain in her ass.
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I only played with the Floyd band on a couple of gigs in 85 (the first two), but Floyd is nice enough to list on this site. We knew each other because I lived up the hill from his Columbus St. place in an office building on W.25th St. a block south of the market and played bass in the Designated Movers. I got suckered into going to Floyd's place to try to set his words to music. I was used to improvising punk, so I came up with a bunch of shit and Floyd was pleased. I promptly forgot it all, but Floyd asked me to play in the band he was forming. It was kickass to play with the likes of Tom Miller, Dave Mallchok and Tim Kelly.
Anyway, at the time I had just gotten divorced and my lawyer, in addition to insisting payments of cheap cabernet sauvignon, also said I needed to have a divorce party. Somehow or another it was decided that the Floyd band would debut there. We set up in the front room that had big windows facing downtown. Carloads of people started arriving after the party was announced on the radio. It also turned into a birthday party for about a dozen people or so, I remember. We rocked the fuck out of the place, got drunk as hell and ...
The other gig is notable because Floyd brought a piece of sheet metal and in the middle of the set pulled it out and challenged the audience to hit him with a beer bottle. Admittedly the sound of bottles hitting the metal sounded cool, but ..
I took off for Dallas shortly thereafter and that was the end of my time in the Floyd band.
Dan Garman
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Kraig Williamson here- living in Montreal River Harbor running a lodge north of Sault Ste Marie. Tom Goodwin is up here and we were reviewing the website and recalling when we met you at the Undergound when we were slam dancing and Tom's elbow smashed me in the nose. we were sitting it out drinking a beer and ran into you- who believe it or not had actually at one time lived in our home county Hancock Co. Ohio. thank god the marine's didn't want to keep you. If you're looking for a Canadian get-a-way, call 1-705-882-1032.
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Once upon a time in the 80's there was a bar just south of public square on Ontario called the London {now a parking lot}. Bands touring and staying at Stouffer {also no longer there}use to hang out and drink in the working class bar. One morning after a night of getting smashed,on my way home I decided to stop at the London for an eye opener. As I was jaywalking across Ontario the door to the London flew open into the Gray Clevo morn out stalked Johnny Rotten. It was during his Peacock colored dreads period and he was on tour with PIL. Drunk and giddy with excitement I pointed directly at him and said the first thing that came to mind, "Johnny Rotten!" I exclaimed. "It's Lydon." he sneered back at me. Ever the drunken quick witted guy I then retorted "Johnny Lydon!" "It's Rotten." he shot back passing me by as he made his way across Ontario to Stouffers. I guess the lesson i learned goes; you dont spit in the wind and you don't try to out smartass Johnny Rotten/Lydon.
Another quickie. FloydBand once opened for Social Distortion and i briefly got to chat with Mike Ness."Any advice for an up and coming band? I asked" His reply "Stay in school" I looked at him incredulously, I was 33 at the time.
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For a couple years in the mid 80's I supported myself by driving a taxi in the winter and running a hotdog stand in the summer. My stand was located in front of the 666 building on Euclid Ave. The PC army has since renamed it the 668 buliding. Anyway, my stand became a bit of a hang-out for assorted punks and misfits, and because of the nature of the job I was a captive audience for anyone that wanted to come up and talk, which wasn't always a good thing.
If anyone remembers a cat named Phil who frequented the Coventry area as well as downtown. We called him the "face dude" cuz he would always get up in yer face and talk real loud, and he generally smelled pretty bad. He was a well meaning guy, just very annoying.
So one day he shows up with his boom box a battery pack and his horribly untuned guitar. He plugs in and starts wailing away off key as hell. His choice of song to howl in front of muy hot dog stand? The Dead Boys, "Hey Little Girl You Were caught with the meat in your mouth."
Good luck Phil where-ever you are.
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Funny how in retrospect even the bad old days seem like the good old days i find myself warmly remembering being completely strapped for cash and heading over to the blood bank on west 25th for some quick beer and money for fliers. Shit, it was almost like a hangout, on any given day you could run into guys from Starvation Army, The Offbeats,Squelch, hell Tim from the Pagans was a regular...
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I was playing bass for the Floyd Band, probably the best they ever had. We were scheduled to play at some guy's party in an apartment building on Columbus Ave. Coincidentally a place Floyd and I had both lived in at one time.
It was to be a rather small affair. We had different ideas. We got on the phone to the accommodating DJs at WCSB and WRUW and had them announce it like it was an actual gig. I think the words free and beer were used. I was an amateur but accomplished botanist at the time. The place was thick with smoke as people, most of whom this guy didn't know filed in. I believe over a hundred people eventually crammed in. After the party was over the host was looking a little pouty. I went over to console him.
"C'mon man, why so glum, you threw a great party. Look at all the stuff that got broke."
Numbskull
Darryl Lawrence - Vocal (lead)
Bob Bailey - Drums
Dale Taddie - Bass
Ted Flynn - Bass
Kevin Ries - Bass
Mike Zubal - Bass
Bob Ries - Bass
Aaron - Turntable
John Henry Skully - Drums
Jeff Hall - Vocal (backing)
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Sometime between 1985 and 1987 we did a gig opening for the Dead Milkmen at Peabody's.
The Dead Milkmen were pretty cool (the singer was weird, big surprise). The show went well, and it was packed. John had his huge rack of broken cymbals, trash can lids and car parts. He got so excited that he threw his whole drum set into the sea of people, then followed it by jumping into the crowd himself. People were trying to steal the drum set and the security guards had to help us get the stuff back. John got back onto the stage, pointed his finger and yelled into the microphone, "that guy is trying to steal my snare drum, kick his ass."
We actually got everything back. We finished up the show (that cost about $7.00 to get into, and was sold out), then got our $50.00. (I am not going to name any names, everyone knows who was booking Peabody's back then, oh but we are very grateful for the show. Thank you very much, sir), then Dale and I headed out towards our truck, which was parked down the street a short ways. Dale and I got freaked out, because these two beautiful teenage girls came up, and started to talk to us. They told us that they loved the show and wanted to know what town we were from, and what town we were playing next. We told them that we were from Cleveland, and they could not believe it. They said they thought we were an out of town band, and asked for our autographs. In the time we have been together (now 17 years), those were the only two people to ever have asked for our autographs (wouldn't it be wild, if they still had them). I got one of the girls' phone number and went out with her, once. It was very odd (I am not 39, and still single, because of my ability to function so well with the opposite sex).
For one night at Peabody's, Numbskull really were rock stars!!
Darryl Lawrence Whalen
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NUMBSKULL's first release (as far as i know) was a cassette-only release called "Final Days Of Torture". The title song opens with the faint sound of a haunting music box & an old-fashioned phone dialing just prior to the ugly, distorted musical intro.
The story goes a little like this: the singer's house doubled as a practice place for the band. One of his neighbors was a codger, bed-ridden with some terminal illness. This unfortunate old fart was constantly plagued by the band's rehearsals since, like many of their heroes, they made it a point to play excruciatingly loud.
Eventually, the guy's wife called the offending parties on the phone to explain her husband's condition & plead with them to cease the loud racket. This explains the phone.
A short time later he died, having endured for free what most people pay money to hear when they attend one of NUMBSKULL's gigs. I can only assume that the music box represents the sort of soothing sound one would prefer over NUMBSKULL when faced with the aspect of impending death. Thus the song's closing sentiment:
"Six days later, he was dead".