Posted by Administrator
Tue, 18 Jul 2006 22:45:27 GMT
Hey all, be sure to check out Mark’s friend and Big Karma label mate Blondie Chaplin, who just released his new CD today. It’s called “Between Us”, and it is available exclusively at the Big Karma Records shop right now. Blondie, who is currently on tour with the The Rolling Stones, sang harmony vocals on “Cannonball” in both the LA and the Austin sessions. If your taste in music includes rock, reggae, and R&B, we strongly suggest picking up a copy of “Between Us”.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Mon, 19 Jun 2006 10:30:00 GMT
I don’t really know where to begin explaining the last road trip. It was a four-day run that began Thursday in San Angelo and ended yesterday in Plano. There were several bizarre events including Grant getting cold-cocked, the entire band suffering from dehydration, and Russ getting an ambulance ride to the hospital. I’ll do my best to recall everything, or at least the highlights.
We got an early start Thursday for San Angelo, leaving around 10:30 in the morning. I was fairly confident that the suburban would not break down, having replaced the fuel filter, installed new shocks, and balanced the tires the week before.
We arrived at Blaine’s Pub around 4:30 and unloaded. Grant set up our product and then left on foot to see Mary Anne down at Ashley’s Barber Shop. The sound man showed up an hour later and we were done with sound check by 6:00. We then drove over to the HoJo to check in.
Lafon, Grant, and Cody then went to Hidalgo’s Mexican restaurant to grab a bite to eat. I stayed at the hotel with Russ and relaxed. They returned around 8:00 with a jalapeno burger for me which I devoured immediately.
I thought we were supposed to begin our show at 9:00, so we left a half an hour early and headed up to the bar. I was pleasantly surprised to see Drew Kennedy there when we walked in. Drew opened up for us and we didn’t actually take the stage until a little after ten.
For those of you who have ever been to Blaine’s Pub or know Blaine Martin, you’ll be interested to find that Blaine has actually sold the bar. I didn’t get a chance to meet the new owners, but Scooter and the rest of the staff are still there. Blaine was on vacation Thursday, so I didn’t get to speak with him. It felt strange knowing that the bar ownership had changed hands though.
We had a packed house Thursday night. As usual, it was hotter than hell on stage and I tried to drink as much water as possible in between the beers and occasional tequila shots that made their way to us. (The heat factor will be a reoccurring theme in my story today.)
Scotty was kind enough to turn on the Mavericks game during our first set, but some time in the third period a drunk guy fell down underneath the overhead TV unplugging it. From what I heard it was best that we didn’t have the distraction of the game because the Mavericks took a drumming that night.
I guess we played until 1:30 or later before calling it a night. Then it was back to the hotel where I got a quick shower before going to sleep. There was supposed to be an after party Thursday night, but apparently it didn’t develop. That was fine with me. I have had too many of those four or five-day runs where I wore myself out on the first night and had to suffer through the rest of the trip.
Friday morning I had an appointment to get my hair cut over at Mary Anne’s. Russ went with me and the rest of the band went to lunch with Anna and Nelda from Blaine’s Pub. I had a great time at Mary Anne’s, as usual. We had a few beers and our traditional tequila shot before Grant picked us up after lunch.
We drove up to Blaine’s and broke down our equipment, had a few beers with the early afternoon crowd, and then hit the road for Jud, Texas, which is located north of Abilene. I fell asleep on the way and by the time I woke up we were in Rule, a small town outside of Jud.
Have you ever had one of those trips where someone else is driving and you wake up not really knowing where you are? That’s how I felt Friday afternoon. We haven’t had a map in the suburban for over six months, so I had no way of judging our exact location. I saw what looked to be the cap rock over to our west, but I wasn’t exactly sure how close to Lubbock we were. One thing I knew was we were a long way from Abilene.
We pulled into Jud Fest down some dirt road and followed the signs to the ranch house. Now I had never been to Jud Fest, but from what I gather it has been going on for quite a few years. It is basically a huge ranch party where people from the neighboring towns show up and listen to music for two nights. Darin Epley, a fraternity brother of mine from Tech, and his brother, Carey, put on the event, and it draws quite a few people.
Darin met us at the gate and showed us where to park the trailer. We unloaded and then I got the tour of the property. Jack Morrow, another fraternity brother of mine, showed up and drove us in his truck to check out Jud. The town consists of one beer store, a graveyard, and one abandoned house which they say is haunted. We stopped by the house and checked it out and I have to say that it did have a creepy vibe inside.
Our next stop was the beer store which is owned by the Epley family. We grabbed some beer and then Darin decided to take us down to the river. Their property straddles the headwaters of the Brazos and, as the sun began to set, we made our way through the mesquite brush in Jack’s truck. We drove as far as possible and then made the rest of the journey on foot. A storm was coming in from the west and we saw a spectacular light show from the banks of the river.
Afterwards we returned to the festival site and I grabbed a quick bite to eat before meeting up with the band behind the stage. Darin was concerned about the storm to our west, but the stage was covered, so we crossed our fingers and went about our business with sound check.
To be honest with you, I really don’t know what time we started our show that night. I was busy meeting new people and I didn’t pay any attention to the clock. There was a huge crowd though, and they were rowdy. About ten feet in front of the stage a keg was set up and all night long people took turns doing keg stands. Then, toward the end of our show a girl jumped up on stage and tried pouring moonshine down our throats in the middle of a song. When you have a guitar in your hand it is almost impossible to avoid inhaling some of the alcohol, especially when the girl has a hold of your neck. The moonshine, well, what didn’t wind up on my shirt, tasted like gasoline and burned going down. She forced at least one drink on everyone in the band, but we continued playing.
While this was going on Grant ran into a little trouble of his own. Darin had asked him to move his merchandise booth from one side of the stage to the other. I still haven’t figured out why, but while carrying a box of T-shirts someone cold-cocked Grant on the chin and disappeared into the darkness. Grant took it standing up, but he wasn’t a happy camper.
We finished playing sometime late in the night. The storm from the west passed by without a single drop of rain, sparing the crowd from what would have been a mud bath. Russ and I decided to have a beer in the ranch bar located just to the side of the stage. Grant, Lafon, and Cody said they were going to head back to Rule and check into the hotel. Grant was in no mood to hang around after the shot he took to the face. I told him I understood and that Russ and I would catch a ride with one of my Pike buddies and meet them later.
I guess we stayed at the ranch party barn for a couple of hours. Another fraternity brother of mine, Sam Tolliver, showed up in the meantime and we spent a while getting caught up. Sam offered us a ride home and we accepted. We drove back to Rule and found the hotel, but no suburban. The hotel reminded me of the Bates Motel from the movie. I couldn’t get anyone to answer the office door, and my cell phone battery was dead so I had no way of getting a hold of the rest of the band, so we were forced to leave and spend the night at Sam’s house some twenty minutes away.
I woke up Saturday morning on the floor of Sam’s living room after four hours of sleep. He had a softball game to coach and offered us a ride to another hotel where we thought the band might have ended up. I borrowed his phone and called Grant and, sure enough, they had driven to a hotel just fifteen minutes south of Sam’s house.
Sam dropped us off around 9:30 in the morning. I wanted to try and get a little sleep, but Russ beat me to the only available bed and I was forced to lie down on the floor. I couldn’t sleep so I drove into town and bought a pack of smokes and hung out in the suburban listening to the radio. I finally got the guys up around 11:00 and we left for Dallas.
We stopped by a convenience store on our way out of town and I went in to buy a cup of coffee and a map. It was still bothering me that I didn’t know exactly where I was. Grant followed me into the store and went to the cooler to get a bottle of water. On the way he noticed that they sold beer and turned to me and said, “Is it time to invoke the West Texas rule?” I thought to myself, “This is going to be a long day.” The West Texas rule states that it’s OK to drink beer before noon because you’re in the middle of nowhere and the chances of getting in trouble are slim. A put down my coffee and grabbed a six pack.
We drove the back roads toward Mineral Wells where we planned on picking up the interstate. We stopped for lunch at some Mexican restaurant in some town I can’t remember and had a few more beers and some decent food. The service was terrible but we made the best of it. Afterwards, Lafon thought best that he drive and Grant agreed.
I guess it was close to 4:00 when we pulled up in front of my house. The guys went home to freshen up and I took a short nap before we met up again to drive to Dallas.
Our destination Saturday night was the Green Elephant bar in the SMU area of town. We were playing Summer Bash 2006 for a friend of mine named Taylor Fields. They had an outdoor stage set up as well as a small acoustic stage inside the club. We had noticed on our way to the show that the storm that missed us the night before in West Texas was now threatening to hit Dallas. When we arrived Taylor made the decision to move the main stage into the club.
I guess it started raining some time during our first set. Everyone moved into the club and it immediately got hot and humid. There was no air conditioning and no fans on stage, and with all the extra bodies in the club and the hot stage lights shining in our faces, we soon broke out into the sweats. Now I have played on an uncovered, black, flatbed trailer in 105 degrees in the full sunshine before, but I swear it was hotter on that stage in the Green Elephant than any other place I have ever played in my life. I kept calling out for water, but we couldn’t get it fast enough.
After our first set I went to the bar and loaded up on as much water as I could carry. Then I made a trip out to the suburban to change my shirt, which weighed about four pounds. We started the second set and I swear it was even hotter on that stage. I felt sorry for the band, Sabine, who was going on after us. But we made it through the show and hung around for Sabine’s set afterwards.
I woke up Sunday morning feeling the effects of dehydration. I spent the first hour throwing up and the second hour lying in bed with chills. I was supposed to meet my mother, brother, and sister for lunch at noon, but ended up sending Kathryn in my place. Cody had spent the night at our house and he said he wasn’t feeling good either.
Russ was supposed to meet us at two to head down to Love and War in Texas for the Shiner Sunday show. About 2:30 we became concerned because we hadn’t heard from him. I knew he had spent the morning with his son up in Denton, but since he doesn’t have a cell phone I had no idea of where he was.
Cody and I decided to leave, hoping that Russ was already on his way to Love and War. When we got to the bar Kathryn called and said that Russ was in the hospital. She and Kim drove to recover his vehicle that was parked on the side of the road. Apparently Russ suffered from dehydration worse than the rest of us. He was leaving Denton and blacked out. He pulled to the side and a passerby called an ambulance.
Cody, Lafon, and I decided that we would have to continue on as a three-piece that afternoon. It’s not easy to play with drums and no bass player, but believe it or not we pulled it off. The first set was broadcast live on KHYI in Plano from 4:00 to 5:00. We made it until 4:55 when the mobile transmitter blew up.
The weather yesterday was hot and humid. Once again, we didn’t have any ventilation on stage during the first set and I was forced to change shirts again during the break. Fortunately, someone at Love and War brought up two fans for the second set and we cooled off a little.
Our second set was a lot of fun. There were problems with the sound board, and I had tuning problems with my guitars, but once we resolved those issues we had a blast. We played until a little after eight and then hurried home to watch the Mavericks game with our neighbors and friends.
The Mavericks game was a huge disappointment. To be honest with you though, I was too worn out to be upset. I was looking forward to a cold shower and a good night’s sleep. As soon as the game was over I got cleaned up and hit the sack.
So where were my kids yesterday? Normally they would be right in front of the stage any time we play Love and War, especially on Father’s Day. Right now they are in Colorado Springs on vacation with their grandparents. When Kathryn and her dad planned the trip they overlooked the fact that the kids would gone during Father’s Day. They called yesterday evening, but I was already on stage. Kathryn and I are kid less for the rest of the week and a house that is normally bustling with activity during the summer is quiet and lonely.
SIDE NOTE: I talked with Russ last night and he is doing fine. He was released from the hospital yesterday evening.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Sat, 03 Jun 2006 13:40:00 GMT
Somewhere in between Vernon and Amarillo yesterday we passed by a house with a Cadillac parked out front. Inside were what appeared to be two bikini-clad girls. We decided to turn around and investigate. The girls proved to be mannequins, but it didn’t matter, Peccho was in love. It was all we could do to get him back into the truck.
Once inside the Amarillo city limits we had a pretty good scare. The suburban lost power and we were forced to pull over at a gas station about a mile from the club. We thought the transmission was acting up, but as we limped into the parking area the truck shuttered and died.
I called Tony, our mechanic, and he said we might have finally worn out the suburban. I checked the transmission fluid and the oil and both were fine. Then I hit the ignition and the engine started right up. We drove slowly to the Midnight Rodeo where I turned off the key and tried to restart the engine again. The first time the engine shuttered and died. The second time it started normally.
We came to the conclusion that we had probably picked up some bad gas at the Love’s truck stop back in Wichita Falls. When we filled up earlier that day there was a tanker refilling the gas station tanks. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but I will from now on. Apparently when the tanks are refilled it kicks up all the debris from the bottom allowing it to be sucked into the pump.
The guys went into the club and I drove to a gas station and bought a couple of cans of fuel injector treatment. I dumped one into the tank and crossed my fingers. We haven’t had any problems since.
We had an easy sound check at Midnight Rodeo and finished up around seven o’clock. Grant and the guys went to check into the hotel afterwards, but Peccho Baludo and I decided to take a drive south of town with Gabe from Copperhead. Frank, the sound man, had told us of a place where someone had buried twelve combines face up in a field, much like the Cadillac Ranch west of town. Peccho, having never seen the Cadillac Ranch, was very interested in checking out Amarillo’s newest tourist attraction.
Afterwards, Gabe dropped us off at the hotel and came inside for a beer. Jeff showed up a few minutes later. We hung out for about an hour before heading back to the club.
I forgot to bring the camera, so we don’t have any pictures of the show last night. There weren’t many people when we started, but by the time we ended our set there were three or four hundred and a line out the door.
We stayed for Copperhead’s set, which lasted until 1:00. Jeff called me up on stage at one point and we did “Country Mick” which went over well with the crowd. Copperhead put on a great show. The boys and I watched from the merchandise table and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
We had planned on getting together with Gabe and Jeff and crew later that night, but everyone was worn out. I was still worried about the suburban making it home and wanted to get an early start this morning. Copperhead had a show in Waco today and I’m sure they needed to get a good night’s rest.
Right now we are just a few miles west of Denton, a safe distance from home should the truck decide to act up again. We have tonight off which is a good thing. The Mavericks are playing Game 6 in Phoenix this evening and I wouldn’t want to compete with them. No, I’d rather take it easy in the garage and watch the game.
Note: Almost immediately after I finished typing the above entry the fuel filter clogged and we had to pull over. We broke down three more times between Denton and Plano, but still managed to limp home.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Fri, 02 Jun 2006 11:10:00 GMT
We accumulate a lot of CD’s in our travels, some good and some not so good. Some are given to us by friends and others by bands and singer/songwriters we meet at shows. At least once a month we’ll get bored and throw in a new CD in the player to check it out. Since we rarely listen to the radio, this is our primary method of gauging what’s going on in the Texas music scene.
We have a system of grading new music. If we like the CD it will stay in rotation in the suburban. If it’s bad, we wait until we are on a lonely stretch of highway and throw it out the window and watch it skip down the road. In fifteen years I bet we have littered highways across the state of Texas with close to three hundred “skippers”. If the CD is ridiculously hideous, we will save it for special occasions, namely when a friend is riding with us in the burb. At an opportune moment we’ll insert the CD and act like we really enjoy the music. We’ll play it until either the friend busts out laughing or begs us to quit.
Right now we are listening to the second CD of the day. I won’t say who the artist is, but the music is not bad. The first CD, however, did not fare so well. Once again, I’m not going to drop any names, but I will say that whoever wrote, recorded, and sang on that disc needs to find a permanent day job. Russ and I are currently debating the fate of said CD. I want to skip it and Russ wants to save it as a torture CD. I’m probably going to wait until he falls asleep and let her fly.
Today’s destination is Amarillo where we’re opening for our friends, Copperhead, at the Midnight Rodeo. We’ll be traveling down the same road Lafon and I drove two days ago when we played an acoustic show in Wichita Falls. The routing didn’t work out quite like I had planned, but that happens every now and then.
So here’s a recap of the week thus far beginning with Memorial Day. I spent most of Monday morning hanging out with Shawn in the garage. We amused ourselves by watching a mud dobber who had made his nest in an empty cable receptacle in the wall. Shawn thought it would be funny to put clear packaging tape over the hole; I thought it was funny watching him. The mud dobber was not at all amused and spent the better part of an hour trying to enter his nest. Finally, Shawn removed the tape and the mud dobber flew inside his nest. Shawn then quickly reapplied the tape and solved our mud dobber problem once and for all. It’s amazing when I think of how easily we are sometimes entertained.
Around noon, Kathryn told us that we had better get the garage cleaned if we wanted to cook out that afternoon. We agreed and began picking up the trash from the night before. There were several beer cans on the counter and in the trash can and I realized that no one was using the can crusher I had mounted by the door leading to the house. So I decided to move the can crusher to the outside wall of the garage just above the large recycling bin.
While drilling into the brick mortar, Kathryn appeared and said, “Mark, don’t you think that looks kind of white trashy?” Shawn replied with the quote of the week, “Don’t worry, Kathryn, the trailer will hide it.”
I guess this would be a good time for me to mention my relationship with our homeowners association. You see, they have bylaws upon bylaws of dos and don’ts, all intended to keep the image of our subdivision on the up and up. In theory this is a good idea; in practice it sucks. Our homeowners association, or the house Nazis, as we call them, routinely survey the neighborhood and assess fines to those who are not in compliance with their codes. I, of course, fall into this category because I keep my equipment trailer parked in my driveway.
Don’t ask me why, but for some reason it is illegal to park a trailer of any kind in the driveway, even though the driveway is in the back of the house, hidden from view of the street. It is acceptable, however, to leave a trailer attached to a vehicle in front of the house, provided it is moved every twenty-four hours. It makes no sense to me, but I can tell you that Kathryn and I have been fined on numerous occasions. It’s funny, the house Nazis spend all their time fining homeowners, yet, for seven years they have never repaired the waterfalls at the community pool.
Sorry, I got on my soapbox again. So anyway, I spent the rest of Memorial Day cooking fajitas with the neighbors. We also took some action shots of Peccho Baludo and Pecchito, which can be seen in the previous “News from the Road” entry.
Tuesday was a hectic day. I worked on booking in between taking care of our kids as well as half of the neighborhood children. The boys had a baseball game that night. They lost, but James and Justin had base hits each time they went to bat. Two of their friends spent the night with us after the game.
Wednesday morning I fed all five children and sent them outside to play and I actually got a little work done in between the interruptions. At three o’clock, having fulfilled my end of the kid swap, I sent my children home with the other two boys. Lafon showed up an hour later and we hit the road for Wichita Falls.
Fonzie and I ran into a pretty good storm just south of Bowie, but we still managed to make it to the club on time for sound check. The venue is called “Stage West” and it was our first time to play there. Sound check went smoothly and at eight o’clock we left to check into our hotel.
Along the way I saw the sign for a palm reader and asked Fonzie if he wanted to try a reading. He said, “No, but I’m sure Peccho Baludo would like to have his fortune told.” I immediately turned around and drove to the palm reader’s house.
A Hispanic man greeted me at the door and asked if I wanted my palm read. I told him about Peccho Baludo and he got a frightened look in his eyes. His wife, the psychic, approached the door next. She too seemed a little apprehensive, but we finally persuaded her to read for Peccho.
Unfortunately, Peccho has no palms and the lady was forced to rely solely on the tarot cards and her crystal ball. She told Peccho that his life was in danger and that he shouldn’t trust those close to him, especially musicians. She went on to say that, if he could survive the next three months on the road, that his love life would improve. (I tried to get the psychic to pose for a picture with Peccho, but she politely refused. She did, however, let us film Peccho at her table and her husband even lit special candles for the snapshot.)
Afterwards we went to the hotel to get ready for the show. Peccho, who never talks much anyway, was even quieter than ever. Back at the club he sat alone in the corner and nursed several shots of tequila.
Lafon and I had fun at Stage West that night. Mark played a classical guitar during the first set, switching to electric later in the evening. He clearly stole the show and gained several new fans. Woody, the promoter, was a pleasure to work with and asked us to come back. We will, Woody.
Yesterday Mark and I stopped by the Sunset Bar and Grill in Denton to eat lunch on our way home. I think it was around 3:00 by the time I finally pulled into my driveway. The kids had spent the night at my mom’s, so I had the house to myself.
Last night I watched the Mavericks game with my neighbors in the garage. I was worn out from the night before and went to bed as soon as the game was over. I slept the best I have in months and woke up early this morning.
Right now we are west of Wichita Falls on Highway 287. Grant is making good time and we should be in Amarillo around 5:00.
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Posted by Mark David Manders
Tue, 30 May 2006 11:45:00 GMT
My name is Peccho Baludo. I was born in Acuna, Mexico and gained entry into the United States under the North American Free Trade Agreement in 1994 posing as a truck driver. I have no green card and most of my time is spent running from the law.
My most recent employment was at Banita Creek Hall in Nacogdoches, Texas, where I worked sweeping floors and bussing tables. On April 19th, the I.N.S. raided the establishment and I was forced to hide in the equipment trailer of a band that was playing the hall that night. After spending two days locked inside the trailer without food or water I finally made my break when the band unloaded in Plano, Texas.
This is my story.
When the trailer door was unlocked I jumped out, much to the surprise of the band members, and took off running in the direction of a small creek. The creek was located a few hundred yards from the subdivision where the trailer was parked and appeared to offer the shelter I needed to recuperate.
My first night in the wilderness I survived eating berries and drinking the foul creek water. The next day I became emotionally distraught and tried to commit suicide by hanging myself from a cliff. Unfortunately the rope gave way and I tumbled thirty feet to the rocky creek bed below. Apparently a double granny knot will not support the weight of a piñata body. I suffered only minor injuries.
The following day I decided to make a shelter and began gathering tree branches and debris that had washed along the creek banks. As I was returning to my campsite I was accosted by two men with carbine rifles who either owned the land or worked for the owner of the property. Extremely unhappy with me for squatting on their land, the two men blindfolded me and shot me execution style.
The first bullet entered my body just above my chest and exited though my shoulder. The second shot missed me entirely. I fell to the ground and played possum, but that was not the end of the torture. The culprits propped me up against the rock cliff and drove a butter knife deep into my sternum, before leaving me for dead.
Fortunately, we piñatas are very resilient. I was able to remove the butter knife and crawl back to my half-finished shelter where I remained for the next three days, barely conscious.
Within a few weeks I was back on my feet and returned to the task of completing my temporary housing. The night after I finished the roof a torrential thunderstorm hit and threatened to do me in all together. (Piñatas do not fare well in water.) I made it through the night, but it was touch and go there for a while.
I guess it was a little over a month before I finally decided to venture from my creek hideout. The local supply of berries was running low and I had a strong craving for a Big Gulp. So I waited until dark one Friday evening and made my way to the 7-Eleven about one half mile from the creek.
As I entered the 7-Eleven I was greeted (repeatedly) by two ladies behind the counter. For a minute I thought they might blow my cover, and I considered running, but my thirst got the best of me. I poured an extra large Big Gulp, and just as I turned to approach the check out counter, I bumped into Miss Leslie, my former girlfriend of three years.
I hadn’t seen Miss Leslie since our terrible breakup at a truck stop just north of Waco, and I was taken totally off guard. She offered me a ride and I accepted. However, instead of dropping me off at the creek we proceeded to her house in McKinney where I received the biggest surprise of my life so far.
I was not prepared for the events which followed. Miss Leslie introduced me to Pecchito, a cute little piñata of two years old. She went on to say that I was his father and she had been raising him on her own since my disappearance. I was speechless.
I spent the next few days getting acquainted with Pecchito and trying to reconcile with Miss Leslie. Pecchito and I took long walks in the park, rode bikes, and played football in the front yard. I was in heaven but it didn’t last long.
Miss Leslie’s ex-boyfriend, Shawn, soon caught wind of the situation. In retaliation he called I.N.S. and informed them that Miss Leslie was harboring a fugitive.
Immigration raided Miss Leslie’s house the following day. I was in the back yard and managed to jump the fence and evade capture. The I.N.S. agents pursued me for several miles, but I finally lost them by jumping off a thirty foot cliff not far from the temporary shelter I had constructed.
Since my escape I have been forced to keep a low profile, venturing out only late at night and limiting my trips to the 7-Eleven to once a week. The I.N.S. has Miss Leslie’s house staked out and I am forced to communicate by pay phone only. Hopefully the law will grow tired of searching for me soon. Until then I remain a fugitive.
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