Has it really been ten years?

Oh sure, you’d been down Anaheim Boulevard before. Maybe you had to pick up a bitchin West Coast Choppers hoodie for your nephew’s birthday —and they didn’t sell that crap at Walmart back then, brother! You had to venture down the mean streets of Long Beach, or the LBC as I understand all the cool wiggers refer to it!

Or perhaps you had an intense hankering for a Special over at Joe Jost’s—and screw the fact that it’s a Tuesday afternoon and you’re still in the work truck with a load of Italian Ceramic floor tile that’s supposed to be at the jobsite!
Fuck it, you can already taste the pickled egg being washed down by Pabst, the heft of the schooner like a child’s skull in your paw. mmmm….a frosty, delicious skull….!

Then one day you noticed the red awning, the plain lettering on the door.

To be sure, the modest front doesn’t betray the hijinks inside. No, it’s the back of the joint that first gives you a clue of the mayhem that awaits your night.

You stamp out your smoke and cough up the cover charge and are suddenly transported into the room of dreams and nightmares, for this place has been the maker of both!
The red walls, the velvet paintings– the sickly sweet odor of last night’s booze and the perfumed necks of a dozen rockabilly skanks. You are already drunk, and you’re still standing in line for your first highball of the night!

Buckle in, pal, because your evening is gonna get a whole lot more interesting….

Alex’s has become our favorite place to play, though a lot of fans prefer not to see us play there. Why, I don’t know—

Yes, we’ve been known to have a smart cocktail or two up on that stage, but it’s really just part of the act! Listen, if you want to see some sober headed bald guys preach to you about the whales between their folk songs, the bus is leaving for Gillman St in ten minutes, hippy!

No, this is a place for drinkers that want to get drunk, bands that want to play loud, and people that want to yell You suck! when a well intentioned frontman *ahem* prefers to describe the mornings’ bowel movement instead of playing a 30 year old song!

So it was a no brainer when the time came to film the CH3 epic,One More for all My True Friends .

So many memorable nights that you can’t quite remember, but it’s the crew that makes a bar. Alex’s has become that comfort zone we all need, a place to relax amongst the people you love!

Maybe there’s no better time, really, than a lazy sunday afternoon at the bar, when there’s no goddamn band making a racket up there. A few of the local neighbors wander in, lured by free potato salad and a chance to see what the hell all these crazy kids see in this place.
You can finally get to sit at the bar, usually packed 5 deep on a Friday night.

Somebody’s tapping away at a laptop, a weepy couple are breaking up for the second time in a month. As the jukebox switches songs you can hear the gentle beeping of a tow truck backing up, another poor schmuck parked at AutoZone…..

So you order another Newcastle, and hell, why not? -a quick Jameson’s to guide the afternoon into another night. A van pulls up in the parking lot, Pennsylvania plates, and a weary touring band comes into the bar, blinking at the dark. They look around the room and you can just hear their thoughts: Fuck yeah, this is a cool place….

So when yer a band with *ahem* history, like your ol pals here at the CH3 retirement community, you go through your fair share of guitars over the years.

Ah, guitars! Do you remember?

The thrill of holding that sacred LesPaul in Guitar Center, the heady perfume of the oiled wood and crushed velvet when you opened the hardshell case…..
When you were just a kid, and had your fragile heart set on that blonde telecaster in the pawn. You finally got your hands on an Ibanez, and though it wasn’t some American made icon, it was yours, goddammit!

Your own guitar to massage and torture through the night……

And it still holds the mystery, eh? I mean, that’s quite a piece of furniture you’re holding on your lap when you think about it. Six meager strings stretched across some plank, a few inches of wire and magnet, all coming together as your invitation to the party.

You sit in your bedroom on a lonely November midnight, your ol pal in your hands and the hurt of the world in your heart. As you sit there alone, weepily pawing at the srings, what else can result, but another instant rock and roll classic!
You’ve transformed your inexpressible longing into a song now, something that will live on in the car radios of America’s youth for, well- forever!

Heh. Either that or you get loaded and spend the night playing the riff to Rock Bottom over and over in a masturbatory stupor!

(Listen to Rock Bottom, the baddest riff ever!)

I suppose a bit of the romance wears off, am I right? We grab the guitars night after night, and they feel as familiar and obligatory as the bloodied crop to the Dominatrix.

Just a tool, it seems after a while—the hammer to the roofer, the condom to the crack whore…..

In fact, it wasn’t all that long ago when they took the guitar from me altogether, and left me to my own devices up on the stage…..

Oh, I gave it a go alright, lurching around under the stage lights like some Down’s Syndrome afflicted offspring of Joey Ramone and Steven Tyler.

But it just wasn’t the same. Where is the phallic sword that guided you through so many nights before? Weapon and shield, the guitar is something you can hide behind or thrust out at a threatening world.

Besides, what the hell do you do- lead singers I mean- during the goddamn guitar solo??
Dance around like Mike Love? Or, God help me, play air guitar??

It was just too much. Before ya knew it, I was hanging the wood around my neck again.
Safe and shielded once again, naked no more!

You grow older, and you fall in love with the guitar all over again, it seems.

Also, you mourn those beauties that will never return, foolishly pawned for Vegas gas money back when they didn’t seem that important.

By God, If I ever get that Rickenbacker 425 back, I’ll be one happy fellow!!

So it was a pleasant surprise when our pal Bob Balch from Fu Manchu called and told us about his groovy new site, Play This Riff and asked us to give him an interview!

Bob wanted to come in and check out the gear and run through a few songs. Pretty flattering, we thought. We’re not known as the most technical guitar gods out there, and truth be told, we usually just choose the night’s guitars to coordinate with our outfits!

And we don’t always handle these babies with the gentle respect they deserve….!

But we’re the goddamn best CH3 guitarists playing CH3 songs out there right now goddammit! So we invited Bob down to the plush CH3 rehearsal complex/test kitchen for a little tour

And showed off some of the rare axes:

Then we ran through a few songs for the cameras–and hey! Only took us 4 takes to nail Catholic Boy! Not like we’ve been playing the song for 30 years or anything, eh?

And bonus, Bob was kind enough to jot down the tabs for the songs

Why didn’t we have this kind of stuff when we were kids, huh?

Oh, you goddamn punks think you’re so smart, with your icephones and carbonite lattes and websites that teach you all the hard earned secrets of the guitar!
Hell, when we were your age all we had were two rocks with used dental floss stretched between….now get off my lawn!!

Do yourself a favor and sign up for Play This Riff !