Repeat after me: We do not whack off to punk rock flyers!
It’s with happy hearts and twinkling eyes that we journey South toward the new Shakedown in San Diego.
The trusty road crew has gone ahead, so we have time to meander along the darkening coastline.
Radio plays a Clash song, and cupped hands are held out of open windows to float along the jetstream: Flesh colored birds rushing home to the nest, bellies filled with crickets to be regurgitated into the mouths of the next generation.
First stop is The Fish Joint in Oceanside, where the crew knows their audience, brother!
The Misfits’ Walk Among Us blasts out of the speakers on a continuous loop as we fall upon dish after amazing dish.
It’s Danzig’s pleading moan that drives us to consume one nigiri jewel after another…….
We finally beg them to stop, but really—who can say no to just one more sliver of fresh water eel or garlic infused halibut, reclining majestically on it’s final pillow of fluffy sushi rice, hmmm?
We thank our gracious hosts for the lovely food and hospitality and waddle back out to the ride.
Sated on rice, delicious sea creatures and countless missles of Sapporo, we squeeze behind the steering wheel and make our way down to the club.
Ahem...do you see what it says? Hmm? Legends!! We told ya so!
The Shakedown is the new hep joint down yonder, and for good reason!
Dead Ted started things off with a bang, booking Fear, DI, Agent O, etc within the first couple weeks, leaving all the other San Diego clubs scrambling to book their venues with Whitesnake cover bands and puppet acts!
Kimm and Dead Ted!
Now yer talkin Punk Rock club bub!
This joint serves a fine selection of Malt Liquors, giant cannisters of PBR, and the usual assorted brown liquids that make for a funny night!
Backstage action......
Plus, these people treat the bands like champs, providing booze, snacks, not to mention swanky sleeping arrangements for the fellas to steal a quick pre-show snuggle!
shhhh...don't wake the cubs!
Our kind of crowd!!
Goddamn it, can you people not flip us off for 2 seconds while I take a photo to show Mom?
We take to the stage and, Bonus! they play a steady stream of Korean slasher Porn behind you while yer playin!
What, have these guys been eavesdropping on our dreams or somethin’ ??
Wha? You say what's happening behind me??!
A few techinical problems, but that’s why we pay such a handsome salary to Tbone, sound/light/stage technician extraordinaire!
What's the problem here?
But here’s where things quickly went strange:
Oh dear.... No.. ..again, please! For the love of God--- No!
Gaaaa! My eyes!!
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Dawn breaks clear on Saturday morning.
The incessant bark of the seagull, the jackhammer knock of the Ecuadoran maid.
These are the things that bring us out of a sweet sleep, only to confront what has been witnessed.
We drive a few listless miles North, each of us trying to grasp how to explain this to the wives and kids back home.
We have looked directly into the eyes of the demon clown…and he was angry!
Nothing a quick stop at Capn’ Keno’s in Carlsbad won’t fix!
We gulp Bloody Marys in the feeble hope they will erase the pictures that have been burned onto retina and cornea alike!
Sweet Jesus, take the images from my head!
Men have returned from wars with a distant, gray look in their eyes.
They have witnessed the unspeakable, and yet these hardy men go on to lead productive lives. Am i right?
So with country gravy greased fingers, we make pinky promises to never speak of the night again.
I know how much y’all look forward to the Our Last Gig feature.
I mean, really—apparently some of you plan your whole weekends around it, right?
Sure, you love to read the wild exploits of your heroes, maybe under the covers late at night, flashlight gripped in your sweaty palm. Maybe you close your eyes and drift off to sleep imagining: Hey. Maybe one day I can go along, be one of the fellas! Gee, wouldn’t that be somethin!
But we’re busy men over here—- and Punk Rock Bowling is calling people!!!
Let’s see…we have guitars to restring, flasks to fill—need to get our balls drilled —and also attend to the bowling balls–Hey 0!!! Gutterball?! Why, I'll........!
So let’s just give a capsule wrap up of the weekend:
*Yes, it was great to get to Pittsburgh as the Pens demolished Montreal.
*We dug playing in the squat that is 222 Ormby and hope they’ll have us back.
*We spent the night in Mars, just becasue we always wanted to say that.
*Primanti Bros? pfft–of course!
*Cleveland?–hate to say it, but it rocks.
*Mr. Paul has one of the greatest clubs in America at Now That’s Class
*Now That’s Class is next to the toughest gay bar in America. Trust us.
And on our flight home? Fuckin Jim Brown…! Nuff said.
Hmmm….well, that really doesn’t live up to the ol CH3 blog standards, does it?
I mean, you don’t come here for a few dry sentences and a photo album of our weekend, do ya?
Here’s a shot of Alf with the weekend kickoff:
7:10 am: Shots of double espresso vodka in the Gardener garage bar.
Now wide awake, Alf then excused himself to crap out a Virginia ham.
Meh.
No, you intellectuals need some goddamn content!
So let’s go ahead and copy and paste a thrilling 1979 interview conducted by ABC Sports with daredevil Legend Evel Knievel!
ABC Sports You’re one of the greatest self-promoters sport has ever seen, how does it feel?
Evel Knievel I used to race motorcycles and really didn’t win enough to eat lunch, let alone dinner. All over the United States I raced, and I felt the motorcycling public would support a daredevil show like Joey Chitwood and his Auto Daredevils, so I formed a whole show.
I always was very good at promoting things and having teams. I had my own hockey team, Senior A team. It just comes naturally to me. I don’t have any problem doing it. I started it, and when I got hurt the show stopped, but the jump got so much publicity I just kept adding cars and just kept jumping further and further. I guess you might say I was part motorcycle rider and part show.
Smiling Moose: Go Pens!The International food substitute: Gyro!Alley dressing room: How fuckin old are we again?222 Ormsby. That is the stage!
ABC Sports Were you trying to appeal to patriotism by wearing the red, white and blue uniform?
Knievel No, I wasn’t trying to appeal to anybody’s patriotism by wearing the red, white and blue. I really detested the publicity motorcycling was getting at the time I started in the ’60s. I didn’t like the Hell’s Angels at all. So I just took off the black leather jacket and put on a white one — red, white and blue. I’m glad I did. I thought I made the right decision.
Life on MarsAll is right at Primanti Bros.
The goddamn fries are in the sandwich with the egg? Now why didn't we think of that?!
ABC Sports When did you decide you were going to risk your life?
Knievel Well, I really didn’t want to risk my life. But the further the jumps got, the more cars and trucks and buses I jumped, it became a life-risking profession, not just a show.
Found Art, ClevelandMacky the Knifey
ABC Sports Talk a little bit about your injuries.
Knievel I’ve had between 35 and 40 operations. Thirty-some of them were major open-reduction operations where they cut me open, put steel into me, sewed me up, then took it back out a year or so later. I’ve had some real serious open-reduction operations and I just underwent a liver transplant a short time ago.
I know what that’s all about and believe me, I feel sorry for anybody that has to go through the operations. Liver, heart and kidney transplants, it’s a tough way to go.
Just another reason for us all to move to Cleveland.....Inside the club, Beenie holds down the skateramp. Inside the Club, people!
ABC Sports Do you feel lucky to be alive?
Knievel Yes, I feel lucky to be alive. I’ve always felt there was somebody watching over me. I see these other young fellas jumping and there’s been several of them killed and very badly injured. I trained myself to relax when I knew I was going to go over these handlebars. I think that’s probably what saved my life — just knowing what to do.
Our gracious host Paul adds MD 20/20 to the backstage rider....
Ant goin a few rounds on the heavy bag before hittin stage. Alf takes full advantage of the backstage rider...
ABC Sports Are you saying that there’s a way to crash?
Knievel When you crash, it’s like a baby falling out of a hotel window. They don’t know what’s happening, so they’re relaxed. Most of them live through a fall of any distance because they are relaxed. They don’t tighten up. I felt that was the right way for me to do things, and I practiced it and I did it.
As with any proper gig, the night ends in blood.
ABC Sports Did you feel indestructible or bulletproof?
Knievel I did feel bulletproof. I thought I could handle a motorcycle as good as any man in the world and I was very competent and capable at what I was doing. But the bulletproof feeling, after I missed so many times, became a feeling of anxiety. I always felt I could fall many times in life but I’d never been a failure as long as I tried to get up, to continue on, in any way that I could. I think that’s what helped me through my career.
I think the crashing I did and the spills I took, of course, got a lot of publicity. I think if I hadn’t been hurt so many times and didn’t get up, didn’t continue and speak with a positive mental attitude, I don’t really believe I would have become so popular. I think Americans identified with me during the ’70s, I really do. I think I have some wonderful loyal fans around the country.
The welcoming front entrance of Now That's Class.......and here's the exit!Alright, let's bowl fuckers!!
Is there anything more melancholy than driving through the desert in the rain?
Oh sure, when we packed up the gear and jumped in the luxurious CH3 landyacht, it’s all shits and giggles; Giddy to be on our way to the first road work of the year, we chatter away like tweakers on a first date.
It’s been a while since we’ve reconvened, and it’s a time to catch up as the gray warehouses of Diamond Bar, then Pomona float by….we display the latest scars, show off photos of the new grandchildren.
But soon the scenery changes from bleak suburbia to bleak desert, the windshield wipers ticking off a dreadful dirge as we speed through the wasteland.
Conversation slows, then stops altogether, and we each stare out the windows as the world passes by, thinking of home and wasted opportunities.
When we close our eyes to ward off the tears, it’s Eddie Vedder’s soundtrack to Into the Wild we hear……..
Shhh...this one needs his rest!
Heh—first piss stop just outside of Indio, and the sun is shining!! A new day, people—and a quick check to the ol Facebook confirms that it is raining in sheets back home….suckers!
Sprinkles in the desert...
Lunch is a quick stop at the Beer Hunter in La Quinta, yer ususual 19th hole tavern favored by the ladies who lunch and the unemployed who drink…. Oh, Beer Hunter...I guess I won't be needing the red scarf wrapped around me head then?
Made Phoenix by nightfall and need to stock up….
Kimm giddy as a schoolgirl in Arizona's walk-in beer vaults!
Overnight accomodations at a sterile business suite joint, but ya know it doesn’t take much to make it a home for us…..
Well, well-here's a couple of familiar pals!! Pricelined for 29 bucks a night, and the bedbugs are free for the taking!
Showtime at Hollywood Alley in Mesa with our pals in the Freeze —-a great damn show! Had more photos, but they were eventually confiscated by INS. We told them Anthony and Alf were legal, but we’ll let the courts decide!!
Hollywood Alley, Mesa AZ
Sadly, not knowing our way around this burg after a couple decades absent, we had to settle for *sigh* Del Taco for our late night feed/debriefing session. Late night crap fest
But Saturday saw us bright eyed and ready to take on the world–or at least some fine Bloody Marys at Suckerpunch Sally’s diner in Tempe. Good Morning
Pictured: Steak and Eggs, side of biscuits and gravy, chorizo omelette. Not pictured: our black, gluttonous souls!
Met up with Johnny and Tyler, and small world that it is, discovered we had many friends in common. Six degrees of T-Bone, as they say…! Our gracious hosts
Suckerpunch’s is a new roadhouse in the Tempe area, but these guys already have a good thing going. They showed us the Moonshine that is soon to be on the market…
Shine
…and proceeded to pour generous samples!
Oh don't get all prissy on us....it's mixed with energy drink for the drive!
We reluctantly said goodbye to our Az pals and hit the ol Interstate 10 back toward Pomona.
Before hittin the Cali border, had to make a quick stop at Quartzsite….spied a bookstore right off the freeway on the way in, and you know we’re always on the lookout for first edition Jim Harrison, wot?
The bookstore
There I am- on bended knee- head tilted to scan the spines of a dozen Black Sparrow paperbacks, when I glance up and come nose to thong with the rascally bookstore owner…and nudist!
Gaaa.....my friggin eyes!!
After the initial shock of dealing with a naked senior citizen (not to mention some pesky childhood memories that suddenly came rushing back!), we purchased a few mags as well as a nice Bukowski cd…..keep the change bub, and remember the sunblock eh?
Next stop: the Grubstake Social Club just a spell up the road yonder, turn left at the brown dog. Grubstake Social Club, Quartzsite
Saturday evening entertainment at the 'Stake
Regretted not having much of an appetite after scanning the tempting menu!
mmm...and for dessert we'll be having the 'ol prolapsed rectum!Fried Pollock, Fried Landscape
Back in the car, gotta make up for lost time! Pomona’s calling– seems as though people have been following Alf’s increasingly bizarre tweets, and there is serious doubt if we will actually make the gig…..
The skies darken, and we reluctantly head into the rain again. Lightning flashes in the distance, illuminating the barren landscape we’d skated a mere 20 hours earlier.
And once again, the chatter ceases, the car begins to go silent. A man’s thoughts turn inward, for there is no lonelier place on a Saturday night than the darkened cocoon of an American SUV, hurtling through the blackness…..
Luckily, I remembered the Bukowski cd in my pocket, slipped it in the dash and turned it up to 20:
BEER
from: Love is A Mad Dog From Hell I don’t know how many bottles of beer
I have consumed while waiting for things
to get better
I dont know how much wine and whisky
and beer
mostly beer
I have consumed after
splits with women-
waiting for the phone to ring
waiting for the sound of footsteps,
and the phone to ring
waiting for the sounds of footsteps,
and the phone never rings
until much later
and the footsteps never arrive
until much later
when my stomach is coming up
out of my mouth
they arrive as fresh as spring flowers:
“what the hell have you done to yourself?
it will be 3 days before you can fuck me!”
the female is durable
she lives seven and one half years longer
than the male, and she drinks very little beer
because she knows its bad for the figure.
while we are going mad
they are out
dancing and laughing
with horney cowboys.
well, there’s beer
sacks and sacks of empty beer bottles
and when you pick one up
the bottle fall through the wet bottom
of the paper sack
rolling
clanking
spilling gray wet ash
and stale beer,
or the sacks fall over at 4 a.m.
in the morning
making the only sound in your life.
beer
rivers and seas of beer
the radio singing love songs
as the phone remains silent
and the walls stand
straight up and down
and beer is all there is
And wouldn’t ya know it, soon we were right there with Buk, he cursing the audience and drinking with joy, describing the filthy things he had planned for his unsuspecting girlfriend.
The lights of the Inland came into view, and the night sky brightened– with both the glow of electrified civilization, and the promise of yet another gig to go!
No, we didn't make it on the marquee. We did, however, urinate beneath it's sublime neon glow---so we got that goin for us!
Rolled into Vegas around sundown, or I should say rolled past Vegas! Texas Station is located way North of town, right between the What the Hell? and Where the Fuck Are We? highways….
Kimm checks in. What a world, when yer 3rd billed under Bingo!
Loaded into the South Padre lounge and then immediately headed to the all you can eat buffet:
The Feast Around the World. Tomorrow: the Loose Bowel Movements Around Interstate 15
Tell me: What makes us eat like ravenous kennel dogs when we are unleashed upon an open buffet?
I mean, at home you probably wouldn’t consider a weekday dinner consisiting of menudo, baklava, pasta puttanesca, sushi and crawfish etoufee—would you?
Oh sure, you try to start off sensibly. You have a simple entree, maybe a few crunchy appetizers…
Spaghetti. Meatballs. Fried Shrimp. Crab Cake.
…but, what’s that? TBone found some Cajun food over in the corner next to the frosty machines!
Gumbo. Jambalaya. Dirty Rice.
And, huh? Seafood?!–oh, right, it’s Friday! The chilled seafood bar is in full swing, and though I would usually question the wisdom of eating raw oysters that have been sitting in the bacteria biodome that is a las vegas casino, it seems naturally fine tonight! Did I mention we’ve been drinking?
Crab Legs, Oysters, Shrimp.
Things begin to blur at this point. Not even hungry, we eye the plates of the people who have just returned from the buffet, only to bolt out of our chairs and head back to the food! Wait’ll the fellas get a load of this plate!!
Pizza. BBQ Ribs. Chicken.
Things have gotten silly now. Nationalities and flavors, entrees and desserts—they have all begun to melt together in our contest of culinary one-upmanship!….
Collard Greens, Chow Mein. Bean Salad.
Thankfully, we slow down, and eventually stop eating altogether. We come together in silence as we behold the mesmerizing sight of Tbone tackling an endless supply of crab legs!
TBone tries the utensils provided to extract the crabby goodness........only to abandon the tools and use the mouthful of weapons the good Lord blessed him with.......urp? Bird gets a little ahead of himself and swallows a oyster shell sideways.
Then we played the show.
*
*
*
*
Saturday: Up and at em, down to the casino floor for load out and a lil video poker!
10am, back at the bar, and the fellas are hungry for breakfast!Bloody Mary? check. Coors Light? check. Fatburger with fried egg? Oh hell yes!Tomorrow we start the diet my little monkeys--but for now, mangia, mangia!!
Wha? Christ Almighty, what’s with all the complaints about our recent gig coverage? Apparently, some of you people don;t care about our culinary exploits and want to hear about, what? Actual gig news??
We go out of our way to spread the mighty CH3 seed throughout this great Nation, and then we come home and bring you all the details of our travels–and it’s still not enough?!
We’ve received hundreds of emails demanding actual proof that we really played in Las Vegas, as well as a dozen marriage proposals for Tbone.
oooh--his eyes are so dreamy!
What? You can’t trust us? It should be enough for your old buddies here at the CH3 information desk to tell you we went out and played a show.
Frankly, I find it a little insulting that you would demand photographic proof that we actually made it to the stage and played a gig.
Besides, we lost the camera.
And by lost the camera, I don’t mean misplaced it in the casino. No, we ran out of chips to split the Aces with fifty in the hole, so we put the digital down as a marker.
I really hope a one Miss Candace Petersson, StationCasino employee#4516b, hometown Akron Ohio, enjoys the Cannon D1400 Sure Shot. Bitch. Knock yourself out, Sister--I hope you enjoy all the GG Elvis pix that are still on the memory chip!
Thank God our old pals at Big Wheel Mag were on hand to record the festivities!
A combined age of 97 years on this Earth....!!Birthday Boy Kimm tries to stand upright and play a guitar at the same time: But it's so Goddamn easy when yer sober!!
Let's see: All you can eat crablegs+nine beers+a warm shot of Patron. Oh yeah, I gotta remember this combination! Let's speed things up, bitches! The blackjack tables are callin to me!
In my sleep, I tells ya! That's how long I've been playing these same fuckin songs!
(Happy? Check out Big Wheel Magazine for all your news and gig updates, and leave us alone, Goddamnit!)
We’ve been getting a lot of complaints at the
CH3 Home Office regarding the lack of any real punk rock content on these pages. So in an effort to bring you good people up to date, we’ve started a new feature, Our Last Gig! In this column we’ll review our latest show, the venue, opening acts and friends in the audience. Sounds good, huh? Let’s get started:
Ah, Rosemead. It’s been called the hidden jewel of San Gabriel Valley, but we don’t want to let the secret out! After a lengthy layoff from the stage, we decided what better place to get back up there and bust Alf’s balls than this lil gig…..
This color combination has been know to cause epileptic fits in Cambodian children...
You know us, though, and any trip out to SGV has us looking for a bowl of noodles– and I don’t mean Udon, brother! Yeah, that’s it, it’s Pho the fellas had on their mind as they made the wordless trek up the 605.
Can you spot how many animals gave their precious lives for this bowl?
Pho. It’s more than a dish, it is a state of mind that brings all the senses into play. The poetic beauty of the Vietnamese language, the exotic flavorings of the broth. The slight hint of urine that perfumes the ghostly puffs of steam that rise to your grateful face!!
Well, we simply sat back and let our trusty handler Paul Lucas do his thing. Being a citizen of Little Saigon, he knows his way around a plate of Cha Gio, let me tell you! Behind the wheel, Paul set his radar for Viet cuisine and off we flew. Level headed Paul Lucas. He looks 10 years younger on Facebook.
Eventually we settled on My Dung restaurant, nestled right in the middle of Garvey Avenue. The following photo comes from the 11 o’clock news, not 36 hours after we left this fine establishment– Seems a little armed confrontation left 2 dead within these walls. Heh. Well, you don’t get the authentic Vietnamese experience without a bit of the ol “Di Di Mau!”, eh?
My Dung restaurant. Nah, too easy....
The Pho dishes, though generously portioned, lacked a certain depth to the broth. Kimm believes that comes from the failure to roast the bones before making a stock, but that’s Kimm for you!
Dinner was going fine until the waiter brought Mr. Paul his Iced Tea with a slice of lemon—-not a wedge! The audacity! Who the fuck is responsible for this outrage?!
Oh, Paulie, the trouble you’ve seen! On his many travels through the twisted nights of CH3, Paul has seen many things. Sights that would have a lesser man muttering to himself and staring at the lamp, clicking it on, off….on, off.
Here is a man that has taken his share of abuse and good cheer, and his forthright shell has never shown a crack.
Oh, unless you count the little incident at JFK after the boys spent the day with D.I. Casey at McSorley’s on the Lower East Side.
Uh, do you mind, Casey? We're still in the middle of our goddamnned set!
We had to miss 2 flights as we waited for Anthony to sober up between shots at Manitoba’s! Paulie was then subjected to a high speed gypsy cab ride to the airport where Salvadoran porn played non-stop on the overhead DVD player. Get in, rápidamente!! She's about to squirt!
A guitar was left behind at CBGB’s, a cigarette was lit in the security line. The authorities have been called.
It would make any man crack. Sir? Can you step out of line and speak to those kind gentlemen with the uniforms?
That day at the airport, the sun slowly set over our shoulders, reminding us that we were still still! on the East coast. That warm sun was presently sinking into the familiar Pacific waters without our audience. I heard Paul’s voice crack as he pleaded with the ticket lady for the next flight- any flight– to escape these mad men. As we leaned against the Jet Blue ticket counter, so far from home, I caught one of the twinkling teardrops that cascaded off his face and touched it to my lips. The taste? Bitter defeat.
Stay tuned for the next gig report from your ol pals here at CH3!
