Chapter 5: The Battle of Shreveport
Now that we've made our presence known in Texas, it's time to conquer the surrounding states. Right. We're headed to Shreveport, LA or "The Next Great City of the South"(according to their website). I don't know who's waiting in the "Great Southern Cities Line", but I'm fairly sure Shreveport is not next... unless they cut... or paid another city to hold a place in line for them. Shreveport is that guy in the 80's who showed up at the Stark Club in an acid-washed duster, day-glo "choose life" t-shirt, plastic high-heeled boots from Journeez, mousse-caked mullet and a chandelier hanging off one ear, swaggeringly convinced that his slamming look will get him picked from the crowd. But alas, the velvet rope is always just a liiiiiitle too high - DENIED! Nevertheless, Jayson has been playing there regularly for several years and always goes over well, so great or not - here we come.
Original bass player/backing vocalist Trae Bon Jovi is regrettably no longer with the band, and filling his very big, pointy shoes is Travis Behl, formerly of the recently defunct Transcenders(although they've played at least two last shows since). Travis spent several months subbing for Trae(along with a good friend of mine and musician extraordinaire, Gerard Dirkx) and we were convinced from the very beginning that Travis was the perfect fit, but it took Travis a little longer to convince himself of that(perhaps he had read my blog). After weeks of careful consideration and relentless ass-kissing by us, he finally came around. So, without further adieu, my signature hacking shall commence.
At first glance, you might mistake Travis' bass for an axe or deer rifle - he looks like he just walked out of a Jack London novel; full beard, longish, shaggy hair and worn, earthy clothes(I doubt he owns anything with ruffles). But if you look a little closer, he's more of a Matt Hooper(Richard Dreyfuss' character in Jaws), especially with those little glasses he wears and a slight pseudo-intellectual hippy vibe he exudes; he's way too civilized for a mountain man and I'm not aware of any affinity for wolf-dogs(or sharks for that matter). Besides his groove-locking bass work, Travis is a very talented and classically trained singer, which is perfect for the temporary void in backing vocals left by his predecessor. But in my opinion, Mr. Behl's real strength, at least as far as the Revival is concerned, is his bridging ability. By that I mean that he fills the gap between the two factions in the band - Jayson and me(Greg is omnipotent and in both factions). Like Jayson, Travis is very interested in pushing the envelope musically and exploring the new and different; they both are huge Wilco(and other much stranger indie bands you've never heard of) fans, thriving on the unknown and revelling in the impromptu. At the same time, Travis and I share a strong dedication to rehearsal and appreciation of detail; traits that require a certain adherence to repetition, which is the surest method of destroying an aloof lead singer. Also, Travis is now the new guy, a position I just recently graduated from and so we have that very special bond. I guess you could say that a loss was ultimately the band's gain, and a shark expert brought the ocean and the coastal town closer together... (what?!!)
This trip, we're playing at a club called Flannagan's, which squats obscenely along Kings Hwy.(king of what?) among several other seedy bars and the like. Apparently, this is the entertainment district, outside of the casinos. It's relatively close to a small school, Centenary College, which is of course out for summer, placing us in direct violation of Band Booking Rule #1(learned in Stephenville): never play a college town during the summer unless you're a fan of natural reverb - the kind you get in big, empty venues. Fantastic. And Flannagan's is a big venue, with two full bars, a billiards room, a competition size stage complete with 3' drum riser and ramparts(?) on the front to presumably repel a respectable invasion force(which explains the diversionary fog machine). Confident in our strategically defensive position, we haul up the equipment and dig in. In addition to our impressive fortifications, Flannagan's has generously supplied us with provisions, in the way of a free case of beer - "If it's war they want, it's war they'll have!" All this talk of battle is making me thirsty, so Travis and I dig into the provisions, while Jayson and Greg try and explain to the bartender(the one that's not sound asleep - swear to God) what Maker's Mark is. Fortunately, reinforcements arrive in the way of Shreveport Revival fans, and though they're a small, ragtag outfit, every person counts. I'm starting to smell victory.
The hour draws nigh and we take up our positions on Fort Stage. I have to admit, that looking around at this massive emplacement, I'm having a bit of a Spinal Tap moment and my imagination is flooded by multiple scenarios of me leaping off that drum riser, legs splayed in mid-air, landing on the downbeat of a ripping guitar solo while screaming girls throw themselves mindlessly at my feet... sorry... I grew up in the 70's. We charge into the first two songs of the set and things are going well. Gradually more and more people trickle through the front door until we actually have a respectable crowd... and they're digging it. And then, the enemy attacks; not enforce, from behind or above, but from directly in front of us... a most unexpected lone assailant, in the form of a buxom brunette - diabolical! She is innocently sitting alone at a table up front, and as we play on, her reactions become increasingly more animated; what starts as an inconspicuous, rhythmic head-bop slowly morphs into a full-on, exotic pole dance... sans pole. I've just worked my way to the edge of the stage for a better look, when to my delight... I mean shock, she lifts her skirt and gives us her broadside. Now I don't mean to imply that she's not attractive; she is... for her age and I'm sure she was quite a dish in her day, but regrettably that day has passed... at least for showing your ass to a club full of people. But I can't help admiring her moxy and I have to admit that I'm somewhat fascinated by trashy older women, hell-bent on revealing their well used wares. With most people, modesty is conversely relative to age; that is, the older you get the less you show... and for good reason. However, some people obviously subscribe to the opposite equation, or maybe a different equation altogether where lack of modesty is a constant in the formula... from birth until death... yuk. Possibly this particular lady's efforts have nothing to do with math and she just wants to score in the biblical sense. We'll never know for sure because shortly into her performance, Flannagan's has (surprisingly)had enough and escorts her out of the establishment. Over the course of the evening, several other girls try to pick up the banner so to speak, but with age(apparently) comes conviction and the younger fill-ins are found lacking... good effort, though. We finish out our tour of duty, and the night is ours; I can't contain my elation and allow myself a victory-flaunting, last guitar solo perched on the ramparts - my own little coup de grace... or cheesy Spinal Tap move, depending on your point of view.
One of the cool things about playing Flannagan's, is that they have a band house located nearby to accommodate bands from out of town, thereby eliminating the expense(and harrowing experience) of a motel stay. The last time we played there, we had two bedrooms with 2 full beds in each, and our own bathroom. This time however, the band house has taken on some permanent borders and our accommodations have been reduced to one bedroom with 3 full beds crammed in. As the suddenly defeated Revival surveys our disappointingly downgraded situation, several immediate issues must be addressed:
Now that we've made our presence known in Texas, it's time to conquer the surrounding states. Right. We're headed to Shreveport, LA or "The Next Great City of the South"(according to their website). I don't know who's waiting in the "Great Southern Cities Line", but I'm fairly sure Shreveport is not next... unless they cut... or paid another city to hold a place in line for them. Shreveport is that guy in the 80's who showed up at the Stark Club in an acid-washed duster, day-glo "choose life" t-shirt, plastic high-heeled boots from Journeez, mousse-caked mullet and a chandelier hanging off one ear, swaggeringly convinced that his slamming look will get him picked from the crowd. But alas, the velvet rope is always just a liiiiiitle too high - DENIED! Nevertheless, Jayson has been playing there regularly for several years and always goes over well, so great or not - here we come.
Original bass player/backing vocalist Trae Bon Jovi is regrettably no longer with the band, and filling his very big, pointy shoes is Travis Behl, formerly of the recently defunct Transcenders(although they've played at least two last shows since). Travis spent several months subbing for Trae(along with a good friend of mine and musician extraordinaire, Gerard Dirkx) and we were convinced from the very beginning that Travis was the perfect fit, but it took Travis a little longer to convince himself of that(perhaps he had read my blog). After weeks of careful consideration and relentless ass-kissing by us, he finally came around. So, without further adieu, my signature hacking shall commence.
At first glance, you might mistake Travis' bass for an axe or deer rifle - he looks like he just walked out of a Jack London novel; full beard, longish, shaggy hair and worn, earthy clothes(I doubt he owns anything with ruffles). But if you look a little closer, he's more of a Matt Hooper(Richard Dreyfuss' character in Jaws), especially with those little glasses he wears and a slight pseudo-intellectual hippy vibe he exudes; he's way too civilized for a mountain man and I'm not aware of any affinity for wolf-dogs(or sharks for that matter). Besides his groove-locking bass work, Travis is a very talented and classically trained singer, which is perfect for the temporary void in backing vocals left by his predecessor. But in my opinion, Mr. Behl's real strength, at least as far as the Revival is concerned, is his bridging ability. By that I mean that he fills the gap between the two factions in the band - Jayson and me(Greg is omnipotent and in both factions). Like Jayson, Travis is very interested in pushing the envelope musically and exploring the new and different; they both are huge Wilco(and other much stranger indie bands you've never heard of) fans, thriving on the unknown and revelling in the impromptu. At the same time, Travis and I share a strong dedication to rehearsal and appreciation of detail; traits that require a certain adherence to repetition, which is the surest method of destroying an aloof lead singer. Also, Travis is now the new guy, a position I just recently graduated from and so we have that very special bond. I guess you could say that a loss was ultimately the band's gain, and a shark expert brought the ocean and the coastal town closer together... (what?!!)
This trip, we're playing at a club called Flannagan's, which squats obscenely along Kings Hwy.(king of what?) among several other seedy bars and the like. Apparently, this is the entertainment district, outside of the casinos. It's relatively close to a small school, Centenary College, which is of course out for summer, placing us in direct violation of Band Booking Rule #1(learned in Stephenville): never play a college town during the summer unless you're a fan of natural reverb - the kind you get in big, empty venues. Fantastic. And Flannagan's is a big venue, with two full bars, a billiards room, a competition size stage complete with 3' drum riser and ramparts(?) on the front to presumably repel a respectable invasion force(which explains the diversionary fog machine). Confident in our strategically defensive position, we haul up the equipment and dig in. In addition to our impressive fortifications, Flannagan's has generously supplied us with provisions, in the way of a free case of beer - "If it's war they want, it's war they'll have!" All this talk of battle is making me thirsty, so Travis and I dig into the provisions, while Jayson and Greg try and explain to the bartender(the one that's not sound asleep - swear to God) what Maker's Mark is. Fortunately, reinforcements arrive in the way of Shreveport Revival fans, and though they're a small, ragtag outfit, every person counts. I'm starting to smell victory.
The hour draws nigh and we take up our positions on Fort Stage. I have to admit, that looking around at this massive emplacement, I'm having a bit of a Spinal Tap moment and my imagination is flooded by multiple scenarios of me leaping off that drum riser, legs splayed in mid-air, landing on the downbeat of a ripping guitar solo while screaming girls throw themselves mindlessly at my feet... sorry... I grew up in the 70's. We charge into the first two songs of the set and things are going well. Gradually more and more people trickle through the front door until we actually have a respectable crowd... and they're digging it. And then, the enemy attacks; not enforce, from behind or above, but from directly in front of us... a most unexpected lone assailant, in the form of a buxom brunette - diabolical! She is innocently sitting alone at a table up front, and as we play on, her reactions become increasingly more animated; what starts as an inconspicuous, rhythmic head-bop slowly morphs into a full-on, exotic pole dance... sans pole. I've just worked my way to the edge of the stage for a better look, when to my delight... I mean shock, she lifts her skirt and gives us her broadside. Now I don't mean to imply that she's not attractive; she is... for her age and I'm sure she was quite a dish in her day, but regrettably that day has passed... at least for showing your ass to a club full of people. But I can't help admiring her moxy and I have to admit that I'm somewhat fascinated by trashy older women, hell-bent on revealing their well used wares. With most people, modesty is conversely relative to age; that is, the older you get the less you show... and for good reason. However, some people obviously subscribe to the opposite equation, or maybe a different equation altogether where lack of modesty is a constant in the formula... from birth until death... yuk. Possibly this particular lady's efforts have nothing to do with math and she just wants to score in the biblical sense. We'll never know for sure because shortly into her performance, Flannagan's has (surprisingly)had enough and escorts her out of the establishment. Over the course of the evening, several other girls try to pick up the banner so to speak, but with age(apparently) comes conviction and the younger fill-ins are found lacking... good effort, though. We finish out our tour of duty, and the night is ours; I can't contain my elation and allow myself a victory-flaunting, last guitar solo perched on the ramparts - my own little coup de grace... or cheesy Spinal Tap move, depending on your point of view.
One of the cool things about playing Flannagan's, is that they have a band house located nearby to accommodate bands from out of town, thereby eliminating the expense(and harrowing experience) of a motel stay. The last time we played there, we had two bedrooms with 2 full beds in each, and our own bathroom. This time however, the band house has taken on some permanent borders and our accommodations have been reduced to one bedroom with 3 full beds crammed in. As the suddenly defeated Revival surveys our disappointingly downgraded situation, several immediate issues must be addressed:
- 3 beds/ 4 musicians - an obvious lopsided ratio. Jayson and Greg never have a problem doubling up in this department(secure or creepy?) - Travis and I have a big problem with it. Two adult men in a full bed? I don't sleep that close to my wife. Travis slickly takes the martyr route and volunteers to crash on the faux leather sofa in the living room - pretty wise move for the new guy.
- None of the beds have a top sheet and all have unidentifiable stains on the well worn pillows and spreads. How do I lay down without coming in contact with said stains? I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that my bed stain is way too large for any overflow from carnal recreation, so it must have been some type of spill... a glass of wine perhaps... an intoxicated bladder... a leaky amputation wound... it's also crusty. I am no longer comforted.
- Jayson snores like a chainsaw and I have forgotten my earplugs. It's really more than a snore - more like lycanthropy. I'm convinced that he transforms into a werewolf during the night, but I'm too afraid to open my eyes.
Tragically, the results are inescapable - very little sleep. Except for the Wolfman.
But tomorrow is another day... that's here now, last night is just a wakeful memory forever stained in my mind, and we need food. Our objective now is to find a decent place(that's open on Sundays) to get some breakfast. Fortunately, Jayson, Travis and I are able to muster the fortitude to override Greg's sad love affair with IHOP(International House of Pathetic) and the swill they call coffee, which after the night I've had, is not to be skimped on. I cannot figure out how a guy with such reasonably good taste in everything else(his house looks like a West Elm display) totally misses the boat on food - we have actually debated El Fenix vs. Mi Cocina! Anyway, we dodge that bullet this morning and after a somewhat lengthy search, turn up a little diner that's not half bad - the coffee is consumable and they've got interesting, vintage bric-a-brac on the walls(like a Lone Ranger puzzle I had as a kid). After sufficient refueling, unloading and reminiscing, we're road worthy again and hit the homeward highway. At this point, a return to Shreveport seems doubtful - not enough bang for the beating. That is, until Jayson spots a tiki bar on the way out of town; at the risk of further derailing the band's already teetering image, yes, our lead singer is a tiki aficionado(see Trader Vic's). Keep an eye out for Jayson Bales & the Coerced Coconuts, live at the Tiki Tavern in Shreveport, LA, "The Next Great Luau of the South".
posted by Johnny Ferrell at 6:21 PM
1 comments
