Baton Rouge -> Dallas -> Bizarro World -> Baton Rouge

Okay...most of you reading this know I'm a "weekend warrior" drummer. This past weekend, we had a few shows in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. The weekend started Friday night at "The Prophet Bar" in Dallas. The club was decent and the crew was nice, but we felt a little rushed, which is never good. There were five bands playing that night and, unfortunately, we were first, meaning we were the "P.A. guinea pigs". You see, the first band is usually nothing more than an opportunity for the sound guy to get the house mix sounding good. Thus the sense that we were being rushed by the crew to get going.

After our set was over and we had our gear torn down and safely locked away in the trailer, we had some time to have a few drinks, relax and watch the other bands. Oh, yeah...the other bands.

Before I get to the other bands, let me provide a quick explanation of the artist I play drums for. Her name is Lindsay Rae Spurlock and her music could be classified as Indie/Alt-Pop; think of Bjork or The Cranberries. Well, the band that went on after us that night consisted of a drummer and a bassist. That's it. Their music could be classified as Post-Grunge/Punk/Sh*t. The bassist used a ridiculous amount of distortion which, combined with his not-quite-screaming vocals, made it difficult to endure; the club cleared out quickly and remained mostly empty until the end of their set.

Next up was an Afro-Cuban/Mambo band made up of a bunch of "older professional-types." They were quite good at what they did and they succeeded in repairing the damage done by the previous band.

Finally, at around 12:30 Friday night, the "headliner" took the stage. I can't quite figure out how or why this particular band was given the headline slot. You see, the band's online information indicates they've played no shows prior to this one and, as of this past weekend, had no subsequent shows booked...?? But that's not the only reason I'm amazed that they got the headline slot.

They were bad. Not bad as in, "Wow, this band kicks ass". I mean bad as in, "Holy crap, this band SUCKS!", bad. You see, this band had a shtick. That shtick was a strange blend of two eras:

1.) Late-80's hair-metal.
2.) Late-60's spaghetti western movies.

The hair-metal era was represented by the singer's uncanny resemblance to Stephen Pearcy, the lead singer of Ratt. Hair, leather pants, stick-on tattoos and all. Also paying tribute to late-80's hair-metal was the singer's red Ibanez Destroyer guitar. Wow...

The spaghetti western movies were represented through the band's song lyrics and through video images projected onto a screen behind the band. The images of the spaghetti westerns were interspersed with home-movie footage of the lead singer lying in a graveyard wearing a vampire costume and a wrinkly, topless Marylin Monroe impersonator (I know, WTF?!?!?)... The spaghetti western image was furthered by the bassist's cowboy hat and western shirt, which barely contained his bulging beer-gut and man-tits. By the way, the bassist was the singer's step-dad. And he looked every bit his age, too.

Now, none of this would be gag-inducing, strange or insulting at all if there would have been some indication that the whole thing was a joke. But, sadly, there was none. These guys were freaking serious. They struck serious rock-star poses on stage. They wore serious expressions on their faces. They said serious things into the microphone, such as the singer grunting, "I'm really workin' up a sweat here. Any of you ladies wanna come down front and have a taste?"

From my perspective, the most insulting portion of their set was when the Stephen Pearcy imitator played "Folsom Prison Blues" by himself while his "band" took a break. I felt as though I had been kicked in the stomach. But, my wife and I, and the rest of the band, ultimately had a good time at the headliner's expense.

Saturday night's Ft. Worth gig went as close to perfect as it possibly could and we started our trip back to Baton Rouge on Sunday in good spirits. Unfortunately, exhaustion set in about two-thirds of the way home in addition to the onset of a nasty head cold for me. With less than an hour to go, we happened upon a police road block due to a horrible car wreck. The highway was closed and wouldn't be reopened for at least an hour. Luckily, we had a few iPhones which we used to find an alternate route from the highway we were on to Baton Rouge. The alternate route we found would take us south to Interstate 10 via a small road that followed the Atchafalaya river. Little did we know that this road would turn from asphalt to gravel...to dirt...before finally reaching the interstate. We joked, nervously, about how we expected Leatherface to step into our path wielding his chainsaw. But, thankfully, that didn't happen and we finally...made it...home...

What a weekend.

The Good, The Bad, & The Holidays

Well, another Christmas has come and gone and, despite my high hopes and lowered expectations, this Christmas turned out alarmingly similar to last Christmas...and the Christmas before that...and the Christmas before that. Sort of a cross between National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation and The Exorcist.

I live in Louisiana, but the majority of my family, including my parents, live in Dallas, Texas. So, more often than not, when the Holidays arrive, I find myself wrestling with the guilt of having not seen my parents since the prior Holiday Season. And, more often than not, I wind up dragging my wife with me to my parents' home in Dallas.

And...more often than not...we wind up regretting the decision. You see, I really enjoy spending time with my baby sister and my younger brother (my older sister lives on the East Coast and has the good sense to stay there for the Holidays), and I really enjoy spending time with my Dad. However...

...my Mother is another story. I love my Mother, don't get me wrong. But I really have grown to dislike being around her. My childhood memories of my Mother are of her storming around the house, brow furrowed, scowl on her face, cigarette pinched between her fingers, yelling at whoever happened to be within earshot. She was always pissed off about something or at someone. Unfortunately for my Dad, it was usually him.

Now that she has gotten older, instead of being pissed off all the time, she is "in pain" or sad because my Dad's job keeps him out of town, or sad because her grand-kids are out of town, or angry at my baby sister and/or her boyfriend, or...you get the point. My mother craves the experience of people patting her on the shoulder and saying, "Poor thing. Is there anything I can do?"

So...anyway...that brings us to Christmas '08. The first day was good. Mom was in a fair mood, apparently happy to see the wife and me. We had a nice time that day. But, by the second day, the scowl had returned to her face, she was groaning with every move she made and she was bad-mouthing my baby sister, baby sister's boyfriend and my grandmother...??... Wow.

The day after Christmas was even worse and the day after that was the "last straw". That morning, when I woke up and stepped out of the guest bedroom into the hallway, the first sound I heard was dear-old-Mom calling my Dad, who had just gotten home a few hours earlier and was trying to get some much-needed sleep, a "son-of-a-bitch" because he wouldn't take her dog into the backyard. Her dog. The dog she bought to keep her company while my Dad traveled for work and she sat in her recliner watching TV for days on end. Sorry, I seem to be having some sort of flashback. Moving on...

Moments after hearing what Mom said, the wife and I packed our bags and fled the scene, swearing to ourselves that. "We won't do that again!" But, when the summer of 2009 finally fades into autumn and the Holiday Season rears its ugly head yet again, something tells me I'll find myself in yet another wrestling match...