Tales of a Rock 'n' Roll Never-Was (not good enough to be a Has-Been)

Thursday, October 27, 2022

Siouxsie & the Banshees First Ave April 19 1995

Sadly no recording of this show has come my way, but there *is* an amazing story in connection with it.

Here's how I remember it:

At this point I was a regular at First Ave, thanks to their at-the-time EXTREMELY liberal policy on complimentary tickets, and this show by The Banshees was not to be missed. As related in the previous story, I had the pleasure of seeing the band nine years prior and still had fond memories of it. So I was excited about getting the chance to see them again, bonus points as I had heard that John Kline, formerly of one of my all time favorite bands, Specimen, was playing guitar.

As is usual with a really great show I have no recollection of the performance itself. Thanks to The Internets I was able to find the date and set list, and Getty Images has a photo allegedly taken from said show, but none of it lives in my memory. What I *do* remember is meeting the guitar player after the show, and being disappointed that it was not, in fact, John Kline formerly of Specimen, but a jobber who picked up the Banshees gig having just finished a tour with The Psychedelic Furs. Nice guy, just not who I was hoping it would be.

Show over and the concert goers thinning out, Leon and I retired to the small upstairs bar near the office and ordered a few drinks. There was one other guy slumped at the bar, head down, looking like he was passed out. All I remember thinking was that he had scraggly blonde hair and a bandanna tied to his head, and he was in his own world. Leon and I were talking and drinking, drinking and talking, and lamenting about how no current bands were willing to take risks with their music anymore, and how bold and innovative bands like The Banshees were compared to mainstream music. All of a sudden the other guy at the bar popped up and thumped Leon in the chest with the back of his hand and, in a thick British accent, said "We're a dying breed, mate. We're a dying breed!"

It took a second for both of us to realize that the bum passed out next to us at the bar was , in fact, Budgie, drummer for The Banshees! Utterly taken aback, it took another second to regain our composure. We then had a really good conversation with Budgie about music, and how different it was when he was just starting out. It was such a good time that, after about 45 minutes, Budgie said "hang on a minute, there's someone I want you guys to meet. Stay here for a minute", then he sprinted down the stairs. Ten minutes later he returned with a very intoxicated Siouxsie*** in tow and made introductions all around. Sioux held out a limp hand for us to shake as Budgie said "Hey Sioux, these are my new best mates!". She wasn't nearly as involved in the conversation as it resumed and excused herself back to the bus. Budgie hung out for about another hour, just shooting the shit with us like we were long lost friends catching up after years of not seeing each other. Eventually their tour manager wrangled Budgie back to the bus, Leon and I made our way to the parking ramp and went to our respective homes.

*** Siouxie is A LOT smaller than photos lead me to believe. In fact I was surprised; here I was thinking she was an Amazonian goddess, but in reality, with flat hair and boots, was about 5'6"

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

Siouxsie & The Banshees Minneapolis 1986

Siousxise And The Banshees

Orpheum Theater Minneapolis

May 25 1986

Here's how I remember it:

My then-girlfriend, Ms. Emma Rotgut, and I were stoked when we heard the news that one of the original punk bands was going to grace our fair burg with their presence. Siouxsie and the Banshees, the band that got together for the sole purpose of disbanding after a single show in 1976, were still kicking eight years later and we were going to see them. They were to play at the Orpheum Theater, so we had to actually purchase tickets, unlike the scads of free comps. First Ave. was known for handing out like cups of water at an all-ages show. I have no recollection of getting the tickets. I don't think either one of us skipped school to buy them. Maybe Ma Rotgut, who worked in the same building as the ticket seller got them for us... I really can't recall at all.

I really can't remember much of the lead-up to the show, except being an exited 18 year old.

I remember The March Violets were set to open (I had heard of them, never heard them at that point, but in the ensuing decades have become a MAJOR SUPERFAN of the band, and an even bigger fan of Simon D's post-Violets band The Batfish Boys) but apparently had broken up by the time the tour rolled into town, so a band called Mechanical Preacher opened up. Mechanical Preacher included some former member of Gang Of Four, but I was never really a fan and don't remember a single thing about their performance.

One very memorable thing was Ms. Rotgut and I making fun of the young woman and her dad in the seats either next to us or in front of us. Ms. Rotgut and I, in all our holier-than-everyone else attitudes were chortling to each other about how this girl had to bring her dad with her to the show, and how she must just be a weekend poseur in a grey flight suit. Ah, the fallacy of youth and what one does to make one feel better about one's self, even if at the expense of total strangers*.

Mechanical Preacher finish their set and after what seemed forever the lights dimmed, intro music started resounding from the speakers, and the crowd started going crazy. As usual with most concerts I really enjoy, I get lost in the moment and have a very difficult time recalling exact details. I just remember it being a great show, and especially the song Monitor.

Sadly Ms. Rotgut and I didn't last as a couple much more after that show, she moving on to greener pastures. I bummed around for a few years working whatever crap job would let me work with my hair all spiked up, and trying desperately to continue The Ed Gein Fan Club or start something completely new. Summer of '88 I was roped into singing for Iron Fist and got a job at a local health food store working at the frozen yogurt counter. There was another employee of the store who caught my eye, and eventually I screwed up the courage to talk to her. Having just joined my favorite band (Iron Fist) I was pretty cocky and told this young lady she should come to our show that Saturday. She did, sparks flew, and we were together for almost 6 years. Polly Purebread and I moved in together shortly after meeting and while we were unpacking our individual stuff I found my ticket stub from the Banshees show. I showed it Polly and told her it was a really great show. She looked at my ticket stub quizzically for a second and agreed that it was a great show. I was surprised she had been there.

*I told her about the young lady who had to go to the concert with her father and how Ms. Rotgut and I were making fun of her behind her back. Polly smiled, and dug out her own ticket stub from the concert, and EMPHATICALLY said that it was her STEP-dad, and that he was actually a big fan of the band as well as she, and he wasn't there solely to chaperone.

Yeah, Polly Purebread just HAPPENED to be the person Emma and I were ripping to pieces under our breath.

A little while after Polly Purebread dumped me I was trading tapes with J. Free, who just happened to have taped that Siouxsie show.

HERE'S A LINK TO THE SHOW

Monday, May 25, 2020

A Quick Damned Story

Here's how I remember it:

Late 90's

The Mekons were playing at First Ave. in Minneapolis. I don't remember what
they were touring in support of. One of the last songs they played was a
then-new song that had a chorus of "Belly to belly, back to back".
Never being a big enough Mekons fan to know their catalog, but enough to
see them live with a free ticket, I had a good time. I went by myself, as was the case most of the time.

During the entirety of the Mekon's set I kept staring at this long-haired,
bearded hippy playing the balalaika near the back of the stage. The guy
looked really familiar but I just couldn't put my finger on where I knew
him from.

After the band was done I was standing around on the dancefloor talking to some friends when the hippy balalaika player walk past me and it suddenly hit me. I spun around and tapped him on the shoulder. He too spun around and looked very surprised.

I said "the whole show I was trying to figure out who you are, and it
finally hit me; you're Lu Edmonds from the Damned! It would be an honor
to shake your hand!

Lu's eyes widened and he said "No one's called me Lu in AGES, it would be MY honour to shake YOUR hand!"

We shook hands, Lu went backstage, and I went home.

Here's a link to a review courtesy of No Depression

Thursday, April 23, 2020

The half-a-time I saw The Damned

Here’s how I remember it.

The Damned were scheduled to play a drunk show at First Ave in 1986. The drinking age at that time was 19. I was 18. And pissed off that I couldn’t go to the show.

A week or so before the gig the manager at Northern Lights, the cool record store downtown, said that The Damned were going to do an in-store record signing and asked me if I was available to be “security” for the event; basically just keeping an eye on the throngs of miscreant Damned fans to make sure they were not stealing records, drinking, smoking weed etc. Of course I accepted the unpaid offer, hell, I was going to be there anyway.

The day rolled around and my then-girlfriend and I arrived half an hour before the band was scheduled to show up and the place was already pretty crowded. I got the low-down from the manager of the store and took to my post at the top of the stairs where I had a bird’s eye view of the entire layout.

Soon there was a line out the door, snaking up the first staircase, around the upstairs counter, back down the second set of stairs and to the main counter where the band was going to be signing records.

There was a momentary hush, then loud cheers and applause from the crowd, and I was able to make out Dave Vanian’s black-with-white-streak hair bobbing up and down, being lead to a stool behind the main counter. The manager of the store told the fans to quiet down and explained how the event was going to transpire.

Soon enough the line started moving and rabid Damned fans were excitedly passing behind me as I kept an eye out, ready to point out the n'ere-do-well troublemakers.

Of which there were exactly none.

After about 45 minutes the throngs of leather jacketed rock n roll fans was thinning out and the manager of the store said that he could take it from there, and he handed me a promo poster of the cover of the Phantasmagoria album, the record the band was touring in support of, as a “thank you” for helping out. Because the band was still milling around behind the counter I walked up and asked Bryn Merrick and Roman Jugg to sign the poster. Both happily endorsed it and passed it along to Dave Vanian. After Vanian signed it he handed it back to me. I thanked him and walked to the end of the counter where Rat Scabies was holding court and asked him to sign it as well, which he did with a flourish. He then asked me if I was going to the show, and I had to tell him that my then-girlfriend and I were a year too young to get in. Having heard of the early days of The Damned and their loyalty to their fans I sheepishly asked if he could sneak us in. He thought for a second, said “hang on a sec” and leaned over and had a short whispered conversation with Dave. Rat came back and said “Look here, we can’t sneak you in, but we’re about to go do soundcheck right after we’re done here. Why don’t you guys come with us for that. It’s better than nothing.”

Fifteen minutes later the in-store was all wrapped up and the band, their manager, and about 20 fans walked the block from the record store to First Ave, and the manager knocked on the door. One of the First Ave. staff came to the door and looked extremely uncomfortable when he saw the entourage that had followed the band. The manager of the club was called down and immediately said “These kids can’t come in here with you!”

The Damned’s manager shouted “Look, these kids are the reason we’re here, and your club won’t let them in tonight. Either they come in now or we go back to the hotel!”

The club manager thought for a moment, then opened the door and all 26 of us entered the otherwise closed club.

The band eventually took the stage for soundcheck, which took about 45 minutes. The band was then told to be back around 10pm.

Dave said “Hang on, we’re not done yet”. The Damned then proceeded to play another 45 minute set just for us. I don’t remember what songs they played, I just remember thinking that we were getting a private concert by one of my favorite bands.

Finally they ended their impromptu set. Rat and Dave then jumped down from the stage and approached me and my then-girlfriend. Rat said “Sorry it wasn’t the full set, but you get the idea.”

The band stuck around another half an hour talking to all of us until the club manager insisted that we all had to leave so they could open the venue for “real” customers.

I said my goodbyes and thank you’s to Rat and Dave, and my then-girlfriend and I walked to our bus stop, grinning ear to ear.