Salad Days:If you believe there's a Rock n' Roll Heaven...

Bigfoot Chester's Future retitement home, Cootersville Alabama

I felt a great disturbance in the force today, as Obi Won used to say to me all the time. I never knew what the hell he meant either. In any case, today, dear readers, I found out in the news that, after complications from a fall at his New York home, beloved author and pivotal influence to my adolescence, Kurt Vonnegut Jr. died. So it goes. Coincidentally, or maybe not, today is also the birthday of erstwhile teen-idol and Partridge David Cassidy. My calculations make him at about 57. I was also reading a concert revue in the Globe the other day, waxing nostalgic about Iggy Pop and a current tour featuring the Igster and some of the original Stooges at the Orpheum in Boston. Turns out ol' Iggy is over 60 years old himself. Jesus fuckin' bejeepers: Iggy Pop over 60! What the hell! When did that happen? And why is he still out there yelling and a'smearing peanut butter on himself, moshing in the mosh-pit, with kids young enough to be his grandchildren, on that bad hip of his? Man, this kind of stuff gets a me to thinking. Thinking about my own mortality. Thinking of what's left to do and what's been left undone. Got me to thinking about the old Salad Days again, and all the great rock shows I've seen over the years and all the great shows that got away. I had a pretty good run for a while there. So since I've already bored the starch out of my wife with these stories at least a hundred times, I guess it's up to you, faithful readers of SBL#178, to absorb the brunt of my nostalgic ruminations. So, here they are: the top 5 rock n" roll highs and rock n" roll lows from the arhives of Bigfoot Chester's pre-dementia memory bank. In no particular order, I offer up the following excerps from Rock History:

High- Only a Lad: Backstage with Oingo Boingo and Squeeze:

The Orpheum Theatre in Boston some time in the mid-80's. Me and my old buddy Duayne Sherman scored some tickets from this guy named Roman from Oingo Boingo's label. We called Roman from the Dunkin Donuts in Saugus on the way into town. He say,' do you want to meet the band'? We says, 'sure, why the hell not'. So we got to meet Roman and the entourage at Legal Seafood, a very chi-chi eatery in Fannual Hall. So I'm there sitting next to Danny Elfman, chit-chatting about his new project, soundtracking a Rodney Dangerfield movie or something. Very nice. So we finish eating and are invited to sit in for their soundcheck. We thoroughly enjoy the check and also a great set by Boingo, before the main act comes on, one of my personal favorites,Squeeze. Gifford, Tillbrook, Carrack et al play a sensational set and we are invited by Roman to come back stage and schmooze with the band. So imagine me, long haired leaping gnome back stage drinking Heinekin, talking shit with Jules Holland, ace piano palyer and seemingly one hell of a nice guy. I went home that night with two souvenirs: Oingo Boingo's setlist and one hell of a case of heart burn from the salmon I had at Legal Seafood. What a night.

Low-Missing the Stones 1981:

Back in the 70's, the Stones were the greatest show on earth. I mean if Jesus came back he wouldn't have been a hotter ticket. Even in 1981, when I first dipped my toes into college life, they were still pretty cool. Not like now, when the old buggers look like Dame Judy Dench and the fucking Golden Girls. In 1981, they were still cool: on the bubble, but still cool. Anyway, amazingly, though I'd been to many big rock shows already, I had yet to see the Stones. Alas, by the time I got to my bank, rounded up my ol' buddy Spot, raced to Augusta to the nearest Ticketron outlet in my 1974 Mercury Monterray, and got a speeding ticket, we found ourselves 6 people short in line. As the ticket window slowly close, so also disappeared my hope of ever seeing the Stones while they were still cool. Well, at least we'll always have that Super Bowl Half time.

High-Warren Zevon at Merril Hall Auditorium:

Me and ol' Spot, together again. We were a bit earlty to the show and were low on cash, so instead of hopping bars until show time, we decuided to get our seats ahead of time. We must have been really early, because when we went through the gate, there was nobody there. So we leave our tickets on the counter and find our spots, balcony Center. Not bad. Turns out I was privey to another big sound check. Spot gets bored and starts snooping around backstage. He comes running back and tells me he found Zevon's dressing room and heard him talking. So we both go back and prepare to hound the poor bastard. But halfway there, we meet the Zevon entourage coming on-stage to finish the soundcheck and test Mr. Zevon's mic. As he passes by us Mr. Zevon points to the balcony in the stately old theatre and says 'Seat Mr. Lincoln over there'. The security guys subsequently tell us to return to our seats until show time. We enjoy a great show and 'his hair was perfect'.

Low-The Big Easy:

New Orleans, right around Mardi Gras. Hurricanes, Gumbo and the French Quarter. Possibly one the most classic bars in the world, Tchoupitoulas', in the eclectically seedy warehouse district. What could be a better backdrop for an epic night of music, right? Who was playing that night? The Radiators? The Neville Brothers? Stevie Ray Vaughan? No, friends, it was 'That Petrol Emotion'. Who? That's right, 'That Petrol Emotion'. I finished my beer and went back to the hotel.

High-Johnny B. Goode:

Living Legend Chuck Berry at the Pit, Orono Maine. I was back in high school and somehow my parents gave me the nod to take my 74 Merc, the Deathmobile to a real live 'concert'. Probably didn't hurt that it was Chuck, one of my dad's favorites. Anyhow, me and the usual list of suspect, including the infamous Hazelton Bros. twisted the night away to the boogie woogie strains of the Architect of Rock n' Roll himself. At the last encore, Ol' Chuck invited a number of front-stagers to come up on the stage and dance with band. So there I am, not more than 3 feet from the wrinkly old bastard, while he did the Duck-Walk. Claaaaasic.

Low-Smokin' in the Boys Room, Rockland Maine:

You all rmember the 70's hit Smoking in the Boy's Room by Brownville Station, right, also covered by some hair band in the 80's, Motley Crue, I think. Well me and this little band I was in, Strange Brew, was playing in Rockland Maine, home of the North Atlantic Blues Festival. Well no, we weren't actually playing at the Fest, but since a lot of the actual musicians were staying at the Tradewinds Hotel, where we were playing, there were a lot of 'celebrities' in the audience. So anyway, this dude comes up to us at break and asks if we would like to do a set with Cub Coda, founder of Brownville Staion, 'you know, Smokin' in the Boy's Room'. We says sure, it sounds like a blast to jam with a real live musician. This could be our big break. Turned out, not only was the guy a no-talent, but he was the biggest, most pompous ass I had ever jammed with. I shouldn't be telling you this, because, evidentally he croaked a couple of years back, and I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. But hey, Kurt Vonnegut also croaked. So it goes.

High-Gabba Gabba Hey at the Living Room:

The Living Room, back in the 80's, was the hottest night club in Rhode Island short of The Station. The Ramones were the greatest rock n' roll band to ever lay down three chords and a cloud of dust. Jane's Addiction was the most pertinent up and coming Alt-band on the scene. A recipe for success. You bet. Undoubtedly the best show I've ever been to. As the Mow-hawked, noes-bloodied dude I smashed into in the Mosh pit so eloquently summarized the scene, a la Keanu Reeves, 'Whow dude'!

Low-Make mine a Tuborg-Jame Taylor at Tanglewood:

As previosly written in 'Salad Days: Me and Meryl Streep and James Taylor and Barely Spraged', I hadn't always been the biggest James Taylor fan, though I've since grown to be. At the time, though, after seeing shows like aforementioned Ramones at the Living Room, JT at the ultra-mellow Tanglewood scene seemed like a notch or two lower on the coolness scale. To make matters worse, I found my self waiting in a long beer line before the show. Well, let me retrace: it was cool that I could buy beer at least. Bu who should be in line with me waiting for a brew than Academy Award winning actress Meryl Streep. The coolness level plummeted precipitously. Anyhow, it turns out we bought the same brand of beer, Tuborg Gold, and, like me, her favorite movie of all time was Repo Man. Who'd a thunk? I thoroughly enjoyed the show, as well as my brush with fame a la Streep, but that's between you and me, 'kay?

High-Dont'cha be no Baaad Boy:

Pine Top Perkins is a still legendary blues pianist, a pivotal influence on both Blues and Rock n' roll. He played with many legendary front men, most notably Muddy Waters. His recordings read like a living history of Blues music and his live shows are legendary. The thing about old blues musicians, though, is, that after a while they get a little kooky. Though the night I saw him play at the Tradewinds in Rockland was epic, the highlight of the show came during a break. Being blues groupies, me and my friends sought out and clustered around ol' Pinetop and sought to shoot the shit and benefit from his greatness. Ol' Pinetop, on the other hand, just wanted to have him a drink or two and catch a buzz before he went back onn. He also, it seemed, wanted to hit on all the members of our party, men and women alike. As I was bringing ol' Pinetop another round, I see him rubbing his pelvis up against my buddy ol Tom, saying, 'dont'cha be no baaaad boy. You ain't no baaad boy are you'. No shit. 'Uh, Mr. Perkins, it's time to go back on'.

Low-Iggy at the Channel, mid-80's:

Iggy Pop always represented the seedy underbelly of Rock. The Channel always represented the seedy underbelly of Boston Rock clubs. Iggy was also riding a wave of popularity from his big hit 'Cold Metal'. The Channel was one short subway ride from where I was living at the time. Iggy would subsequently use the recordings from this gig to make a live record. The Boston Globe decribed the show in such epocryphal terms as 'tour de force' and 'juggernaut' .

Only an asshole would miss a show like that, right? Well call me an asshole, because I missed it. Not because my Mom was sick in the hospital. Not because I had to be at the birth of my first child. No, just because I didn't feel like going out that night. When I die and go to the Pearly Gates, and they ask me if there's one thing I would go back and change, it would be that I would have gone to see Iggy Pop that night. You know why? Because now he's over 60. And he's got a bad hip. And one of these days, I'll pick up the Globe and read that Iggy Pop has died in his Detroit Mich. home after complications from a fall. Just like Kurt Vonnegut.

So it goes.