Simmonz - Starwood - 1990 (Part Two)

I would just have one screwdriver, the hair of the dog ya know? Then I would keep it to beer for the rest of the day.

This forecast worried me! I know they played shows in the rain at Starwood because the main stage and seating were covered, but still, man, this was not fitting into my vision of how this day was supposed to go! (Little did I know.)

The plan was to meet at the studio at 2pm, and then part of the prize was a limo coming to pick us up and take us to Starwood for the big show.

We had our crew boys set to bring the gear out in the band van and trailer, then we could rock star out there in style and for once, not have to carry all of our shit on stage to set up.

It was late August, and hot as fuck. My latest stage clothes were a pair of black spandex bicycle shorts that went down right above the knees, my Asics wrestling shoes, and a black headband... that was it. I had the kick-ass hair back then and weighed in at 6'2" 140 pounds. We had been doing a few outdoor shows, and we rehearsed in a blown outhouse with no air conditioning, so this was not only my stage show, it was my main wardrobe for the summer of 1990. Sometimes I wore a tank top, but mostly just bare chest. Looking back on this, I'm like, "Dude, what the fuck?" I may have been able to play guitar on the Stoli, but other choices? Questionable.

Whatever, you know what? It was a different time, we did what we wanted.

I made my drink and pulled on my bike shorts. Cool, wouldn't have to worry about what to wear tonight, the decision was made. I had grown tired of worrying about that shit anyway. We dealt with image consultants a lot over the years, and we have totally heinous pictures to prove it. I probably still applied some eyeliner though, that shit was cool, especially when you were sweating.

I lit another smoke, stirred the juice, and kicked back on the deck. The worry over the rain subsided, and that feeling of "everything is gonna be alright," came back. We hadn't come this far for the whole deal to get rained out. Just like I knew we were gonna win, I knew we were gonna play the big stage.

I smiled again, savoring the memory from the week before... how did we get here?

We got to play last, the night of the final round at the Cannery Ballroom, and we played a blistering set. I think that gave us the advantage.

The week prior, we sailed through the first rounds with crushing brutality. We had our shit down, man. Everyone was on top of their game. Easlo's voice was killing like never before, Jamie's bass was slamming and tight as hell, Paulie's hands and feet were a blur, but spot on every punch. I, the Kramer star body, and the Marshalls were slamming out premium chunks of Grade A Prime Metal with searing leads from hell.

Round one - BAM!

Round two - BAM!

Round three...

I actually don't remember the rounds.

(There may have only been two rounds... I don't know. I would consult some people, but that would take too long, and I'm on a roll here.)

I remember Thane's band, though. Those fuckers were good. REALLY, good.

I saw them in the first round. They were not as metal as us, probably not even considered metal, but they were killing with great songs, great vocals and harmonies, killer guitars, and drums.

They were the total full package man, and the crowd was digging them just as much as they were digging us.

Fuck!

I was still confident, but one look over at our manager, shaking his head, and for the first time, I thought..." Could we lose this thing?"

No way. I shook it off and started planning the setlist for the final night. We were going to have to move Open Season, to be the closer. Even though I wasn't 100% sure of victory now, I still knew we could do it as long as we kicked major ass. Also, if we got to play last, that would push us over the top, I knew it. I wonder how they were going to decide that?

The line up for the final night was to be decided by drawing straws or numbers out of a hat. Damn!

I was never lucky with that kind of shit.

We showed up for a soundcheck on the final night.

The money was on us, or Thane and his band. We all joked around and shot the shit while all three groups were loading in and setting up, but there was tension. This was it, man, it's all cool and everything like that, but also, you are thinking, "Fuck those guys! They are going down!"

Not really. Well, yeah...really.

Jamie was our lucky charm. We sent him over for the lineup drawing.

We watch as the thing goes down, you couldn't really tell what was going on, then all of a sudden here comes Woody with a big shit-eating grin on his face, "We're last fuckers!"

YES!

Okay, now we are poised for victory. All we have to do is kick ass.

Right then, it occurred to me that I forgot to change my strings. I played a white Kramer Voyager star body guitar with a Floyd Rose tremolo. I know girls, you don't wanna hear this bullshit, but bear with me.

The Floyd is a complicated contraption that locks down on all of the guitar strings, so when you do deadly dive bombs of armageddon, you can come back up in perfect tune. The only thing about them is it takes an hour to change strings. Since mine was free-floating at the time, if you broke a string during the show, you were totally fucked. The whole guitar would be outta whack. You would have to have a backup. Guess who didn't have a backup? I told you I was broke.

Part of my pre-show ritual back in the day was changing the strings on the Kramer.

How could I forget this?

Damn you, Stoli!

Well, it was too late now. I did some mental calculation of how much playing, sweating, and dive-bombing I had done on this set of strings, thought about running out to get a set and changing them there at the Cannery, and then decided to join Easlo for a cocktail instead.

"It'll bee ahite," I said, another catchy phrase of the time.

The show started around 9pm, and I'm sorry, I don't remember who the first band was, but it was whoever it was, I'm sure they were killer, then Thane, then us.

Thane's band killed it. They played a perfect set, and the crowd was going wild for them. They were really starting to hurt my feelings!

We were watching from side stage, and my manager came up to me and said, "I can't believe I let you fuckers talk me into this, I'm losing my mind here! What are we doing here? Dammit, Mikey!"

"Relax, baby!" I said as I put my arm around him. "You just wait, P... we are about to light this shit up!"

I tried to sound more confident than I was because I knew he was a nervous wreck, and those guys were tearing it up. He had been pacing around all night. Dude was like another brother, I did not want to let him down.

He looked me in the eye and said, "You better! Because I can't take this shit. And after this? NO MORE FUCKING CONTESTS! Alright? You gotta promise me!"

"Okay! Okay," I said, "Don't worry!"

I was worried.

We watched as they played their final song, really just killing it, the audience going crazy.

I was chomping at the bit!

I don't know about y'all, but my favorite thing in the world is not standing around waiting to go on stage, while another band is playing. They may be your best friends in the world, and you may be happy for them and part of the brotherhood of music and all that happy horse shit, but on a list of my least favorite things to do, that is right up there at the top.

Okay, time to do it!

Anyone who has played a multi-band show in a club knows the change over between bands can be one of the most gnarly things there is in music.

It's a dark, dirty, frantic mess of dudes, tangled cables, hissing amps, banging drums, loud shouts, feedback, adrenaline-pumping, heart-pounding, bumping into sweaty ass, cussing sound guy, no place to plug in, duct tape, lights in your eyes, spilled beer... wonderful experience!

There's really nothing like it, all while you are trying to remain focused enough to get your shit set up fast and go right into playing a show. You can't fuck around, especially when you are last, you don't want to lose the crowd.

It never fails either, some guy you knew in grade school is right up there at the front of the stage, in your face when you bend over to plug into your pedals or tape down a list, drunk off his ass yelling at the top of his lungs, "HEEEYYYY MANNNNN! You mumember me? HUH? MIKEY! HEYYYYYY!"

"Oh, yeah! How are you, man?" Sweat rolling down my face, wondering why I'm not getting any sound. "Sorry, dude, I'm a little busy," I mumble with a guitar cable in my mouth.

"WHAT? HUH? HEYYY MIKE!"

Goddamnit.

Paulie's quick double bass warm-up thunders through the PA...BIDDLY BIDDLY BIP! BIDDLY BIP!

Then Jamie's bass... BOMP BOMP!

I flip the Marshalls off stand by, and dime the volume... KUNK! BAMMMP BAMMMP! WEEDLYYY WEEDLE WEE! BYYYYYEEEEOOOWWW! (Quick bar drop at the end.)

I look over at Jamie, he gives me the thumbs up, I look back at Paulie, and he gives me the nod, I nod again.

I knew Easlo was behind the stage prowling, ready to go.

Awww yeah. Now it's time... we are in our element.

You have to do a lot of fucking work to get to this moment. Let me tell you, brothers and sisters, when you are finally there, the lights are dark, anticipation hangs in the air, the crowd is cheering, and you know you are about to throw down with the best rocking motherfuckers on the planet...

There is nothing like it. It's the best.

We hadn't even played a note yet, but all of my worries were gone. We were ready as hell.

Paulie didn't wait for the cheesy MC to introduce us, he grabbed his mic and yelled...

"ARE YOU READY?"

The crowd screams, "YEAH!"

"WE are SIMMONZ! We are here to kick your ass!"

Double bass drums fly, whammy bar drops, bass, and drums kick into the opening groove of Bangin' With The Boys, and metal was in the house, big time.

Easlo appears out of nowhere, "I got an appetite for a little action!"

The crowd was way into it from the get-go, wayyy into it. I looked over at our manager with a big smile and gave him the Dio devil horns.

We absolutely killed it! I don't remember a lot of shows from back then, but I remember this one. I don't think I drank much before that one for some reason...good thing.

By the time we closed with Open Season, a real battering ram of a song, by the way, the middle break which repeated at the end was designed to win battles of the bands and get you opening slots at amphitheaters, the crowd was crazy, and we were covered in sweat. They wanted another one!

We had just played one of the best, if not the best show ever!

We didn't play another one though, we left them wanting more.

It was time for the judges to make their decision.

We convened over by the elevator at stage left hugging, laughing, and raising hell.

"You killed that shit, Paulie!

"Dude, that solo in 'Riding On' was insane!"

We cracked open beers and celebrated.

The first thing the judges did was a crowd response contest. They explained the rules and then would yell the band names over the PA and see how loud the crowd got for each one.

They said that was a draw because each band had their own gaggle of fans there, and they were making sure they were heard! I still think we won that one hands down, but who knows.

It was actually a funny scene, and It was driving our manager crazy again, LOL!

The rest of the judging was done by some local music store people, industry people, and radio people. I heard later that the radio people were really down for Thane, and the music store and industry guys were down for us, I never found out if that were true. I think they tried to judge on song structure and all of that bullshit too.

Our songs had structure, they were structured to rock, they were structured to kick your ass!

Finally, after what looked like a heated argument over at the judges' area, one of our old friends stepped to the stage to announce the results.

He started rambling off the prizes, limo ride, full-blown backstage, VIP passes for everybody, hanging with the bands, a bunch of music equipment, and the opening slot on the big stage at Starwood Amphitheater for Bad Company and Damn Yankees.

"And, the winner issssss.....SIMMONZ!"

FUCK YEAH!

Most of the crowd goes wild, while some fans of the other bands were definitely bummed. I saw some dude flip me off.

We start jumping up and down, hugging, pouring beer all over the place.

People are coming up congratulating, yelling in your ear, grabbing you... our manger comes over, "I knew you were gonna win! I knew it!" Dude from grade school, "MIKEY!!! HEY MANNNN... YOU MEMBER MEEE!!!"

It was sweet.

We did it! I looked down at my guitar before I closed the case and started the pack up, damn!

Broken string. It must have happened on the last note of Open Season. BUH BOMP! Then... BOING!

I smiled.

Hell yes, this felt good, so fucking good. We needed this one.

As the crowd filtered out and we started tearing down, Thane and the guys came over and congratulated us, total class act. The business guys got together to go over the logistics for the big show next week, and I wandered over to chat with a music store dude that I knew in passing, who was one of the judges.

"Hey man, what was all of the commotion there towards the end?" I asked.

He laughed, "Dude, you wouldn't believe it! They were so pissed at me."

I looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"Because, look, first off, it was very close, you guys only won by a few points. They had this scoring thing set up in categories and scales from one to ten. I gave you guys all tens! They were like, you can't do that! I was like, the hell I can't!"

I looked at him wide-eyed. I almost hugged him!

"Damn! Thanks, dude! Wow!"

"Dude, you don't have to thank me. You guys totally deserved it! I just voted how I felt. You guys fucking killed it! I was like, 'Hey, you should have given your guys all tens!' They wished they could change their votes or some shit, I don't know. I told them to kiss my ass!"

Now tell me that's not some good shit. I love that guy.

Well, it looked like we had a little gig coming up the next weekend, hot damn!

To be continued...