The Pat Tragedy Story Chapter Two: Making The Band 1985
Chapter Two
I sat there on the edge of Eric's bed, nodding my head to the rollicking roadhouse blues of Pat Travers' Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights), realizing now what Eric and Chet envisioned just moments earlier; this was a great air guitar song.
Before the track ended, Chet, Eric and I had again reached an unspoken agreement. This would be the song we'd do for the Air Guitar Contest. As the tone-arm automatically returned to it's resting place with a "clack", we were already deep into discussion as to who would handle what parts.
"Who wants to sing?", I asked, meaning who would lip-synch.
"Hmm, I dunno", said Eric. Eric actually played guitar, so it was natural that he play lead air guitar. But it didn't seem that he wanted to be "Pat Travers", thereby having to sing as well. No answer from Chet.
I had assumed that I'd play bass. I always had (and still do have) an affinity for the bass. For this performance, I figured that the bass part would be the easiest to fake and not knowing a damn thing about playing any instrument, I volunteered. That left the second guitarist's spot, drums, and vocals. With Eric on lead guitar and me on bass, we mulled over the drummer's position.
"Man, the drums kinda suck for this thing", I offered. "You don't really get to do much and you might even look stupid. All you can do is flail your arms and flop your feet in time". I looked at Chet. Eric read my mind and said to him, "You gotta take Thrall's (Pat Thrall, second guitar) spot, man". Chet readily agreed, really having already made up his mind, but waiting to claim that 2nd guitar solo as his own. So we had the two guitarists and the bassist taken care of. Now, we had to decide on the drummer.
Sean seemed the likely candidate, what with his lineage. As far as we were told, over many Big Gulps and bags of Doritos, Sean's uncle had played percussion in Santana's band during the late '70s. He had a few bootleg recordings on cassette and we heard them over and over when we visited his place. It was cool listening to that stuff, but in '85, Santana circa 1978 is light years away from Iron Maiden's Powerslave album. Sean would play bongos along with these hissy recordings of his uncle playing with Santana and I'd have Two Minutes To Midnight playing in my head.
Sean lived out on a chicken farm. Me and the guys would go pick him up in the old '76 Sunbird to hit Tower Records and cruise around on Friday nights. Man, you could smell his place before you could see it. I always felt a little sorry for Sean. I know that when I was a teenager, my room stunk like God's wrath upon my parents, but this guy's whole house stunk like chicken shit. There was a time when we were all really enamored with the debut album from Montrose. Unfortunately, because we played it at full volume 5 times straight in Sean's room, my lasting memory of the song Space Station #5 is that of the rank smell of poultry dung. Now, every time someone feels slighted and uses the phrase, "That's chickenshit", in my head I agree by thinking, "Yeah man, that's Montrose".
So we decided that we'd ask Sean to play the air drums in the show. Then the guys realized that we hadn't thought to include Gavin. I hadn't mentioned his name because I knew he'd screw everything up. He screwed everything up. I lived near Gavin and had more experience with his inclination to goof off than the other guys did. Like the time he flipped off the cop while we played Wiffle Ball in his driveway. He had no reason to do it and all it did was earn us some grief from an irritated police officer. While the Air Guitar contest was going to be fun, we were already taking it pretty seriously and I really didn't want Gavin getting up there and ruining it for us. The guys agreed and we had our outfit set. Except for the singer.
"Shit man," said Chet, "you could do it, Tone".
I shrugged. "Well...yeah, but Pat Travers doesn't play bass."
Eric noted that we didn't have to be completely accurate in our portrayal of The Pat Travers Band as almost no one in our school would know who the hell Pat Travers was. So I agreed to sing and play air bass. Now we were really set. Eric had two guitars and we borrowed a bass from a friend. This guy hadn't finished re-stringing the bass, but were short on time and who would notice anyway? That's why there are only three strings in the pictures. But we'd have real instruments while the other lame acts would just be playing real air guitar. Our only regret would be that Sean would have to settle for keeping the beat on an invisible kit.
In the next days we started practicing at each others houses. Over and over, we ran through the tune, coming up with new moves and choreography. With two guitar solos (one by Travers and the other by Thrall), both Chet and Eric would have a chance to move to center stage. We also were proud of ourselves for incorporating a move made famous by Iron Maiden and Judas Pries, among others. Towards the end of the song, the two guitarists and I would stand together, rocking in unison to the rhthym until we hit the power chords during the crescendo. We each were getting used to our parts, becoming a fine tuned rock and roll machine. I was doing okay with mimicking the vocals, but in the middle of this particular track, Pat Travers speaks to the audience to coach them on the audience participation segment. The cadence of his speech took some getting used to, but I practiced it everywhere; in the car, in my room, in the shower, etc. With just a couple of more days until the contest, I felt that all those years of strumming that tennis racquet with a quarter as a pick and singing into that Mennen Speed Stick were finally going to come in handy.
Hanging around at school during morning break on the day before the contest, we were excitedly going over final preparations. Jokingly, I suggested that we submit the name, The Pat Tragedy Band, because Travers had recently pretty much disappeared from the mainstream, playing small clubs in tiny towns. Eric saw this as blasphemous and insisted we call ourselves The Pat Travers Band, even though kids might later scour their yearbooks looking for this Pat guy they'd never heard of before. Gavin was there with us that day as usual and he wasn't real happy to be excluded from the lineup. He would look bored and try to change the subject whenever air guitar came up. I felt a little sorry for him, but I knew we had made the right move. I commented that I didn't exactly look like a rock star, what with the huge red hair and glasses look I'd perfected over four years.
I suggested that I could wear a wig and sunglasses and no one would no who I was. It would also give me something to hide behind, relieving what were sure to be jittery nerves at showtime.
That afternoon, Eric and I went to a local magic shop/novelty store and bought a long black wig for about six bucks. The moment I tried it on, we both busted up laughing and just had to have it. Our school had a strict dress code that included a stipulation that no male's hair would go beyond the collar of his shirt, so coming out on that stage with this getup would stand out for sure.
Back home that night, I went over the lyrics one final time in my head, now knowing them by heart and not even needing the song playing behind me. I laid out the wig and the clothes I'd wear the next day and drifted off to sleep thinking that there was no way that we wouldn't be crowned Air Guitar Champs of 1985.
Next: The Pat Tragedy Story Chapter Three: Flying Blind To The Edge
Boom Boom had just what we were looking for and more. Contained within the structure of the tune were simple lyrics, a rockin' beat, and two distinct guitar solos. The icing on the cake was that the track was culled from a live performance that included crowd noise and audience participation, so there would be no awkward fade out and the Student Body might even be moved to join in. We could see it now......
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Pat Travers never enjoyed a ton of radio success. His career, like many artists' of the late '70s and early '80s, was built mainly on album sales and touring. His 1976 debut album contained a fairly straight take on Little Walter's subdued, but vicious, blues song from 1955, Boom Boom (Out Go The Lights). But by the time the 1978 live album Go For What You Know came out, Travers' version had progressed into a more heavy and powerful showcase for his guitar playing prowess that was a mainstay featured in his concerts.
Before getting to know Eric and Chet better during my Junior year (I'd met Chet during my Freshman year and Eric a year later), my only exposure to Pat Travers' music was via the late, lamented Fresno radio station KKDJ. This station played everything that huddled under the rock and roll umbrella. On any given day, you could hear selections ranging from Black Sabbath to Thomas Dolby. I remember that on the last day of school during my junior year, I heard one run of tunes that included The Romantics' What I Like About You, Iron Butterfly's In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, Rainbow's Since You've Been Gone, and of course, Alice Cooper's School's Out (a last day of school tradition for as long as I listened to KKDJ, played on consecutive days around 3:00pm to accommodate various school districts in the Central Valley). Ironically, the only Travers song I'd ever heard on KKDJ then was the live version of Boom Boom and I'd always liked it for the raucous crowd's enthusiastic participation in screaming the line, "Out go the lights".
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Before the track ended, Chet, Eric and I had again reached an unspoken agreement. This would be the song we'd do for the Air Guitar Contest. As the tone-arm automatically returned to it's resting place with a "clack", we were already deep into discussion as to who would handle what parts.
"Who wants to sing?", I asked, meaning who would lip-synch.
"Hmm, I dunno", said Eric. Eric actually played guitar, so it was natural that he play lead air guitar. But it didn't seem that he wanted to be "Pat Travers", thereby having to sing as well. No answer from Chet.
I had assumed that I'd play bass. I always had (and still do have) an affinity for the bass. For this performance, I figured that the bass part would be the easiest to fake and not knowing a damn thing about playing any instrument, I volunteered. That left the second guitarist's spot, drums, and vocals. With Eric on lead guitar and me on bass, we mulled over the drummer's position.
"Man, the drums kinda suck for this thing", I offered. "You don't really get to do much and you might even look stupid. All you can do is flail your arms and flop your feet in time". I looked at Chet. Eric read my mind and said to him, "You gotta take Thrall's (Pat Thrall, second guitar) spot, man". Chet readily agreed, really having already made up his mind, but waiting to claim that 2nd guitar solo as his own. So we had the two guitarists and the bassist taken care of. Now, we had to decide on the drummer.
Sean seemed the likely candidate, what with his lineage. As far as we were told, over many Big Gulps and bags of Doritos, Sean's uncle had played percussion in Santana's band during the late '70s. He had a few bootleg recordings on cassette and we heard them over and over when we visited his place. It was cool listening to that stuff, but in '85, Santana circa 1978 is light years away from Iron Maiden's Powerslave album. Sean would play bongos along with these hissy recordings of his uncle playing with Santana and I'd have Two Minutes To Midnight playing in my head.
Sean lived out on a chicken farm. Me and the guys would go pick him up in the old '76 Sunbird to hit Tower Records and cruise around on Friday nights. Man, you could smell his place before you could see it. I always felt a little sorry for Sean. I know that when I was a teenager, my room stunk like God's wrath upon my parents, but this guy's whole house stunk like chicken shit. There was a time when we were all really enamored with the debut album from Montrose. Unfortunately, because we played it at full volume 5 times straight in Sean's room, my lasting memory of the song Space Station #5 is that of the rank smell of poultry dung. Now, every time someone feels slighted and uses the phrase, "That's chickenshit", in my head I agree by thinking, "Yeah man, that's Montrose".
So we decided that we'd ask Sean to play the air drums in the show. Then the guys realized that we hadn't thought to include Gavin. I hadn't mentioned his name because I knew he'd screw everything up. He screwed everything up. I lived near Gavin and had more experience with his inclination to goof off than the other guys did. Like the time he flipped off the cop while we played Wiffle Ball in his driveway. He had no reason to do it and all it did was earn us some grief from an irritated police officer. While the Air Guitar contest was going to be fun, we were already taking it pretty seriously and I really didn't want Gavin getting up there and ruining it for us. The guys agreed and we had our outfit set. Except for the singer.
"Shit man," said Chet, "you could do it, Tone".
I shrugged. "Well...yeah, but Pat Travers doesn't play bass."
Eric noted that we didn't have to be completely accurate in our portrayal of The Pat Travers Band as almost no one in our school would know who the hell Pat Travers was. So I agreed to sing and play air bass. Now we were really set. Eric had two guitars and we borrowed a bass from a friend. This guy hadn't finished re-stringing the bass, but were short on time and who would notice anyway? That's why there are only three strings in the pictures. But we'd have real instruments while the other lame acts would just be playing real air guitar. Our only regret would be that Sean would have to settle for keeping the beat on an invisible kit.
In the next days we started practicing at each others houses. Over and over, we ran through the tune, coming up with new moves and choreography. With two guitar solos (one by Travers and the other by Thrall), both Chet and Eric would have a chance to move to center stage. We also were proud of ourselves for incorporating a move made famous by Iron Maiden and Judas Pries, among others. Towards the end of the song, the two guitarists and I would stand together, rocking in unison to the rhthym until we hit the power chords during the crescendo. We each were getting used to our parts, becoming a fine tuned rock and roll machine. I was doing okay with mimicking the vocals, but in the middle of this particular track, Pat Travers speaks to the audience to coach them on the audience participation segment. The cadence of his speech took some getting used to, but I practiced it everywhere; in the car, in my room, in the shower, etc. With just a couple of more days until the contest, I felt that all those years of strumming that tennis racquet with a quarter as a pick and singing into that Mennen Speed Stick were finally going to come in handy.
Hanging around at school during morning break on the day before the contest, we were excitedly going over final preparations. Jokingly, I suggested that we submit the name, The Pat Tragedy Band, because Travers had recently pretty much disappeared from the mainstream, playing small clubs in tiny towns. Eric saw this as blasphemous and insisted we call ourselves The Pat Travers Band, even though kids might later scour their yearbooks looking for this Pat guy they'd never heard of before. Gavin was there with us that day as usual and he wasn't real happy to be excluded from the lineup. He would look bored and try to change the subject whenever air guitar came up. I felt a little sorry for him, but I knew we had made the right move. I commented that I didn't exactly look like a rock star, what with the huge red hair and glasses look I'd perfected over four years.
What I looked like during my senior year.
Mom wasn't too thrilled about the Pink Floyd t-shirt.
Note the mispelling of "Excellence"
I suggested that I could wear a wig and sunglasses and no one would no who I was. It would also give me something to hide behind, relieving what were sure to be jittery nerves at showtime.
That afternoon, Eric and I went to a local magic shop/novelty store and bought a long black wig for about six bucks. The moment I tried it on, we both busted up laughing and just had to have it. Our school had a strict dress code that included a stipulation that no male's hair would go beyond the collar of his shirt, so coming out on that stage with this getup would stand out for sure.
Back home that night, I went over the lyrics one final time in my head, now knowing them by heart and not even needing the song playing behind me. I laid out the wig and the clothes I'd wear the next day and drifted off to sleep thinking that there was no way that we wouldn't be crowned Air Guitar Champs of 1985.
Next: The Pat Tragedy Story Chapter Three: Flying Blind To The Edge
posted by Tony at 5:18 PM
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