Drawings of old Denver Punk Bands

Losing a story.

I almost cried last week. At our home in Ethiopia we use something just a little better than dial-up for internet, it’s called a dongle. You insert it into your USB port and on a good day you have a slow connection. Recently, inserting and pulling out the dongle (no sexual puns intended) has caused my computer to shut down.

Last week’s Frantix post was premature, it was intended for another time. The original segment was intended to wrap-up Idiot’s Revenge and transition into the split and growth of the Denver scene during the mid-80's. I was really happy with the way it was shaping-up, it was a coherent argument. I put several long hours into the story and was ready to let it rest before moving on to the revision. That same afternoon I started working on the Frantix story. At the end of a day I usually try, if the internet gods allow me to do so, check e-mail before going to bed. It was a bust. I pulled out the dongle and the computer restarted. A hassle, but seldom fatal.

I woke up the following morning to glance at the stories and both were gone, as in reverted to the earliest saved versions. I screamed. My wife came running into the living room thinking I found out someone had died overnight. Nope, just a couple of stories. I did recover a decent rough version of the Frantix post and the one intended for posting last week was about a paragraph worth of words. Fuck.

The task of rewriting the story has been haunting me all week. Honestly, I couldn’t face up to it. I had perfectly captured what I wanted to say, and now it’s gone. To someone who writes, it does feel like a death. Perhaps this weekend I can muster up the energy to give it another shot. For me, the process of writing is like making a piece of art; it’s done in the moment. 

This week it was all about escaping into the world of ink and brushes. The drawings of the bands on this post were from around the time right before I started going to shows. I never saw Shamed Hatred. I might have caught Child Abuse once. Frantix, a couple of times. Rok Tots, more than the Frantix.

A personal goal of mine is to make drawings of every punk/HC/thrash band that existed in Denver form 82-86ish. I have several in the works at the moment. If you have photos of bands from that time period and would like to see it become a drawing or a painting, contact me and we can work something out. If I have turned your photo into a drawing, contact me so I can give you credit and get you a print. 

Davey of the Frantix. I honestly thought that drummers only used crates or some sort of box object to sit on when playing. My band’s drummer sat on a soda pop crate for a long time. The Necros, TSOL, or whatever band pulled thought Denver and had stickers would always be a score. Drummers and guitarists would often decorate their instruments with them. Photo: unknown. Medium: pen and ink on paper. Approx. size 10” x 10”

Jimmy West of the Rok Tots. When I first stated going to shows, Jimmy was the guy usually running the soundboard. He was one intimidated dude and looked like he could go off at any moment. I did see him yell at people a couple of times and that was enough for me to keep my distance. As a band, the Rok Tots were tough and embodied a timeless punk spirit, Jimmy rocked hard and his band should have gained more attention than they did. While the band’s first single Suicide Weekend b/w Situation Kid was a decent release, their posthumous CD Thirty Ill Moons is a solid heavy rocker. Photo: unknown. Medium: pen and ink on paper. Approx. size 9” x 12” 

When the Fraxtix-My Dad’s A Fuckin' Alcoholic reissue came our several years ago, I was surprised to hear a live version of Tomorrow on it. I always associated it as a Fluid song from the Tin Top Toy single. What I like about this image is the energy between Matt and Ricky doing back-ups, it could easily be a Fluid picture. Photo: unknown. Medium: pen and ink on paper. Approx. size 9” x 12”

The Dustbowl was not the ideal place if you suffered from asthma, had a lung infection, or over six feet tall. The space was located in the basement of what became the Art Department on Santa Fe Drive. The floor was dirt and got pretty dusty when people danced. Photo: unknown. Medium: pen and ink on paper. Approx. size 9” x 12”

Duane Davis from Wax Trax snapped this image. I have a fondness for bands that get in the attack position when they hit the stage. The band opened for the Misfits at the Mercury Cafe, note their massive amount of equipment behind the band. On a side note, the Misfits returned back to Denver in January of 1983 and played the Aztlan Theatre, a much larger venue than the Mercury and punished everyone’s ears. Medium: pen and ink on paper. Approx. size 9” x 12”

Aurora's Mutha F**king FRANTIX

Face Reality. 

Every summer since the mid-nineties I’ve returned back to Denver and like clockwork take a drive through old town Aurora for a heavy dose of nostalgia. It is a bittersweet remembrance of a time long since passed. The rearview mirror serves as a harsh reminder that my hair has indeed changed from dark brown to gray indicative of the transformed landscape outside the window. The drive is a sea of cluttered post-war single-family houses and Colfax Avenue, lined with its’ pimps, whores, gangbangers, pawn shops, hotels and a growing Mexican population cuts right down in the middle of it all. There has been an obvious shift in demographics since my youth; Aurora traded its’ suburban identity and embraced a more transient urban one. It was once a neatly packaged oasis for families seeking the American Dream, it was my parent’s hope and vision when we arrived in the mid-70’s. Like other countless communities that dot the perimeter of large cities in America, time has turned it into another wasteland of dashed hopes.

In the early 1980’s, one of the best things to emerge out the decaying old-Aurora landscape was the Frantix. Like most punk bands at the time, loud and fast rock-n-roll à la the Ramones appealed to bored and thrill-seeking teenagers craving an outlet for self-expression. It would be all too easy to sit in front of a record player and play-along to the likes of radio-friendly songs. Aspiring punk bands had a different approach, a more self-taught tactic often rejecting conventional methods like guitar lessons and music theory. It was a more tactile process to start from ground zero. It could be argued that the music was a pure expression fueled by raw energy. The experience of being in the same room with the Frantix was hardly a casual listening exercise; it was a blast in your face that quickly unwound every nerve in your body. The driving, gruff sounding guitar with a dash of reverb, accompanied by punching bass lines with cymbal heavy drumming behind spastic braking vocals demanded immediate attention. The four-piece hit the stage with a conviction most bands lack nowadays.

Unfortunately, I only witnessed the Frantix on a couple of occasions; their sound was unrelenting, menacing and dare I say gritty. Several authors have noted they were on the cusps of grunge long before Seattle co-opted the term. When they opened for Black Flag at the Rainbow Music Hall, their songs were the perfect soundtrack that inspired neatly placed rows of folding chairs to be grabbed and tossed in every direction. The audience was indeed seduced by the music. The band never intentionally scripted such uninhibited reactions; it was inherently seeded in their sound.

As people, you couldn’t meet a more likable bunch. The Frantix and their later incarnations: MadHouse, Fluid, 57 Lesbian, etc. have always stayed true to their roots and acknowledged those who helped them along the way. They stayed connected at the ground level and never developed rock star attitudes, always approachable and went out of their way to say “hello.” While they were a few years older and somewhat a generation ahead (more my brother's age), we were friends nonetheless. When the bassist Matt and guitarist Ricky formed the Fluid and were the first non-Seattle band to sign to the seminal Sub Pop label (Nirvana, Soundgarden, Mudhoney), they were more than willing to submit an unreleased track for one of my Colorado Krew compilations. Their participation in my project spoke volumes of their modesty, it was a testament of giving back to the community that helped spawn their success. 

Long ago before the scene splintered, I was raised with the attitude that we, as a collective scene, were in it together and appreciated the diversity of bands. It was people like Duane Davis of Wax Trax who helped encourage and establish this ethic. He ran the in-house label, Local Anesthetic and released several recordings, including both Frantix eps. The label served as a snapshot of the early 80’s scene in Denver. It later influenced my approach to booking bands and releasing records in the latter part of the 80’s into the early 90’s. Denver was a unique and sometimes turbulent setting for music. In recent year, Denver's underground history has slowly come to light though retrospective releases, re-issues, and posthumous documentation. I will always be thankful for the people I met along the way growing up in the Denver scene, they helped shape my principles and work ethic. Although I’m halfway around the world and Denver is somewhere over there, I never lost sight of my origins or the mindset of bringing people together.  

In loving memory of Ricky Kulwicki. 1961-2011

Frantix: vocals: Marc Deaton, guitarist: Rick Kulwicki, bassist: Matt Bischoff and drummer: Davey Stewart

For further reading and a more detailed history of the Frantix check out the following websites:

Trashistruth: fliers, record covers, etc.

Colorado Punk/New Wave: An excellent interview with Ricky and Davey form Nov. 2003.

Jill Razor’s Denver Punk Scene Facebook page.

Alternative Tentacles will be releasing My Dad's A Fuckin' Alcoholic LP/CD later this month and will include both eps, plus live and demo tracks. I'm sure you can stop by Wax Trax for your copy.  

Early Frantix flier from 1981. Image borrowed from: trashistruth.com 

Dancing Asshole is one of the best band names ever. Image borrowed from: trashistruth.com 

Bum Kon-Drunken Sex Sucks ep (Local Anesthetic Records 1983) insert.  Paying tribute to Frantix. Image borrowed from: trashistruth.com 

I always wondered if the 'NO KLONES ALLOWED...ASSHOLES' caption at the bottom of the flier was directed at the band, Kamikazi Klones. The Kamikazi Klones were the textbook definition of New Wave and it was sort of a surprise that they never became more mainstream. They had the skinny-tie MTV look down, who would have guessed 25 years later most of them would settle into the Colorado mountain hippy lifestyle. To see their region gig click here. Image source: Personal collection

I picked this flier up at Wax Trax. This show happened a week after opening for Black Flag at the Rainbow Music Hall. What a line-up, some of Denver's finest playing contemporary Polka favorites. Sadly, my dad didn't let me go. Image source: Personal collection

The band's second infamous ep: My Dad's A Fucking Alcoholic ep (Local Anesthetic Records 1983). (note: the Bum Kon beer). I remember picking this up at Wax Trax shortly after it was released. A couple of months later it was met by the sun. I still have the insert and cover tucked away in a box. In the late 80's, I eventually came across another copy at a record store near Sloan Lake off of Sheridan Blvd. A record collector who went by the name of Guy Smiley in Los Angeles made an offer I couldn't refuse (I was poor). Image source: Killed By Death Records

Lyric sheet from My Dad's a Fucking Alcoholic ep. Image source: Killed By Death Records

Personally, I prefer the band's first ep (I like to call it the Face Reality ep).  Image source: Killed By Death Records

S/T ep insert. Image source: Killed By Death Records

Davey. Photo credit: unknown. 

Amusing interview with Frantix. The entire interview is one huge joke.  Source: Lick It Up fanzine Issue #1

Frantix at the Packing House. Oil on paper 18" x 24" based off of a photograph by (unknown). Artist: Bob Rob (Medina)

Recorded by Wax Trax co-owner Duane Davis on April 10, 1983. See and feel the power.  

How the Desecendents changed my life.

My history with the Descendents and ALL. 

(The photos were taken at the Groezrock Festival)

The following story is a bit out of sequence in terms of my other posts. The culprit, this  weekend’s quick and unexpected trip to Belgium. Here's the backstory: last year four former members of Black Flag: Keith Morris, Chuck Dukowski, Bill Stevenson, Dez Cadena, along with Stephen Edgerton of the Descendents got together and formed the band FLAG and toured playing Black Flag songs. The only chance I had of catching this line-up would be taking a couple of days off from work and flying over to Europe. I was living in Egypt at the time and a flight to Belgium was relatively short and inexpensive. It was a no brainer, I would be going to see old friends play some of my favorite songs. I contacted Bill Stevenson and he set me up with passes for the shows. I met up with FLAG in Munich, Germany, I politely asked Bill if I could travel with them for their 3 European shows. After a short impromptu band meeting to decide: 1. Was there was room in the bus to accommodate an extra person? and 2: Did anyone object? Dez chimed in and said, “anyone wearing a Meat Puppets shirt is cool with me.” I was in. After Munich, we rode to Berlin and then to the Groezrock Festival in Belgium. I was beside myself to say the least. No, All!  

My first encounter with the Descendents music was when Jimmy ordered the Life Is Ugly, So Why Not Kill Yourself compilation LP through an ad in Maximum RockNRoll. Red Cross started off the album with a snappy little tune called Rich Brat, it was a sign of good things to come. Jimmy made a wise purchase. The following cut was, I Want To Be A Bear by the Descendents. Jimmy and I had to play that song over several times to get a grip on the lyrics. We were certain we heard, “I want to be a bear. I want to shit in the woods” somewhere during the middle and “I don’t want to smell your muff” at the end of the 40 second song. Talk about a quick, no frills introduction to a band. Not long after, the Descendents were featured on another compilation we picked-up, The American Youth Report. I’m Not A Loser not only solidified my appreciation for them, but it also became a personal anthem, maybe even a mantra of sorts. The anti-spoiled rich kid sentiment in the lyrics appealed to my outcast identity. They spoke of my day-to-day struggles in a preppy saturated school that was dominated by the likes of wannabe neo-conservative jellybean-eating Reagan supporters.

It was clear that Jimmy and I had to seek out and buy the band’s first album, Milo Goes To College. We read that the album as a posthumous release as the band broke-up because Milo did really go off to the University of California, San Diego to study to become a biochemist. In the meantime, Bill Stevenson would become Black Flag’s fifth drummer and the status of the Descendents was officially on hiatus as Black Flag was a fulltime commitment both emotionally and time wise. 

The Descendents first appearance in Denver.

Thankfully in 1985 the Descendents regrouped and released the tuneful album,  I Don’t Want To Grow Up. To date, I still consider it the cornerstone of the melodic punk genre, which would influence bands for generations to come. The timing of the release followed by a tour was impeccable. There’s no doubt in my mind that their songs offered hope to angst ridden nerdy teenage punk rockers like myself. It was a perfect mix of humor while tackling real emotions such as love and personal hardships. The song, Silly Girl was as perfect as any song to include on a mix tape for a crush or a girlfriend. I’ve been guilty of both over the years. As a matter of fact, my first girlfriend, Morticia and I went to go see the band at the German House (Denver Turnverein) at the end of summer. While slam dancing in the pit is not exactly the most romantic gesture, dropping her off at home at the end of the night finalized by that first kiss, was. The evening had all the raw emotions captured in a Descendents song.

Morticia and I lasted only a short while until she found someone new at her after-school job, which was being the potato cake fry girl at Arby’s. Somehow I always felt the Descendents were the soundtrack to my life through both the good and bad times. They had a way of expressing thoughts and emotions that were personable and not glossed over like other bands. Very few, if any punk bands at the time could pull off what they did with such sincerity. Most groups I listened to at the time screamed about how fucked-up the government was. In contrast, the Descendents sang about how fucked-up relationships can be. It was the tangible issues I could relate to. 

The band’s next album, Enjoy! introduced the Bonus Cup (1/3 cup instant coffee grounds, hot water, and 5 spoons of sugar), the instructions on how to make the recipe was printed on the plastic mug they brought to sell on tour. Their next show in Denver was in 1986. As luck would have it, the show was cut short due to a series of unfortunate incidents. The gig was at a hall on Federal Blvd. and was plagued with several fights. The situation was further compounded by a purse-snatching at a 7-11 down the street from the hall. Someone had called the cops and blamed the punks. The police began to arrive at the hall in force. I was talking with Bill about his drum set before they went on. He was telling me how he doesn’t let anyone touch his drums and how protective he was of them. While the band was partially through their set, several officers approached the stage yelling for the band to stop playing. The band ignored the warnings and continued on. One of the cops took the initiative and got up on stage nudging Milo to the side and pulled Bill’s base drum away from him. Bill jumped up off his stool and got in the cops face. I think Bill quickly and smartly realized he wasn’t going to win this battle as more officers gathered around; the plug was pulled.

A show that never happened

My high school graduation gift from my parents in 1987 was the privilege of borrowing my Dad’s mini-Bronco to take on a road trip to the east coast for a month. I departed a couple of days following the cap and gown ceremony and drove to Ohio to pick-up my friend Toledo Pat.  We embarked on a record-hunting excursion of the east coast. Inadvertently we picked up the Descendents’ trail and caught a couple of their shows as they were touring for their final album at the time, ALL. I had talked with the new bassist and guitarist Karl and Stephen to some extent because they had been in the Massacre Guys from Salk Lake City and played Denver on several occasions. I started to get to know Bill a little better as well. As we continued our road trip, Pat and I got on the subject of how the Descendents were turning more into a philosophy, a way of life.  It was evident by their song All-O-Gistics and applying their “No, All!” ethic in the pursuit of greatness.

The album is titled after the concept of "All", invented by drummer Bill Stevenson and friend Pat McCuistion in 1980. Based on the goals of achieving "the total extent" and "to not settle for some, to always go for All" 

    

You can say Toledo Pat and I were on our own quest for All, not many late teens ambitions include spending their summer hitting every record store between Denver and Boston and sleeping in parking lots and on picnic tables at rest areas to save a couple of bucks to buy more records. Our mission was clear.   

It's always a treat to talk with the insightful and thoughtful Karl Alvarez. 

By the fall of 1987 the Descendents went into a long hibernation as Milo went off to become a biochemist. The band wouldn’t resurface until almost a decade later. Bill, Karl, and Stephen reformed under the name ALL with a new vocalist, Dave Smalley (of the Boston straight edge crew and DYS fame, oh yeah, he was Dag Nasty too!). The group released the album, Allroy Sez. I caught ALL in the summer of 1988 at City Gardens in Trenton, New Jersey. I was touring with my band Short Fuse at the time and we met the show’s promoter Randy Now (Ellis). Randy interviewed us for his radio program on the Princeton campus. He gave us a glimmer of hope that we might be added to the bill if one of the bands cancelled. Sadly none did. He was kind enough to add us to his guest list as a consolation prize. 

Andrew, the band's sound man was telling me how Bill came-up with a nickname for Chad (ALL's vocalist) to coincide with beard, he was being called Chee-ad as in Jihad. 

At the show I talked with ALL and got their booking agent information. Earlier that year I started a record label with the paychecks I was earning at Winchell’s Donut House from flipping donuts during the graveyard shift. Another ambition in the works was to become a concert promoter. Denver was suffering from a punk rock show famine as long-time promoters Headbanger, Brew, and Razor ceased doing shows. I took it upon myself to immerse myself in the often-thankless job of carrying the torch that these hard working individuals did over the years of bringing bands to Colorado. There were bands my friends and I wanted to see and they weren't just going to show up on their own. 

Both night's set-list.

The first couple of shows I booked were with my friend Steve Cervantes. We rented out a DAV (Disabled American Veterans) hall on East Colfax and brought Dag Nasty to town and 7 Seconds shortly thereafter. I started getting into the rhythm of bringing bands to Denver, I finally booked my first ALL show at the Aztlan Theatre in the summer of 1989. Allroy's Revenge was just released with their new vocalist, Scott Reynolds. I knew the band loved Mexican food so I asked my mom to cook-up her favorite dishes for the group. ALL thanked her in t-shirts each time they passed through and our friendships became more solid. I would bring ALL to Denver several more times until I moved to Birmingham, Alabama (for a girl of course) in December of 1992. We stayed in contact over the years whenever they passed through a city I happened to be or lived in.  

The first time ALL played Denver.

During the time I was bringing ALL to Denver, my friend Chris Shary befriended the band and started doing artwork for them. Initially it was designing t-shirts and later album covers. He eventually became the main artist for both Descendents and ALL. He has been a major driving force and contributor to both band’s aesthetics. 

Milo and Karl hangout out at the bus. 

By the mid-90’s Chris and I both finished our education degrees and started teaching art in the public school system in Colorado. In the summer of 1996, my wife’s job relocated us to Atlanta, Georgia while Chris stayed in the Denver area. Chris kept me up to date of anything newsworthy from the Descendents/ALL camp since his information came down the pike directly from Bill. We were ecstatic to hear that Milo was laying down tracks for a new Descendents album. Chris was super stoked that he would be designing the shirt for their weeklong residency of sold-out shows at the Whiskey A-Go-Go in Los Angeles. The news was that their new album, Everything Sux would be coming out and the band would be hitting the road for a year’s worth of shows.

The Descendents rolled though Atlanta in December of 1996. I hung out in the van with Bill while he got the set list together. I remember calling Chris the next day to confirm that Bill was indeed Marlon Brando’s character, Colonel Walter E. Kurtz from the film Apocalypse Now. You could be sitting next to Bill and it would be obvious that he was in another world, Bill’s world. Like Kurtz, Bill has a sense of duty and commitment, his discipline mentally prepared him to go on stage. It’s a strict diet of minimal conversation, no food, and lots of coffee. He speaks only if there was some sort of reason or lesson to be delivered. My favorite characteristic of Bill is the way he seems to process information in his mind. It is usually followed-up by one of his classic delayed responses long after you thought he ignored your question. Other than a simple “hello” and maybe quick small talk, I learned over the years it’s best to talk with Bill after he’s done playing. It’s a treat to hang out with him after a show just to hear one of his many detailed stories that would blow away anyone’s mind. 

True, I was indeed on the guest list, but the Groezrock Festival has some pretty funny stipulations about getting through the gates. All guest passes had to be e-mailed in advance, in many ways the bands have no control over the backstage situation. So when Ana and I arrived at the show I had to work some of my magic at the production office. There was never a doubt in my mind that we were going to get an "all access" pass. 

As the summer of 1997 approached, Chris got the crazy idea that we should go on the Vans Warped Tour with the Descendents sporting cheap flea market straw cowboy hats. Shit, we were both teachers and had the summers free so why the hell not. We sent in our photos to have badges made and we were good to go. We were suppose to meet-up with the band in San Diego but Chris’ car blew something in engine while driving through Arizona. Ironically the car had enough gusto to pull into the Jack-Ass Acres gas station. We knew we were in for the long haul when bubba came up to us in his “liquor up front, poker in the rear” t-shirt and told us, “Your car is broken.” If we’d had known better, we would have ditched it. Instead we wasted away valuable days in the town’s only resort while the car got fixed. We made the best of the situation, but the hot weather eventually affected my health. The day we finally got the car back was the beginning of my battle with heat exhaustion. We left the desert at night to avoid the scorching temperatures and made a b-line all the way to Dave Naz’s house in Beverly Hills. The car didn't have air-conditioning so even driving at night with the windows rolled down was like being subjected to a blast of hot air blowing from an oven. Chris had to stop almost every half hour so I could shit, puke, or down gallons of water and Gatorade. When I walked into the convenience mart people quickly moved out of the way as if I escaped from a leper colony. A highway patrol car pulled us over because Chris had a busted headlamp; the officer took one glance at me and asked Chris, “what’s wrong with him?” I looked like death and felt much worse.  We made it to Dave’s just after midnight. I lied on his couch shivering and sweating; he remarked how scary I looked. 

Autographed Descendents shirt anyone? 

The remainder of our tag-along tour went without incident until we hit the Boise show where a tent stake met Chris’ leg leaving him with a giant gash. The medical team at the show bandaged it up pretty well and suggested that Chris go the hospital for stitches. That didn’t quite fit into our schedule, we had to see the Descendents and get out of Idaho ASAP as I had an unresolved issue that involved Albertsons Supermarket and the Boise Police from when my former band, Savalas played there back in 1992. I wasn’t keen on sticking around anymore than I had to. Chris and I agreed that maybe we should drive to Salt Lake City to have his leg looked at. We painfully drove the speed limit until we hit the state line. We checked into our motel room and thumbed though the Yellow Pages looking for a hospital. The front desk clerk pointed us to the nearest Emergency Room. We spent several hours in the waiting room watching gunshot and stabbing victims roll through the doors waiting for an available doctor. When we got called in, the bandaged was unwrapped and the doctor commented how gnarly the cut looked. By then, we figured we were definitely cursed and wanted to get back to Denver as soon as possible. The Descendents played early the next afternoon in Salt Lake City and Chris promptly declared that if we left after the band’s set we could be back to Denver a little past midnight. We sped out of Utah into Wyoming reflecting on the past couple of weeks. One of us made the comment “I hope the rest of the trip is boring and unmemorable” and not long after, the engine made that all to familiar clunking sound. Once more we found ourselves on the side of the road as the nearest town was about 45 miles away. Evening was quickly approaching and the temperature was rapidly dropping up in the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming. Chris stayed with the car while I hitched-hiked and caught a ride with a gay couple in a convertible coming back from celebrating their anniversary. They dropped me off at an abandoned gas station with an operable payphone. I made the call to AAA and they promised to send a tow truck to gather Chris, the car and grab me on the way back. I still hadn’t fully recover from the previous week’s heat exhaustion episode and when evening turned into night the fever and chills came back as I sat on the floor in the gas station’s bathroom waiting.

Thou shall rock out. 

The car was towed to Laramie per AAA’s 50-mile towing rule and then to Cheyenne the following morning where Chris’ parents came to our rescue. We had grown wise to just ditch the car and deal with it later. Chris’ parents were in a perky mood and decided they would be joining us at the Vans Warped Tour show in Boulder. As shitty as I was feeling, I still wanted to catch the Descendents until the puking and diarrhea returned. I was in dire need of recovery, if not medical attention and left early and returned to my parent’s house to sleep for nearly two days. The heat exhaustion took a toll on my body. It took almost 7 months for my body to reset and feel normal again.   

When the summer of 1997 came around, Chris cautiously approached me with the plan that we should do the same thing we did the previous summer, but this time with ALL and minus a shitty car and the drama that ensued. What else was an art teacher going to do in the summer? I cautiously, but enthusiastically agreed to spend another summer in the car with Chris following our friend’s band from city to city but in a more abbreviated version. And like we hoped, it was an unmemorable journey aside from the free pair of Vans we scored. 

Full-on

I had seen Bill and company only a couple of times during the past decade on off-occasions like when he and Karl rolled through San Diego and played in the Lemonheads. Before I left the states for Egypt, ALL did a short stint at the House of Blues with former vocalist Scott. That was a treat. Generally my luck worked like this: anyplace Descendents or ALL was, I wasn’t. That changed this past weekend. I was treated to a twofer. I was looking at posts on Facebook and was reminded that both the Descendents and ALL were playing the Groezrock festival in Belgium. Because of the price of a plane ticket in addition to living deep in Africa, it felt impossible. It was a Thursday afternoon and I sent my wife, Ana an e-mail jokingly telling her that I bought plane tickets to Brussels. She replied with a big What??? in the subject line. She thought I was serious. It was my not so passive way of testing out the waters. When work ended that afternoon I chatted with Chris on-line going back and forth on how I wanted to go, how it expensive it was, blah, blah, blah. He was the real catalyst and countered my doubts with reasoning;  “you can always make more money…” Perhaps it was that long-distance reach and push I needed from him. I sent both Bill and Stephen a message on Facebook and to their personal emails asking if they would add me to the guest list. Basically, if either replied, I would buy the ticket and be on the redeye flight out of Ethiopia. It was a long shot. Within the hour Bill responds with two words: “yeah, totally.” I ran down to our neighbor’s apartment where Ana was and told her “Bill wrote back.” I mentioned she should go too. Ana, the responsible and level headed family member countered with, “What about work tomorrow…” I told her we had to buy the tickets now. I made the executive decision that she was going to be my partner in crime. The Internet actually worked at home long enough to book a pair of plane tickets and within a couple of hours we were out the door with no regrets in our quest for ALL. 

Thank you Bill, Stephen, Karl, Milo, Chad and Andrew. 

Who's excited to watch the Descendents? 

There was a time when I lived in Atlanta and read a couple of Jimmy Buffet books. I felt that Jimmy had a likeness to Descendents/ALL in that he he was on the quest for the ultimate. Jimmy is a self-sufficient guy and lives by his own rules and ethics. When I was visiting Bill with Chris Shary at the Blasting Room in Fort Collins, Colorado I pitched my comparison to Bill. In his classic delayed response he looked at me for a few moment obviously contemplating what I just said. He was like "What?" and demanded further explanation. I don't think he ever bought into my reasoning.  

Attack, part 2.

Talking to the boss about adding an extra song at the end of the set. The next day we passed by Bill near the bands dressing rooms. We exchanged hellos and he stopped and looked at me and said "Where did you sleep last night?" Ana and I brought two carry-on bags on to the plane, one with a tent and the other with sleeping bags. We camped with Europe's finest drunk punk rockers. 

Chee-ad doing the ALL-ah. 

Huggy Bear or Swamp Zombie?

Special Tanks to Ana Medina for editing help.