Early Years

A few years ago as a writing exercise, I started an autobiography. It was fun to revisit high school in memories, and write about them 20 years later. I recently found the file, and thought my sophomore year memories were at least worthy of a blog entry. I was 15, and it was a time of discovery, both in new friends and new music. Robert Smith and Andy Partridge would become heroes, and nothing would be the same after 1982.

I’m posting it ‘as is’ and I’m not going back to correct any mistakes. There are a hundred things I wish I could change, but that defeats the purpose. This is a simple ‘copy & paste’ endeavor.

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Bayshore High was a pleasant school with a solid teaching staff, and I remember being quite excited when I first started and immediately became involved in extracurricular activities like yearbook and newspaper. I even joined the swim team in my freshman year, but decided to forgo it the next when I realized that I hated 6 a.m. practices in very cold water. I also looked ridiculous in a tiny blue Speedo with my lanky adolescent body, and never won a single race the prior year anyway. At one point I even contemplated the then still growing sport of soccer, but in the end choose to concentrate on my schoolwork and artistic endeavors. Although I’ve always appreciated many different sports, I’ve also known that I just wasn’t made to be a jock.

My sophomore year brought many positive changes, as high school was never a chore to me and I actually relished going. My friends would always make light of my fondness for school, and I had perfect attendance three of the four years I attended. I’d often arrive early and leave late. My grades were always A’s and B’s and I had found a friend in an art teacher that encouraged me to explore my talent. I had been told all my life that I could draw well, but never really investigated what I was capable of until Mrs. Turner showed me how. Of all the teachers I’ve ever had, she was easily the best. The last I heard she had left education and was the mayor of a small island right off the mainland called Anna Maria. Much of my free time was spent in the art room, and if anyone wanted to find me, they’d know where to look. Sometimes I would go to school early just to get some drawing time in. I was soon Mrs. Turner’s student helper and assisted with anything she needed.

Not only was the art room a place of solace to me, it would also be the place where I would meet an influential figure in my life, my good friend Jeff. On the first day of school that sophomore year, I ended up sitting next to Derek, a misfit from Harlee Middle I shared a few classes with that would soon be a friend and constant companion in various forms of juvenile mischief. He introduced me to Jeff, whom he’d met earlier that year in a scuba diving class. Jeff was unconventional in both dress and demeanor, and I immediately bonded with him. While I had been listening to Van Halen and Def Leppard, he introduced me to bands like U2 and the Cars, who at the time were struggling for radio airplay. Jeff was the first kid at school to have a punk haircut, a Ramones-like bob that hung heavy in his eyes, making him the target of every pinhead jock in school. Before long, everything changed with me. I was listening to different music, dressing in more outrageous fashion, and had a revelation about the kind of person I wanted to be. I wanted, as my mother would kindly put it, to march to the beat of a different drummer.

Jeff and I were soon spending copious amounts of time together. He was a few years older and had a car, so we weren’t hampered by transportation woes. Most of the time we’d go to his house and listen to records, and literally spent hours lost in a sonic haze of British men singing strangely. It was in his bedroom that I first heard Bauhaus, the Cure, XTC, and the Smiths, and I quickly grew from a simple admirer to a full fledged expert on the growing indie scene. Jeff even had a short lived band called No Social Cliques that played a mean Hungry Like the Wolf and That’s What I Like About You. We also spent much time with Derek who, despite his strict religious upbringing, introduced me to marijuana in the spring of 1982. I had watched my brothers and their friends get high for years, but I had never partaken myself. I smoked my first joint with Derek and Jeff behind his father’s real estate office, and remember fondly going to McDonald’s afterwards, where we sat in the kiddie section and acted like complete fools.

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*post note: On September 2,1997, my friend Derek stopped his car on the Skyway Bridge over Tampa Bay, Florida and jumped. It’s been said his empty vehicle was found with the doors open and the stereo on full volume. That sounds exactly like Derek. He was 30 years old, and much too young to leave us. There’s a Temple of the Dog song called ‘Say Hello to Heaven’ with lyrics that always make me think of him:

“He hurt so bad like a soul breaking, but he never said nothing to me.”

I miss him all the time. The world is a smaller place without him

Nine Inch Nails

I had a haircut the other day. Now that in itself is certainly nothing worth writing about, but the encounter at the front door upon arriving sparked a nice San Francisco memory. As I entered the shop, a freshly trimmed gentleman was paying my stylist Jackie for his cut. When he turned to walk out, I stepped aside to let him pass and said “Hello.” He nodded his head and softly replied, “Hey.”

After he was gone, I turned to Jackie and said, “Was that Trent Reznor?”

She smiled and replied, “Yes! And I just cut his hair!”

Now, I used to be a devoted fan of Nine Inch Nails. When Pretty Hate Machine came out, my roommate Cindy was incredibly enamored, and she played it non-stop for months. Despite the constant grinding repetition of the electronic mayhem, I grew quite found of them anyway. There was something special about that record, and it didn’t take long before I was singing their praises to everyone around me.

Every time they came through, we just had to be at the show. Before I got the chance to see them headline, I saw them open for both Ministry and Peter Murphy. I also saw them two nights in a row when they toured with the Jesus & Mary Chain. We traveled over 100 miles to Orlando just to see them play in a different city. Since living in San Francisco, I’ve seen them on their co-headlining tour with Marilyn Manson; and by themselves at the famous Warfield Auditorium.

When I first moved to San Francisco in 1994, their second album, The Downward Spiral, was set for release, and a local San Francisco club held a listening party so people could get a chance to hear it a week before the album hit the market. Standing in line with hundreds of other Nine Inch Nails fan, I was the happiest camper in the concrete woods. When I finally made it to the front door of the venue, my good mood wavered for a moment when I was informed that entrance into the club would cost me $15. When I grumbled to the doorman that seemed like an exorbitant amount to pay for a listening party, my disappointment turned to joy with his next statement.

“Trent showed up, he wants to play a short set.”

Danzig

Glenn Danzig came with a reputation. Supposedly, he was a notorious Neanderthal prick with tour requests for promoters that were quite out of the ordinary. There were (and still are for that matter) legendary rumors that his tour rider included the phrase, “No one may look Mr. Danzig directly in the eyes.” In later years when asked about that addition, Glenn never came straight out to deny it, but would add that they put some strange requests in their contract just to see if the promoters were actually reading it completely. Tony has informed me that the paperwork for the No Clubs! show contained no such demand.

I had been a Glenn Danzig fan since his days in the horror punk group The Misfits, and I had followed his musical progression with the band incarnations that followed; namely death rock icons Samhaim and the heavy metal and blues infused Danzig. I tended to gravitate towards darker and somewhat ominous music at that period in my life, and Glenn filled that space quite sufficiently.

In 1990, when Tony & Dave announced that No Clubs! would be promoting a show in support of Danzig’s new album, Lucifuge, I was about as giddy as a young heathen could be. I would not be creating the flyer or even working the show that night, but I knew if Glenn would allow it, I’d at the very least get the chance to meet him and find out myself if the rumors about him were fact or purely myth.

The time I actually spent with him was brief, but would supply a story I would tell for many years; one in which I’m about to share at this very moment.

During Danzig’s set, which was both amazing and thunderous in tone, there were scantily clad women everywhere you could gaze. There was one beauty in particular that caught everyone’s attention, a busty blonde that would stand on a table in the middle of the room and flash Glenn her breasts every time he looked her way. She was wearing next to nothing, and you could tell he obviously saw her, because he would become transfixed in that direction every now and then as he sang.

After the show, the band retired to their motor coach, which was located in the alley behind the venue. Blockades had been erected to keep people from rushing the vehicle, and some well placed security guards were in place to keep everyone in check. Glenn and company never left the coach, so meeting them was a task that only a meager few would accomplish that evening.

Tony knew how much I loved Danzig, but he was hesitant to ask for a face to face meeting. Glenn had been quite hospitable to everyone involved and was nothing like the legend that had preceded him, but Tony didn’t want to push it. It was only after some anguished pleas that he finally relented, and allowed me the chance to knock on the coach’s door with the intention of asking Glenn if he had any requests from No Clubs! that could be accommodated.

I hesitantly tapped the door a few times, and Danzig’s tour manager answered after a long and somewhat agonizing space of time. I informed him that I was with No Clubs! and Tony & Dave wanted to know if there was anything they could do for Glenn. He asked me to step inside and wait while he retreated to the back to pose the question. I was flustered that I had gained access to the tour bus, but was still denied actually meeting the dark master.

Suddenly, and much to my delight, Glenn appeared from behind the draped partition. He walked over to me and extended a sweaty hand, which I wholeheartedly took into my own.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“Andi,” I happily replied.

He didn’t wait for any more dialogue from me before posing a second request.

“Did you see that girl who kept showing me her tits?”

I informed him that I thought everybody in the place saw the young lady he spoke of. He let out a small chuckle, and asked his third and final question.

“Could you go out and find her for me?”

I assured him that I would do my best to locate her and immediately left to go on my new quest. It didn’t take long. After perusing the gaggle of fans that were attached to the barricades, I took a short walk around the venue. It was then that I saw her sitting on a Camaro with a few of her barely dressed friends. I was starting to really like this new endeavor he had thrust upon me.

I approached the car and asked her name.

“Why do you want to know?” She asked with a forceful tone.

I explained that I worked for the concert promoter, and that Glenn had asked me to find her. She didn’t have to ask why. It was painfully obvious.

“Alison,” was the reply as she excitedly jumped from the car.

I led her back to the alley through the barricades, and once again knocked on the tour bus door. I had only been gone a short span, and this time Glenn answered it himself. He greeted us with a winning yet lecherous smile.

“Glenn,” I announced, “I’d like you to meet Alison.”

He gave me a look that implied ‘well done, young man’ and escorted her aboard.

After the door closed behind them, I went back into the venue to find someone, anyone, to tell my tale. I found my co-worker Nicolle, who also shared my Danzig infatuation. She had the opportunity to meet him earlier in the night, but was most certainly entertained by my enthusiasm. She especially liked my preface to the story which was just eight simple words.

“I think I just became Glenn Danzig’s pimp.”

Fields of the Nephilim

Fields of the Nephilim were one of my earliest forays into gothic music. They had the harder edged guitar work that I needed to make the jump from my heavy metal days, and Carl McCoy’s deep haunting voice spoke to me in ways David Lee Roth’s could not. The way he almost seemed to growl over the rhythm caught my attention from the moment I heard their single, “Preacher Man,” and soon after began championing the band in all of their dark psychedelic glory.

I was first drawn to the Nephilim by the image on their second release, Dawnrazor, which consisted of the band silhouetted in cowboy hats and weather beaten dusters, smoke wafting up from the distance in glorious Italian western imagery.

During my formative years, Sergio Leone had become a hero of mine with his amazing repertoire of one great spaghetti western after another; culminating with one of my favorite westerns of all time, a mythic tale of revenge called Once Upon A Time in the West.

There is a classic scene in which Henry Fonda and his gang brutally shoot and kill an entire family from beyond the tumbleweeds, and afterward emerge from the brush one by one wearing the enigmatic coats that the Nephilim appropriated for their “dust and death” look. It was one badass style that only added to my infatuation.

The film also contained an iconic score by legendary conductor and Sergio Leone musical collaborator Ennio Morricone, which included “The Man with the Harmonica,” a track that also opens Dawnrazor with a blast of guitar driven perfection, and provides an amazing introduction to their song “Slowkill.”

In 1987, I had been working for No Clubs! for less than a year when Tony informed me they had signed the Nephilim to a show in Ybor City, a small suburb of Tampa, Florida. I had yet to become the full time staff artist for the company, and he had promised the flyer design to our friend Jeff. Tony was also well aware of my fascination with the band and had other plans in mind for me.

I arrived early to the venue at Tony’s request, and was pleasantly surprised when he directed me backstage to meet the band. Although their music was dark and nefarious, they were unexpectedly sweet and sincere. All five of them greeted me with an outstretched hand and a smile. Tony had mentioned how much I often spoke of them, and they were more than willing to accommodate an adoring fan.

When I thought it couldn’t get any better, Carl McCoy asked if I wanted to help ‘flour’ them before the show. He explained to me that in order to replicate the western image they incorporated into their performance; they would take handfuls of the white powder and generously cover their clothing with it. With much exuberance, I agreed to help and was soon covered myself, as the endeavor produced a small flour fight that left everyone within throwing distance more than a little disheveled.

As they took the stage moments later, I watched with much joy as the lighting and a few well placed fans created a small ersatz dust storm while they played. The flour looked amazingly realistic and blew in all directions as I stood and smiled with the knowledge that I had lent a hand to help create the illusion.

Introduction

In 1985, former circus promoter Dave Hundley and record store owner Tony Rifugiato put their business savvy and love for music together to form No Clubs! Productions in the Tampa/St.Petersburg area of Florida. It began with a Suicidal Tendencies show, and for the next 2o years Dave and Tony would be responsible for bringing some of the best independent (some soon to be megastars) bands to the Bay Area scene.

Tony and Dave produced concerts from bands in their earliest stages, from Jane’s Addiction, the Replacements and the Red Hot Chili Peppers to punk legends Black Flag, Gang Green, Social Distortion, and the Circle Jerks. If the music was outside of the mainstream at the time, they would make sure everyone knew about it.

I was a 21 year old struggling semi-punk rock college student when I started working for No Clubs! in January, 1986. My best friend Jeff Jewhurst was the bass player in Belching Penguin, a now somewhat legendary punk band in central Florida, and I had designed various art work for the group, from creating their logo to making some of their show bills. Jeff had recommended me to Tony when he needed a flyer for an upcoming Black Flag show, and the end result was the beginning of a relationship that would span many years. I became the official flyer designer for No Clubs! and would continue to create over 50 pieces during my time with them, making myself known in the process as the “flyer guy”.

Beyond the satisfaction of my artwork getting an audience of thousands, working for No Clubs! had many other perks for a 21 year old music lover. Tony and Dave always tried to keep their overhead low and often worked with a skeleton crew. That meant I could often talk my way into working for the evening for limited payment, which usually meant the chance to see a great show for free, and on special occasions, the ability to meet and work with artists that I liked and/or admired. If you showed an affinity towards a special band, the opportunity to meet them was always presented. Tony and Dave were cool that way. From accidentally being Glen Danzig’s pimp, Taco Bell excursions with Flea, to being knocked out cold on stage at a Suicidal Tendencies show, I had the good fortune of racking up my share of great rock and roll memories.

If you’re reading this now, it means I’ve finally decided to share some of my stories. It’s been long overdue. Working for No Clubs! perpetuated a life long love of music, and writing about my various musical adventures is a love letter to my youth, and a big fat shout out to whoever or whatever outside force us gave ears and sound and the ability to rock and roll.