We
had our high points, but in retrospect the bones were born under a bad
sign. My drug habit didn't help, nor did my running all over the world
during '79, '80 and '81 to pursue my also-ill-fated romance. But there
was a greater force that dogged our steps. We entered three seperate Battle
of the Band contests, winning our nights in each. The first one at the
Quonset Hut was cool, we played an exhilerating set against some
good groups and received the unanimous votes of the DJ's and booking agents
who were judging. It was never officially canceled, but we're still waiting
for the finals! The second, at Jasper's in Somerville, saw us make
it to the finals against a horrible band that was fronted by the head
bartender's brother. Guess who won? The third contest we played a great
set, had all the judges tell us how swank we were, and then found out
the finals were canceled when the sponsor failed to come up with the prize
money. Even the good shows we played seemed to all have at least one adverse
occurance that marred them.
Richie and
Dave at the Jasper's Battle of the Bands, with our good luck Chinese flag
behind them; the flag was a gift from Chairman Mao to Pakistan's Prime
Minister Bhutto, whose daughter passed it on to me.
Transportation
was always a problem. One night we played the the Main Event, a
cavernous room off of Rt. 95 in Rhode Island that occupied the old Providence
Civic Center. The other bands were the cream of R.I. groupdom including
the Mundanes and Big World, a band that featured ex-members
of the legendary Young Adults as well as a drummer named Sean
Devlin that would become my good friend many years later when he drummed
for Dumptruck and the Brothers Kendall (Sean "King" Devlin
is now in Helium). This was during my "Pete Townshend" phase when
I banged out chords with my right hand on the body of the guitar and most
of our shows ended up in bloodshed (try that without heroin!).
I'd gone off to the bathroom to clean my wounds and ice down my hand,
followed by the shocked stares of the Mundanes lead singer (she asked
if I was okay and seemed surprised when I answered "Great!"). As I left
the men's room with my clean bandage and ice in place there was a commotion
around the back door. Several people were looking out behind the club
and saying things like "how'd he ever do that" and "he's screwed now,
that axle's busted for sure". I went over to investigate and as I got
to the door my face fell to the floor. Dave had mistaken the rear steps
for the ramp leading to the loading dock, and backed our borrowed truck
down the stairs! The pickup belonged to a house tutor at the dorm (Adams
House) I lived in, a real nice fellow named Howard. Howard was a music
fan and always eager to help out a band in need, like when he booked a
show at Harvard for his pals the Egyptians. Lending us the Toyota
was typical of his enthusiasm, but I doubted he was enough of a fan to
shrug off a broken axle. Fortunately we recruited a half dozen brawny
bouncer types willing to pick the truck up and carry it back up the stairs
relatively unscathed (if you're reading this Howard I was GOING to tell
you sooner or later, really...). On another occasion our borrowed van
broke down on the highway (are we sensing a pattern here?) in the middle
of the night. We'd just won our night at a Battle of the Bands and celebrated
by smoking a ton of weed, so we all ended up passing out by the side of
the road. We were rudely awakened around dawn by the State Police, who
were pissed off when they couldn't wake me up and wanted to know what
was wrong with me. They came close to arresting us all and instead gave
us a flock of tickets. I also ended up missing one of my final exams and
had to take an incomplete, taking the course over again the next year.
Jim Koffman
at the Underground was partial to New York bands, but often used local
groups as openers. After this show he refused to book us because we were
a "cover band"- all because we did an MC5 tune (American Ruse)
and played "Slow Down" by Larry Williams. When the Neats played the last
ever Underground show Joe Fagan and I joined them onstage for a let's-wreck-the-joint
version of Iggy Pop's Funtime; touche!
Another
near-tragic, yet comic incident that happened in Rhode Island occurred
at Slow Children show. The Neighborhoods were headlining at the
old Living Room, and our good friends Slow Children were
opening for them. Dave and I drove up to support our pals, and we were
hanging around backstage getting stoned. Suddenly, Dave looks over to
where David Minnehan had his guitars and yells "Harvard, look at
that- that looks like my guitar case!" Dave had owned this Rickenbacker
that his grandfather bought him when he was thirteen, right after he heard
his first Beatles record and started to pester his gramps (who was also
his guardian) for one. He still owned it when he joined the bones, but
it wasn't really right for the gig so in a moment of weakness he sold
it. We'd heard Minnehan had bought it, and here it was. Now, of course
Dave Bone had no rights to it anymore, having traded it in towards his
new axe, but we were stoned and had been drinking, too, so old Bone had
about five shots of whiskey in him and he quickly became extremely
agitated. I smelled trouble. I tried to hold him back, but he was not
to be deterred and insisted on going over and opening the case to check
it out. "It is my guitar! How do you like that, Harvard...this...is...my...guitar!"
Yeah, well, it used to be Dave, but you sold it remember, I tried to tell
him, gently prying his hands off of the case, but before I could stop
him he had the thing out and was inspecting it for known birthmarks to
prove it was indeed his, staggering ever so threateningly as he held it.
Just then Joe Kelly, the 'Hoods manager, comes running back, yelling
at Dave to leave that guitar alone. Dave of course was eager to repeat
the entire story, like it was the most amazing thing in the universe that
the person who bought his Rick now had the thing, here, in this very club!
Joe Kelly failed to see that this was as incredible as Bone was making
it out to be, his concern being that this maybe-crazy drunk didn't fall
over or run out the back door with Minnehan's axe. For a second I thought
Bone had forgotten that this wasn't his stolen guitar he'd found, and
he glared through one open eye at Kelly in a "you'll have to pry it from
my cold, dead hands" kind of way. It was only through the most delicate
diplomacy that I got Dave out of there and into the parking lot, all the
while muttering "Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, Harvard, that's my guitar",
like Minnehan had stolen it or something. The next day he was penitent,
but everytime we saw or heard the Neighborhoods mentioned he'd say "you
know, Harvard, he's the guy that has my Rickenbacker", like I had no inkling
of that little fact. Finally I didn't bother to mention that I was indeed
aware of that, and I'd just answer "Really, huh, how do you like that?"
The picture to the right is from that very night, with Dave Minnehan playing
the controversial instrument during the 'Hoods set.
Sometimes
our dark cloud took a comic turn. Right before Richie took his "little
vacation" he had started to become very paranoid.We were booked at a college
in New Hampshire for three nights, a gig we desperately needed as we were
totally broke. We rented a PA system for the weekend, rented a van to
move it in and headed up to Cow Hampshire. As usual we got there 3 hours
late for load-in and sound check, which was a real problem as now there
were all sorts of kids filling the place. Our first set was supposed to
be starting right about the time we arrived. We might still have salvaged
the job, but when we got there Richie jumped out of the van. He'd taken
to wearing a trench coat and dark glasses and carried a brief case everywhere.
I think he was compiling a list of the crimes Dave and I were committing.
As he headed towards the building we were to play in we called to him
to wait for us. He looked back with an expression that seemed to say "what
are you trying to hide from me?" and walked even faster. Inexplicably
he chose to avoid the front door (possible ambush?) and went around to
a side door through the shrubs. As Dave and I unloaded he disappeared
into the shadows behind the shrubs. A couple of seconds later there was
a piercing howl, and in a few more moments Richie emerged from the shrubs
at double speed like one of those marathon walkers. Setting off the alarm
didn't exactly help our position. The manager of the rec center declined
to honor the contract- pointing out that we'd broken it when we showed
up 3 hours late.
(TOP)A press
item from our first 1980 recording session at Polytrax, when we recorded
"Drugs Make Me Smile" and the MC5's "American Ruse" with Stefan "Swine"
Lovelace co-producing (Swine was involved in the production of the first
two Willie "Loco" Alexander singles on Garage Records). You can tell it
was the late 70's by the "Disco Chicken" session before ours! (CENTER)
left:The band laying tracks at Perfect Crime, '82; right: Rob Dimmit setting
up (BOTTOM) Swine instructs and Richie listens at Perfect Crime Studios.
Here's
the inside cover of our first demo lp, Discover. the Bones, recorded
at the Sex Execs Dorchester-based Contempt Studios. Besides the three
bones, we were joined by our friend John Dunton-Downer (now a producer
of The Big Picture with MTV Europe) on Sax. John played with Willie
"Loco" Alexander for a time after that. Sean Slade was our producer/engineer
for those sessions, a precursor to our later work together at Fort Apache.
We recorded on the Contempt 4-track TEAC reel-to-reel, with the band in
stereo playing live, and later overdubbing vocals and lead guitar. The
inside cover photo collage recreates all the claustrophobic splendor of
our rehearsal space up in Richie's East Boston attic. A classic pose for
Richie: handing over a joint to the cameraman; I'm mimicking the Godzilla
poster in the background; Dave is just being his naturally cool Dave Bone
self and seems to be saying "don't mess with the one and only"
with his eyes! For most of our history we practiced at Richie's house
on St. Andrew's Road in Eastie, at first in his basement and then later
in his attic. We also spent some time at the old Cambridge Music Complex
on Alewife Road, and rehearsed very briefly at Charles River Mental Hospital
when Richie was there for his short rest and recuperation "vacation".
Crowds of neighborhood kids would gather outside Richie's house to listen
to us practice, and one of them- John Rosato -was a neighborhood kid who
would later become a good friend and a bass player in the Local 22's,
as well as in my current band, the Grey Mods.
We
had our high points, but in retrospect the bones were born under a bad
sign. My drug habit didn't help, nor did my running all over the world
during '79, '80 and '81 to pursue my also-ill-fated romance. But there
was a greater force that dogged our steps. We entered three seperate Battle
of the Band contests, winning our nights in each. The first one at the
Quonset Hut was cool, we played an exhilerating set against some
good groups and received the unanimous votes of the DJ's and booking agents
who were judging. It was never officially canceled, but we're still waiting
for the finals! The second, at Jasper's in Somerville, saw us make
it to the finals against a horrible band that was fronted by the head
bartender's brother. Guess who won? The third contest we played a great
set, had all the judges tell us how swank we were, and then found out
the finals were canceled when the sponsor failed to come up with the prize
money. Even the good shows we played seemed to all have at least one adverse
occurance that marred them.
Transportation
was always a problem. One night we played the the Main Event, a
cavernous room off of Rt. 95 in Rhode Island that occupied the old Providence
Civic Center. The other bands were the cream of R.I. groupdom including
the Mundanes and Big World, a band that featured ex-members
of the legendary Young Adults as well as a drummer named Sean
Devlin that would become my good friend many years later when he drummed
for Dumptruck and the Brothers Kendall (Sean "King" Devlin
is now in Helium). This was during my "Pete Townshend" phase when
I banged out chords with my right hand on the body of the guitar and most
of our shows ended up in bloodshed (try that without heroin!).
I'd gone off to the bathroom to clean my wounds and ice down my hand,
followed by the shocked stares of the Mundanes lead singer (she asked
if I was okay and seemed surprised when I answered "Great!"). As I left
the men's room with my clean bandage and ice in place there was a commotion
around the back door. Several people were looking out behind the club
and saying things like "how'd he ever do that" and "he's screwed now,
that axle's busted for sure". I went over to investigate and as I got
to the door my face fell to the floor. Dave had mistaken the rear steps
for the ramp leading to the loading dock, and backed our borrowed truck
down the stairs! The pickup belonged to a house tutor at the dorm (Adams
House) I lived in, a real nice fellow named Howard. Howard was a music
fan and always eager to help out a band in need, like when he booked a
show at Harvard for his pals the Egyptians. Lending us the Toyota
was typical of his enthusiasm, but I doubted he was enough of a fan to
shrug off a broken axle. Fortunately we recruited a half dozen brawny
bouncer types willing to pick the truck up and carry it back up the stairs
relatively unscathed (if you're reading this Howard I was GOING to tell
you sooner or later, really...). On another occasion our borrowed van
broke down on the highway (are we sensing a pattern here?) in the middle
of the night. We'd just won our night at a Battle of the Bands and celebrated
by smoking a ton of weed, so we all ended up passing out by the side of
the road. We were rudely awakened around dawn by the State Police, who
were pissed off when they couldn't wake me up and wanted to know what
was wrong with me. They came close to arresting us all and instead gave
us a flock of tickets. I also ended up missing one of my final exams and
had to take an incomplete, taking the course over again the next year.
Another
near-tragic, yet comic incident that happened in Rhode Island occurred
at Slow Children show. The Neighborhoods were headlining at the
old Living Room, and our good friends Slow Children were
opening for them. Dave and I drove up to support our pals, and we were
hanging around backstage getting stoned. Suddenly, Dave looks over to
where David Minnehan had his guitars and yells "Harvard, look at
that- that looks like my guitar case!" Dave had owned this Rickenbacker
that his grandfather bought him when he was thirteen, right after he heard
his first Beatles record and started to pester his gramps (who was also
his guardian) for one. He still owned it when he joined the bones, but
it wasn't really right for the gig so in a moment of weakness he sold
it. We'd heard Minnehan had bought it, and here it was. Now, of course
Dave Bone had no rights to it anymore, having traded it in towards his
new axe, but we were stoned and had been drinking, too, so old Bone had
about five shots of whiskey in him and he quickly became extremely
agitated. I smelled trouble. I tried to hold him back, but he was not
to be deterred and insisted on going over and opening the case to check
it out. "It is my guitar! How do you like that, Harvard...this...is...my...guitar!"
Yeah, well, it used to be Dave, but you sold it remember, I tried to tell
him, gently prying his hands off of the case, but before I could stop
him he had the thing out and was inspecting it for known birthmarks to
prove it was indeed his, staggering ever so threateningly as he held it.
Just then Joe Kelly, the 'Hoods manager, comes running back, yelling
at Dave to leave that guitar alone. Dave of course was eager to repeat
the entire story, like it was the most amazing thing in the universe that
the person who bought his Rick now had the thing, here, in this very club!
Joe Kelly failed to see that this was as incredible as Bone was making
it out to be, his concern being that this maybe-crazy drunk didn't fall
over or run out the back door with Minnehan's axe. For a second I thought
Bone had forgotten that this wasn't his stolen guitar he'd found, and
he glared through one open eye at Kelly in a "you'll have to pry it from
my cold, dead hands" kind of way. It was only through the most delicate
diplomacy that I got Dave out of there and into the parking lot, all the
while muttering "Son of a bitch, son of a bitch, Harvard, that's my guitar",
like Minnehan had stolen it or something. The next day he was penitent,
but everytime we saw or heard the Neighborhoods mentioned he'd say "you
know, Harvard, he's the guy that has my Rickenbacker", like I had no inkling
of that little fact. Finally I didn't bother to mention that I was indeed
aware of that, and I'd just answer "Really, huh, how do you like that?"
The picture to the right is from that very night, with Dave Minnehan playing
the controversial instrument during the 'Hoods set.
Sometimes
our dark cloud took a comic turn. Right before Richie took his "little
vacation" he had started to become very paranoid.We were booked at a college
in New Hampshire for three nights, a gig we desperately needed as we were
totally broke. We rented a PA system for the weekend, rented a van to
move it in and headed up to Cow Hampshire. As usual we got there 3 hours
late for load-in and sound check, which was a real problem as now there
were all sorts of kids filling the place. Our first set was supposed to
be starting right about the time we arrived. We might still have salvaged
the job, but when we got there Richie jumped out of the van. He'd taken
to wearing a trench coat and dark glasses and carried a brief case everywhere.
I think he was compiling a list of the crimes Dave and I were committing.
As he headed towards the building we were to play in we called to him
to wait for us. He looked back with an expression that seemed to say "what
are you trying to hide from me?" and walked even faster. Inexplicably
he chose to avoid the front door (possible ambush?) and went around to
a side door through the shrubs. As Dave and I unloaded he disappeared
into the shadows behind the shrubs. A couple of seconds later there was
a piercing howl, and in a few more moments Richie emerged from the shrubs
at double speed like one of those marathon walkers. Setting off the alarm
didn't exactly help our position. The manager of the rec center declined
to honor the contract- pointing out that we'd broken it when we showed
up 3 hours late.
Here's
the inside cover of our first demo lp, Discover. the Bones, recorded
at the Sex Execs Dorchester-based Contempt Studios. Besides the three
bones, we were joined by our friend John Dunton-Downer (now a producer
of The Big Picture with MTV Europe) on Sax. John played with Willie
"Loco" Alexander for a time after that. Sean Slade was our producer/engineer
for those sessions, a precursor to our later work together at Fort Apache.
We recorded on the Contempt 4-track TEAC reel-to-reel, with the band in
stereo playing live, and later overdubbing vocals and lead guitar. The
inside cover photo collage recreates all the claustrophobic splendor of
our rehearsal space up in Richie's East Boston attic. A classic pose for
Richie: handing over a joint to the cameraman; I'm mimicking the Godzilla
poster in the background; Dave is just being his naturally cool Dave Bone
self and seems to be saying "don't mess with the one and only"
with his eyes! For most of our history we practiced at Richie's house
on St. Andrew's Road in Eastie, at first in his basement and then later
in his attic. We also spent some time at the old Cambridge Music Complex
on Alewife Road, and rehearsed very briefly at Charles River Mental Hospital
when Richie was there for his short rest and recuperation "vacation".
Crowds of neighborhood kids would gather outside Richie's house to listen
to us practice, and one of them- John Rosato -was a neighborhood kid who
would later become a good friend and a bass player in the Local 22's,
as well as in my current band, the Grey Mods.
