| Fall The Assabet Valley Battle of the Bands
a nondescript cover band and us. Each band got two sets, in rotation. Our first set was a disaster. We blew the house fuses, our amps and PA were all on the same circuit. During other bands' sets, Dave scored some AC extension cables and powered our gear from different outlets. We came back on axes swinging and guns blazing. That night we nailed it. At the end of the contest, the MC brought out a db meter. This device measures overall volume. He asked for a round of applause for each band, and that would determine the winner. It came down to a tie between us and the metal band. We were offered the choice of splitting the pot or “going all the way.” We said, “hey, we'll split it.” The metal band wanted to go all the way (and were smug fucking jerks about it.) So Mr. Emcee asked the audience to clap for us. And Dave slowly brought up the mics, which fed into the monitors, which then fed into the db meter. Also the metal band and their friends were booing us (the meter could not differentiate between kudos and jeers.) Then Mr. Emcee asked for a round of applause for the metal band and Dave shut down the PA. Needless to say we won. So long suckers.
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     The True Origin of Freak Music |
Sudbury I can't remember the name of the woman who lived in Sudbury, but she answered our classified ad for a rehearsal space and said we could rent her basement. We practiced there from the fall of '80 until Spring of '81.  (back) Joe, Steve C, Steve B, Dave (seated) Mick, Greg   Original gig poster |
Enter Joe Harper Joe came in with Dave, played keyboards and in all fairness was quite a bit more proficient than we were. It was our first gig with Joe that we damn near got killed, again, by a bunch of bikers. Let's set the scene, the locale was The Ranch, a hangout for The Victors. These guys had knives, guns and brass KKK buttons. Before we even played they threatened Mick, “anything goes down, your going to be the first one to get it because we hate n***ers,” held a knife to Joe's throat and casually punched one of our roadies. I missed most of that coming back late from dinner I walked in to several gang members beating the shit out of someone with pool cues. This.was.not.good. Greg and Mick told me what had been going down, Joe told me he had to split, “tell the guys anything, I gotta go.” It looked like we were in deep shit. With no small hesitation, we assembled then began playing when the meanest nastiest ugliest biker of them all came over and barked,” TURN IT DOWN.” We turned down. One song later Mr. FuckingSociopath came over and, you guessed it, barked “TURN IT DOWN.” Wash rinse, repeat several times until we were essentially playing acoustic with our amps turned off and Greg using brushes. And here comes Mr. FuckingSociopath again telling us to “TURN IT DOWN.” Dave yells back, “FUCK YOU!!!” My eyes glazed over and thought this was the night we were all going to die. The biker goes to the bar, mumbles something to the bartender, then the bartender comes to us and says, “Boys, I'll give you ten bucks for what you just played and forty bucks to get out of here before they burn this place down with you in it.” We just grabbed our shit and flung it out the door. You have never seen a band load a van and haul ass so fast. One week later we did a three night stint at The Gin Mill, which was on the other side of Marlboro. Mr. FuckingSociopath walked in with one of his buddies. Mick nearly pissed himself. I could see him actually shaking from across the stage. After this gig Mick quite for the first time. One week later, at The Ranch, one of The Victors shot a guy in the chest, with a shotgun  How it looks now |
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