I’ve witnessed those one night stands, must have played in a thousand bands… – Jackson Browne
In the murky disorganized world of rock and roll, both in the big time and in the hole-in-the-wall bar venues, everything is driven by paying gigs. The romanticized idea of “artists” following their dream of sharing music to the world is mostly baloney. Or bologna for you spelling purists.
Bands break up, sometimes on the spur of the moment. Leaving a trail of musical wreckage and gigs on someone’s calendar unplayed. Jobs with money left on the table.
I was hired for a while to fill out some jobs by a band called “The Treez.”
(Somebody’s lame attempt at cute spelling.) The guy who started the group had disappeared somewhere out of state. But they had contracts. And gigs meant money to cash in.
Two brothers, Mark and Merle, had acquired the manila folder with paperwork and contact information. It had been found on the floor of the equipment van on top of a pile of McDonald’s wrappers. Hidden treasure!
They were, respectively, the bass and keyboard players. Also the least talented and lowest ranked band members. The brothers even inspired a movie about them: Dumb and Dumber. Well, it could have been true.
After some frantic rehearsals with the rest of the band – Billy the sullen guitar player and Painless Pete the drummer – we hit the road.
Our first gig we headed for was a bar/nightclub in Winter Haven, Florida. It was a four day thing at pretty decent wages. And hotel rooms nearby.
Unfortunately, Minimum I.Q. Merle had been placed in charge of navigating. In that day of paper maps, he got us there barely on time. To Winter PARK, which was a scary two hour ride to the east of our actual destination. We had 30 minutes to set up and play once we got to the right city.
When confronted, Merle could only say, “Well, I got the name pretty close.”
The next several jobs were local West Palm Beach bars, one night affairs. Most of them went fairly smoothly except for one night when “Painless Pete” demonstrated how he got his nickname.
He let his Jack Daniels/coffee ratio get out of balance, and we had to hold his head under cold rushing water in the bathroom to wake him up enough for the last set.
Last on the list of gigs we were able to squeeze money out of turned out to be a winner. Fortune was finally starting to shine on us.
It was a whole week appearance – five nights – at the bar at a resort hotel in Key West, The Blue Flamingo. Great stage, individual hotel rooms, a food allowance.
Right…on…the…beach. In perfect weather.
Friday night was usually their biggest night, and conspiring with the manager on the spur of the moment, we decided to move it all outdoors. Dragging several 4×8 sheets of plywood onto the beach with long extension cords, some makeshift lighting and we were ready to do it. A small curious crowd started to gather.
We played the first set under a moonlit sky, and as we were coming back from our break I noticed a fellow with blond hair and a shaggy moustache walking up the beach towards us. Barefoot and in jeans. Escorting a gorgeous girl. Gorgeous.
It was the girl who got my attention. If you’d been there, you would understand.
The guy looked familiar as he got closer, and then it hit me when he came over and introduced himself. It was Jimmy Buffett, who lived in Key West at the time.
He asked if we minded him sitting in for a few songs.
I said, “How do we know if you can play?” We were dumbfounded.
Billy reverently with both hands, presented his Telecaster to Jimmy. I’m surprised he didn’t take a knee or curtsy. Billy and I just stood to the side with the now growing crowd and let him take the wheel with Mark, Merle and Pete.
Buffett played and sang the entire 45 minute set as we all watched this surrealistic event unfold. He didn’t perform any of his own songs, mostly bar room standards and a lot of Rolling Stones.
Then he shook hands all around, turned with the girl and continued up the beach.
The Treez had to follow that. Not an easy task.
Thom Caraccio ([email protected]) is a retired musician and retired motion picture scenic artist living in West Palm Beach, Florida who hails from Columbus. He graduated from S.D. Lee High in 1968 and still considers Columbus his real hometown
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