Most people have stories about their “wild younger days.” Mine fall into the category of “barely survived by the skin of my teeth” days. This is one.
They hardly exist any more, but back in the day, “house bands” were a thing. Rather than running bands in and out in one night stands…and not knowing what they might be getting…venue owners would find a band that would do the trick for them and sign them long term. It was usually a successful strategy.
Depending on pay, bands would usually play 3-4 nights a week, sometimes more.
A big plus was that you didn’t have to move equipment for long periods, and the club goers knew where to find their favorite band and became part of the “circle.”
Thus, in 1974 Starchild began a lengthy stay at the Pink Pussycat on Northlake Boulevard in North Palm Beach. It was a real nightclub (no, not a strip club) that had a big comfortable 4-foot high stage. You could fit 200-300 people and there was usually a crowd that size.
Micky and Delores Salazar were the good natured old drunks who owned the place. They let us have the run of the place… We had a key so we could practice during the day. S***heads that we were, they had a lot of “shrinkage” in the liquor storage room. Especially on the Jim Beam and tequila shelves.
We were LOUD in those days. That’s why my hearing is shot even today.
We were “stick your head in a jet engine” loud. As you opened the front door the band was aimed at you from the back wall like an artillery blast. You had to be mighty high to not fall to your knees in pain, which of course was no problem for the typical Pussycat patron.
The Pussycat made Sodom and Gomorrah look like an Amish prayer meeting.
I would go to the very large restroom during a break and have to step over the semi-live bodies of junkies and drunks, walking past couples consummating in the stalls. Yeah, that was my “office” at work for the night.
A bit shocking for a twice baptized old Mississippi boy.
The band got unlimited free alcohol, which was standard practice back then. Of course that would mean that we would get to work two hours early every night.
In bars and clubs today…you’d be lucky to get a 10% discount on a $9 Coors Light.
They had a special house drink called a “Mongolian M.F.” (and initials were not used) that consisted of a shot of every liquor at the bar in a very tall glass. If you could finish it, it was on the house.
The only person I know of who ever was able to do that was my brother Steve who was our sound and light technician. Then he would also drink so much Dewar’s scotch back at the console that the barmaids would complain about cleaning up all the empty glasses around his area at the control board.
The band personnel by this time had changed and the new lineup was Bill Paras (Lead Guitar & Vocals), Joe Boudrie (Bass & Vocals), myself (Lead Vocals & occasionally badly played instruments), Jim McVeigh (Drums) and Steve E. (Guitar, Keyboards,Vocals). For some reason that 5th spot was always shaky.
Steve E. had a bit of an alcohol, drug and anger problem. And considering he was in a 70s rock and roll band, he had to be pretty damned bad to stand out.
And he was.
He would work his way up from slight buzz….to pretty well stoned….to wobbly ass ten thumbs messy volcano. It might take several hours, but he always hit the mark.
Steve would play competently on the way up the “stoned scale”, but once he hit a certain level he would get frustrated and fumble fingered and couldn’t get his guitar tuned in between songs. (No electronic tuners in those days.)
The broken straw was that one Saturday night at the Pussycat. There was a large crowd, things were going fine and we had just finished the first set and break.
Halfway into the first song our boy finds he’s out of tune. Goes berserk. Starts screaming and smashing his guitar into the back wall. Into many pieces. Jumps off the front of the stage and barrels himself through the crowd. Everyone hears his car squeal out of the parking lot.
The people were cheering on the large dance floor. They thought it was part of the show!
Nothing was impossible at the Pussycat….except keeping Steve. Buh bye Steve, hello John “Lizard” Erikson.
To be continued…
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.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 34 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
You can help your community
Quality, in-depth journalism is essential to a healthy community. The Dispatch brings you the most complete reporting and insightful commentary in the Golden Triangle, but we need your help to continue our efforts. In the past week, our reporters have posted 34 articles to cdispatch.com. Please consider subscribing to our website for only $2.30 per week to help support local journalism and our community.
