Casa del Coyote

Last Rocklahoma Entry. Glory be to God, this will be the last and horribly overdue Rocklahoma blog entry, only 7 short months after returning from the event.

Much of my delay in writing this blog was that I had hoped to back-up the claim that “Winger is better than Rush.” Crazy, right? Well, in all truth, Winger’s set at Rocklahoma was really damned impressive. I was as impressed as I was the first time I saw Rush live.

[letting the laughter die down]

If you choose to mock Winger and you’re not familiar with Reb Beach‘s mad guitar skillz or Rod Morgenstein‘s percussive past, then you’re really mocking them out of ignorance. I decided to ditch the idea of saying they were “better” than Rush, though, because they’re really apples and oranges. People like Rush for vastly different reasons than people like Winger. The audiences generally have vastly different intellectual and musical demographics. For instance, there are girls who like Winger. [rimshot!] Considering this and other such differences, I’ve abandoned my original claim.

Some pics from the Winger show:

I will wind-up my Winger talk by saying that in addition to Winger playing really, really well, they also appeared to be rather healthy, in positive spirits, and seemed to enjoy their show. Kip’s chuckle after slipping “she’s only 35″ into a “17″ chorus was evidence of this demeanor. It seemed to me like they’re beyond being offended by the mockery made of them via Stewart, the loser/dork on Beavis and Butthead and they’re just happy playing music.

On the flipside, there was Don Dokken. Good Lord, Don, what happened to you, man? Remember how hot Kathleen Turner was in Romancing The Stone, then she turned up a number of years later looking…uh…different? Well, take a look at the frightening comparison:

Shocking, right?

Dokken’s set rocked, though, despite his haggard appearance. I’m happy to announce that the Rokkin’ like Dokken mantra was proven to hold water. “Wild” Mick Brown’s drumming wasn’t really wild, though, as the moniker applies more to his 80′s partying than his drumming style. Bassist Jeff Pilson, however, did deserve an energetic nickname–the dude brought it!

Dokken, rocking like…well, like themselves:

And further evidence that we were indeed rocking with Dokking…er, you know what I mean:

Finally, rounding out our Rocklahoma experience (we didn’t stay through Sunday’s bands) was Vince Neil. Much debate was made about what to expect by fans around us. Several folks said Vince’s performances over the past few years had been weak, abbreviated, and his voice sounded terrible. A few people said they’d heard he’d really stepped up his act and they expected a good show.

Well, we got a little of both.

Vince looked healthy and happy enough (I keep pointing out these performers’ health because a number of them seemed to lack it). His voice started solid and his energy was way-up. His drummer was a Tommy Lee 2.0–taking showmanship to another level. Really, the most flamboyant drummer I’ve ever seen…by far. Drum beats were played but somehow amidst them it seemed as though one drumstick was always airborne and his head and arms flailed relentlessly.

What was a great show for about 30 minutes, however, was soon to change. Vince left. Yep, he left. He walked off the stage as if he were getting a drink or taking a breather, and the next 45 minutes or so turned into an extended jam session by his band. They did AC/DC, some Zeppelin…they played pretty well, too, except that it wasn’t the Vince Neil performance we were hoping to see.

Eventually we lost interest and began walking back to camp. Lasers shown and Vince eventually came back out to close out the show. But much like the anti-climactic feel of this final Rocklahoma blog post, Rocklahoma, for us, was over.

Sunday morning we awoke and began cleaning up camp. We hit the road and had a number of adventures along the way back, to be told in another forum, if ever at all. I was left with one special token of Rocklahoma remembrance, however, that will likely remain with my family for generations to come. Something so massive, so important, so hydrating and heavy that, when told “Son, here’s your new milk cup,” the HuMUGous struck fear into the young lad:

Sayonara,

El Coyote

Next-to-last Rocklahoma post…

I hope I do these final two installments justice, as what you’re about to read really was the musical essence of Rocklahoma. We left off with ENatFlow finding proper attire and our gang heading from camp to the festival for the remainder of the afternoon and evening.

Next up?

Like the backdrop reads: Firehouse. Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. I know it, ’cause I was thinking it too. “Baby, Don’t Treat Me Baaaaa-aaaad” and “Love of a Lifetime.” Two very basic late-glam-era hits. There was almost an expectation of a mediocre show with a few drunken sing-a-longs. Boy, were we ever wrong. Firehouse easily gets our group’s Best In Show, for numerous reasons:

(1) APPEARANCE. The dudes have managed to retain decent-looking-human status. Case in point, lead singer CJ Snare…

Early 90′s vs. Summer ’07

Seriously, he hasn’t aged too badly at all, especially considering the musician population at this party! A woman today might actually not be embarrassed to be seen with the latter of those two pics, right? Okay, maybe not all of you, but some of you (Kim, you know who you are!)

(2) SOUND. While I don’t have sound clips from the show, trust me when I say that these guys sounded great. ENatFlow, Sister Darkness, and The Bone all vehemently concurred. Vocal harmonies were aplenty, entirely on-pitch and strong. Snare still has a killer range and uses it frequently. Through these images, you can almost hear a nailed vocal high note and perfectly executed arpeggio:

(3) ENERGY. It was hot. Very hot. Very sunny and very hot. But these dudes were ON. I think the drummer was so psyched that he put on his favorite Stone Temple Pilots concert shirt:

But even beyond rockin’ in a sky blue shirt about 10 years outta style, Firehouse came to play with the same intensity they had 15-20 years ago. Check out the pose in (a) below, then the crowd-noise-set-up pose in (b), and finally the Rock ‘n’ Roll Forever pay-off pose in (c):

(a)(b)(c)

(4) BELIEVABILITY AND SINCERITY. These guys weren’t just onstage to play worn-out songs for a paycheck for the umpteenth time. They truly seemed to care about their music, their fans, and themselves. A great example of this is their performance of “Love of a Lifetime.” The standard ballad performance thus far at the fest was a run-through, uninspired rendention of a song that made some money 20 years ago. Not Firehouse, though. The singer jumped on synth/keys and the guitarist did some nice volume swells, such that our crew looked surprisingly at one another saying, “Damn, that was beautiful.” Firehouse truly seems to love their music, deeply appreciate their fans, and enjoy being able to still make a living playing music.

Suffice it to say that Firehouse kicked ass when we were least expecting it. Saturday at Rocklahoma had taken off, hit cruising altitude, and damn near went on to break the sound barrier. But engine failure approached, in the least likely of forms:

Warrant.

Just as the backdrop above is cut in half and underscored with sharp, painful barbs, such was the cacophony that was about to ensue.

I was really looking forward to this set. Cherry Pie came out at the very beginning of my senior year in high school, and after having worn out my Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich cassette and getting my high school cover band to play “Down Boys,” well, I wanted to hear all those songs again. And had they been performed with the quality Firehouse just exhibited, damn, would that have ever been great.

In anticipation, I even knew Jani Lane wasn’t in the band anymore and had been replaced by Not-Jani-Lane (Jaime St. James, actually, which was cool, or so I thought, ’cause he’d sung for Black and Blue who I’d really dug way back when). Not-Jani-Lane’s personal website contains the question, “So you ask yourself, how the hell did Jaime end up the lead singer for Warrant.” We were all about to ask ourselves that very same question, but for vastly different reasons. The first few words of the opening song, “Down Boys” (I think it was that, my memory has shut-out much of their set) were uttered. Simultaneously, 30,000 screaming fans stopped screaming, looked at each other, and mouthed, “What the fuck?”

Warrant was the polar opposite to everything I wrote about Firehouse–retention of talent, appearance, energy, and vigor. Here’s what visibly happened to Warrant:

1990s:

Now: and

That second cheese-dick is Not-Jani-Lane. As much as I really liked his band in the 80s and 90s, he was god-awful at Rocklahoma. He not only single-handedly killed Warrant’s set, but he brought the entire festive nature of this festival to a screeching halt. If Firehouse was supersonic speed, Warrant was a tragic plane crash.

I was appalled. Mothers covered their children’s ears. The Bone looked downward, shaking his head in utter disappointment. Warrant had failed their fans. Whereas Faster Pussycat was entertaining in how terrible they were, Warrant’s performance lacked both quality and entertainment value. ENatFlow’s face read, “Yeah, this is what I thought all the bands would sound like.” And Sister Darkness, well, when the modulation in “Heaven” seemed to signal a pick-a-key-any-key contest and the subsequent vocal ad-libs resembled the simultaneous torturing of many felines…her aspect took on that of Kurtz in the closing pages of, appropriately, Heart of Darkness.

Warrant did have brightly colored guitars, for what that was worth:

Truly, the best part of the show was accidentally shooting this guy’s mane and stock-glam-modified shirt:

Warrant had a drummer. He looked disgusted by the show, too, as though he was ready to pack up and get outta Dodge.

One moderately redeeming moment happened as Not-Jani-Lane gazed out into the crowd of people (who were screaming at him and not for him). There was a sign…I zoomed in my lens for your reading enjoyment:

I left our seating area after several songs to wait in line to get Firehouse’s autograph. I damn near paid $20 to get Firehouse’s new album signed by the band, as they’d announced they’d hang out to meet people and sign autographs after their gig (apparently Firehouse has done this at every show throughout their career…yeah, they rock). They signed and greeted for about an hour, but the line became enormously and uncontrollably long as fans steadily left their seats to escape Warrant’s wrath.

During my Warrant-avoidance trek I saw a tattoo I thought was neat. The owner let me photograph it, then explained that it was a tribute to her deceased sister who really liked the song “Free Bird.” Beautiful tat and story, yet the somberness of the latter was still not as big a buzz-killer as Warrant.

Then I walked over to where a radio station van was parked. This was in the back of the van:

Maybe you’d heard of Mini Spooners. I hadn’t. I thought it was funny.

I then returned to my seat in time for Warrant to accept their award for 2nd Crappiest Band at Rocklahoma and their 1st Place Prizes for Biggest Disappointment and Worst Not-Original Band Member.

We were about to see the Best-Not-Original-Band-Member in Skid Row’s Not-Sebastian-Bach, but not before The Bone ripped my camera from my hands and took this terribly objectifying photo of some nice girl.

Sister Darkness kept talking about this woman wearing Timberlands with this outfit, and how funny that was. The Bone and I never saw any footwear.

Skid Row was ALL about Not-Sebastian-Bach. This guy saved Rocklahoma as far as we were concerned. The metaphorical festival/vessel was ablaze on a jungle hillside, and Not-Sebastian-Bach almost single-handedly picked up the pieces, reassembled it MacGyver-like into a spaceship, and shot us to the damned moon.

So without further ado, Not-Sebastian-Bach:

He had it all: energy, vigor, a killer voice, attitude, and he’s from BUDA for Pete’s sake! Sister Darkness and ENatFlow embodied the joy felt throughout the reinvigorated Rocklahoma crowd:

Skid Row’s Rachel Bolan (aka the dude who used to have the nose ring connected to his earring by a chain, like Jane Child) was incredible, too.

Rachel Bolan: Jane Child:

Intensity, happiness, and alcohol consumption abounded during Skid Row’s set.

Even the drummer took it upon himself to stand up and get a better view, to be sure somebody was kicking Warrant’s ass for putting a damper on our party.

I also think the drummer was no stranger to tattoo parlors:

Then they played a ballad. It was okay…played well, but a bit uninspired.

Things were on track again and Rocklahoma had taken a turn back toward the energy that preceded Warrant’s oft-mentioned suckiness. Life was indeed good.

And seriously, can it possibly get any more American than Miller Chill, U.S. Smokeless Tobacco, JPot music, and glam rock in Oklahoma? God, I hope so:

I did have to take a beer and bathroom break quickly during Skid Row’s set, where I ran into another photo-worthy tattoo. This guy’s Dad fought in WWII and had passed away early in this guy’s life. His tattoo was an Army insignia, Betty Grable, and his Dad’s regiment number. I also liked that he was wearing a brethren of ENatFlow’s Girls, Girls, Girls shirt…even modified in a similar fashion.

And with that beautiful tribute, I sign off with one last Rocklahoma installment pending: Winger, Dokken, and Vince Neil will round out our Rocklahoma experience.

Rock on, everyone,

El Coyote

The events below take place on 7/13/2007, from approximately 9:00AM to midnight. They signify a weekend that truly was The Greatest Thing To Happen Since Pretty Boy Floyd’s Release of “Leather Boyz With Electric Toyz.”

- – - – -

A wonderful thing happened in Pryor, Oklahoma of all places. Yes, Oklahoma. I know! It made me not want to go either. Really. But I went. And some friends and I had about the best time you can cram into a period that covered 1,000 miles, dozens and dozens of beers, and lasted from 6:00AM Friday morning until 6:00PM Sunday evening. The event: the first annual Rock Fever Fest, aka ROCKLAHOMA.

We’ll begin in Dallas, Texas already 3 hours north of Austin, because cameras just shouldn’t be shooting pictures before 9AM. Apparently, 7-11 has converted several of their stores into Kwik E Marts to promote the upcoming Simpsons movie. One of them is just off Highway 75 in Dallas:

Continuing on, just north of Dallas we noticed an inordinate number of people exiting at this particular exit. Someone in the truck suggested the exit’s number had something to do with this. I didn’t understand.

But our quartet continued Northeast, into the land of the Soo… Soone… I can’t say it. The image below captures the mood of the ride. No, he’s not blurry, we’re just getting closer to Rocklahoma.

We arrived, rolled the windows down, and heard the strains of White Lion’s “Little Fighter.” Sounded pretty good. Mike Tramp was having a rough go at singing in the hot, dry air but Not-Vito-Bratta sounded great (henceforth, all replacements of original band members will be identified with “Not-” preceding the name of the person they’ve replaced). With the vehicle containing two pretty serious fans of this fest’s music (“El Coyote” & “The Bone”) and two others who, well, aren’t quite as devoted to the genre (“Sister Darkness” & “ENatFlow”), Bone and I grabbed six beers and high-tailed it to the show. Darkness & NatFlow were kind enough to, well, do all the work of setting up camp. Bless ‘em.The walk to the gate was electric. “Tell Me” went off without a hitch. “When The Children Cry” had even folks in the parking lots and campground raising their sweaty arms in the air. “Wait” played as The Bone and I chugged the last of our Lone Stars before heading into the festival. We had a tough time finding a seat as White Lion left the stage:

But seriously, we felt magic about to happen as we were drawn toward the red and blue striped tent off to the right. Muffled sounds of a cover band wound their way to our ears. “Welcome to the Jungle.” How appropriate. But, no, it was to get better. In the center of the tent, rocking almost literally like a hurricane, The Bone and I saw the most magnificent mullet ever donned. Billy Ray Cyrus couldn’t hold this guy’s jock.

I didn’t get his name, but ENatFlow and I ran into him later at which time I got my picture taken with “The Mullet.” Check out ENatFlow’s blog for that photo–his point of view is a great complementary account of the festival.

Y&T was up next. The weather was very sunny and very hot, but Y&T was pretty formative for me (their video to “Summertime Girls” contributed to my wanting to be a rock star) so we prepared to hear the band whose name is short for Yesterday And Tomorrow. Plus, if you believe www.Meniketti.com (Meniketti is the singer’s last name), Y&T plays “Music That Melts Your Face.” Beautiful. Here’s ol’ Dave now:

Y&T was good but I’d heard “Don’t Stop Runnin’” and we were thirsty, so it was time to make our first trip back to camp. NOTE: Our weekend contained many trips to our campsite from the seating areas because Oklahoma’s beer is limited to an alcohol content of 3.2%. For comparison, Budweiser’s about 5%. We took 51 beers. The bulk of them were gone in the next few hours.

ENatFlow & Sister Darkness did a glorious job of constructing our palace for the next couple days. Home Sweet Home:

We had some great neighbors, too. For whatever reason, Oklahomans like to get on top of their campers:

And in cases where they don’t climb their campers, they seem to send aloft human facsimiles (below). And when sex dolls aren’t handy, to their credit, they just stick a couple of their bikini-clad counterparts with alligators in front of their tents:

But as soon as we could down about 6 more beers and load our cargo-pant-short pockets with a total of 10 or so more beers (God bless Rocklahoma security!), it was time to head back to the show. Slaughter was up next and we knew we’d be up all night. [groan] At least tomorrow we could sleep all day. [double groan]

An unnamed member of our party thought the backdrop read, “laughter.” For some reason, they weren’t kicked out of the show for uttering such blasphemy. So, below we’ve got (1) that very backdrop, (2) the band’s namesake, Mark Slaughter, and (3) either Blas Elias or Not-Blas-Elias on drums.

(1)(2)(3)

Before we get any further, it’s time to meet our crew. As mentioned before, we’ve got ENatFlow (in blue, with the killer redneck/eagle/Stars & Stripes cap), Sister Darkness (in the U-necked halter thingy…I’ve got no fashion knowledge), and The Bone (gray shirt, black cap), and I’m in the anti-censorship Warrant shirt circa 1991. We were joined occasionally by the lovely RockaRolla (cowboy hat). Great folks, all of ‘em. The “food” they’re consuming is called “Indian Taco.” Don’t ask, and for God’s sake don’t ever buy one of those things.

Quiet Riot’s up next. By this point I wasn’t sure–many beers had been consumed and several stockpiling trips had been made to the campsite and vendors. It’s not even midnight.

Quiet Riot was solid, as far as I can remember. I screamed along to “Metal Health” and “Mama Weer All Crazy Now.” Good times. The most notable thing about QR, though, was lead singer Kevin DuBrow. He no longer wears his Gallagher-like super-tight curled hairdo with a receding hairline. Nope. DuBrow’s gone full-blown MILF on us:

Seriously, is he (a) the lead singer of pioneering metal band Quiet Riot or (b) a super-hot cougar soccer mom? You make the call.

The midnight hour is finally upon us at Rocklahoma, as is the end of this post. The next post will be “after midnight.” The remaining line-up for the night is RATT and Poison.

As this is my first blog post using this forum, I’d appreciate any and all feedback you have regarding content, format, long-windedness, etc.

Rock On,

El Coyote