Casa del 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

On this day I didn’t pick-up my camera ’til about lunch time. However, a great deal happened during those hours that ENatFlow’s blog captures as accurately and wonderfully as it could possibly be re-told. You should definitely read it, if for no other reason than the account of the breakfast we didn’t eat.

A decision was made to skip the Bullet Boys’ set, because (1) it was hot, (2) we (and by “we” I mean The Bone & I) were still re-hydrating, and (3) after the breakfast incident, preparing lunch jumped higher on the priority list. I did, however, take a walk toward the stage and heard several choruses from “For the Love of Money.” The Bullet Boys sounded alright…just not better than the taste of the burgers we were about to have back at camp. Said burgers featured the largest tomato I’ve ever seen:

The damn thing, as you can see, was friggin’ enormous…even with some of the bottom cut-off, it stands nearly as tall as a koozied beer can, and was damn near as big around as my face. It also happened to be among the most flavorful tomatoes any of us had ever eaten. Sherman, Texas, you grow some fabulous friggin’ tomatoes!

No one else was really interested in seeing Taime Down’s version of Faster Pussycat (and if you don’t know, yes, that is pronounced tie me down…witty glam-era name, huh?). Long story short: band break-up yielded two Faster Pussycat incarnations touring simultaneously. One edition is more poppy/glam-ish and this edition is a more goth-ish rendition of their 80′s selves. What is gothish glam, you ask? Well, if Taime Down’s performance represents that sub-genre accurately, gothish glam is one of the worst concepts in the history of music.

Taime looked hideous, sounded worse, and at one point he went so far as to say, regarding his former bandmate Brent Muscat, “I wish the cancer Brent had would have killed him.” The until-then feisty afternoon Rocklahoma crowd was sorta stunned. There were gasps, a few boos, but mostly just a few thousand folks wishing Taime would just not suck so bad at singing his own band’s songs. I liken Taime’s presence and appearance to a mutant offspring of Marilyn Manson, Frankenstein’s monster, Boy George, William Hung, and Patty & Selma Bouvier:

+ + + +

=

The next photo, of Taime’s butt, features a kilt-looking thing being sold at the merch booths that read “Pussy Power.” Price tag for one of those babies? $55.

Faster Pussycat’s guitarist did a decent rock guitar pose, for whatever that was worth:

But it was all about Taime…and it was getting worse. He shed his hat, lit a cigarette, wiped some pasty sweat-goo from his forehead (I literally heard several people utter, “Ew”), and struggled through a terrible rendition of their hit ballad, “House of Pain.” It had been a decent, gritty ballad at the time, but today the song was utterly destroyed. On the upside, Taime admitted they sounded “a bit rusty” and “I know most of you didn’t come to see us, but we appreciate you being here during our set anyway.” What a guy. More:

But Faster Pussycat’s set was about to get worse (much worse, even) with the performance of their latest album’s title track, “Glory Hole.” Yes, glory hole. It featured an audience sing-a-long. Yeah, a bunch of folks at about 1:00PM or so were truly into singing the words:

Your lips take control,
Here lies the power of the glory hole

The drummer really seemed to like that song, though:

If you can imagine, I went ahead and left this set a bit early. I remained this long just as a person waits around to watch a train wreck. Upon my return to camp there was still lunch to be eaten (again, covered very well in ENatFlow’s blog) and an ensuing fashion show would take place. Yes, ENatFlow decided to go through my stash of junior high and high school concert t-shirts to find his attire for the rest of the day.

It’s worth noting that (to our collective delight) ENatFlow was actually enjoying Rocklahoma. It wasn’t just the primo people-watching (that was a given) or the music (I think he appreciated it more than anticipated). Nope, I truly think he began to enjoy the sheer joie de vivre felt by all in attendance.

But back to said fashion show…

Shirt #1: Purchased at Bon Jovi’s Slippery When Wet tour stop in El Paso, circa 1987. I modified it as any wannabe/poseur rocker of the day would have. NOTE: The back reads, “BON JOVI ROCKS YOUR ASS OFF” Oh, those hardcore New Jerseyans.

Shirt #2: Purchased at the Motley Crue/Whitesnake El Paso tour date, the Crue supporting Girls, Girls, Girls. We stopped the fashion show at this point because, clearly, he’d found the perfect shirt:

With the meals prepped/lost/recreated and eaten, the day’s wardrobe chosen, and Taime gone, we embarked (smuggled beers aplenty in-tow) toward the festival gates eager for an afternoon and evening of Firehouse, Warrant, Skid Row, Winger, Dokken, and Vince Neil. This line-up would prove to surprise, disgust, energize, impress, humor, and RAWK us like we’d never been rawked before.*

* Not every member of our group had previously been “rawked” before this date.

After midnight, were gonna let it all hang down.
After midnight, were gonna chug-a-lug and shout.
Were gonna stimulate some action;
Were gonna get some satisfaction.
Were gonna find out what it is all about.
After midnight, were gonna let it all hang down.

I’ll probably go to Music Hell for quoting J.J. Cale in a Rocklahoma blog post, but the lyrics seemed to fit the mood.

So, yeah, here we are: it’s getting later, the crowd’s getting drunker, and RATT and Poison will close out the first full day of Rocklahoma (yes, there were some bands on Thursday, but (1) the biggest name was a KISS tribute band and (2) we were still in Texas).

RATT was impressive. Stephen Pearcy’s voice isn’t quite what it used to be but these guys can play the hell outta their catalog. I’m not one to keep a set list of what a band is playing, but they played everything I wanted to here. “Wanted Man” was a highlight. Mainly, they were very full of energy. A few shots from their set:

The big surprise at the end of RATT’s set was the announcement of “John Corabi on rhythm guitar.” I realized at that point that I wasn’t sure if Juan Crocier or Not-Juan-Crocier played bass, but I was psyched that Corabi’s found some work (I was a fan of The Scream, but wasn’t thrilled with him taking Vince Neil’s spot in Motley Crue). I didn’t get a decent photo of Corabi, but here’s half of him with Warren DeMartini:

By this time it was pretty late, though I have no idea exactly what time it was. We’d all been awake since 4 or 5 that morning, prepping for the 8-hour drive from Austin to Pryor. ENatFlow and Sister Darkness were fading pretty fast and left just after RATT finished, with the goal of setting up the beds and then coming back for Poison. They never made it back. No amazing story of hijinx, they just fell asleep.

The Bone and I were wiped out, too, but friggin’ POISON was about to take the stage. And RockaRolla, well, she was doin’ fine. A visual recap:

Poison.

I’d seen them about 10 years ago in San Antonio on somewhat of a lark. At that time, my expectations were just to hear some songs from my childhood. What I saw then was that these guys still entertain the HELL out of a crowd. For that reason, I had a feeling we were about to see a great show. I was right. Again, I wasn’t scribbling down a set list but they tore through everything that the rest of the crowd and I wanted to hear.

Visual interlude:

What was becoming a great set suddenly stopped when CC Deville took center stage to sing a song he wrote. It’s apparently in his contract or something that he gets to do one song. I’d heard about it, but forgotten, and was now going to experience first-hand his masterpiece, “I Hate Every Bone In Your Body But Mine.” Yeah, you read that correctly. It was terrible. Rikki and Bobby looked physically pained as they played it, Bret left the stage, but CC…CC was on top of the world, singing a very, very bad song, and not even singing it well. In fact, he looked moderately confused, himself:

Oh, and Bobby Dall was there. Clean. Even conscious:

When that was over and the crowd came back from a collective 30,000-person bathroom & food break, Bret went into a big schpiel about the military and how Poison supports our troops. They then brought up several soldiers in fatigues and dress-blues for an extended version of “Something To Believe In.” I never really liked the song that much but it was certainly a crowd pleaser:

Although the other three members looked relatively healthy and happy, Rikki Rockett looked a bit like post-Culture-Club Boy George:

And when in the South(ish), it never hurts to slap a NASCAR sticker on your guitar:

Poison encored with “Talk Dirty To Me,” which was a great experience. The crowd was feelin’ good and havin’ fun, the band seemed to truly enjoy the setting. All that was Day 1 of our Rocklahoma experience had come to a close…

…or so I’d thought.

The Bone had left about 1/2-hour before Poison’s set ended, complaining of a bum contact lens. When I arrived at camp, however, I found him still sitting in a chair outside our tent, nearing a state of sleep. When I asked him why he wasn’t sleeping inside the tent, he replied, “I couldn’t get it open.” I laughed, but understood that a lack of sleep, many beers, and blurred vision could combine to cause such confusion. So I walk over to the tent and…and…and…couldn’t find the damned zippers to open the doors.

We didn’t want to awaken Sister Darkness, but in the poorly lit campsite we could only see that there was one body on each side of the tent, both with long dark hair…we couldn’t tell who was who! We woke up both of them, caused about as much trouble and disturbance as was possible, and turned in for the night amidst the smells of sweat, campfires, and beer.

- El Coyote

Stay tuned for Day 2, which includes Faster Pussycat, strains of Bullet Boys from camp, Firehouse (surprise winner of our group’s personal Best-In-Show), Skid Row, Winger (and why I now think they’re better technical players than Rush), Dokken, and assorted stories of tattoos, bikinis, breakfast lost and breakfast found, and much more.

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