All The Young Punks Pt. 42

--- FEBRUARY 1983 ---

Back in NYC, after a welcome home roll in the sheets, Joe told Tina tales of the road ending with his visit home. She had just watched the band play the sold-out Palladium. T was proud of Joe, but the road was wearing her down.

"Do you know what the best thing about the Paladium was?" She asked with her hands playing under the sheets. "It was your first night home."

"I thought it was the guy who puked on your boots." Joe smirked.

"Bloody fucking hell," Tina said. "That was awful. At least the leather didn't soak it up."

"Simon is rubbing off on you."

"I know," Tina giggled.

"I had a chick yack on my Allstars once, in Ocean Beach. She was sloppy drunk and projectile vomited onto the stage. What a fucking scene that was. I had to toss my sneakers in the dumpster, my socks too."

"Tell me why none of the punks from Tommy's came to the show. I'm shocked they would miss this, you're biggest show ever."

"That hurts a little," Joe admitted. "But they rarely leave The Kitchen. They don't drink anywhere but Tommys. And they won't give me the credit. It's fucked up, but that's how they are."

"They love you. How can they not..."

"They love me when I come to their bar. That's it. They like what I do there. They don't give a fuck about anyting else we do."

"Tell me about The Whale in the driveway."

"It was really cool taking the bus home," Joe snuggled closer, kissing her hair. "Mom was so excited she used a personal day and we cooked dinner for the whole crew, including Larry. If you think my house was loud at Christmas... that was nothing. Jackie insisted on using the bus stove and oven. We had two kitchens working."

"What did you make?"

"Mom made Venda cheese ravioli in a sausage, garlic, and basil sauce. Jackie roasted a whole chicken with veggies. Mom had some leftover ham from Sunday dinner. I made prosciutto wrapped asparagus and a nice antipasto, and picked up loaves of crusty Italian.

"All that without notice?"

"Yeah. It was fun seeing the family spring into action. Larry went with me to Venda Ravoili. It's the best Italian deli on the hill."

"What did you do after dinner?"

"The guys went to Sal's nesting pods so my sisters had the bus for two days. Jeanie demanded we watch a movie on the bus. She and Jules slept on The Whale with me."

"What did you watch?"

"The Blues Brothers. Larry had never seen it."

"The driver watched it with you?"

"Yeah. He loved meeting my sisters. We made popcorn."

"I guess you took them camping after all. I'm glad you had a good trip," Tina said, pulling him closer. "Let's never do forty days again. This was torture."

"We're gonna cap it at thirty days. That's the absolute minimum we must do to make the buses work financially." Joe stared at the ceiling. "I'm worried that we're losing our clubs."

"Maybe that's good, right? You're blowing up."

Joe exhaled. "It's cool playing in these theaters, but it's not the same. I like clubs. I prefer the closeness and the energy."

"Bands don't go backward, Joe. Once you reach a certain level, you can't go back."

"I'm not abandoning our clubs. They made this possible. I'm going to book my gigs in the city, separate from the tours, so I can still have that."

Tina picked her head up, propping herself up with her elbow. "I have some weird news."

Joe slid himself up, fluffed his pillow, and sat with his back against the headboard. "What's up?"

"Gail Mortensen wants to invest in a new gallery and she's asked me to run it."

"That's amazing news!" Joe smiled. "You can break free from the Stalag. Why is this weird?"

"Because I don't know how serious this is, and it's at least a year off. So much can happen. I know of a few projects of the wealthy that have flamed out before they got off the ground. Rich people believe they can do anything. They have success in one field, because they're experts in finance or business, and they delude themselves into thinking they can succeed in any pursuit."

"Yeah, they just throw money at it."

"Exactly. But there's a limit. Eventually, they realize it's a bad investment. That's what they tell themselves rather than admitting failure."

"So you're not confident Gail can pull this off?"

"I believe she can, but I'm keeping my head straight and not assuming anything."

"I guess we're both up-and-comers."

--- EVOLVING SHOW ---

Joe met with Marty and Stan at the deli. He gave them the rundown on the entire tour, what worked, what didn't, and some changes he'd like to make.

"My old bits don't work as well in theaters. We did them, but getting volunteers from the audience is cumbersome. We had a couple of awkwardly long delays. The sideshow is made for clubs. I need to write some new material."

"Maybe you're outgrowing your schtick," Stan said.

"No, I'm not interested in playing it straight. We're known for our show. I just have to make some changes. I've been thinking about this for over a month. I have some ideas. The show will be the same, but bigger."

"What do you mean bigger?"

"More girls on stage, singers, dancers, backup singers. I'm gonna hold auditions on the day of each show. We'll promote it on the radio in advance."

"Auditions for what?" Marty asked

"Singers and dancers, so I don't have to pluck them from the audience. This will be just for theaters, not nightclubs."

"Did you like the bus?" Marty asked.

"We fucking loved The Whale, and Larry was a really cool guy. I cooked him dinner one night, just the two of us. We had a night off and the guys went out drinking. I hung out with Larry and made him a nice seafood casserole. It was one of my favorite nights on the trip."

"That bill will come in soon," Marty said. "And it's gonna take a big bite of our take."

"Yup," Joe nodded with a smile. "It's a good thing we sold a boatload of tickets."

"Get a hold of yourself, kid," Stan said "You didn't sell out The Garden."

"Are you capable of acknowledging any success? I didn't say we sold out The Garden. We sold out the Palladium and the Ocean State Theater." Joe put his hands up. "I know, this is our home turf, so you'll shit on that accomplishment. We also sold over 1900 tickets in Chicago and nearly as many in Cleveland, not sellouts, but I couldn't see the empty seats way the fuck up in the balcony."

"Joe," Marty nodded "Well done. None of my other bands ever came close to these numbers. This is great."

Both Marty and Joe stared at Stan. He grumbled incoherently.

"Hey," Joe became suddenly animated. "How much do you tip a tour bus driver? We were debating it secretly, so Larry wouldn't know. It was stressing me out. I wanted to do right by him."

"What did you give him?"

"Fifteen hundred."

Stan nearly did a spit take, dribbling coffee on his shirt. "You tipped your driver one thousand five hundred dollars?"

"Is that too much?" Marty shrugged. "I have no clue."

"I have a ballpark clue of what the rate for bus is per day, times thirty days, and I figured fifteen percent is the going rate for gratuities, and that came out to $1575. We rounded down. I didn't tip him on the fuel charges."

"I would hope not," Stan said. "What did your driver say?"

Joe took a sip of his soft drink. "Well, I told him we had no idea what we were doing but this is from us. I hope it's sufficient. He didn't even count it. Larry fanned out some C-notes from the envelope and said it was more than most bands tip."

"I knew it," Stan said. "You overtipped him."

"No, Stan. I want to be better than most bands, especially in how we treat people."

Food arrived, giving Marty and Stan a break from Joe's rambling account of the road and new ideas. Joe was also working on new songs, originals, and covers, that required girl backup singers.

Marty wiped his mouth with his napkin. "We've been overwhelmed with phone calls. The first few weeks you were out there it was crazy. Stan had more vinyl pressed, the third run, and was thinking of ordering another ten thousand if these sales keep up."

"Twenty-five thousand records," Joe smiled. "That has a nice ring to it."

"We've reordered the old vinyl too," Stan added. "Once people get their hands on The Resistance, they're looking for your other records."

"How many have we..."

"We're on our fourth pressing for Sons of Providence and third for Industrial Art. At the rate they're going, we'll be ordering more in a matter of weeks."

"If the sales keep up," Joe noted.

Marty exhaled, "Even if it slows down, and it will, this has been far more than I imagined we'd sell in what, two years?"

Joe bit a French Fry in half. "How many do we need to sell for a gold record?"

"Five-hundred-thousand!" Stan said with authority.

"Ha!" Joe smiled. "Never mind."

"That band from Delaware was here two weeks ago," Marty said. "Pennyhill. I like them. Sheila is booking a ten-date tour, just so they can try our clubs, and then they're coming in to record."

"She's upset that none of our bands are signing management deals," Joe noted. "I forgot to tell you that."

"Why aren't they?" Stan asked.

Joe's jaw dropped a little. "Are you serious? I told them not to. She's getting the tours, no fucking contract, and that's all she's getting from us."

Marty looked at Stan. "I agree with him." He turned to Joe. "That band you mentioned before Christmas, The Knives. They also called. They're coming in to check out the studio next week. Will you be around?"

"I have another one," Joe said. "and these guys are fucking weirdos. Gregory Rasputin."

"The Russian monk?"

"Not him personally, Stan. It's just the band's name."

"I knew what you meant," Stan barked. "I'm not stupid."

Joe shrugged. "You did frame it as a question. These guys are like a darker version of Jethro Tull, minus the prancing guy with a flute. It's like Zeppelin's minstrel style and grim Tull. The lead singer had a long beard. He plays guitar, mandolin, and violin. The bassist has electric and acoustic bass. I love acoustic bass."

"Where do you find these bands?" Stan asked.

"On the road. If we have a night off and there's live music nearby, I'll pop in and see who's playing. The Knives are from Brooklyn. Rasputin is from upstate. I saw them in Rochester."

Marty smiled. "If we sign all three, will be up to six bands."

"It's a start," Joe said, sipping his drink. "I think we need to bring someone in to manage bands if they need that. We don't want them falling into the arms of management, ahem." He cleared his throat. "...elsewhere."

"You want to manage bands now?" Stan rolled his eyes a bit.

"We're doing it already!" Joe exclaimed. "Marty has the recording duties, I have the circuit and record shops, and you..." Joe stared at Stan. "You do something." He smirked. "You buy lunch and complain."

Stan glared at him. "I press your vinyl."

Joe clapped his hands. "That's what it is."

"Who do you have in mind as a band manager?" Marty asked.

"I have an idea, but I have to run it by him first. I don't want Shiela to know we're keeping the bands away from her, so I need a name and face that's not us. And I want to have our bands do a showcase event of Guerilla Records talent."

"Where?" Stan asked. "When?"

"I don't know yet. I'm just spitballin'. When we get more bands."

"Do you ever stop birthing ideas?" Marty asked.

Joe pointed to his temple, "It's a hampster wheel up here. It never stops."

---- NEW ROUTINE ---

After a two-week break, the band was back in the Midwest for a thirty-day tour of medium-sized cities like Akron, Dayton, Bloomington, and South Bend. When Tina dropped him off at the bus, he introduced her to Larry.

"Hi, Larry," she shook his hand. "Joe says nice things, and that you're a good driver."

"Thanks, hon," Larry smiled. "And he says wonderful things about you also."

"I'm just grateful there's an adult on the bus to keep these man-babies in line."

"You don't have to worry about Joe. The other guys?" Larry shrugged. "Ya know, I've seen the way he treats the young ladies who follow his band. He's very kind." He leaned closer and whispered. "And he shows them your photo."

Tina looked up at Joe. "You do?"

"A few times," Joe said. "It's visual evidence of the girl back home."

She went to her toes and kissed him. "I love you. Have a great trip. Call me. It was nice to meet you, Larry. Drive safely."

"I always do, hon."

Tina walked off. Joe looked at Larry as she climbed into her Chevy. "Thanks for that. She doesn't always believe that I behave on the road."

"Pfft, behave?" Larry put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "You're a bloody saint, as your Brit friend likes to say."

"Permission to board, Captain?"

"Get on the damn bus."

Joe's favorite stop on the second tour aboard The Whale was Ames, Iowa. Maybe it was because Ames is a small college town, but he liked the vibe in the city, the on-campus venue, and the college kids who turned out at a record shop event and the show.

"It's so great that you came to Ames," an Iowa State junior said, sitting on the bus with Joe after the show.

His mates were in the back of the bus with her best friend and some other random ISU chicks. He had already told Brandy that he had a girl back home, apologized, and then offered her a beer.

"Most bands play Des Moines," she said, taking a sip. "and that's a drive, especially coming back after the show. We were so excited to have you come to campus."

"I'm happy to be here. College gigs are our bread and butter. This is what we do, college towns and city colleges."

They talked for more than an hour, mostly on the bus and then a short walk on campus. This was Joe's life on The Whale. During the forty-night run, he platonically entertained young ladies in several cities who found themselves drawing Joe, the short straw. That became his joke about himself, and the band adopted it. Some nights he went to a bar to dodge the tour bus afterparty. Other nights he boarded The Whale first and hid in his room. That was no fun with the party raging outside his door.

In Omaha, the furthest west the band had ever played, at the halfway point of the tour, Joe invited Larry to a diner to avoid the debauchery. After that, they hit a few more late-night diners, Joe telling Larry tales of the band, the carnival sideshow, and Johnny. Larry told Joe his Jersey story, "Born, raised, and someday buried, but not too soon." With Joe being a Boston fan and Larry a New York fan, they ragged on each other over sports.

Joe had his new routines planned for theater events but had the disadvantage of not knowing the nature of the on-campus scene aside from crowd capacity. Ken always sold Joe on numbers they might draw. The halls and auditoriums were as compatible as nightclubs, without the pit, the barricaded security zone separating the fans from the band. Joe despised the pit.

In Lawrence, Kansas, they played a theater off campus, his first opportunity to use the new system. Two days before the show, on Interstate 80 between Ames and Omaha, he phoned into KJHK, the Jayhawks student-run station. He pitched his first auditions for the sideshow.

"What do you mean by sideshow?" asked the DJ.

"From the beginning, back when I was a junior in high school, we've done bits that include the audience. It's our trademark. We do singalongs and dance contests. We bring girls up who can sing covers, like Blondie or Patty Smith. I need volunteers but the theaters are not as conducive as bars. So, I'm holding auditions."

"How many girls do you need?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It depends on how many show up. This is our first audition. I don't even know if this will work."

"What would you like to tell your fans?"

Joe went into his carnival barker schtick. "Step right up girls. We need you, eighteen and up, singers and dancers. Are you brave and uninhibited? Do you have a special talent you'd like to share? This is your chance at stardom. C'mon down to Liberty Hall at 3 PM on Tuesday. We'll be doing a sound check and auditions. You can meet the band, and if you're selected, perform on stage with the Young Punks."

The Liberty was the smallest theater the band had performed in, under 1200, but it was a nice room with seating in a balcony and a standing room general admission below. When The Whale pulled up, girls were hanging around. The bus drew the attention of the fifteen-ish young ladies in wait. Joe asked Larry to drop him off.

"I'm going too," Nate said. "I'm scouting for talent," he smiled. "but not singers and dancers."

"Count me in," Sal said, looking out the window. "Check out that leggy blonde with the rack."

Three of four punks disembarked and were surrounded by Kansas girls, mostly KU students.

"Okay, ladies," Joe waved his hands bringing them closer. He checked out his pool of talent. "We have to walk you around back to the stage entrance. I'll explain everything while our gear is unloaded. Follow me."

Joe led them around the building, like ducklings in leotards and winter coats, which was no short walk past storefronts and down a side street. They asked questions.

"What songs do you want us to sing?"

"How many of us are you taking?"

"Do we get free tickets if we're picked? The show is sold out and I don't have one."

Several girls chimed in. They were also ticketless. Joe hadn't considered this.

Inside the theater, Joe handed the girls a list of songs they could choose from. He explained the basics.

"You must know the lyrics. I have them printed if you need a refresher, but you won't have that on stage. I also need backup singers for three numbers. The dancers get the easy work, but there's a hitch. I'll explain that later."

By the time the audition began, Joe had twenty-three girls. The tall leggy blonde Sal was flirting with was very tall, a forward on the KU Jayhawks women's basketball team. Diedra was game, trying out for singing and dancing, but her voice was not great. Joe pulled her aside.

"If it's okay with you, I'd like to use your stature to our advantage. I have one special role I think you can fill. Let me show you something." He handed her a sheet of paper.

"What's this?"

"It's a loose script that will guide you, but honestly, feel free to improvise if you like. Just maintain that tone."

She read the lines, then looked up at Joe. "This is crazy."

"This is what we do," he smiled. "Are you in?"

"Yeah, this will be great, but do I need a ticket?"

"Let me check on that, but I'm pretty sure I can get you in... you're part of the show."

Joe selected five singers, two leads and three backup girls, and four dancers, including Deidra. When he learned his chosen nine could get in under one condition. He then convinced the chosen few with tickets to give their passes to the unselected girls who didn't have tickets.

"You'll be watching the show from the wings, and after you perform, you can go wherever, but you must be back on stage for the encore."

The house was packed, standing room below, seated above. Simon opened with his very British, "And now for something... completely... bloody... different." launching the Python Theme. Eight songs in, Joe called up his first singer.

"You may have heard we had auditions this afternoon. I'd like to present to you, your KU sophomore classmate, Marybeth McBride! C'mon out M&M."

Perky brunette Marybeth played Carly Simon for Joe, singing You're so Vain. It was possibly the most popular non-punk cover the band ever did. She walked off to loud cheers and whistles. Six songs later was the dance contest, with a twist, four girls danced off. It didn't matter who won.

"When Joe told the crowd favorite, tall red head Cynthia, that she won the shirt off his back on the condition she could take it from him, the four girls knew what to do. Six foot three Deidre took the lead."