antic hay/fool's holiday, King's Head 5-18-90
This was a funny show in the sense that it almost never happened. There must have been some sort of screw-up on the electric company's end, as the late afternoon hours leading up to load-in time were looking dim. ...I mean there were no lights! Nada! Shirley was even talking with the bands about maybe moving the show to Elbow Room. I was the least of us there, but I was kinda digging the idea. I never played there, and Elbow Room was an experience. Tight, loud, sweaty, dank. You could taste it in the air.... it laid on you. It was like some alien soul existed there, floating around in pieces on the thrill-borne explosion of spit. It was “all that”, and unisex bathrooms. Anyway...the meeting of the minds turned into; “there's a lot of cold beer in that keg that won't be any good if it gets warm...so...”, and down we sat. There was a whole lot of talk I don't remember now, and a lot of cheap beer swilled from plastic cups. We just sat around that small table, a few feet off the front of the bar, drinking, waiting, conspiring... while outside the mid May sun struggled to lay heat on the Hampton Blvd. sidewalk as the shadows of the bars grew longer, making way for the night.
Across town the Cramps were playing with the Flay Duo Jets. Vernon, I think, had made a cool hand-bill to pass out and put on windshields during that one, hoping to bring that crowd to us. BRING THIS AND YOUR TICKET STUB FROM THE CRAMPS TO KING'S HEAD AND GET A BUCK OFF ! I think it read. Again, everything about our gig seemed dwarfed by something else, going on somewhere else. There was a lot of preoccupation, and “what if” going on. I think everybody wanted to see the Cramps. Our show did eventually go on, but not until Shirley blessed the electric company folks via screaming telephone etiquette. I remember George just sitting quietly, kind of smirking, as if to gesture...”well, what next?...and when...”? After Shirley finished with the imbeciles on the phone she turned her broom on all of us...”okay! Let's get this thing going!” as the Hay kids started loading in for their sound check. It was dusk, and we “fool's” were sufficiently beer drunk.
Hours later it was time for us to stop drinking and play. We went first, and again, something just seemed strange. I had no idea at the time that it would be my last gig with Matt, Darryl and Barry. Anyway, when we took to the stage it was kind of like a “live practice”. Not many folks there right off, (Cramps) and we played almost as if we had a chance to finish early and catch the other show. Meanwhile, I think most of Antic Hay were at the Cramps too, with everybody else. Somewhere along the middle of our set people started to trickle in...stoked from the other show, talking, drinking...shooting pool. It was turning into an Antic Hay show. Finally. On-stage there was a different show taking shape. It was like a “big kids' play-fight” between Matthew and Darryl...but with guitars and REAL blood. True to form every song was about a quarter time too fast, and those guys were in a “fight”, but laughing. They kept banging into each other, seeking blood. Matt appeared to be the instigator, but I think now that they actually planned it during the drinking...i told you, I don't remember what we talked about. But Matt would just give Darryl this sneaky kinda rat look...gritting his teeth and sort of kissing his lips at Darryl like he would, never mind the crowd, they had something else of their own going on, completely oblivious to any onlookers. Matt's eyes, just teasing Darryl through those sweaty curls with a look that said “here I come...” and WHAM! Blood on somebody, blood on something else...and the whole time never missing a riff. As Barry pounded to keep the heart of that circus beating, I just screamed stupid poetry “like a pissed-off wanna-be Lou Reed”, as I think Darryl put it. The whole thing was a blur. It was like watching wild animals. It beat sex. The thing ended for me with “Dog Track”.
MY LIFE IS A WASTE OF PAPER
A LOUD SHOUT ON A SILENT SCREEN
MY BLADE'S GOT A DULLISH TAPER?
I READ MY WORDS BUT CAN'T TELL
WHAT THEY MEAN...
I DREAM OF LIES AND I DREAM OF
LOSING...THERE'S NOT A NIGHTMARE
THIS KID HASN'T SEEN.
I SEE MY CHOICES AND DON'T THINK OF CHOOSING,
I BEAR MY SOUL, SHE STRIPS ME CLEAN...
DOGS RUNNING A DOG TRACK
DON'T THINK ABOUT TURNING BACK....
-my throat scratched and cracked over the electrified, broken, and beautiful world which engulfed me.
I remember choking back vomit, as my frantic gasps to suck wind into the machine pulled my stringy hair down to tickle my throat.
DOGS RUNNING A DOG TRACK, DON'T THINK ABOUT TURNING BACK...i screamed twice, like something better than my life depended on it, as Matthew strummed the last few phrases of that one...and I tried to pull some half-assed David Lee Roth thing, missed the low stage on my way down and ended up barely occupying a little slab of cold black and white beer-soaked checkerboard floor. I think as they were literally finishing the song I was making my way on hands and knees through the load-in door. Out I crawled onto the nights boulevard, making it slowly through the passersby to my curbside seat. I remember leaning over as my stomach finally gave up. Shortly thereafter, Laurie spirited me away in her shiny red sports car, to go sleep at a beach access somewhere on the north end of the strip in VB.
I don't remember much of the Antic Hay set, but it must have rocked, -house all full of amp'd-up scene stars, fresh back from the “varsity” rock show. Most of them had missed our little set, but I was there for most of it, and it was truly, home-grown Norfolk rock and fucking roll. It was a great show and a great swan song I guess. I had other issues begging my soul. The guys realized I guess that they needed a better singer, and I realized Nags Head might be a better place to figure it all out. I didn't really know where I was fitting in anymore. To be honest, the amount of other shit that was piling up in my life was creating a pile so high I couldn't see over it. I was running from this, or to that. There were things I needed to apologize for and stuff I was ashamed of, but I was young, and there was lots of octane in the tank. That and my schizoid behavior earned me a spectator's roll at the next Fool's Holiday gig. Ironically, and painfully it was at Mex-Econo, or a Mecca of sorts to any of VA's aspiring rockers that wanted to get out of town and flex their hardcore muscle. Without going into it, just take what I said before about Elbow room, add a great poster of “penises of the animal kingdom”, break a toilet...and there ya go. Mex! They did alright there. I wanted to take the stage, but I wouldn't. Brian was screaming for them now, and although he didn't even have words to all the songs, I stood and watched like a pussy.
Eventually, all of the “fools” would decide they needed a “holiday” and they disbanded. I had jammed a little with a great drummer named Johhny Corbett. I hooked him up with Darryl and out popped Combine. Matthew and Barry added Larry and ______and Candy Snatchers was born. Y'all must have heard of them. Bad ass punk rock! While the rest of the guys went on to tour the known world, I took to hanging out in Nags Head Woods with the beach Rastas. Burning fires, and keeping journals about the coming fall of our current civilization. I would however get the chance to play King's Head again...and a few other joints around town. I blame the Wonder Twins, and Resin Nation mostly...and I guess I owe a big 'ginny thank you to John Finney as well. Maybe I can tell you more about that next time.
