Eric “H.E.” Carus had been a writer in the Portland music scene for two years. He wrote for Loose Screws—the best known music publication in the area. Owing to the fact that Eric’s sister was close friends with his wife, Cindy, Jack Barnes was familiar with H.E., as a writer for Loose Screws. Jack was rightfully proud of the work he had done for bands in the Portland area. And he invited Eric down to the studio to hear the just finished mix of Billy Granger and the Unreal Gods’ new record—Boom Chuck Rock Now!
Loving a scoop, Eric was quick to agree to head down to High Tech Recorders to audition the album. He was very much impressed and wrote glowingly of the album in his review.
Here I am, under the phones. It’s Billy and the Unreals’ new LP Boom Chuck Rock Now ! Not bad, eh? Well keep listening. Yeah it was done over at High Tech Recorders. Wha’? Oh yeah. Sorry about the yelling. I forgot I had these things on. But yeah, isn’t it just the way you expected their record to sound? Isn’t it perfect now? You think the guys are going to be kicking around this backwater burg with this making the rounds in LA? Wha’d’ya think is the thing Billy saw he never saw before in his girlfriend’s drawers?
OK. OK. So who really is the leading Bozo that drives a real Boraxo team?
Do you realize how much talent this guy has? He’s the Elvis man, the absolute Elvis. Hell, besides sounding like Elvis and himself, too, he alternately sounds like Paul Mc, David Bowie, Tom Petty, Lou Reed or the Mick. Who does he think he is anyway? It’s weird but “Symmetry” sounds like David Bowie fronting Wings with Ringo on drums, around the Venus and Mars period. And “Upstroke Down” sounds like Lou R., David B. and Joe Jackson from around his Look Sharp days.
Gilly’s synth work is really effective, wouldn‘t you say? Simple, understated, but spot on. He’s alternately a guitar, a sax section, steel drums, a cello or, hey, even a piano. And he’s in the mix real subtly. In fact, I like Jack Barnes’ mix in every way. He does Billy’s voice real justice. Caught Billy’s and Col’s guitars real nicely. He doesn’t overdo the panning, like most of these local jokers do. And Gilly is always right there in the background, off whistling in the distance like a lonesome train.
Like on “Rocky Road.” God, I love that song. See, I’ve got it figured out. It’s a rewrite of “I Walk The Line.” He’s got all the railroad imagery going. Sing in a low register, then an octave higher, just like Johnny Cash does. Col’s guitar’s got a real country thunk going on. But the main thing is that Billy is a dead ringer for Mick in the verses, early Mick, “Tell Me You’re Coming Back To Me” Mick. And then, just like Petty on the choruses. You think the big guys down South’ll see similarities in Billy and Col and Mick and Keith twenty years ago?
“Uptown” is a nice vehicle for Stryker’s bass: doing that little Motown shuffle thang. Meanwhile, that vintage vibrato gives the guitars a real ‘60s sound. And Billy sounds like Lou Reed in lots of places too, wouldn’t you say? You know, I don’t think it’s a rip to sound like someone else, as long as you’ve got some of yourself in there, too. Billy’s definitely got plenty of himself,
“English Boy” reminds me of the current Who. Gilly’s prancing synth line is well organized and proficient. I hope the boys realize this is a hit single. Col’s power chords really muscle the song in a rock direction. And I love the take off the Unreals do of the Beatles doing the Beach Boys: ‘The Soho girls really drive me wild…’ And Col’s little “I Feel Fine” riff at the end. Nice touch. The guys really pay honest homage to their influences. And they do it really well.
“Something New” gets back to the band’s ska roots, with a great Stone’s sound ala “19th Nervous Breakdown” layered on the top—with Dawson Fellows’ hypnotic, Watts-like drumming. It’s that Boom Chuck accent on the second and fourth beats. It’s on every song. Boom chuck rock, you boom chuck band.”
H.E. Carus was not the only critic to laud the band he was simply the first. He reviewed the album before it was released, even as a promotional recording. All through the winter months, the Unreal Gods’ album was the talk of the town. As had been the band’s plan, Boom Chuck Rock Now! hit the stores a couple weeks before Christmas.
For New Year’s Eve, the Unreal Gods were placed on a bill at Euphoria with Dollarshine, whose debut album was a national hit. The Unreals were to open the evening, with Dollarshine taking the stage in time for the traditional New Year’s countdown.
Jim Finity had just finished playing a solo acoustic gig at PC&S tavern and he was excited to see the Unreal Gods in the big room of Euphoria. He was not looking so forward to seeing Dollarshine. His perception was that his old high-school friends, Merv and Mindy Moss, had become distant in the years leading to their success—as if he were no longer an equal, but somehow beneath them in station.
This struck Jim as particularly odd as they had all shared a house in college, less than ten years earlier and had been very close for so long. But he had come to accept his new position in their lives, and, though saddened by the damages success could sometimes impose upon the lives of old friends, he had moved on with his life. And all the same he had more interest in seeing Billy and the Unreal Gods than he did Merv and Mindy anyway.
Upon entering the huge riverside warehouse that was Euphoria, Jim was amazed to see the room packed with at least seven hundred in attendance. They were young and drunk, coked up and strung out. Billy was in the midst of singing “Coca Cola,” his ode to the real thing Coke—in all its various permutations.
Jim felt ill at ease. Success had changed the band, since the previous summer when he had last seen them. In that time, their fan base had doubled and re-doubled, attendance at their shows growing consistently.
The recent release of their album had only intensified their popularity. In Portland, the Unreal Gods were becoming an unlikely household name. They could do no wrong. They were number one in Portland. No other band could touch them—not even Dollarshine.
To Jim, the Gods seemed to be taking their success for granted, acting differently than they had in the beginning. Arrogant. Somehow entitled. All of the band members seemed to have a certain cocky haughtiness about them. Billy was shaking cans of beer and squirting them into the gaping maws of Col and Daw, as well as into the open mouths of the writhing bodies below him.
Billy hated Euphoria. He was convinced, not without reason, that the club manager, Bob Shore, and his assistant, Jonathan Dixon, as well as the door men and many of the staff, were ripping off a piece of the admission to Gods’ shows and the shows of other bands as well. There had long been a rumor among local musicians about Euphoria.
On New Year’s Eve, almost to spite the club, Billy ran around the stage like a divine bad boy satyr reigning at a pagan ritual rite celebrating decadence and excess. His shirt was off. He was drenched in sweat. And he was taking the band’s performance to the point of the absurd.
But, over the months, the crowd had changed too. As the band got more fried out on success and its trappings, the audience was frying too. Coke-addled and moneyed kids with cash to burn and their brains in flames. Immolating. To Jim, the up and down merriment of the Unreal Gods seemed calculated and a sham. They had become caricatures of themselves: grooved-out rock guys.
The hour was getting late, drifting toward midnight. Dollarshine should have been setting up their equipment. But Billy showed no signs of being aware of the time, nor indicated any intention of yielding the stage. He had created a near-riot of debauchery—drunkenly urging the smashed mob with a phony Jamaican accent.
—Potty to the rasta vibration that is within us all. Do you all feel the rasta potty vibration?
The herd screamed back in the affirmative, with raucous approval.
—Oh, tell your brother and your sister. Tell the person dancing next to you of the joy you are feeling deep inside your soul. It’s quivering in your soul—the rasta potty vibration—say yeah!
The throng shrieked in assent.
—Now potty on the floor with your brothers and sisters and feel the rasta vibration.
The swarm on the dance floor collapsed to the ground in a writhing heap. Jim was appalled at the display. It was as if the Malchicks had returned, but had become smug and ugly, rather than just stupid.
The band segued into “Upstroke Down,” and all hope that Dollarshine may have had of ringing in the New Year was abandoned. Never even announcing the arrival of the midnight hour, the Unreal Gods did not leave the stage until twelve-thirty—their minions demanding an encore, with rowdy screams and riotous rasping catcalls. The band bowed haphazardly and strode from the stage.
Jim Finity was curious, indeed, to see how the headliners would comport themselves. Instead of leaving after the Unreal Gods’ set, as he had planned, he decided to stick around for a while and watch the carnage.
By the time Dollarshine finally did take the stage, the sweating mass of music lovers was worn out. And despite the fact that they were national stars, the band was unable to attain the fever pitch the Unreal Gods had established. They simply were not the same sort of act. They were slick and polished and not terribly accessible.
They were a listener’s band, not a partier’s band. After five or six songs, the crowd began to thin out. By the end of their set, only sporadic huddles of diehard Dollarshine fans remained, the Unreals’ contingent having long before departed to find their party elsewhere. Jim felt embarrassed for his old friends. He slipped out of Euphoria, certain Merv and Mindy had not seen him in the audience, even as sparse as it had become. At that point, they probably would have welcomed his familiar face.
Backstage, after the show, Billy tried to strike up a good-natured conversation with Merv Moss. Billy wanted to bring up the Madison High School connection. But, as Billy approached, Merv merely scowled at him.
It was at that very moment that a sodden Denny arrived backstage, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and a cute little drunken blond girl in the other.
—Merv Moss!
Denny slurred.
—Fugkin’ Merv Moss. I can’t believe it. Fugkin’ millionaire Merv Moss. Fugkin’ Merv Moss. Fugkin’ king of Dollarfugkinshine. How the fugk are ya’, Merv? Written any fugkin’ hit songs lately? Hey Merv, has ennybuddy ever tol’ ya’ yer band sucks the big green weenie? Has ennybuddy ever tol’ ya’ that, Merv?
Billy, who tended to have a similar propensity for not being able to tell when he was pissing someone off, could tell his brother was pissing off Merv Moss and the other members of Dollarshine. Billy was embarrassed for Denny, as much as by him. He tried to guide his brother away, but Denny wanted to talk to Merv some more. Billy shoved Denny out of the dressing room.
—Denny, what are you back here for? Just to cause trouble?
—I wanna inner duce ya’ t’ m’ l’il fren’ here. Her name is…wha’ the fugk is yer name?
Denny looked at the blond, a confused look on his face.
—I tol’ yuh, it’s Blue. Can’t you remmemmer anything?
—Oh yeah. Blue, you good dog you.
Reaching around beneath her arm he squeezed her breast roughly, and she swatted his hand away. Denny continued.
—Yeah, Billy, I wanned da innerduce ol’ Blue here to my famous rock star brother. Famous rock star brother, this is Blue. Blue, this is my famous rock star brother. Say hi to Blue, rock star Bro’. Maybe it’ll get me laid.
Billy just stared in disbelief at his brother. Denny’s appearance had a sobering effect on Billy.
—Billy, don’ be a rude boy now, say hi to my fren’ ol’ Blue.
Billy sighed.
—Hi, Blue. How are ya’?
Blue made an attempt to tell Billy how much she loved his band, but Denny kept singing snatches of Gods’ songs, while trying to fondle her tits and ass. Finally, sensing that she might be more interested in his brother than him, Denny dragged the girl from the backstage area. Billy swiftly packed up his guitar and left the club, as quickly as possible. As he walked out into the cold winter night, a light snow began to fall from the starless sky.
Shortly after the holidays, Boom Chuck Rock Now! sold out and the band was obliged to re-press another three thousand copies, which, after Jack Barnes had been paid off (including his percentage of sales), took nearly all of the money they had made on the first pressing. But, more than making money for themselves, the goal had always been to impress the moneymen in LA.
If they were to sell ten thousand copies, a magic number of sorts, the record executives in Los Angeles would sit up and take notice. The Gods wanted a major label record deal. They were as good as the popular bands on MTV and they knew it.
A week and a day later, at Mak Poppin’s behest, Jim Finity attended a party at Carrie’s apartment, though Carrie was not to be found. In the kitchen, where the keg was, Jim stood chatting with Billy. Adjacent to the kitchen was the bathroom—which seemed to be the hub of activity, for some reason.
From out of nowhere, Bam Bam appeared, and intentionally interrupted the conversation. Bam Bam, absent from most Unreal Gods functions, had managed somehow to invite himself to that party. And he had his eye on Jim. And he was giving off all kinds of bad vibes. Jim became acutely aware that Bam Bam wanted to prevent him from obtaining something from Billy—like a dog that might guard another dog with a bone, fighting for its place in line. Jim was naïve as to what was going on.
Bam Bam informed Jim how important he had been to Billy’s career, how much he had done for Billy, and all the money he had made. Jim did not notice that, at several points, Billy slipped away into the bathroom with a number of other people. It eventually dawned on Jim that Billy was off snorting coke.
At one point, after Billy had returned to the conversation, sniffing and clearing his sinuses, Jim said to him.
—Billy, man, I think you’re great. I think your band is great. You’re going to make it, I can feel that about you. I hope you’ll be a great leader.
Billy looked at Jim, somewhat puzzled, as if he had never before given consideration to the fact that he might become a role model. Billy replied.
—Well Jim, I listen to what you say, because I know when you talk that it’s from the heart.
Then Billy excused himself and returned to the bathroom. Bam Bam resumed his dissertation, as Jim tried to figure out how to get out of the mess. During a momentary lapse in Bam Bam’s monologue, he saw Mak Poppin in the living room and walked over to him, quickly engaging in small talk and other innocuous time wasters, merely to keep from having to listen to Bam Bam for another minute.
Later, as the party began to break up, Jim left Carrie’s apartment and headed for his car. As he walked down the sidewalk, he saw Billy getting into the back seat of a new BMW. He yelled.
—Hey, Billy.
Seeing Jim, Billy paused and shouted back.
—Hey, Jim, it was nice talkin’ to ya’.
—Yeah, you too, Billy.
As Billy slipped into the car Jim called behind.
—Billy!
Billy looked up, the driver of the car gunning the engine impatiently.
—Watch out for the fringe benefits!
Jim wasn’t sure if Billy had heard him. The car sped away with a toot of the horn.
The following Monday, the band began to prepare for the Peter Tosh show at the Paramount. They were tremendously excited at the prospect, rehearsing diligently. Billy was a taskmaster. He wanted everything to be perfect. Symmetry in his play. The leading Bozo of a real Boraxo team.