Music History, Part 14: The Later Boise Years 1987

Originally posted on My Space, January 23rd, 2009

Disclaimer: Memory is a funny thing, and an elusive one. Meaning; I might have some of this wrong, as 1. My memory is not always accurate, like anyone and 2. It is from my perspective only. Any friends who were there, feel free to correct me or add things I have missed. It helps! Also, no gossip on anyone here, it aint about that. Personal details are on a surface level, and friends, girlfriends and others are re-named to respect their privacy. People in bands generally put their names out there on albums and in interviews anyway, and are not in the habit of staying anonymous, and therefore are named here. That said, anyone who is in the blog that wishes me not to use their name has only to ask.

The Cruel Desert That Spawned Us Calls Us Home - SOC's 1987 Tour; a perilous journey, Part V: Green River Utah Blues

We were waiting for some money to get wired to us so Pat & Erik could hitchhike back to Price and pick up the truck, then we could head out of Green River and go to Salt Lake for our final show of the tour with Government Issue and our friends The Potato Heads. We were bored as hell; 'I'm making this entry out of sheer fucking boredom. We sat at the pool & Pat & T went to a store around the corner to purchase grub. It consisted of two pounds of Zesta saltines & 16 slices of salami. We decided we needed a change of pace you see [from the endless baloney sandwiches] We ate this meal on the lawn behind the pool where there was shade. Always the fucking flies and mosquitoes everywhere. After awhile two old bags came out and told us to leave. Damn! No more pool. We were just saying how the pool made the place bearable...' 

We moved to the park where Ted and I were tortured before and laid on the picnic tables on the covered patios, where it was nice and cool in the shade. A school bus pulled up, it was customized, with a dove, a rainbow and a yin and yang symbol painted on the outside. We saw this and hoped maybe they were 'generous hippie types' possibly willing to 'slide us some food or something' but it was a couple with a baby. Another bus pulled up and out poured several young teenagers on some sort of outing. 'Now they're eating,' observes Young Wayne '...once again tortured. I hate this pit. It's giving me cynical vision. I keep wondering who in their right mind would want to live here and how the only way I'll come back to this town is if I'm doing 90 mph through it.'

Diet of the stranded Northwest punk rocker

As we sat watching the teen group get out endless cold cuts and bread and chips and eat, Pat went over to get some water at the fountain for his cup. We must have looked pretty pitiful, like alley mutts, watching them eat. On his way back to us, Pat stopped by the troop and asked them if they wanted to use the covered tables we were occupying. They said they were fine. Soon after this, a woman and a girl walked over toward us holding a couple foil mounds. "We have something for you guys," the woman said. It was cold cuts, some rye bread and about 10 containers of yogurt. The Gods had smiled upon us. 

The group was touring around the country staying at camp sites and hotels. They were staying at a hotel that night and couldn't eat all of the food. This was good timing because we hardly had any money. It fed us almost all the way home. 'We are now watching Simon & Simon [we had a portable TV with us] awaiting the usual rain. One more night in hell. One more night looking at the rolled orange Pinto next to us.'

 

Simon & Simon + free coldcuts = HEAVEN

Before leaving Green River, we tried to beg some money from some people. Pat asked a man filling up his car with gas for money, or started to ask him, and before Pat even finished his sentence, in a hoarse voice, the old man croaked "I haven't got any money." 'How's he payin' for the fuckin' petrol, then?' asked Wayne in the journal. Ted also hit up everyone at Burger Time. Nobody gave him a dime. The town hated us. When Pat and Ted had gone to get the crackers earlier, they said there was a sign advertising that the crackers were on sale. The man at the register charged them full price. They mentioned the sign saying they were on sale, and the man tore down the sign and said "Not anymore they're not."

Our last night in Green River was spent at the abandoned 'Uranium Hotel' Erik had spotted earlier. He went in first, scoped it out, then poked his head out and told us to come in the door quickly. It was a creepy. The room looked exactly as the maid had left it, but with dust on everything. Though it was nice to sleep on a bed and without mosquitoes buzzing, it was a fitful sleep, as we heard cars pulling up and parking and leaving through the night, and were paranoid of the Sheriff finding us out. We were terrified of making noise, and so I held my piss in all night until I could hold it no more and pissed into the empty toilet. 'I'm beginning to appreciate Boise more & more every moment I am here. In fact being on the road makes you appreciate many things.' Pat and Erik left town get the truck while Scott and Ted and I killed time once again, but they were back pretty quickly with a Ryder truck and a tow bar. We hooked up our van and hit the road. 'Got the stereo hooked up, Beastie Boys blarin SHE'S CRAFTY!!!'

Meltdown in Salt Lake City. Wayne quits the band. Sort of.

After arriving in Salt Lake City, UT, we found Jonathan from The Potato Heads' house (or as we called them, 'The Potheads') and Jonathan and Brendan were sitting on the couch on their front porch. We told them our sad tale and then went on the roof and proceeded to knock off a case of beer between us. We ended up sleeping on the roof. 'It was a nice sleep. The sun woke me up about 9 or so and I called my mom. She's anxious to see me now that she knows I'm coming home...It's pretty depressing thinking about the shows we are going to miss, I try not to. Tomorrow night is our show with the G.Is [Government Issue] so at least we get to meet them and play with them...I hope it's a good gig. It's good to be in a comfortable place among friends with no flies or mosquitoes to drive us insane.' 

What happened next is one of those times you tend to not want to remember. But here I am, writing a blog. I chose to go here. I will preface it by saying that Pat and Ted were both pretty in your face personalities. Ted is probably reading this, and I know he would not argue with me, and I know he has calmed down, is a father. These are young men I am talking about here, including, of course, myself. Pat, however, is no longer alive, and can’t really defend himself. Therefore, I had Scott, the brother who survived him, approve this entry (Ted, too). So the two ‘in your face’ personalities got in each other’s face in Salt Lake the next night at Jonathan’s place.

It started as some silly argument about how Ted liked Uniform Choice (a hardcore band) and Pat saying they ripped off Minor Threat (a more famous, influential hardcore band) and this led to Pat accusing Ted of talking shit about SOC. We had all just been through some rough times, as you have read, and we had all been drinking a lot of beer. These things were undoubtedly factors as well. At any rate, the conversation ended with Pat punching Ted in the nose, and to a broken-nosed, bleeding Ted taking his duffel bag and walking off into the night, calling his girl, and getting money wired to him so he could go home.

Uniform Choice VS State Of Confusion = a broken nose

I went out looking for him, walking alone and drunk into the dark Salt Lake City streets. After a few blocks, I noticed a really sketchy looking dude who was clearly following me in the shadows cast by the trees under the streetlights, like I was in some horror movie and he a monster in pursuit. I was so on edge and drunk that I walked right up to him, figuring it best to take him by surprise and use that to my advantage. So I walked up to him, got in his face and asked him, "You got a problem following people or something???" He looked instantly scared. "N-no. No." So I left him and he stayed where he was until I walked away. I asked around at 7-Elevens and places still open if they had seen a Mexican kid with a bloody face. None had.

I walked back to the house and crashed as the sun rose. I said I was quitting the band. Pat asked if I would play one more show, the one that night. I agreed to do that. I never ended up quitting. And Pat and Ted made up right after we got back from tour. But I would threaten to quit again, and eventually would, but not in this band. That is for later in the tale.

We had a lackluster rehearsal in The Potato Heads’ space. I wrote in my journal that we had a great set at the show that night and that Government Issue was good. We played at a place called ‘The Poultry Shack’ because that is literally what it was, an industrial sized barn at a chicken farm that put on shows in the mid '80s. It was actually a great place to play, plenty of room for over 200 people and they had a professional sound system. We played there again not too long after this show with the notorious Texas hardcore band D.R.I (Dirty Rotten Imbeciles) who had just started the whole ‘crossover movement’ (hardcore bands switching to dirgey metal).

Before leaving for this tour, I once again decided to go to college, this time (as opposed to when I was 19) driven more by my actual desire than my mother’s desire, though admittedly, it was also for her in that she was sick and needed something positive to look forward to. I had applied for grants and loans and put everything in place to start school in the fall of 1987 once I had returned from tour, at Boise State University. I was nervous about it but also excited to learn and change my life. I had chosen to be an art major. Not that I knew what the hell I was going to pursue in art. But there it was.

(People familiar with the Descendents and their first album will get this joke...If you are not one of those people, google 'Milo Goes To College')

We returned home, I recovered from the life of poverty and adventure I had just been in, licked my wounds from a brief affair I had in which my heart was broken and set my sights toward ‘higher education’. I was 21 years old. My life would change radically in less than two years, starting with the death of my mother, a new band and a move to the ‘big city’ with said band. But before I get into all of that, I want to take a little side road and devote next entry to the Crazy Horse Saloon, the bar where so many Boise bands got their start (and still do). The tale of Boise’s music scene cannot be told without it.

Music History, Part 13: The Later Boise Years 1987

Originally posted on My Space November 26th, 2008

Disclaimer: Memory is a funny thing, and an elusive one. Meaning; I might have some of this wrong, as 1. My memory is not always accurate, like anyone and 2. It is from my perspective only. Any friends who were there, feel free to correct me or add things I have missed. It helps! Also, no gossip on anyone here, it aint about that. Personal details are on a surface level, and friends, girlfriends and others are re-named to respect their privacy. People in bands generally put their names out there on albums and in interviews anyway, and are not in the habit of staying anonymous, and therefore are named here. That said, anyone who is in the blog that wishes me not to use their name has only to ask.

The Cruel Desert That Spawned Us Calls Us Home - SOC's 1987 Tour; a perilous journey, Part IV: Green River Utah Blues

Welcome to Green River, Utah!!!

Where were we? Oh yes, Young Wayne was awakened by a loud THUMP and then, "What the fuck was that??" We found out later it was a rod being blown out of our engine. In the middle of the desert. In the summer. For those who have not been to Utah, the landscape is, like all deserts (or most, anyway) beautiful and brutal at the same time, especially in the summer, when the temperatures soar and water is literally sucked out of the air around you.

This was in the midst of summer, the heat was full on. Ted Martinez (nickname; T) a local Boise friend/musician (Blind Acceptance, The Grind) who was roadying for us, stuck his thumb out at passing cars until finally an elderly couple with a trailer camper pulled over and Erik and Pat headed with them into Green River, the nearest town. The plan was that they were to see if they could rent a truck there. Off they went and there we sat; Scott, T and Young Wayne. For 4 hours! Or as Young Wayne puts it "...4 fucking hours. We slept & listened to music. I took a shit out in the bushes. Ted saw a lizard. Two cops stopped by in that time. One of them came up to the van. He asked for ID and papers and if we had help on the way.

"You in the military?" he asked Scott.

[Scott]"No."

"Why is your hair so short?"

"Cuz I'm the only smart one." Smart ass! Finally Erik and Pat arrived in a tow truck. It was all they could scrounge up [there were no truck rental places in town]. We road [rode] in the van (me & Pat). [I think we actually were in the van as it was being towed, which was illegal even then, I am sure!].

We had a show set up in Salt Lake City that we had planned to play after our leg with Government Issue and we were making sure to secure that gig. Pat and I had decided to call the guy in Salt Lake City who was putting the show on and see if he could come get us in his Oldsmobile and tow us 200 miles (!). That is what my journal says. Sounds pretty harebrained now, but it is 22 years later! But then I write something I now realize that I took with me throughout all my ownership of many used cars after this (though a less naive version of this thinking); ' ...we've decided to put a new engine in this van since it has a brand new tranny & that would be like a new van that we would know every inch of." Then..."We went to a store, ate bologna sandwhiches in this piece of shit RV park. In fact, this whole town is a piece of shit." Oh, how correct was Young Wayne in his assessment!

Green River in Utah (the river, not the town, obviously). This could as easily be a picture from another planet, no? (Photo from Wikimedia Commons)

You ain't from around here, are ya?

Anyone who has spent any time in a small town in this country and dealing with the locals thinks of the above phrase when going through the experience; 'you aint from around here, are ya?' Usually, this phrase is uttered by the law. And the law was hip to us dirtbag punk rockers the minute they saw our broken down, green Chevy van, like some wounded lizard at the side of the road. We were marked men from that moment and it was obvious as we were towed into town. One of the first things we saw was the sheriff's brown SUV zipping by us. A quick glare was passed through the window as he drove by. It said, 'I'm watchin' you boys.' We took note.

'Right now it is raining like hell (of course) complete with thunder & lightening [lightning]. We are sitting in the van outside the joint that towed us. Oh well, just wait til next year....Well, we all slept in the van outside of Napa Auto (uncomfortably, I might add). It rained off and on. By the time we got ready for bed the whole van was swarming with bloodthirsty mosquitos. They had a fucking feast. I woke up about 6:00 [AM] with bites all over. You could see the swelled bitches trying to get out to fertilize their eggs. I was hating life at this point. Finally got back to sleep...'

The only living creatures that were happy to see us in Green River Utah were mosquitoes 

Google Map view of Napa Auto Parts shop and junkyard as it looks today. This is where our van was parked. At the time we were there (1986) the junkyard of cars from various eras spread out over at least a mile square.

Pat and Erik left us again to go see what the situation was. We sat again waiting, looking at the dismal landscape. Napa Auto parts was at the base of a rock mound. Between the mound and the garage was a huge field of endless abandoned cars from every era. It was surreal, I really wish I would have taken photos but had no camera. I will never forget that expanse of cars, various colors and models and years and stages of being eaten slowly by the brutal climate. When Erik and Pat returned they told us the plan. The nearest town that had a truck for rent was Price, UT. I note that Pat and Erik left the next morning to hitchhike to Price '...with one sign that says Price & one that says Green River...'

Boredom and Delirium take Hold...

T and Scott and I passed the time as best we could. We had some of those plastic thermal mugs that had just been invented in the 80's and we took them to gas stations to refill with soda. The days were unbearably hot. We took to hanging out in a little park. The beginnings of begging took hold; 'Right now Ted and I are in this little park writing in our journals, surrounded by pic-nicing families. Pastrami, chicken, chips, Bud Light. We're right next to them starving. I've never been so tempted to beg for food.

"Want a piece of chicken?"

"No, I'm fine, you have it."

Later "there's another piece of chicken. We gotta get rid of it." YOU MORMON FUCKS!!

"Want some salami with bread? This is good." GIMMIE IT. I'LL EAT YOU, ASSHOLES. I'LL EAT YOUR FUCKING CHILDREN, I'M SO HUNGRY!!...No, I wouldn't, but...Life on the road. We've had about everything that could go wrong go wrong. Our faith has been tested time and time again. Our faith is still there, but the money isn't. We have to make the best of this or else make it worse...This town's fucking weird. It's a piece of shit and I hate it. We're going to have to stay here for two more days. There's some Hell's Angels staying at a motel down the street. T and I were commenting on how weird we thought it was that they stayed in motels & took showers. It kind of shatters the old tough biker image. They're gettin old, though. Last night Erik went to a tavern and drank with a couple of em. I wonder where the hell Scott went? He doesn't have a key so when he gets back from wherever the hell he is he is going to be pissed. Oh well.'

The heat and boredom caused me to write sort of a fantastical, Hollywood movie script account of our scenario; '...Then me & T are gonna go party with some Hell's Angels. We'll come back and find the family [the family in the park with all the food] with our bikin bros and kill them all & take their sandwhiches.

[Bikers]"All this death just for salami?"

[T & Wayne]"Hey, it's been a long time since we've eaten good. Life on the road is hard. You guys should know."

[Bikers]"We don't usually do this shit. I got kids you know. A business at home. You guys were just so persuasive. Especially the little Mexican dude. He's a funny mother." T gets pissed at this and decides he's sick of takin shit. So he walks over to the furry biker and stabs him with his own knife. Then we take his hog and pillage the town.

What? Godamn, I'm bored.

The Uranium Motel. No shit.

On our way back from the park, Scott yelled at us from a motel pool across the street. '...so that's where the little snake went.' We swam for 3 or 4 hours. It was heaven. On the way back we saw Pat and Erik in the park we had been in previously. They had actually been there a couple hours, it turned out. They had put the money down on the truck and we were to pick it up on Wednesday, I note, but not what day the entry was. I remember us being there another night and day.

We went to the store and got our 'bologna ration' and went to the park and watched 'hard-bodied cheerleaders...do cheerleader routines.' For, young men on the road are not only hungry, but horny as well. 'There was even 5 of them.'

We showed Erik and Pat the pool and they took a swim, then back to the van. '...on way here we saw an abandoned hotel (Uranium Hotel [it was a Motel, actually), no shit.) Erik & T just went to check it out they found one room open & said it was pretty clean with two 2 beds!! Cool. Sure, it's by the sherriff's office but...We are also going to call [a local burger joint] and order a bunch of burgers and wait for them to throw them away. We'll see. Ahhh, youth!

Sign for the Uranium Motel, Green River Utah. When we found it, it had been closed for years but we snuck in and slept there for a night. Well, not slept, exactly. Every noise and flash of car lights was cause for being nervous. Photo by Chris Barrus, used with permission

The dead, the almost dead,'The Dead' and Burgers for the boys

Some more 'victims' joined us at Napa Auto Party Central, two hippy dudes from Connecticut in a towed VW van who were on their way to see the Grateful Dead. They had already gone through one engine, and their replacement engine had seized up on them, almost as if there were some sort of field that Napa Auto blasted into the desert to kill cars so they could clean up on the wayward wanderers who knew not where they drove.

The two dudes were really nice and had a little gas stove and some food that they had to shed because they were going to hitchhike across the desert. Pat came up with a brilliant scheme to get us some more food; 'Pat called Burger Time and said his name was Don Brown, coach of a track & field team and that one of 'his boys' swore that Green River had the best burgers in the world there. He ordered 15 burgers for 'his boys' & all that remained was for us to wait awhile after closing, go over & check out the dumpster. Burger heaven. We all had burgers dancing in our heads. Erik & T went over to check it out & were stopped by the sheriff. He told them not to be walking around...' (??). After that, he drove up and down the strip. We saw another sheriff [the deputy, possibly] so we were going to have to wait a bit.

Pat and I went over to the dumpsters later. We saw two cars there, so we waited. I recognized one of them I saw earlier in the day that was obviously abandoned. So when only that car was left, we walked over. We had brought our cups in case the sheriff stopped us, we would say we were seeing if the store was open. As we approached the dumpster, we saw movement within. I had better vision and saw they were cats but Pat said, "Woa...what the fuck are those things?"

"They're cats, Bro." We found no burgers, and immediately after leaving, the sheriff drove by!

Young Wayne ponders...'I can safely say we've paid our dues. Next time none of this shit is going to happen. We'll be much better prepared. Now all I've been thinking about (besides food & sex) is going home & having to find a job & prepare for school. Harsh realities everywhere ya turn...'

Music History, Part 12: The Later Boise Years 1987

Originally appeared on My Space October 9th, 2008

Disclaimer: Memory is a funny thing, and an elusive one. Meaning; I might have some of this wrong, as 1. my memory is not always accurate, like anyone and 2. it is from my perspective only. Any friends who were there, feel free to correct me or add things I have missed. It helps! Also, no gossip on anyone here, it aint about that. Personal details are on a surface level, and friends, girlfriends and others are re-named to respect their privacy. People in bands generally put their names out there on albums and in interviews anyway, and are not in the habit of staying anonymous, and therefore are named here. That said, anyone who is in the blog that wishes me not to use their name has only to ask.

The Cruel Desert That Spawned Us Calls Us Home - SOC's 1987 Tour; A perilous journey, Part III: California and Arizona and...California.

Wayne vs. the LAPD, Beans and Tequila, Godcore in Arizona

One night in LA I decided to venture out on my own in Torrance. I walked to a convenience store about a half a mile away from where we were staying. On the way back I came across an arrest scene to the side of the road. '...there were 5 cop cars, one scruffy lookin' dude was being held at bay on the curb, and one black dude was in one of the cars....I was going to casually slip by the whole scene which was stupid, not thinking of getting shot in the head or anything. A cop said to me '...'Hey you, come 'ere.' I walked up to him. He continued "You don't just walk up to something like this. You hang out and see what's goin' on.' After a while this fat cop comes up on the right.

"What's your name?"

"Wayne." What a smart ass!

"Wayne what?"

"Wayne Flower."

"Where you live?"

"Boise, Idaho."

"Who you stayin' with?"

"Friend down the street."

"Obviously, they don't do this kind of stuff in Boise, do they?"

"Guess not."

"Well, for future reference, you don't just walk up to somethin' like this, specially when it's the Sherriff's Department." In retrospect, it was wise advice for a naive young man.

Eventually, they let me pass. I ran into Scott standing outside, looking rather stunned. Apparently, when the cops pulled the men over, they had used a blaring loudspeaker and Scott thought they were speaking to them and he stood there with his hands in the air, freaking out. We played videos (Mario Brothers, Golf, Wrestling) and body-surfed. '...I think we've pretty much worn out our welcome here..."

I forget exactly how, but Pat got us a show in Arizona. For the life of us, we couldn't get a show in LA, getting on the Descendents show there was a no-go. Young Wayne recalls, "Here we are back in LA. Last night we were SUPPOSED to play a gig on Arizona. The plan was to play this show with the Dehumanizers & cruise back to here, hang out 'till Tuesday [heeyyy... ; ] go play our show with AOD [Adrenaline Over Dose] in Santa Barbara. Well, it didn't work out that way. We left here yesterday, after an evening of hell spent in a tequila bottle...'

What followed was a fight between Scott and Erik, prompted by some awful farts Scott was letting while laying in a sleeping bag on the floor. I had to step between them. Tensions get thick, often, amongst young dudes on the road, especially headstrong ones.

We drove to Phoenix the next morning. I note it was '$80 worth of gas' from Phoenix to LA!! (Oh man, how times have changed!). We found the gig promoter's apartment complex. The guy (Scott) told us the show was cancelled! He said the Dehumanizers had come by that morning. He had, or so he said, called Dave Portnow a week prior and told him that he couldn't afford the hall. At that point, '...we decided not to deal with Dave at all anymore.'

Promoter Scott let us in and we lazed around his huge apartment while he tried to scare up a party we could play at, and he ordered us some pizza. He told us that he could get us on a 'God Core' show (Christian hardcore, which was on the rise then) and he said "Yeah, I'm into it. You may have noticed by my books..."

We were beat from the drive so we all crashed out on the floor. Promoter Godcore Scott was watching evangelists on his TV as we slept; ' ...I woke up with a cramp in my foot and an evangelist in my mind.' Then, '... [Promoter]Scott was rappin' about the Lord. He wasn't pushin' it or nothin'. We had agreed to the Godcore show, but it never happened.

We found out the promoter of our Phoenix, Arizona show was into Godcore. It just didn't make sense to us, Godcore, but we rolled with it. Problem was, the guy lied to us about us being on the bill. And we had driven there from LA. Not very God-like.

Rockpile Records show with AOD

AOD was a pretty cool punk band and we got a great show with them at a record store in Santa Barbara, CA (where Pat had gone to college). The store moved aside the records and we played in the middle of the store. I remember it being one of our best shows on the tour. Our hosts drove to the show. We had a tight set, people responded well. The other band on the bill was a band called 'Half Life' who I was not impressed with (I was such a little snob!). AOD, on the other hand, was 'hot'.

Above: Adrenalin OD LP that was out during the time SOC played with them in Santa Barbara, CA. Right: Pic of the band around the same time. Below: A flyer from the Boise AOD show. They were great live.

We had hooked up with a girl we knew from Boise who lived in Oxnard, [who will be known here as 'T-']. We had arranged to stay at her place. She lived with two other 'chicks', one of whom I thought was cute '...at this point if I see any female I think she is cute, but C- really is...' The evening consisted of playing quarters with T- and one of her room mates. Later, Erik somehow talked one of T-'s roommates into posing for some photos. 'They didn't get any nude shots. I guess they got a good shot of Ted lickin' her ass..' Mind you, this was all in fun, not porn! Then everyone got it into their drunken heads to get nude shots of us! We did one shot where we all have our pants around our ankles and are tucking in our 'jewels'. Somebody has those historic shots.

T- called us and said that her scooter got a flat and she was '...across from some Mexicans so she wanted us to go get it...' So we drove there and got her scooter [and what is ironic here is that one of us was of Mexican descent], and on the way back we got a flat! I remember it was right on the side of a really busy road and changing the tire was really sketchy, and Erik was doing it with no shoes on. Yes, as I have said; dirtbag punkers.

The Descendents 'FinALL' Show

We all (our LA hosts included) went to the first of many to come 'final' shows of the Descendents (though they did eventually end and morph into ALL, who are still around today, I believe). The show was at a huge LA venue called 'Fenders' (I have no idea if it is still around, so much from those days is now gone) There were tons of people there, and it of course was on my mind that I could have been playing bass that night with the Descendents. But I had no regrets about my decision.

I actually ran into Bill Stevenson (drummer for the Descendents) he was chatting with some folks, I waved and said hi, and he looked at me and simply nodded hello, then completely ignored me. It seemed odd, possibly he didn't recognize me. I don't really know the guy, but maybe he wasn't used to people saying no to him. This is, of course, all conjecture on my part.

There were many skinheads present (this was the tail end of the times when they had reached greater numbers in the bigger cities). They were very intimidating, and none of us joined the thrash pit (Pat may have, or Scott, I'm not sure). There was a huge thrash circle, people actually 'skanking', a sort of parading ape march, arms and legs swinging up and down, slowly, with a defiant air, that I think started in England at the skinhead shows.

Descendents 'final' show (one of a few)

I will close with Young Wayne (now a completely separate entity than I, since writing these blog entries) and his memories (oh so much fresher than Middle-Aged Wayne's) of the gig. But first, another funny snippet of my wide-eyed Boise Boy impressions of big city traffic;

'…that's the thing about LA – millions of freeways, all of them full of cars all the time. At certain times of day it can take like three hours just to get across town…"

"…we stood outside in the ticket line so we missed them [the first band] turned out that we didn't have to [wait to get in] we were on the [guest] list. The place is so fucking huge, with a bar and everything. Next up was Capital Punishment. They were fuckin rad. They play intense thrash. The vocalist has a distinctive growl. They have a chick bass player with long black hair. She makes these weird expressions. She seemed like a witch, kind of. Turns out she's 34 years old. The drummer's way rad, so's the guitarist, he's got silver hair cut into kind of a mowhawk. He's 37! [so funny to read at age 42!] We talked to them later, their [they're] real cool. We even ran into them at the beach the next day. Next up was Social Unrest. They have two guitars and they tore it up. I've always liked their records…Only a few fights broke out. One dude even pulled a knife right behind us. Once during the Descendents I felt someone kicking me in the ass. I turned around to see two skins rolling around on the floor. One of them was struggling to get up and in the process was kickin' me…MIA's set isn't even worth mentioning other than that it was incredibly boring [such a rude young man!]. By the time the Descendents were up everyone was all fired up. Most everyone got on the floor. Everyone fully got into it & they ripped. It was weird seeing it and knowing I could be playing up there…Anyhow it was a lot of fun.'

We had planned on making the rest of the trip split into 3 days and headed to Zion National Park in Utah. There is a funny sentence, both in and out of context, and in light of Pat's beacon-holding persona in the band; 'Pat drove us to Zion.'

The truly beautiful Zion Park in Utah

It was $5 to camp so we decided against that and planned on hitting another national park and just hang out. And then it all changed while Young Wayne dozed (a rare thing, as I have said, for me to sleep in a moving van). 'I was asleep when the engine blew. We were 30 miles outside of a place called Green River, Utah…' Green River, Utah ended up being our home for the next few days, and a famous chapter in the life of SOC.

Next up; The Green River Utah Blow Out, and Wayne's first last gig.

Music History, Part 11: The Early Boise Years 1986 to 1987

Originally appeared on My Space, September 7th, 2008

Disclaimer: Memory is a funny thing, and an elusive one. Meaning; I might have some of this wrong, as 1. my memory is not always accurate, like anyone and 2. it is from my perspective only. Any friends who were there, feel free to correct me or add things I have missed. It helps! Also, no gossip on anyone here, it ain't about that. Personal details are on a surface level, and friends, girlfriends and others are re-named to respect their privacy. People in bands generally put their names out there on albums and in interviews anyway, and are not in the habit of staying anonymous, and therefore are named here. That said, anyone who is in the blog that wishes me not to use their name has only to ask.

All Apologies and Apologies All,

Apologies for the massive gap in entries since my last Music History blog entry. I was gearing up for the 3,000 mile move I just completed. After quitting my job, I towed my belongings and my car, with an 18 year old cat as a co-pilot (God rest him; he passed just after arriving). I also have to apologize for 'false advertising' end of the last entry, as, once I read more of the journal, I realized that I had far more to cover before what I listed. This blog has become a monster! Now that the momentum has begun…it cannot be stopped! I also realized I need to publish these in more digestible chunks, based on feedback from friends and family.

Me and my dear departed boy Noose, making a 3,000 plus mile journey across the country from Boston to Portland, my new home (for 3 years as of this blog transfer) Photo taken in 2008

The Cruel Desert That Spawned Us Calls Us Home - SOC's 1987 Tour; A perilous journey, Part II: California.Pit stop in Spud Town before the 'Boise Hillbillies' head to La La Land

I suppose the first bad sign that things were 'going South', (either literally or figuratively, take your pick) on this tour was that when we passed through Boise on our way to California, I discovered that my roommate was moving out on me while I was away. I had no idea.

I arrived at my apartment to the roomie's packed boxes, her crazed white kitten (he comes back into the story later on, one 'Skully the Cat') and her frickin' iguana, chillin' on the window sill. Yep. WTF? What the hell was I supposed to do? I would have to figure it out later, that was sure.

One of my room mates' pals who awaited me when SOC made a pit stop in Boise on tour was an iguana (not this one). My room mate, however, was moving out, to my surprise

We re-stocked on merchandise and hit the trail to CaleefornIA, yeeee-haw!! Before going to SF to play at the famous venue, 'The Farm' (which, if memory serves me, and it rarely does, was run by the same folks who did Maximum Rock n' Roll magazine) [actually, current research I have done says that The Farm was a community center, so more likely what happened was that Maximum R&R simply ran the show at the center] we were heading back to Salt Lake to play a show at a joint called 'Alice's', a punk/artist arcade/café downtown that hosted many cool shows. On the way there, we played a show with the Twin Falls band we had just played with in Boise, the aforementioned Farm Days (and no, I didn't plan the double farm reference in one paragraph, here…S'one a them whattyacallits, coinkydinks).


The Twin Falls show stands out in my memory, we played in this park right by the falls. When we arrived, the Dehumanizers were playing a 'blues fusion' set, and I was again very impressed with the guitarist, Lonnie King (whom I have mentioned, and who comes back into the story years later).


There were only about 15 people there, but it was a cool setting to play punk rock in, for sure. However, our set was short-lived as, per my journal, "…we played for about 10 minutes when the park officials stopped us. So we headed to the old drummer for Farm Days' house (Andy) and hung out. It was a ragin' party. We were trying to go to some hot springs but were stopped by the Twin Pigs who sent us away. Later, everyone went to a hotel swimming pool [a common Idahoan activity, at the time, amongst the broke young punks and such]…The next day we headed for Salt Lake…"


Next up in the record is stopping by Raunch Records then we went to a coffee house where the bass player for the Potato Heads worked and '…drank cappuccino & rapped with this derelict bum. He was a big old dude with a grisly beard & a backpack & sleepin' bag with a plastic bottle tied to it [at the time, I had not been exposed to many homeless people, thus my bothering even noting this obvious detail]. He was fucking weird, lemmie tell ya. He came up to us and started telling us that Communism would never survive in this country & shit. Later he was saying how rock n' roll would never die-that Woody Guthry [Guthrie] showed him how to play guitar, later that Joan Baez & Momma [Cass] showed him…[never finished this thought, I assume, it was 'how to play guitar as well?]' that he was in CCR and every other fucking 60's band in the world…' Young Wayne also noted that "…Everyone that was there [Alice's] in the late afternoon was lost in the 70's…[and] "…the owner looked like a brown-haired Howard Hughes…"

We played with a band called 'Burial Benefit', and we apparently had the best slot (it's always third slot, aye?) and there were 'tons of kids' who got into it and we made $125 (good payment at the time), and were off to SF. We stopped in Reno (home to 'Skeeno Hardcore' started by the singer Kevin Seconds and his straight-edge band '7 Seconds') and got some cheap breakfast, played some slots.

Left and Right, the band 7 Seconds from Reno Nevada, led by the charismatic Kevin 'Seconds'

The 'Reno Transmission Tour'

After this, the first dark cloud; our transmission started acting funny and wouldn't shift right, so we hit 'Reno Transmission' (we later dubbed this part of the tour the 'Reno Transmission Tour' because of this). The mechanic said it would cost $500, which sucked, but we had to make a decision because we stood to miss possibly the biggest show on that leg of the tour in SF. We went ahead and it was $460. We were told that it was a '$600 job'. Young Wayne says "Yeah RIGHT!".

We killed time in a pizza joint (that I list as 'Straw Hat Pizza') and called David Portnow (owner of our label, Sub Core) to hit him up for some money but he was '…in the shower or somethin'…'


Later, some 'dude at a skate shop' told us he knew a chick who knew all the punks in town, and since we were there anyway, we should try and play a party or something.

I headed to the mall to try and scare up some local punk kids and found some but "…the young uns were idiots…" I gave up on them and headed back, where there was a '…stocky black dude and a huge Eskimo-lookin guy. The black dude came up and asked 'Who are you?' (gee, did we stand out, or what?).


I told him who we were and he introduced himself as Daniel (and informed us that he used to roadie for the band Entropy) and his big Eskimo friend was 'Bear'. Daniel told us there was someone trying to set up something for us at the skate shop.


We went to a record store to meet the girl trying to set all this up and she told us that '…Skeeno HC [hardcore] was a 'Kevin Seconds dream'. That the scene was split. That everyone hated each other.' The girl gave us a phone number, got yelled at by her boss, so we left to wait for the transmission to be done.


Once it was fixed, we drove to Yosemite and camped there. '…We hung there, rolled cigarettes, played cards & read & shit until we got bored & skated down this hill tryin' to scam on this hot tub we'd seen. I fell on my knee, it sucked. No tub. We soaked our hair ['in what?', asks Older Wayne].We all slept in the van. It was tight. I guess I was thrashin' around kicking Scotty in the face. Oh well…'


La La Land, and seeing under the veil…

Strangely, there is no entry in my journal on the SF show, but it did happen, I remember it clearly. The scene was in sort of a downturn after a recent swell, so it was not heavily attended, but still fun to play. People were real cool.

A friend from the Boise scene had moved to LA recently and we were staying with him and his wife, a woman from Boise, they had married and moved West to 'La La Land'. They lived in a modest one bedroom apartment in Torrance. It was very cool of them to allow us to stay (I am sure they did it begrudgingly…I would have!).

We showed up at their door and apparently our friend's wife hadn't been informed of our arrival, as I note that she was 'surprised to see us'. I remember this as being very awkward, but she was nice, considering.


We hung out at their apartment (while they worked) played video games, hit the beach, drank beer and relaxed. Pat made many calls, trying to get us a show, we hadn't been able to line one up and just went their assuming we could there (ah, the young!). We '…got a chance to get on this Descendents, Social Unrest, Capitol Punishment show [all top bands, at the time, in the genre] next week. This one band might cancel. We're awaiting word…'

Descendents show in LA (the first of a few 'final' shows) that we attended after failing to get on the bill last minute (there was a slight chance)

We were also hoping to get on a bill for a small show on Melrose Ave that the Dehumanizers said they were not going to play. We went down to where the club was early, skateboarded around the hood, ate hotdogs at Pinks.


This was my first view of the true nature, the underbelly, of glorious Hollywood, California; '…This part of town is fuckin' dirty – the air is thick. We found the Anti Club [where the show was to be] It was closed. All barred up like all the closed joints….and…'Some places even buzz for each customer. When you see the scum walking around you know why…' We went back to the club later and saw the Dehumanizers' van. Young Wayne jokes; '…FUCK! How DARE they show up at their own gig!'


It is fascinating for me to read my own words, as a young man seeing the world as it really is for the first time; '…We went cruising down Sunset & Hollywood [Sunset in Hollywood? More likely Hollywood Blvd.]It's weird seeing the places you always see on T.V. & see it as it really is dirty scummy with people floating above it on tons of money, & others swimming in their own shit. We saw a 6 wheeled limo. We saw leatherfaced bums. It was heavy, man…'


Stay tuned for more adventures of dirtbag punks away from home, next entry.

Music History, Part 10: The Early Boise Years 1986 to 1987

Originally posted on My Space, Jan 8th, 2008

Disclaimer: Memory is a funny thing, and an elusive one. Meaning; I might have some of this wrong, as 1. my memory is not always accurate, like anyone and 2. it is from my perspective only. Any friends who were there, feel free to correct me or add things I have missed. It helps! Also, no gossip on anyone here, it ain't about that. Personal details are on a surface level, and friends, girlfriends and others are re-named to respect their privacy. People in bands generally put their names out there on albums and in interviews anyway, and are not in the habit of staying anonymous, and therefore are named here. That said, anyone who is in the blog that wishes me not to use their name has only to ask

Apologies to all for a delayed entry. You know how it is, life, holidays...This entry will cover some State of Confusion tours, between the years 1985-1988. 

As I have previously mentioned, SOC got a van and began playing shows around the Northwest and eventually the west coast. Our aspirations for coast-to-coast touring came to an end as a result of the events of the 1987 tour, which will be the focus, as it was such a crucial moment in the life of SOC. I kept a detailed journal of this tour (and admittedly, another part of the delay of this entry was finding the damn 26 year old journal, buried within tons of stowed boxes). I can't tell you how incredibly odd it is at age 41 to hold in your hands your own words as a 21 year old, which may as well have been written by an entirely different being, as, in fact, they were.

Additionally, before I tell the story of said 1987 tour, there are two tales that must be told first in order for the attendance by SOC at the Descendents gig in LA California to make sense. Let me begin there. Needless to say, this entry is quite a bit longer than most (ok twice as long) and the '87 tour will have to be split into four entries. I hope that's ok!

 On Anarchy Street, there are no painted lines, no speed limits, no stop signs - SOC's Second LP; 'A Street'

(Note that this album was released in 1988 and thus a little out of sequence here. We had 6.3 Million Acres with us on the '87 tour, the story of which follows in this entry) The headline above are words from the lyrics of the title song of the second State of Confusion LP, an album called 'A Street', which stands for 'Anarchy Street'. If I remember correctly, the concept for this title song came from a late night driving on a street that had been freshly paved, lines had not yet been painted on the asphalt. Someone, possibly myself or Pat, said "Jesus...anarchy street." And Pat seized on a theme.

And, as themes go, 'A Street' was a departure from the 'environmental hardcore' of the previous album ('6.3 Million Acres') and demo tapes by SOC. The lyrics, overall, were less of a political and environmental statement, and more about 'personal politics'. Now, while the beginnings of the later dubbed 'emo movement' were in full force on the east coast at this time (led, unknowingly, by a band called Rights of Spring, who would later become Fugazi) in our neck of the woods, we had our own slant on this idea of 'feelings' and 'stories from home' being part of the vernacular. And in fact, this was a theme that was continued later when SOC morphed into The Treepeople. But that is for what? Yes, another blog entry.

Recorded once again at a farm studio, though a different farm studio, where tracking was done in a shed that was remodeled with all the comforts of a home studio, 'A Street' was cut with a speed as furious as the speed of the music we played. While the feel of this LP was more rock than earlier stuff, the blistering pace remained; we had a reputation to upkeep!

I sang on one song, 'Monster In Me', only because Pat's lyrics were not working for him, and I happened to have something randomly written that fit freakishly perfect with the music. It was one of those things that just happens, and rarely. Since I had started my musical existence as a hardcore singer, and since I had sang back-ups consistently throughout SOC's existence, it was an easy transition for me. Pat was very graceful about this, but it was obvious I was stepping a little into his territory, something I was very conscious of, or tried to be.

This record was the first and only record by State of Confusion ever to be put out by a label (other than an organic, do-it-yourself label of our own devising). The label was called 'Sub Core' out of Seattle, which now, in context of having gone through the 'grunge' era dominated by a little Seattle label called 'Sub Pop', may seem like a rip-off name, however, they were contemporary, and I believe 'Sub Core' came first. 'Sub Core' was run by a young man named David Portnow. I have no idea if he is still in circulation, and don't care much, to be honest. Maybe as an older chap he got his shit together more. The relationship ended with him owing us money he never paid. I will leave it at that [I found out recently that this is incorrect, David was owed expenses for the record and it all 'came out in the wash',' as they say, my apologies to David. In this blog, rather than simply edit over mistakes, I try to leave and correct them, mainly so that if someone comes back to an entry, they will see what was incorrect. Also, I want to retain the original entry].

The other notable thing about 'A Street' was the artwork, done by a young punker named Cliff Green, who came to most shows and sported a full-on single spike from the forehead, the rest of his head shaved. Cliff had a unique drawing style and was obsessed with drawing. We asked him to design a cover for 'A Street'. He produced one of the more memorable icons of that era in Boise. It is a fierce, after-the-apocalypse rat, body formed into a perfect circle as it viciously eats itself, tail first. We pulled this from the larger drawing that was the cover of 'A Street' that Cliff drew, an amazing, swirling vision of urban decay, complete with an evil fetus. It was beyond our wildest dreams.

Portrait of the artist as a young skater - Cliff Green, the artist who drew artwork for the SOC LP 'A Street'

Sticker featuring the post-apocalyptic rat eating its own tail - Artwork by Cliff Green - Design by Pat 'Brown' Schmaljohn

And by some fluke, someone at the company producing the actual covers and vinyl, the company that 'Sub Core' used (Important Records, who also distributed them, and because of this, 'A Street' ended up, for a short time, on the shelves of Fred Meyer stores up and down the west coast and to the mid west...Until someone saw the fetus, and the rat eating itself!) somebody took it upon themselves to take the imagery we had provided for the back cover and add some acid-trip gone wrong swirly paint behind it all inside of interlocking circles. In retrospect, this was grounds for suing, especially in light of the fact that we knew nothing of it until we held the records in our hands. However, by an even larger fluke, it was really cool, so we let it go.

The second LP by State Of Confusion, 'A Street' (stands for 'Anarchy Street'). Note the back cover mentioned above - Artwork by Cliff Green - Design by Pat Schmaljohn and some anonymous person at Important Distribution (again, see above)

You Can Take the Boy Out of Boise, But You Can't Take The Boise Out of the Boy

Before I dive in, some words on touring, and my direct experience with it, so as to give an idea of where my perspective is coming from. Despite my many years of playing music seriously and semi-professionally (always funny saying that; as I worked shit jobs and ate romen for many years) I have only done one coast-to-coast tour, in the band Violent Green, in 1997, though I toured fairly extensively in the Northwest and on the West coast. Most of my peers have toured relentlessly, many still do, and this is part of why some of them are doing well. And those who are not full time? They keep on keeping on. Power to all of them. I guess I feel a little self-conscious here, in that I don't want to pass myself off as some 'wise, sage, seen-it-all' musician in this blog. I just want to tell a story. Cool? Cool.

The other thing about me and touring is that I was never very good at it (this can be confirmed by many ex-band mates). At least in terms of chilling out a bit. As I have mentioned, I was a very high-strung, though lovable, young man. I was a worrier. As in the SOC House, in terms of cleaning, paying bills...I was martyristic in my swift take-over on the road as tour mother/father. Although this evolved over time, I suppose, reaching its zenith in Violent Green. SOC of course had Pat, the elder, degree-holding, opinionated, fury-driven and lovable madman as an appointed Father. It was, to say the least, an interesting combination of personalities on the road.

Boise punks hit the road. Picture from record sleeve for the State Of Confusion LP, 'A Street', taken at the beginning of the 1986 tour. Left to right: Scott Schmaljohn, Pat 'Brown' Schmaljohn, Wayne Flower, Erik Hansen (and roadie Ted Martinez's middle finger, barely seen in the background) - Design by Pat 'Brown' Schmaljohn, Photo by Eric Akre

I will refresh your memory on the van we had, with some important additional details. It was a Chevy (I think a 75) that had been painted army green with house paint, including the hubcaps. Erik constructed a platform using pieces of plywood and two-by-fours. I guess we all contributed to the design, but he was the handiest of us and had access to his father's tools, which were pretty decent. It was just a big crude bench, with a single plywood wall. The wall was fastened to the bench with random brackets, and also fastened to the van walls. The equipment went in the back. More than once when the van brakes were applied heavily, the equipment came tumbling down on us. Luckily no one was hurt. Ah, youth!

Packing the van was my first manifestation of the 'tour mother/father control' person emerging, as, soon, I insisted on doing it. No one else did it to my specifications, or they did it in such a way that the equipment fell over and got damaged. I will 'qualify' this by saying that I am actually quite good at packing a van for tour, or even a car for moving. It is one of those things I call 'my useless talents' (a bit inaccurately, really, as in truth, they are all technically useful). Other useless-actually-useful talents are; I am really good at peeling off price tags or stickers without ripping anything (like when you take price tags off of paper/cardboard cd covers) and I am really good at pouring things from bottles into bottles, or any pouring involving small openings, without spilling a drop. No shit.

We did many little trips, as I have mentioned, throughout the Northwest. In the beginning, we were rarely out more than a four day weekend. Then we progressed into some two week trips and eventually some month-long trips. We transferred our poverty-stricken lifestyle to the road, only it was even more dire, of course, relying solely on money made at parties or shitty hall gigs and merchandise sales to buy gas, eat and drink. I quickly found that I could not ever sleep in a moving van unless I was incredibly exhausted (a wonderful 'quality' to have for a touring musician). So, I began a trend on tour that would continue through the next decade of my life, that of driving until I could drive no more, and being cranky enough to inspire my band mates to off me.

Being at the wheel was never fun with SOC. Mainly because everyone was driving with their mouths as you actually drove; opinions were hurled, insults delivered with spice. Many a fight broke out from getting lost in unfamiliar towns. Fault could lie anywhere; 'Dude YOU told me to turn there...', "Hey FUCKFACE...it was YOUR idea to try the logger road, you dumb DOUCHE!!'. Yeah. Good times.

But it was good times, too, of course; Young men on their own, out in the world, away from the oppressive environment of Boise (and an unexpected result was being homesick and actually learning to appreciate what you took for granted at home). Every night, a new adventure, a chance to meet girls you had never met, or cool people who were into the same things and actually organizing shit, as did we, miles and miles away. It was encouraging.

During the '80s (and into part of the '90s

s) as I have mentioned, there was a huge, nationwide network of folks putting on shows however they could; renting church halls, lodges, cheap ass halls in shitty parts of town, or in their own basements, garages and living rooms. Whatever it took. It was beautiful. The 'Woodstock' of our generation happened in homes, halls and dumps across the country, all the time. Stop. Listen. What's that sound? Everybody Slam, It's Goin Down.

The Cruel Desert That Spawned Us Calls Us Home - SOC's 1987 Tour; A perilous journey, Part I: The Northwest.

The longest tour State of Confusion did was in 1987. As I mentioned in the beginning of this blog entry, I kept an extensive journal of this tour, scrawled into a green spiral notebook in ALL CAPS that I titled 'ADVENTURES IN CONFUSION', written in black sharpie across the cover, complete with a sticker of the coiled rat eating it's own tail, an SOC logo and the aforementioned 'Confusion Man' of Pat's design, and a 'SCREW THE PMRC' sticker (the PMRC was the 'Parent Music Resource Center', organized by a senator's wife, one Mrs. Gore, to censor music. Mrs. Gore was a natural enemy to us, of course). See scans below.

'Adventures In Confusion' - A journal of the ill-fated 1987 tour by State Of Confusion, written by yours truly, age 21

I recorded the tour dates on the inside cover of the spiral notebook. Memory doesn't serve me well here (or anywhere) as to why some of the dates were so far apart, as, this is not what you want to do on a tour, you want as many opportunities to make cash as possible. I assume it was due to the fact that a) Pat did what he could, cold calling folks and setting up shows and b) as I mentioned, there was a network of folks willing to do shows in their homes, basements, garages, living rooms, whatever, so we played many shows that were not on the official itinerary.

Tour dates scrawled on the inside cover of my tour journal 'Adventures In Confusion' which chronicles what became known as 'The Poverty Trail Tour'

Also not listed here was that we were slated to hook up with the band Government Issue in the Midwest and finish their tour opening for them. I do not remember how we worked that, but we were pretty stoked about it. Unfortunately, due to unforeseen events, this leg of the tour was never to be (though we did put on and play at the Boise Government Issue gig on this tour).

Above: The first Government Issue LP - Right: a later picture of Government Issue

At any rate, here are the dates we did do, for the 'historical record':

1987 State of Confusion Tour

5/19 - Richland Washington

6/6 - Salt Lake City Utah

6/30 - Richland, Washington

7/1 - Spokane, Washington

7/4 - Tacoma, Washington

7/5 - Portland, Oregon

7/7 - Boise, Idaho (written as 'Boise Rox', here).

7/8 - Twin Falls, Idaho

7/10 - Salt Lake City, Utah

(here is written 'Reno Transmission Tour', as we had our tranny go out and had to lay down over $400 for a new one!).

7/21 - Santa Barbara, California

7/26 - Green River, Utah (no show, but the end of the line, written here as 'Green River Blowout', as this where our van finally died.

After this, it says 'possible Descendents fin ALL show, which never happened, or rather, we never played it. We did, as I mention and will cover more here, go see the Descendents in LA after our Santa Barbara show. Underneath this are two drawings; one of stick figures in front of a van, then one of the same stick figures with heads hung low around a van gushing oil from its belly).

We did a Salt Lake City show after the blowout, on the way home, where things got even more interesting.

Richland, Washington, Spokane, Washington, Seattle, Washington, Tacoma, Washington, Port Orchard, Washington, Portland, Oregon and back home.

It doesn't seem that I started this tour journal in earnest until just after the first Tri-cities show, in Richland, WA, a house party (see below) as I begin the journal with a quick recount of a Tri-cities hall show (see below). My goal here is to pull out highlights from this journal, rather than recounting every trip, of course. I wrote that 'our friends have a hot band called Diddly Squat' but that they didn't play the show.

We had played a show with them previously, starting this tour, at the house of the parents of a guy who would eventually sing in Diddly Squat. The house, in the hills of Richland's suburbs, was completely trashed. And there was a moment when cops came to the house, and we turned off the lights, hid and pretended no one was home. I will never forget squatting under the bar to the kitchen, while seeing cops with flashlights peering through the sliding glass door in the back, holding dogs on leashes whose noses were against the glass. And the amazing thing was...they left and never came in!

Through the years of playing shows in the Northwest, we had met a group of kids who pretty much ran the scene in Richland and the Tri-cities area, two of whom would become very good friends of SOC and subsequently, The Treepeople and are to this day amongst my best friends; Paula Sen and Doug Pack. More on them later.

The best band (in our minds) from Richland was a hardcore band with a sort of blues rock twist ('soul speed', they called it) the aforementioned Diddly Squat. Members of Diddly Squat will re-appear throughout this story as seminal figures in the evolution of hardcore and indie rock through the '90s, and some are played on your radio stations and in your music collections today. That just sounded like some cheesy fucking commercial; SAVE on an aging punk/indie rocker's memories, TODAY! Sorry...

Diddly Squat sticker

SOC/Diddly Squat/Comatose show flyer ~ 
From the personal collection of Rich Wingfield

I list the bands played with as Road Kill, Comatose and Moral Crux whom I have mentioned, and who were also seminal in the development of NW indie rock. They really put on a show, the front man wore white face make-up and had his hair spiked and a big voice, tight power-pop punk...or, I will let 21 year old Wayne tell it; '...the singer was a weird lookin' fuck, skinny with black hair comin' to a point in front & white shit & make-up on he was a good singer though they had a pop Misfits/Sex Pistols/Damned type sound...' The bass player, as I mentioned previously, was damn good, or, as I would say then; 'hot'. Apparently, my new word at the time was 'hot' but I was using it how one might use 'cool' or 'really good'. Hilarious to read now and think how someone else may assume I was gay when reading words written about a male player like 'they had a hot bass player'. Ok, young Wayne. Get em.

But the best part of this old page is a note scrawled into the margin that says "...Forgot to mention Pat wearing a sock on his dick with duck tape on a trash bag in back." [oh how I wish I had photos!]

I told ya...good times.

In Spokane, Washington we played at the same place we were supposed to play when the show got canceled before when we were to play with The Accused (see; Music History, Part 8 The Early Boise Years 1985 to 1986, in this blog for details on that). A dude named Brian, who put on the show, apparently 'brought a pot of sgetty and bread for ALL the bands.'. We played with some metal-esque punk bands, Wehrmacht (whom, apparently, I was unimpressed with, as I called their music 'cheater-beat thrash metal NOISE') and Cryptic Slaughter.

The cops came and harassed Brian about all the beer drinking. I see a note in the margin 'forgot to mention Pat singin' nude for awhile' (I don't remember that much nudity! Further in the journal, there is also a note about The Dehumanizers playing nude at a show) '...we suffered through their [other band's] noise and headed to Seattle...[and once there] Drove around in circles for awhile til we found our bros from H-Hour's home [the band had moved to Seattle not long before our trip there] ...We entered and stirred them up & went to the store to purchase eggs and bacon & taters & cooked up a nice meal and slept awhile...' This visit began our first Seattle link, especially through Tad (of the later band, TAD) which was key when we moved there later.

Then I remember in the journal that there was actually a gig in Seattle the night before; 'oh duh, the night before was the show at a bar called Scoundrel's Lair with H-Hour, who started out with a cool set'. A note here that I will speak more of H-Hour in other entries, while this one focuses on the tours.

We also met David Portnow, owner of Sub Core Records, at this show, who had put out 'A Street'. He was a skinny young man of 18 years, or, to quote Young Wayne '...a skinny, geeky lookin' dude, but he's cool enough'. We were surprised to see he was so young. He seemed to like the band. The show was not hugely attended, but there would not have been room in the bar anyhow as it was a small upstairs venue. By the time we played it was mostly Boise folks, transplants to Seattle and a handful who had driven up to see the show, we had a good time.

In Tacoma, we went to see The Accused play at a cool old building in downtown Tacoma, which apparently made an impression on me '...downtown Tacoma is a bunch of fuckin' hilly roads going straight up to the sky...' The venue also let us sell our own merch, even though we were not playing. The Accused was, as always, very good. We later played a 'matinee' show in an old theater just outside Tacoma with a local band called A.M.Q.A, named after a sign by the freeway warning folks that it was an Apple Maggot Quarantine Area.

The show was sparsely attended, or maybe just felt so due to the huge open room of the theater. The opening band was a great Seattle punk band we hooked up with for a few dates called The Dehumanizers, who were getting some buzz from a song called 'Kill Lou Guzzo'. Lou Guzzo was a local Republican journalist for KIRO television who led the crusade to ban all ages live music in Seattle. Even the Wikipedia page on Lou Guzzo mentions this song; 'By today's standards, Guzzo's commentaries were largely inoffensive and moderate, if slightly right-of-center. In 1986, his commentaries caught the attention of the punk-metal band the Dehumanizers, who named their debut 7" EP (and its title track) "Kill Lou Guzzo." Lawsuits and outrage ensued, and the EP has since become difficult to find.'. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lou_Guzzo. A decade later, I would end up playing in a band with The Dehumanizers' bad-ass guitarist, one Lonnie King.

The Dehumanizers' controversial disc, 'Kill Lou Guzzo'

Flyer from a State Of Confusion Dehumanizers show, I believe this was in Tacoma, WA (?)

Onward to a little port town called Port Orchard, Washington to play at a rollerskating rink on the 4th of July. The rink was called 'Rio's Skate Castle', owned by an Asian couple. There was a little fair set up for the holiday, complete with Ferris wheels and other rides, there by the rink, near the water. It turned out that people used Rio's Skate Castle as a babysitter and dumped their kids there while they got plowed at the local bars.

We were playing with an odd local metal band called Tempered Steel. They were whiny kids who had blow dryers in their backstage room and argued constantly. We nick-named them 'TemperMental' They made us open the gig, which was no problem, since we wanted to get the hell out of there.

Prior to the show we went on some of the rides. We had eaten little pieces of paper that made the colors pretty and were having quite a time, when a few members of Tempered Steel found us and bitched at us because we were supposed to be playing. So we went back and played upstairs on this odd square of checkered linoleum surrounded by lights and there were disco strobes about, spinning and flashing. Only friends of the whiny metal kids watched. We ended up playing roller hockey with the teen aged son and daughter of the owners of the rink until early hours of the morning.

Next up, Portland, Oregon and the Satyricon, at which, I marveled, there was porn showing on some of the many TVs set up all over the place. We played with one other band, Hester Prynne from Seattle, a 3 piece playing tight poppy punk, and, I noted, a Metallica cover and a Descendents cover. The Dehumanizers were supposed to play this show, but they never showed up. We decided to beat the heat and drive home that night, for a stop-over, and arrived in Boise at around 6 am '...to the surprise of our families.'.

In Boise we played a show at '...Camp Art...the show ended up being our best one...and even the Dehumas [Dehumanizers] showed up. We played after Farm Days, who put the show on...When we played, the cops made everyone come inside, so it was ragin'...We had a tight, intense set & everyone got into it...'

And apparently my ex was there and I 'asked her to fuck me. She said after we got back...'. Hilarious, indeed. I don't believe she did (though she did manage to fuck a few of my friends).

I do not remember too much about this show, or what 'Camp Art' was, but Farm Days was a Twin Falls band (a town south east of Boise) led by a young Doug Martsch (later in Treepeople, Built to Spill and The Halo Benders) who would become part of our musical tree soon. They played smart, tight folksy punk rock and roll with clever lyrics. We were instantly wowed by their talent. They also enjoyed State of Confusion. Not sure if this is when we first met them all or not. It was around that time period for sure.

Clean Sheets Mean A Lot, To A Guy Who Sleeps On The Floor; Refusing an offer of The Descendents from my ancestors...

The next part of this blog will cover one of those decisions you make in life that is a turning point, for yourself, and as a result, for others, a place where your life could have gone one direction, but you chose another. Over the years, State of Confusion, in Boise and in other cities, had the pleasure (in most cases!) of playing shows with some of hardcore punk's finest bands, including the ever lovable band from LA...The Descendents.

The Descendents were fronted by a seemingly helpless nerd named Milo, with his glasses and worn-out clothing, mostly jeans and t-shirts (which, by chance, was a 'look' that the Brothers Schmaljohn had unintentionally had for years) and whose story was told with wonderful lyrics about broken hearts, cruel girls, the ills of being different and still having to deal with college, personal politics, and bullies. It can be said that The Descendents, in many ways, paved the way for later 'indie rock' bands, with their hardcore pop that even chicks dug. The bands Weezer or The Shins and many others owe them a great debt. Check out the Descendents albums 'Milo Goes To College' and 'I Don't Want To Grow Up' to get an idea of the pop power they laid down, and of what I am spouting about. Definitely one of my favorite bands from that era.

Consecutive Descendents albums that rocked

Early Descendents promo pic

The Descendents seemed genuinely impressed by SOC whenever they played with us. Especially their drummer, the infamous Bill Stevenson, who was the leader of the band, and had the Godlike stamp of having played in Black Flag. He complimented me on me on my bass-playing a couple of times, which I of course appreciated, but never got cocky about.

Young Bill Stevenson

Flyer for Descendents gig in Boise with State Of Confusion (I can't find any other scan of this online and this ain't that great - looks to have a set list on the back, if anyone has a better one, send it to me!)

One day, I was hanging out upstairs from my apartment at Pat and his girlfriend's apartment (also shared by her 8 year old boy) and the phone rang. The call was from Bill Stevenson. Hanging out with us at the time were friends from Salt Lake City Utah, members of a band called 'Pravda' (named after the revolutionary Soviet newspaper of the same name) who had played a show in town the night before. One member of Pravda was the former bass player of the aforementioned SLC band, The Massacre Guys, one Karl Alverez. Karl was always a gentleman, even in the crazy old days. At any rate, Bill Stevenson asked Pat if he could talk to me. I grabbed the phone.

Mr. Stevenson told me that the bass player for The Descendents was no longer in the band and they were shopping for a bass player, and he wanted to know if I would play bass in The Descendents.... Say again? But reality crashed upon me like a hammer: Playing in The Descendents required moving immediately to Los Angeles, California, a place I found repulsive. More importantly, my mother was in the midst of treatment for cancer and could die at any time. That made it a no-brainer decision alone. And on top of that, 'A Street' was about to come out, actually distributed by a label in Seattle (the aforementioned 'Sub Core Records').

So I had to explain about my mother to Bill. He gave me his condolences, and asked if I knew other bass players that may be interested (were no bass players in LA??). Karl had been listening and stood up..."I'll talk to him." And so he did. Karl talked to Bill, flew down and tried out for the Descendents (he was and is a fantastic bass player, and of course was in) and Karl called his old friend Stephen (the former SLC Punk rock God lead man for Massacre Guys, 'Stevo' was back to his birth-given name 'Stephen' and studying classical music in DC at that time, I believe...anyone?) who also tried out. Thus, the final line-up for the Descendents album 'All' was formed, and thus, the seeds for the later band 'ALL' were also formed, right there in Pat's apartment, in Boise, Idaho, in 1986. I shit you not. SOC ended up attending the first 'final Descendents gig' in LA in 1987, which I cover later in this blog.

 
The new Descendents made up partly of 'old' Salt Lake City punks and might have been made up also of a Boise punk had I chose a different path

This concludes Part I of the 1987 tour. Part II next time; The cruel desert. The first time 'leaving the band'. WayneO goes to college. And more.