Finding My Ancient Inner Tears For Fears

Like Neil Young, The Who, Foo Fighters, and Clarence Carter, I recently played a small, 80's themed South American Bar in a shopping center. Along with fellow old fart Chris Davis (congas), I had the unique experience of helping a young Colombian rock band (Alo Kunfu) drive a heavily-liquored-up audience of Gringos and Barranquieros into a Rock'n'Roll Frenzy of epic proportions. Uhhhhhh. Ok. Exactly.

So anyway, as things often happen in our happy BQ world, Chris (more force of nature than third grade teacher) got me involved in something I would not have forseen nor imagined say, Monday. This, being Friday, is about par for his abilities. Tuesday evening he called, asking if I'd like to play guitar and maybe sing with a BQ band. I said 'sure'. Thursday evening we were at the local rock station promoting the gig live on the air. Thursday night we took the stage. The crowd was drunken and responsive. Flashback (the small 80's bar) was packed. The fog-machine was annoying.

I am proud to say I caught the pair of panties thrown at me. I don't feel inclined to mention exactly who threw the panties, but, everyone needs a groupie, even if mine happens to be a 6'2" Canadian man named Thierry. Either way, I feel good about the catch. My shame, however comes in breaking my long-standing three-year tradition of always inserting a Johnny Cash song whenever I play an open mic or any such sort of program. I was too intimidated by Robert Smith's reputation as an asskicker to question whether or not two songs by The Cure was a good idea. Getting the crap kicked out of me by a skinny mopey guy with spikey hair and tons of eye makeup would be too much to try and explain.