Whats so funny about Peace, Love and Getting Cut in Half by a Stage?

I love live music. Blame it on my mother - every show that came to Baton Rouge during my early developmental years you could find my mom with 2 small children on the front row. I will never forget the Rita Coolidge/Kris Kristofferson show where Kris gave my mom his empty Jim Beam bottle as a keepsake. (We later made a RonCo root beer candle from that bottle) Perhaps it was my father's influence, despite all of his BIG political accomplishments he was most proud of playing the Captain on the HMS Pinafore. Many a day I would drive my dad around (most of the time with him seated in the backseat a la Miss Daisy) singing harmony with him to Andy Griffith songs.

As a teenager, one of the saving graces of my move to Mississippi was going to the barn to listen to "Anvil" play. Brian Huddell, Ronnie Schmidtling and Jimmy Burril were the shit. A lot of people went out to the barn to engage in unadulterated party, but me (who loves to party) I went for the music. The sounds of Joe Jackson and Elvis Costello played by those 3 talented members of "Anvil" were some of the highlights of the 80s for me. Following the untimely HS graduation of the "Anvil" crew came Richie Gardner with his band "Secret Beat" following the trail blazed by the "Anvil" Boys. (How I wish I still had the lyrics to Winnebago Woman written by Richie for me) The Concert Choir Hall gained new life with “Secret Beat” licking their axes to our favorite New Wave Songs.

Following High School, I decided to go back to Louisiana for college. While LSU had a lot to offer in the way of getting your drunk on, I missed the warm hazy nights filled with live guitar riffs, singers romancing their mics and drummers spewing sweat all over drum kits and amplifiers. I needed my live music and knew it was just down the road in The City that Care Forgot. Upon transferring to college in New Orleans, I immediately secured a carriage house within walking distance of Tipatina’s. On average 5 out of 7 nights the bronze bust of Professor Longhair would greet me as I walked into Tips for my live music fix. I fried chicken for Dwight Yokum after his last set, second-lined with GWAR and out-shot the Big Elvis from Dread Zepplin. Countless nights I went home with my ears ringing and my heart still pumping from the thrill of listening to the band.

Uptown New Orleans was alive with music and I was ready to swim in the sounds of everything from "Bow Wow Wow" to "The Zion Harmonizers". Protopunk was big on the music scene and the "New York Dolls" were the Godfathers of this edgy sound. "The Dolls" were playing at the Maple Leaf uptown and I was first in line to get in the door. The crowd looked like the extras from Bladerunner and when the music started a big pit was formed in the middle of the floor (notice I did not call it a mosh pit – it was just a big scary pit filled with pseudo vampires and real-life taxidermists) There was little me straining to get closer to "The Dolls", when the peripheral vacuum of the pit sucked me in. Now, I am about 5’2” on a tall day so the middle of the pit is the last place a small gal wants to find herself trapped in. Within the bowels of the pit, I was shoved, bounced, passed, grabbed, rubbed and dos-e-doed to the very sharp edge of the stage where David Johansen was belting out “Personality Crisis”. Well, couldn’t he see I was having a major crisis of my own! As the pit pulsated to the song, big punk dudes and even bigger punk chicks were pushing me closer and closer to the stage until the edge of the stage became one with my rib cage.

Despite the searing guitar playing I could still hear my ribs crunching into little pieces one by one. The pain was intense so I begin to beat on the floor of the stage and Johansen’s shoes, yelling to David “Help me, help me, Save Me, save me.” I just knew that I was going to be a victim of pit vivisection. As I was frantically trying to get Johansen to save me, he leaned down to cheek to cheek with me, strummed his guitar in my face, gave me a big misty smile and announced to the crowd. “Give it up THIS is our biggest fan!” The crowd loved me but I was too busy blacking out to care.

After that, things were a bit hazy, as my lungs had both collapsed due to the impact of the stage slamming against them. Some big man with an Aqua colored Mohawk (I believe he was either a Turtle Farmer from Houma or had recently been kicked out of Tulane Med School for excessive recreational drug use) picked me up over his head and passed me out of the pit. It took a lot of ace bandages and painkillers to get over that show but man oh man no one can rock like Johnny Thunders. (Except for the great Brian H. and Richie G. and Craig D.)

Many shows have followed along with many accidents and incidents and significant hearing loss. My next post will cover my personal odyssey to see the "Ramones" and my false press credentials used to meet Better Than Ezra. And remember as we walk through this wicked world searching for light in the darkness of insanity, not all hope is lost it can be still be found at the edge of a stage, in a pit or sitting in the gospel tent. What's so funny about Peace, Love and Live Music?