Parable for the Night
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Lightning Rod
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Parable for the Night
I used to play in a little dive pub called The Quiet Man in Dallas. It was a friendly place with chess and darts and sort of a cozy intellectual crowd mostly from SMU. It had a big round table that was coated with about a half inch of polyurethane. Many friends met at that table. It was a small place and when the owner died, they couldn't stay in business. Some new owners bought the place out and moved it over to a new location on Greenville Ave. and called it the Winedale Tavern. The round table from the Quiet Man was placed in the featured spot right in front of the stage. Many of the patrons of the old Quiet Man migrated to the Winedale (which we called the Swinedale) and sat around that same table. It's just the way things go, I guess.
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Doreen Peri
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Zlatko Waterman
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Parable of the terrible table.
Here the word "terrible" stands for "filled with terror."
Where I played with an electric Country and Western band in 1966.
The "Lariat" it was called, then later just "The Ranch."
Magenta bent neon lights, women in the dark with too much make-up; truck drivers with chainsaw smiles.
They pulled the suds and everybody danced.
Once I was tipped five bucks to sing "Oklahoma Hills." It was a speciality of mine in those days.
When I finished the song, a mahogany-faced man with a hatchet nose came up to me on the bandstand and shoved a twenty in my metalbuttoned ranchwear shirt pocket.
He was obviously a "native american", we would call him now nearly forty years later.
"Ain't no fuckin' Indians in here, bud. Don't sing that song, please . . ." his eyes were a little teary.
Five nights later a guy with a knife like a rusty can lid thought I was smiling at his date while I sang.
It's dangerous to be young.
--Z
p.s. As Pat Metheny played:
"As falls Wichita, so falls Wichita Falls."
Here the word "terrible" stands for "filled with terror."
Where I played with an electric Country and Western band in 1966.
The "Lariat" it was called, then later just "The Ranch."
Magenta bent neon lights, women in the dark with too much make-up; truck drivers with chainsaw smiles.
They pulled the suds and everybody danced.
Once I was tipped five bucks to sing "Oklahoma Hills." It was a speciality of mine in those days.
When I finished the song, a mahogany-faced man with a hatchet nose came up to me on the bandstand and shoved a twenty in my metalbuttoned ranchwear shirt pocket.
He was obviously a "native american", we would call him now nearly forty years later.
"Ain't no fuckin' Indians in here, bud. Don't sing that song, please . . ." his eyes were a little teary.
Five nights later a guy with a knife like a rusty can lid thought I was smiling at his date while I sang.
It's dangerous to be young.
--Z
p.s. As Pat Metheny played:
"As falls Wichita, so falls Wichita Falls."
Bar Snippet #3 -
My friend Leon played bass in a blues group, The Intruders.
"Cec', you and Soo come on by the Iron Horse to catch a set or two..."
"Sure, Leon, the Iron Horse is our kinda place," I winked at him, knowing the reputation the joint had as a biker bar.
But we decided at the last minute to go support him and his group, and to keep his old lady company. I even ended up doin' a little dancin'... something bands appreciate and it did bring a few souls out to the cramped dancefloor.
The air was thick with smoke and the rumblings of bikers slammin' down beer after another beer, but we felt non-threatened and enjoyed the Intruders set.
After about an hour, Leon gave the "pause for the cause" routine and got a few of his framed pieces of charcoals that he does of musicians and actors from the side of the squat stage. Always the hustler, he approached a few people seeing if he could make a sale or two before he came to our table and enjoy a beer himself.
A few bikers came over to our table and sccoted some chairs in between ours and asked Leon what he was selling. Leon of course, was happy to show them a few pieces when one of the bikers kinda transfixed his gaze on one for a minute or two.
"How much you sell these for?" the biker asked.
"Well, I usually ask $30 because they're framed..." his voice trailing off.
"I'm gonna take this home with me!" the biker snarled, obviously with no intent to buy.
Leon quickly agreed that if he liked it that he should take it home.... an unusual thing to hear outta him.
Few minutes later after the three bikers finished their beers, they got up and left, giving Leon a handshake.
I had to ask Leon why he had let that guy take his print without paying him anything.
"That's the president of the Bandido's," he replied, "and he can have anything he wants. I ain't about to say no to him," shakin' his head with a look of relief that they had left.
[note: the Bandido's are a motorcycle gang with a nefarious reputation]
My friend Leon played bass in a blues group, The Intruders.
"Cec', you and Soo come on by the Iron Horse to catch a set or two..."
"Sure, Leon, the Iron Horse is our kinda place," I winked at him, knowing the reputation the joint had as a biker bar.
But we decided at the last minute to go support him and his group, and to keep his old lady company. I even ended up doin' a little dancin'... something bands appreciate and it did bring a few souls out to the cramped dancefloor.
The air was thick with smoke and the rumblings of bikers slammin' down beer after another beer, but we felt non-threatened and enjoyed the Intruders set.
After about an hour, Leon gave the "pause for the cause" routine and got a few of his framed pieces of charcoals that he does of musicians and actors from the side of the squat stage. Always the hustler, he approached a few people seeing if he could make a sale or two before he came to our table and enjoy a beer himself.
A few bikers came over to our table and sccoted some chairs in between ours and asked Leon what he was selling. Leon of course, was happy to show them a few pieces when one of the bikers kinda transfixed his gaze on one for a minute or two.
"How much you sell these for?" the biker asked.
"Well, I usually ask $30 because they're framed..." his voice trailing off.
"I'm gonna take this home with me!" the biker snarled, obviously with no intent to buy.
Leon quickly agreed that if he liked it that he should take it home.... an unusual thing to hear outta him.
Few minutes later after the three bikers finished their beers, they got up and left, giving Leon a handshake.
I had to ask Leon why he had let that guy take his print without paying him anything.
"That's the president of the Bandido's," he replied, "and he can have anything he wants. I ain't about to say no to him," shakin' his head with a look of relief that they had left.
[note: the Bandido's are a motorcycle gang with a nefarious reputation]
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Lightning Rod
- Posts: 5211
- Joined: August 15th, 2004, 6:57 pm
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It was in the mid seventies. My living was rock and roll and whatever else I could pick up on the side. My band was auditioning at a mob-owned bar called The Three Thieves. It was on Cedar Springs in Dallas, the area that is now known as Homo Heights. At the time it was just a bunch of tough bars, hookers and strip clubs.
There were three bands auditioning. One was mine and one was a band I had previously played with. We did straight ahead Texas blues and rock and they did Chicago Blues.
The third band was a blues band that was fronted by Bubbles Cash. She was an ex-stripper who had made her bones by running onto the field at a Cowboys game and taking her shirt off and kissing Don Meridith in front of the national tv cameras. I always liked Bubbles, she was the original whore with a heart of gold. But she wasn't much of a singer.
All three bands played a few tunes and then the manager of the place retreated into the back room with Bubbles. I don't know what actually happened behind that door, but I think I found out that day what it means to be fucked out of a job. Bubbles got the gig.
There were three bands auditioning. One was mine and one was a band I had previously played with. We did straight ahead Texas blues and rock and they did Chicago Blues.
The third band was a blues band that was fronted by Bubbles Cash. She was an ex-stripper who had made her bones by running onto the field at a Cowboys game and taking her shirt off and kissing Don Meridith in front of the national tv cameras. I always liked Bubbles, she was the original whore with a heart of gold. But she wasn't much of a singer.
All three bands played a few tunes and then the manager of the place retreated into the back room with Bubbles. I don't know what actually happened behind that door, but I think I found out that day what it means to be fucked out of a job. Bubbles got the gig.
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stilltrucking
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- Joined: October 24th, 2004, 12:29 pm
- Location: Oz or somepLace like Kansas
waiting for the tables to turn
Women song writers night at Franks N Steins in guitar town. The night Dolly Parton was there. A small pretty woman singing her songs. I knew her girl friend from the time I lived at the Ross hotel which was on lower Broadway around the corner from Tootsie's Orchid Lounge and across the street from The Ryman. The next day her friend brought her around to my apartment because she had been raped on her way home from that gig. We went for a walk to the vacant lot where it had happened. Not much to see, no clues, I wondered why they had come to see me. Maybe just to see the sorrow in my eyes. It seemed to be a comfort to her.
"waiting on tables
waiting for the tables to turn"
another song I heard that night was called "Loretta's Next Big Hit"
about being chased around an office by Lorreta Lynn's manager
"waiting on tables
waiting for the tables to turn"
another song I heard that night was called "Loretta's Next Big Hit"
about being chased around an office by Lorreta Lynn's manager
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STUPID BOB
- Posts: 265
- Joined: August 15th, 2004, 7:47 pm
- Location: Texas
Damn Pop. We played straight ahead Texas Blues and Rock? Mushroom Men?? Rasta Krishna? Last Life? OhhhhKaaay.Lightning Rod wrote:There were three bands auditioning. One was mine and one was a band I had previously played with. We did straight ahead Texas blues and rock and they did Chicago Blues.
The thing I remember most was getting in between you and a biker tuffy who had just planted knuckles on a pretty, young things face.
Oh -- you're welcome.
Carpe Delirium
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Lightning Rod
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Ok, maybe it wasn't straight ahead Texas rock, maybe it was slightly bent Texas rockDamn Pop. We played straight ahead Texas Blues and Rock? Mushroom Men?? Rasta Krishna? Last Life? OhhhhKaaay.
The thing I remember most was getting in between you and a biker tuffy who had just planted knuckles on a pretty, young things face.
Oh -- you're welcome.
my brother's son john french plays in a band in austin, captain clyde
http://www.captainclyde.com/index.php?body=band
seems to be a good thing for him
my stepson brian gray is a musician without a band
a missing link waiting
bodies of knowledge
i was down and out in houston in the 70's
had come down from NYC
)another snippet at the employment office there(
living in the weirdheimer district
working nites and drawing days
art league with jose perez
standing infront of our apartment building
showing off my drawings to the neighbors
a big buick convertable parks in front.
this short squat bulldog with a wide brim hat
gets out and walks up.
my drawing is spread out on the grass.
he steps on it, shredding it with his boots.
it was a charcoal drawing of a
coors beer shirt on a hanger, purely academic.
the marine from upstairs invited me to shoot up with the speed the other neighbors had concocted.
when his sweet wife did it, i consented as well.
high for several hours then
sick as a dawg for a day.
went to a street clinic with a sore arm
i couldn't straighten out.
but for the grace of god.
i got a half-nephew
an a whole step-son.
both wholesome guitar pickers.
miricles of life.
http://www.captainclyde.com/index.php?body=band
seems to be a good thing for him
my stepson brian gray is a musician without a band
a missing link waiting
bodies of knowledge
i was down and out in houston in the 70's
had come down from NYC
)another snippet at the employment office there(
living in the weirdheimer district
working nites and drawing days
art league with jose perez
standing infront of our apartment building
showing off my drawings to the neighbors
a big buick convertable parks in front.
this short squat bulldog with a wide brim hat
gets out and walks up.
my drawing is spread out on the grass.
he steps on it, shredding it with his boots.
it was a charcoal drawing of a
coors beer shirt on a hanger, purely academic.
the marine from upstairs invited me to shoot up with the speed the other neighbors had concocted.
when his sweet wife did it, i consented as well.
high for several hours then
sick as a dawg for a day.
went to a street clinic with a sore arm
i couldn't straighten out.
but for the grace of god.
i got a half-nephew
an a whole step-son.
both wholesome guitar pickers.
miricles of life.
[color=darkcyan]i'm on a survival mission
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
yo ho ho an a bottle of rum om[/color]
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creativesoul
- Posts: 4658
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Re: Parable for the Night
happy new year- every one 
reason is over rated, as is logic and common sense-i much prefer the passions of a crazy old woman, cats and dogs and jungle foliage- tropic rain-and a defined sense of who brings the stars up at night and the sun up in the morning---
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