LUNKHEADED

Part Three


But those days ended soon after when Mr R left and didn’t come back, and Marge and the boys sold the house and moved on. Luckily, all this happened right around when we all started to get cars and drive ourselves around. Every weekend featured a show at either MacGregors or Wrigleyside, and a foray into the city to buy records. I was primarily into East Bay punk bands like CRIMPSHRINE, OPERATION IVY, and GREEN DAY, and it got to the point where I would buy any record with the LOOKOUT! name. Which was sorta cool cuz you discover new bands, but for every MONSULA I discovered, there were five BRENTS TV’s, YEASTIE GIRLS, and PLAID RETINA’s.

I had this deal going with Dave, the guy who ran Roadkill Records, a small local label that put out a WEASEL album, the SLUDGEWORTH 7”, and the BHOPAL STIFFS classic “e.p.a.”, among others. The deal was I’d drop off flyers for his shows throughout the northern suburbs and I got into any show I wanted. It was a good deal. Because of this deal, I was at MacGregors a LOT. At least one night a weekend and so I got to know Matt, the guy who booked the shows there. So, as I stood outside handing out flyers to punks leaving the latest BILLINGSGATE or OUT OF ORDER show, I’d chat Matt up about letting LUNKHEAD play there. Every week I’d bug him, and he’d hem and he’d haw, he needed a tape, blah, blah, blah. Fuck the tape, man! I’d say. We’re GOOD! Just let us play, you’ll see. It went on like this for months. I’d stand on one side of the departing crowd and he’d stand on the other and I’d cajole him over the top of people’s heads. Finally, one day he calls me at home and do we wanna play with NO EMPATHY? Fuckin’ of COURSE we wanna play with NO EMPATHY!!! I book the show right then and there and called the fellas to tell them the good news.

So we really got down to it, practice-wise. Wrote a couple more originals, including “Sausage Party” and “Inspiration Point”, which both actually kinda sounded like real songs (there was even a guitar solo in one), and our confidence was sky-fucking-high. The show was that weekend and we were ready to make a splash on the Chicago punk rock scene. It was on a Sunday night which was customary in those days. No self-respecting bar would give up a Friday or Saturday night’s receipts to host an all-ages punk show. MacGregors was a sports bar the other six nights a week, which was also customary in those days. Dreamerz had burned down (during a POISON IDEA show, as the story goes),and Medusa’s had become co-opted by skinheads and the punx-with-an-X crowd, so good shows were often relegated to sports bars. That had it’s good points, too. It was in the suburbs, had a big parking lot you could hang out in, a little forest right off the lot you could sneak into for a smoke or a drink, and since you needed a car to reach it that kept away most of the panhandling, stud and spike crew. They had the Punkin’ Donuts in the city and we had the sports bar in the suburbs. It was the dumbest turf war ever.

We got to the show and unloaded, we were the first band there. Did our first sound check ever, it sounded good, then we sat around outside waiting for showtime. Soon after, the NO EMPATHY van rolled in and we hung with them for a while. They’d been easily the best band in town for years, and we’d been going to their shows forever. Their singer, Marc, is one of the most talented people I’ve ever known. He just has an AIR about him, I guess that’s what they mean when people talk about charisma, but Marc takes it to a whole other level. When he talks, you listen. I was telling him about our first show and wondering how the more urbane MacGregors crowd would take to us and he said to me, “You know Matt, even if the whole crowd hates you, HATES you-there’s gonna be one guy who thinks you’re THE ABSOLUTE SHIT!” Ruvolo’s a cool cat, and I’ve been playing for that one guy ever since.

Eventually a crowd started to build up. VICTIM’S FAMILY were playing as well as THE ALIEN BOYS from Germany, and both were sorta big so we figured there’d be an okay draw. More of our friends were showing up and Pete and I stood outside, smoking cigarette after cigarette in preparation. Finally, Matt poked his head out the door and told us we were on.

We plugged in and went. There were no introductions, no theme music, no witty repartee. Someone closed the door to keep the noise in and the late afternoon sun out and off we went.


There are several rock and roll Truths. Truths like Always have a sober person handy, and Always have duct tape. You learn these eternal truths the hard way. That day, we learned one of these Truths. Always have extra guitar strings, or better yet, an extra guitar handy. Always.

Midway through the third song, as the crowd was still meandering in, John broke his A string. We had no spare strings. We had no other guitar. We couldn’t go on. I asked through the mike if THE ALIEN BOYS or VICTIM’S FAMILY would loan us a guitar but they ignored us (dicks), and NO EMPATHY had gone for food. We looked at each other in amazement, we couldn’t believe this was happening. We held a quick band meeting and decided to try and play around it. We then lurched our way through “Above Average Retard” and called it a night, crushed that we’d only gotten through three songs, embarrassed beyond words at what the fourth one had sounded like, and miffed that the majority of the people had started to come in while we were fiddling around with the guitar. It was like all these people had heard this rad band from the parking lot, but when they got inside they realized they must have been mistaken.

We loaded off, unable to make eye contact with the crowd, and filled up the cars to leave. A couple people came up to say hi, but I think most people respected our embarrassment and left us alone.

I lied on the floor of my apartment on my back all night that night, thinking, pondering our disaster, and was literally sick to my stomach until the sun came up fiery in the morning window.