Glory, Memories, and Bloody Guitars
I am just back from probably one of the greatest Saturday nights of my entire life. I am talking about the Southern Creed reunion that took place in Memphis on December 17, 2005. I had an idea that it would be a special night, but I was not prepared for the breadth and depth of emotions that simply flat-assed clobbered me in those few short hours. The night was one of those that remind me that I'm alive, why I play music in the first place, reaffirm that I have done some good for somebody in my life, and ultimately leave me humbled by realizing that I am part of something that is much larger than my solitary self. It wasn't only a gig, but an Experience.
We'd checked in to the Peabody for the night after dropping off my gear at the New Daisy down on Beale Street, then I ran back down to the theater leaving my wife to hang around the room / go shopping / get ready while I made sound check. Wives don't generally understand why you'd wanna hang around an old, cold, smelly club all afternoon with a bunch of guys noodling around on their equipment. They don't get the male-bonding vibe of the process of preparing for the show with old mates you haven't spent time with for years, so it was okay by me to be on my own for the afternoon. It was a good thing, as the house sound man didn't show up until a bit late and we were there longer than I had anticipated. The bad thing was that we didn't really get a chance to play much together and go over some of the tough spots, especially for me as they other guys had rehearsed more than I had, seeing as how they all still live in Memphis. I had come up the Saturday before for an all-day marathon session, but would have liked to have more. Oh well, winging-it is my business...
Actually, the sound check did more to freak us out than anything else. The last time this group of guys had appeared in public together was on this very stage in 1988, just as Lord Tracy was taking off. We had all forgotten how boom-y and washed out it sounded to an empty hall. The place seemed to jack up the volume of everything and totally slap a truck-load of mud all over the low end. Ya'll know how loud I am, and I was really planning to let those amp tubes cry havoc, but I found that I had to actually turn down the volume under what I would play in a little bitty club like the good old Sports Page in Huntsville. In fact, I set the Marshall down underneath the Super Reverb in volume, as that tended to clear things up a bit. The house sound guy said that it would sound better once people got in here, which is what they always say. But the statement is usually right, at least up to a point. If we had had an onstage monitor man, it would have been better. I couldn't hear Steve's guitar, which was what I was going to cue off of, and they could never get the kick and snare through the monitor for James or me. I kept telling myself it would be better later.
Back to the Peabody to get ready, get beautiful (as much as I can do that anymore), and get something to eat before all the brouhaha began for the evening. It was supposed to be an early event, for Memphis at least. The doors were to open at 6pm for $1.03 beer (it was an official Rock 103 event, natch!) and the opening band was to go on at 8. We were to take the stage for the first set by 9:30. Hell, in the old days we'd get outta bed at 9:30 in the evening so we could go on at midnight and play until 3am! Then Steve and I would head out to the Underground to party and drink and chase chickees until we would crawl out of there squinting into the rising sun. Those days are long gone, and I can tell you that if I'm not playing or going to see some of my buddies perform, my old ass is in bed fast asleep by 10:30 every night!
At least, with the early door opening and the cheap beer flowing, we'd probably sound a whole lot better! My motto has always been, "The drunker you get, the better we sound!" Our Creed crowd in the old days was famous (notorious?) for drinking so much that bars where we played stocked up extra and had emergency beer trucks on call throughout the night. You didn't want the Creed crowd to run out of bevvies our you'd have Hell With the Lid Off! The question was, could they still keep up? Hell, would they show up in the first place?
Christie and I arrived back at the club after dinner, which I could barely eat due to my excitement. We actually copped a parking place in a lot adjacent to the stage door. When the security guy pulled the heavy steel door open for us to enter, that familiar rush of cigarette smoke, stale beer, pulsing bass, and the electric murmur of the crowd blasted out into the cold Memphis night. Ah, I'm home, I'm back in time....
We skirted around the front of the stage and I could see the place was absolutely packed to the rafters. We had to push through the throng that was crowding the dance floor while the very excellent opening band Backstreet Crawler was pumping out some seriously hard rock music like men used to play. Heading for the (relative) security of the dressing room to drop guitars and stuff, I must have gotten the "hey man!" holler from at least twenty people whose faces were familiar from the old days.
Back in the dressing room it was already Old Home Week with several of the fans/friends/hangers-on from days of yore. It was tough to get ready for the gig and tune up as the small rooms became crowded with as many people who could cram their way in to say "hello" and "do you remember me?" to us. The funniest instance being our buddy Steve White whom I hadn't seen since about '83, asking if Steve Ingle was here yet while standing right smack dab next to him. Now, we all look a bit different in our aged states, but Steve takes the cake as he now has a shaved head, wears glasses, and has a beard, in addition to being a few pounds heavier. He turned to Steve White and said, "Well, all I gotta say is: my first name's Steve, and my last name's Ingle." It was hilarious.
The parade never stopped. There seemed to be no real security, and almost anyone who felt like it came back. I met the guy who said he was the security man who also said he was a black belt and carried a weapon. I don't know if this was true, but he was about as effective as girl scout trying to hold back the invading Chinese army, plus he was full of shit. It was really okay, as no one was bent on destroying or pilfering anything, and besides we wanted to see most of these people anyway. My brain was overloaded even before I hit the stage. It was probably a good thing, as it took my mind of worrying if I was gonna suck and let everybody down.
I did go out front and run the gauntlet of "hey man's!" the whole way to the upstairs bar in the balcony to get Christie the most potent Cosmopolitan ever made. Backstreet Crawler was killing the crowd down on the floor, and a guy said to me, "Why can't they play rock-n-roll like this anymore?" To which I replied, "Well, they're playing it TONIGHT!"
Back to the dressing room again, more pictures with friends, and try to get the guitars out to tune 'em up for the show. In all my years I have never had a guitar roadie; I have always done all my set-up, string changes, and maintenance myself. But this was one instance where I wished to God that someone could just hand me the thing was I walked out onto the stage. Well, it's not like I haven't been here before. A cold Guinness helped me get a bit relaxed. Just then my ex-wife shows up with a girlfriend of hers, she hugs me and says, "There's NO WAY I was gonna miss this!" I look down at my present wife to see if I'm in trouble, but see that I'm not for the moment and next thing you know it the two of them are hitting it off like old friends. Gulp!
Okay, Showtime...we push past the crowds lining the dressing room and the hall outside, climb up on the stage in the darkness. Plug in the guitars, give them the 'bump, bump' to make sure everything works. The Rock 103 guy introduces us. We look at each other. Now's the time. I crank up my Les Paul, put the glass slide to the strings, play the opening solo measures of You Never See It That Way, Chip drum-rolls into it, Hal does the 'gliss' on the keys, Steve and James slam on, and the fucking A-Train is rolling, baby! The lights come up and the crowd goes berserk like twenty-plus years didn't mean nothin.' I don't know about the rest of the guys, but I don't think I took a breath until the second song was over!
The sound guy was right, it DID sound a whole lot better with the house full. But we could still have used a monitor mix on stage. Although the boominess had abated somewhat, we still needed a bit more drums in the monitors. Worse for me was that unless I went over to Steve's side of the stage I couldn't really get what he was doing, so I tried my best to lock in with Chip and James and make some sort of groove out of it. It also took me some getting used to just the size of this band. Since the mid-80's I have been in a mostly guitar-bass-drums environment, and here we have another lead guitar and full keyboards. It was a GIGANTIC sound, but you have to do more give-and-take than you do when you are the only lead instrument. I had to constantly remind myself to back off and give some room and support to whomever was playing the prominent part at the time. Hal was also having trouble with the ancient ARP synthesizer that is really an integral part of many of these songs. We were probably all wrestling with some kind of problems, but nothing could stop the chugging Creed behemoth.
After about the fourth song, I could relax up to the point that I could notice what was going on in crowd. The first thing is see is my wife, ex-wife, and her friend standing down at the front of the stage dancing and having a good time. Then I started picking out faces of people that I knew. I would always try to acknowledge their waves and shouts. One woman had what looked like a couple of grown daughters with her. She was saying, "Do you remember me? Do you remember me?" Yes, BJ I remember you! Many people brought their kids to see what Mommy and Daddy did with their wasted (but fun!) youth, and from the expressions on the faces of the kids, they seemed not only to be impressed but having a good time. Maybe rock-n-roll never will die!
About halfway through the first set, just as I was starting to feel like I was getting into the groove of things, a bit of adversity struck. I had picked up the Strat for the first time in the show, having favored the LP for all the old Creed stuff. I was beginning to loosen up an move around a bit and I brought my right hand back and whacked down on the strings like I have done probably 80-gazillion times in my life, but this time I did something wrong and completely tore off half of the fingernail on my right index finger. Instant, searing pain made me wince and I could tell by the feel of the warm sticky that I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I had no choice but to grab another pick and keep up until the song ended, at which time I asked the guys to hold it a sec while the drummer from Backstreet Crawler got some band-aids which our buddy Smitty wrapped tightly around the end of my injured digit. I told him to wrap it tight, and he did, but it still didn't immediately stop the blood from flowing. The pain settled down into a heavy rhythmic throb and we went on with the show.
By the time the break came up, we were ready for some refreshment. We headed off back to the dressing room, with seemingly half the crowd at our heels. I stepped into the bathroom and washed the blood off my hand under the shower nozzle, and put on a fresh band-aid. Another Guinness helped to put things right, as we probably spent as much energy talking to everyone and taking pictures as we did while we were up on stage. Even more people came back that I hadn't seen before. It was wonderful, and overwhelming.
Back out on stage in what seemed like 5 minutes (although it was probably a half-hour) and we lurched into the second set. We had been concerned that some of our crowd, being old farts like ourselves, would peel off when we took the break, but we needn't have worried. The second set was just as honkin' as the first. Things really began to balance out as we settled into a more stable groove as we'd become accustomed to the acoustics of the place. I kept thinking I was making all the mistakes that were happening, but the rest of the guys said later they were fucking up all over the place, so i didn't feel too bad. I had another 'incident' this set as Steve sidled over to me between songs and said, "Someone down here says your fly's open." Urk! One of the middle buttons on my 501's was indeed free. How 'embaras-kin!'
The intensity climbed toward the end of the set as we played our biggest hits. The place came unglued when Steve started singing Firecracker, which still gets played regularly on the Memphis radio. The Creed anthem Time and Time Again and our traditional show ender Keep on Rockin' brought the house down to thunderous applause. We'd left one song for an encore, but the crowd wouldn't let us go with that and we had to get back up there and stumble through a Led Zep song before anyone would leave.
Since the gig, I have had scenes and images burned into my mind of all my old friends and the great times we had. Chip back there on the drums, driving us on, James smiling away every time I looked at him laying down that bass, Hal ripping on the keyboards like a man possessed or out in front exhorting the crowd, getting in their face, making them believe it, and my great friend Steve Ingle singing and playing his ass off like no one else I have ever had the pleasure of sharing the stage with, before or since. Whoo hoo! It was over too soon, but we'd have all probably had heart attacks if it lasted any longer!
The backstage craziness kept up long after the music stopped. Remembrance and re-acquaintance with old friends, back-slapping, hugging, "I love ya man" carried on into the wee hours until one-by-one the crowd trickled off and there was nothing left to do but split the money, pack the equipment, and head off our separate ways into the cold river city night. We all said our good-byes, but for some reason this time it didn't feel like good-bye. More like "see ya again soon." At least, that's the way I want to look at it.
Hal, Chip, James, and especially Steve, thank you guys for a wonderful fabulous time. Thanks to all the old Creed fans who refuse to let this music die, and to all the new ones who now believe. Although the novelty may not be there in the capacity as this one, let's do it again sometime. Before we get too much older!
JimmyR 12/20/2005
