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2 Weeks ending May 15, 1998 A.D.
Scalpel....Tweezers
Dear Diary,
They often ask what is the wildest thing that we ever did on stage. It took place some 12 years ago in Mississippi. We were playing a 6 night stretch. The place was called Harvey's, in Starkville. By day it was a restaurant while at night it was tranformed magically into a club that looked like a restaurant. It was a gimme away from a fern bar. There were ferns, for chrissakes.
But the people who worked there were fun and it was a way to get our chops. I was a "road baby", as the band liked to tease me- brand new both to the road and this nutso career. There were some goofy regulars and some parties out in the country hosted by a Top Gun type whose name I have forgotten. He was the tuffest dude I have ever met- Black Belt, mean as a snake. Went to bars to get into fights and maim people. But he knew some cool folks.
It may have been the time I first heard "Blister in the Sun" and was persuaded to play it, I dunno.
The gig started uneventfully on Monday and went hitchless on Tuesday and Wednesday, but Thursday morning I woke up sick as hell. Never shy of doctors, I hotfooted it over to the Emergency Room of the hospital. A nice guy doc took my X-Ray and marched straight back in to tell me I had pneumonia. I asked him could I still sing. No, he said, unless you want to risk death.
Point well made. This was a diagnosis very clear and easy to understand.
I went back to the motel where we were staying and quickly turned my room into a dungeon for the infirm. Shades were drawn, curtains were closed, the thermostat on Kelvin. Before I went into a fitful sleep I left word to the band that at the very least that night's show was off. If I was still alive the next morning we could consider Friday then. Until further notice I was closed for repairs and wanted no interruptions or assistance of any kind.
My dignified suffering alone only lasted an hour or two before my old drummer Jeff Stallworth knocked on the door. Jeff is one of the most conscientious musicians I have ever worked with so I assumed he was checking in on me. That little bubble was to be burst soon.
"Mel, I understand you want to cancel the show tonite. Is that true?", Jeff asks.
"Jeff, I have just come from the Emergency Room. The doctor told me I have pneumonia and could die until I am much better. No shit." End of story.
No, it was just the foreward.
"Mel, I am sorry you are sick, but you can't cancel. We have to play." The show must go on.
"Jeff, did you understand what I just said? Not only that, listen to me. I can barely talk, much less sing." Come on, Jeffy, a joke's a joke but this is a little far.
"That is a problem, Mel, but we can't cancel."
?
"I'm serious. We're booked, they're waiting for us, and we gotta play."
(Groan.) "Jeff, I just can't do it."
"But you must." He was not letting up one bit.
Suddenly this sounded compelling and I actually began to take him seriously. Then I started to get both nuts and masochistic. Maybe this was a good day to die.
I thought a little, then came up with a proposal.
"Jeff, you get the guys in hospital gear, a hospital bed on stage and a nurse's outfit and tongue depressor for Toni (the girl who was in our band then), and I'll do it."
"Roger, Mon Capitain. I'll tell the troops and get it taken care of."
Off he marched back into the wild blue yonder. I just went back to sleep.
Come showtime I was feeling like shit and still making weird animal sounds when I tried to talk. But the idea had my mental state a tad better. When Jeff marched in to take me over to the club looking like George Clooney I was ready to do or die.
I stayed in my pajamas and bathrobe. As I made my way to the stage I dreamed about epitaphs.
They had done the first set without me . There actually was a good little crowd there. The guys looked great. Toni looked as if taking rectal temperatures was a daily duty and there was the bed, hospital corners and all. With a table and glass of water beside it. They were ready for the patient.
Everything was set, but for what? Swan dive or swan song?
Whoop, Arrrrrr, went the crowd. I climbed in bed after Toni fluffed up the pillows and lay down flat. I was still weak as hell.
So far so good, but how the fuck was I going to sing?
I never really did. The best I could do was tilt my head and croak when it came my time, then lie back down immediately after to wait for the next verse or chorus.
The band did a super job carrying the show during the instrumental breaks, and incredibly I got great response with each croak. Somehow we made it through the show, did some ridiculous encore, then packed it in.
It was by far the best we were to ever go over down there.
The next day penicillin kicked in with the high of the previous night's show to knock me back on my feet. I was actually perked enough where even the doctor would have let me out on the streets. Crisis over.
Friday and Saturday were easy.
The next week I heard a tape of that show . I have never sounded worse in my life. Nor have few others.
This was my first major lesson in what entertainment was all about.
Mel
