To Swerve And Protect

In the "Holy Shit, was it really that long ago?" file, today marks the seventeenth anniversary of my old band Lava Sutra's first gig, at Chicago's late, lamented Lounge Ax. (In other words, if I had fathered a son that night, he would be currently making a list of colleges to apply to. Good God, y'all!) As one would imagine, it was a memorable night for a number of reasons, but my favorite recollection of the whole experience involves a certain plainclothes cop named Steve.

At the time, I was supporting my rock habit by working at a small, independently-owned (but profoundly uncool) record store in Chicago's Old Town neighborhood. As with most small, cash-intensive businesses in Chicago, we gave discounts to the local policemen and women, so as to encourage their presence in the store (and thereby discourage any hold-up attempts, which were not uncommon in that area). Steve was a plainclothes guy who came in regularly, but he didn't look like any plainclothes cop I'd seen on Kojak; with his beat-up Members Only jacket, dark sunglasses, baseball cap and a long graying ponytail that seemed to serve as a counterweight to his massive schnozz, he looked like Geddy Lee on a losing streak. But unlike most of the cops who came in, he actually turned out to be a nice guy with a good sense of humor, and he knew a shitload about music -- turns out he'd grown up in NYC in the late 60s and early 70s, had seen the New York Dolls back in their Mercer Arts Center days, Ramones at CBGB's, etc. He was a little too into Motley Crue's recently-released Dr. Feelgood for my taste, but I always enjoyed our conversations.

When our friends in the band God's Acre did "the Sutra" a huge solid by putting us on their upcoming Lounge Ax show, I gave Steve a flier for the gig. We didn't sound that much like the New York Dolls or the Ramones (or Motley Crue, for that matter), but I figured he'd dig our own particular brand of high-energy guitar craziness. He seemed genuinely psyched about the prospect, and told me he'd definitely make the scene if he wasn't on duty that night.

Since Lava Sutra was the opening band on a three-band bill that also included Head Candy (a cool psych-pop band from Iowa City), we were only allowed a fifteen-minute soundcheck. We were all pretty tense, wanting to make sure that everything sounded right for our first show, so Bob, Jason, Baldo and myself tried to run through parts of as many songs as possible in our fifteen-minute window. Suddenly, a voice boomed through the stage monitors: "Is one of you guys named Dan? You got a phone call; sounds important."

I jumped off the stage and went over to the bar; the bartender handed me the receiver. "Hey Dan, it's  Steve," said a vaguely inebriated voice on the other end. "Can you get me and my date on the guest list?" I wanted to help the guy out; but as the low band on the evening's totem pole, we couldn't even get our girlfriends on the list, and I told him so. "That's cool, buddy," he said. "I'll see ya soon." After that, I really didn't expect him to show up; but halfway through our set I looked out into the audience and caught a brief glimpse of a tall skinny dude standing towards the back in a motorcycle jacket, long frizzy hair and dark glasses. Could that be Steve?

Our maiden seven-song set went over phenomenally well; just about every friend, relative and co-worker we had in Chicago showed up for it, and most of them seemed thoroughly entertained by the spectacle. Afterwards, I was shaking hands (and shaking with adrenaline) and doing the "thanks for coming" thing, when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder. I turned around and my eyes practically popped out of my head. It was Steve, all right -- not only was he sporting the motorcycle jacket and shades I'd noticed from the stage, but he was also wearing black spandex pants with tiny skulls all over them. His hair, usually tucked and ponytailed under his baseball cap, was fully brushed out to shoulder length (and width); the left side was dyed black, the right side bleached blond. I don't remember what shoes or boots he was wearing; trust me, you wouldn't have, either.

"'Dat was great, buddy!" he yelled, giving me a big hug. He positively reeked of alcohol; hugging him was like being wrapped up in a horse blanket soaked in bourbon. "I been drinkin' booze, I been takin' valium," he slurred into my ear. No shit, I thought. He then introduced me to his date, a mousy blond dressed like a preppy secretary, who seemed absolutely mortified to be seen in public with this madman; I couldn't imagine why she would have even agreed to go out with him in the first place, but future dates obviously weren't in the cards. "I gotta take her home," he said, "I'll see ya at the store." I wished him a safe drive, and watched him stagger woozily after the girl onto Lincoln Avenue. Later that night, as all the bands were packing up their equipment, I heard Brendan from the Acre say to one of the Head Candy members, "Did you see that guy in the skull pants?" "Yeah," said the Head Candy dude, shaking his head in sheer amazement. "He looked like a plainclothes cop!"

When I told my bandmates about Steve's brief and bizarre appearance, Jason suggested that he might be putting on an act in order to "set me up" for a bust of some sort. I thought it unlikely, though; if this guy wasn't wasted, he was taking acting to a level way beyond the Stanislavsky Method. And, as  events soon proved, I was right. Within months, Steve stopped coming in to the record store; when I asked one of his plainclothes partners, he said Steve had hurt himself chasing a "perp", causing him to be hospitalized and put on temporary leave. It was only much later that I found out the whole truth of the matter: During Steve's stay in the hospital, a nurse apparently walked in to find him hoovering a gigantic line of cocaine off his food tray and waving a pistol in the air. "It's okay," he assured her. "I'm a police officer!"

Comments

[Michael Ansaldo]

Magic! Do we know if he ever returned to duty? I was going to ask why a guy like that becomes a cop in the first place, but now I think I have the answer...

[Dan E]

I know he never got his old beat back, but I have no idea beyond that what happened. I even googled his full name while writing this, but couldn't find a damn thing.

[Chris]

A question completely off topic, but shouldn't the blog be called "Ma" Vie en Robe(or possibly Mon, I don't remember enough high school french to tell you which is grammatically correct)? I know that the song which this alludes to is "La" but your life is "en robe" and sadly mine is not...

[Greg Barbera]

dude,

it's been seventeen years since Dr. Feelgood was released?

damn.

[Dan E]

Going on eighteen, actually -- it came out in September '89.