Week 70: Guest Post by Todd Cobra, Rock Chronicles 2
My friend, Todd Cobra, excellent songwriter, guitarist and rocker from bands like The Spinns and The Gondoliers continues his guest post series, the Rock Chronicles... Chronicles... Chronicles...
I woke up in a third story loft apartment, downtown Cincinnati, OH. I soon realized I was there alone. Being ditched by the rest of the band wasn’t unusual or offensive, especially when you’ve been on the road, drinking heavily every night, for more than a month. Under these circumstances anything goes and it’s up to the individual to keep up with the pack. Also, of the three of us, I was least acquainted with our host, Bobby Blackout.
I was actually glad to be alone. I had the bathroom to myself. I was able to take my time cleaning myself up. The note on the bathroom mirror indicated that they had gone only a few blocks away to a bar where Bobby Blackout’s friend was working the morning shift. The night before we were informed that Bobby's friend would serve us free drinks. None of us wanted to jeopardize the opportunity to drink as much free booze as possible on a day off. I found the bar easily although I must say; these were some rough streets. I remembered the night before, when we drunkenly went looking for a random drug hookup in this same tough neighborhood.
Bobby Blackout’s friend/bartender was a good-looking casually dressed young woman. Like Bobby himself, just the kind of fun, eccentric, character that makes a self-booked and largely self-funded tour worth while.
When I sat at the bar, my cohorts were only half way through their first pint glass of Bloody Marys. I ordered the same and to my clandestine provocation, our comely bartender mixed it with Stoli. When you’ve been drinking heavily the night before, it doesn’t take very much top shelf Bloody Mary before you are just as hammered as you were a few hours ago when you went to sleep. Let alone when you’ve been drinking heroically every night for a month and your blood surely contains alcohol constantly. The four of us drank nearly three bottles worth of Stoli, Bloody Mary style. Then we hit the streets! We proceeded a few blocks down to a liquor/beer store where we each purchased a 40 oz. of malt liquor. I opted for a Mickeys. Another band member preferred Malt Liquor Bull. We then proceeded toward the river. We sang a rousing, if not totally obnoxious and tourist-designating version of 70s television staple, WKRP in Cincinnati theme song as we made our way. Attempting to recall those lyrics, totally wasted, before noon, at top oratory volume is an activity reserved for ass-holes only. We were begging for trouble.
We made our way, successfully so far, to the Ohio riverside. At one point I staggered underneath a bridge-like structure, probably to pee, and got stuck in what must have been three feet deep mud. I sank into it up to almost my knees. When I tried to free myself, the muddy trap sucked my shoes off. I sunk back in, forfeiting my socks, and pulled my shoes out with my hands. I was a mess.
We arrived at our destination by the river, a small amphitheater of concrete stairs, not quite underneath a huge bridge that extended over the Ohio River. A few random homeless people were scattered about, either sleeping in the morning sun or drinking 40ozs.
The Ohio River is gigantic. Not Mississippi River size, but big enough to accommodate a full size barge, barring the man made rock humps that emerge from the river every fifty feet or so all the way across, permanently blocking any such ship from passing. The first of these humps was about thirty feet from our shore, directly in front of where we drank our 40ozs. Jolson, part of our stellar rhythm section, had removed his shoes and rolled up his jeans. He was wading on the concrete shore-edge, half way up to his knees. No one was paying much attention to him when he disappeared. "Wheres Jolson?" someone asked. Then we saw him. He was swimming toward the closest hump, in a death defying tango with the Cincinnati River!
I can’t remember if we were cheering him on or silent with concerned awe. It was plain to see that the current was substantial. I was reminded of the drunken Marines that drowned in the Savannah River during the St. Patricks Day celebration, from the days of my art school tenure there. Jolson touched the rocky hump with his hand and started swimming back towards shore. When he got to the shore, much farther down from us than when he took his plunge, Bobby Blackout and the bass playing member of our rhythm section helped pull him out. Death had been averted, so far.
Not to be outdone by this daring, drunken and undeniably stupid act of rock and roll tour mayhem, I stripped. Naked I dove into the mighty Ohio River! The water was ice cold and the current was strong. Furiously I swam through its heavy waters. On my way towards the rock I thought; Jolson is a lot more athletic than I am, I might die. I was surely in a fight for my life. I tagged the slippery rock and turned around. Every ounce of breath and strength, and whatever was left of my shattered mind, focused on preserving my own life.
They pulled my pale, depleted body from the rivers chilling grip. If I had to swim one more yard I surely would have sunk down, only to emerge, one pallid, waterlogged rock and roll corpse. The homeless people in the amphitheater had been provided an entertaining morning. When we left however, despite our victorious proclamations, they didn’t seem to give a shit.
We went back to the bar. We arm wrestled, broke bottles and boasted loudly about our mornings' exploits. Jolson told me that when he touched the rock, he actually meant to climb onto it, but was overcome himself, by the current.
Later we were at a bonfire in-between two big brick buildings. Art students lived in one and they thought very little of us. We were as obnoxious and unwanted everywhere we went as possible. Later still we went to some girl’s house. I passed out on her bed for a while. If someone was making love right next to me I will never know. Shortly after I awoke, we were driven back to Bobby’s place. We split town the next day.
* * *
Rock Chronicle 2: Ohio RiverI woke up in a third story loft apartment, downtown Cincinnati, OH. I soon realized I was there alone. Being ditched by the rest of the band wasn’t unusual or offensive, especially when you’ve been on the road, drinking heavily every night, for more than a month. Under these circumstances anything goes and it’s up to the individual to keep up with the pack. Also, of the three of us, I was least acquainted with our host, Bobby Blackout.
I was actually glad to be alone. I had the bathroom to myself. I was able to take my time cleaning myself up. The note on the bathroom mirror indicated that they had gone only a few blocks away to a bar where Bobby Blackout’s friend was working the morning shift. The night before we were informed that Bobby's friend would serve us free drinks. None of us wanted to jeopardize the opportunity to drink as much free booze as possible on a day off. I found the bar easily although I must say; these were some rough streets. I remembered the night before, when we drunkenly went looking for a random drug hookup in this same tough neighborhood.
Bobby Blackout’s friend/bartender was a good-looking casually dressed young woman. Like Bobby himself, just the kind of fun, eccentric, character that makes a self-booked and largely self-funded tour worth while.
When I sat at the bar, my cohorts were only half way through their first pint glass of Bloody Marys. I ordered the same and to my clandestine provocation, our comely bartender mixed it with Stoli. When you’ve been drinking heavily the night before, it doesn’t take very much top shelf Bloody Mary before you are just as hammered as you were a few hours ago when you went to sleep. Let alone when you’ve been drinking heroically every night for a month and your blood surely contains alcohol constantly. The four of us drank nearly three bottles worth of Stoli, Bloody Mary style. Then we hit the streets! We proceeded a few blocks down to a liquor/beer store where we each purchased a 40 oz. of malt liquor. I opted for a Mickeys. Another band member preferred Malt Liquor Bull. We then proceeded toward the river. We sang a rousing, if not totally obnoxious and tourist-designating version of 70s television staple, WKRP in Cincinnati theme song as we made our way. Attempting to recall those lyrics, totally wasted, before noon, at top oratory volume is an activity reserved for ass-holes only. We were begging for trouble.
We made our way, successfully so far, to the Ohio riverside. At one point I staggered underneath a bridge-like structure, probably to pee, and got stuck in what must have been three feet deep mud. I sank into it up to almost my knees. When I tried to free myself, the muddy trap sucked my shoes off. I sunk back in, forfeiting my socks, and pulled my shoes out with my hands. I was a mess.
We arrived at our destination by the river, a small amphitheater of concrete stairs, not quite underneath a huge bridge that extended over the Ohio River. A few random homeless people were scattered about, either sleeping in the morning sun or drinking 40ozs.
The Ohio River is gigantic. Not Mississippi River size, but big enough to accommodate a full size barge, barring the man made rock humps that emerge from the river every fifty feet or so all the way across, permanently blocking any such ship from passing. The first of these humps was about thirty feet from our shore, directly in front of where we drank our 40ozs. Jolson, part of our stellar rhythm section, had removed his shoes and rolled up his jeans. He was wading on the concrete shore-edge, half way up to his knees. No one was paying much attention to him when he disappeared. "Wheres Jolson?" someone asked. Then we saw him. He was swimming toward the closest hump, in a death defying tango with the Cincinnati River!
I can’t remember if we were cheering him on or silent with concerned awe. It was plain to see that the current was substantial. I was reminded of the drunken Marines that drowned in the Savannah River during the St. Patricks Day celebration, from the days of my art school tenure there. Jolson touched the rocky hump with his hand and started swimming back towards shore. When he got to the shore, much farther down from us than when he took his plunge, Bobby Blackout and the bass playing member of our rhythm section helped pull him out. Death had been averted, so far.
Not to be outdone by this daring, drunken and undeniably stupid act of rock and roll tour mayhem, I stripped. Naked I dove into the mighty Ohio River! The water was ice cold and the current was strong. Furiously I swam through its heavy waters. On my way towards the rock I thought; Jolson is a lot more athletic than I am, I might die. I was surely in a fight for my life. I tagged the slippery rock and turned around. Every ounce of breath and strength, and whatever was left of my shattered mind, focused on preserving my own life.
They pulled my pale, depleted body from the rivers chilling grip. If I had to swim one more yard I surely would have sunk down, only to emerge, one pallid, waterlogged rock and roll corpse. The homeless people in the amphitheater had been provided an entertaining morning. When we left however, despite our victorious proclamations, they didn’t seem to give a shit.
We went back to the bar. We arm wrestled, broke bottles and boasted loudly about our mornings' exploits. Jolson told me that when he touched the rock, he actually meant to climb onto it, but was overcome himself, by the current.
Later we were at a bonfire in-between two big brick buildings. Art students lived in one and they thought very little of us. We were as obnoxious and unwanted everywhere we went as possible. Later still we went to some girl’s house. I passed out on her bed for a while. If someone was making love right next to me I will never know. Shortly after I awoke, we were driven back to Bobby’s place. We split town the next day.
Labels: Thursdays, Todd Cobra's Rock Chronicles
3 Comments:
Get to sharing needles and anal sex already.
That should be the first comment on every blog on NAP.
as someone who grew up on the gulf coast, i, like everychild of the sea, have a deep seated fear of undertow, rip tides, fast moving currents, and wandering too far from the edge. so believe me when i tell you i think y'all are a bunch of idiots (and i say that with love).
glad you're still with us! eeks!
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