#stabb

Dog stabbed during row with owner and storekeeper

(CNS): The Royal Cayman Islands Police Service is investigating the wounding of a dog on Thursday (more…)

When you love the wrong guy and he turns around to show you you’re bleeding.

I, unlike most of the free world, never got to see Government Issue play live.  I had an unnatural talent during the late ‘80s to find out about shows the next morning and GI was just yet another opportunity to demonstrate this ability. For that reason, when the Stabb show was announced I could not wait to see the show.  Billed as attempting to satisfy GI fans wanting to hear the songs one last time, John Stabb and 3 dudes were touring playing an all GI set and one original.  All excitement to the contrary, Stabb is a cheesey and stupid name for a band but unlike Lyle it did have some gravitas; clearly though way less gravitas than Danzig.

Shows in Texas absolutely suck in the summer!  A good punk show gets hot and sweaty enough but when it has been 100 degrees or more since 9 AM and there is nary the slightest bit of shade to be had, it is downright oppressive to go out.  Despite all that, I decided to arrive early this August night to get John Stabb to sign a copy of the Make an Effort 7” for me.  As sure as gospel, I do not ask for autographs because I think they are silly and antithetical to what punk was supposed to do.  I trust the inherit contradictions are apparent to you; in this instance my blatant hypocrisy was for a good cause.  The show was happening only a week after Grant and Amy were married and since they both liked GI, I thought giving them a rare GI record signed by one of the guys in the band would be cool.  Apparently, I was the only one who though this way.

With the sun still blazing high in the sky trying its damnedest to melt anything and everything it could, I walked across the sun baked street to Slipped Disc. In the area fenced off from public view I found a few other fools out during the day, the local openers and the Stabb folks sitting around their van.  As you would imagine from the Vegas like image conjured by up a band named after its singer, the players were a conglomeration of competent nobodies fronted by a famous, or not so, punk singer guy.  Feeling like a tremendous dork and trying to hide the 7” from anyone in sight, I walked over to the Stabb guys van.  I explained, rather ineffectually, what I wanted and asked for the singer’s autograph on the record.   For a few uncomfortable moments, in complete silence save the ambient noise of punkers roasting in the August sun, all four of the guys in the band just sat there and stared/gawked at me.  Their initial reactions suggested that they did not speak the same language as I or that they thought my request so asinine or absurd that they were robbed of the power of speech.  Thankfully, Stabb fighting back his desire to chortle uncontrollably said, “sure thing.”  With that I gave him the cover and a marker.  Scribbling something quickly, Stabb returned the cover to me with a smile that seemed to say, “here you go, now leave” which I promptly did after thanking him.  It was only on the way back the car that I read what he wrote.

I do not remember exactly what he wrote, but it was something to the effect of ‘who is this guy?’ and then it went on to make insinuations of an exceedingly derogatory nature about me.  Given the socially awkward nature of all Stabb’s antics over the years, I should have expected this.  Initially, I just thought he was being some kind of ginormous ass, thought I could have misread the whole thing.  Perhaps, however, it was his idea of joke that just failed.  Either way, what a dick that guy was!  (I still think a little more of the former than the latter.) Honestly, I could not blame him. If some clueless dork of a random punk kid approached me about signing a punk rock 7” for his friends’ as a wedding gift, I’d make the shit feel like an idiot as well.  Well done, Stabb…job accomplished.  The only thought that saved my dignity that night was that at least I wasn’t fronting a cover band!  In hindsight though, I possessed a bit more shame; I paid to see one.  Dammit, I cannot win for losing some times.

Opening the show was The Commonweath, from D.C., who were cool from what I remember.  I cannot remember exactly how they sounded but I remember them being very much a ‘DC band’ up to and including their sleeve hats.  Chris H. who was with me that night seemed to get on well with them so they were probably pretty cool.  Bug Monster were from Lewisville, TX (the next town over from where I lived) and Chris and I sort of new the guys in the band so I cannot say anything bad about them.  Honesly, I remember them being a very “ 90’s type” of band.  Of course, the most memorable part of the evening was yet to come…Stabb and chance of a life time to fail in front of your friends.  Nope, the shame and humiliation visited upon me in the parking lot was not the worst part.

Disingenuously, Slipped Disc had the show on the calendar as Government Issue for a bit before the flyers came out with the band actually being Stabb.  This had the effect of bringing out a larger number of kids than usual, 20 instead of 18. Some of the people at the show did not look familiar to me; some were older than me and some younger and others just new to the club.  Chris and I were complete dorks for GI so we were up front amongst everyone right against the stage when they started.

Prior to the internet and sites like Youtube, Vimeo, etc. most people never actually saw the band live before they came to your town. The only place Chris and I saw GI before that night was on Flipside Video compilation No. 9 (Or was it 10?  I forget.).  We obsessively watched that video with GI, The Necros, BGK, COC, Rad Waste (Yikes!) et al.  The three songs GI performed allowed us to watch the band live before we ever saw them.  I erroneously expected the band to look and act like that live.  I was a little disappointed as it was 3 completely different guys and Stabb.

Stabb is a spazz live, no two ways about it.  He does his thing regardless of what people think and there is a strength in that spectacle.  When the band finally started to play, I was not disappointed by the level of spazz in Stabb. The remainder of the band just kind of stood there and tried to stay out of the way.  Stab bounded across the stage trying very hard to get the crowd to go nuts.  We were not having it; it was too dang hot!!! Of course, there is always that one guy who never gets the memo.  This would be my first meeting a truly larger than life Texas character, James Hardcore.

‘Fuck it up, Texas Style!’ is an easy refrain to remember and a hard one to ignore when shouted loudly between songs in an otherwise silent room.  That was James; way of letting everyone he was there and came to party!  The other way James introduced himself was by stage diving on top of me; literally, just me and no one else.  I barely broke is fall and at the time I thought I may have broken something else.  James apparently returned to Dallas from a stint the Army not long before the show. Clearly enjoying himself immensely, James injected a bit of life into a flagging show.   For a few more years, James would bellow that refrain at a show instantly enlivening any show with a healthy amount of pleasure and humor.  If you’ve never heard James say this refrain to call his efforts thunderously bombastic would not come close to describing it.

The band seemed to play a bit better after James announced his presence and the crowd also loosened up and enjoyed the show more. Stabb played one original that remains utterly forgettable; I cannot remember if I liked it or hated it…utterly forgettable defined.  The GI songs they played were fairly representative of their catalog of songs and I was loving it.  I was singing along with the songs I knew and trying not to dork out completely. Finally, they played one of my favorite songs from Crash (my favorite LP and their best if you did not already know.), the song Connecticut.  Thoroughly giddy I started to sing along.  Stabb was working the crowd all night sticking the mic in the faces of people singing along.  At the moment they got to the chorus of the song, Stabb stuck the mic in my face and I FORGOT THE WORDS!  Nothing came out but silence; I did not utter one ugly syllable of any word much less the words of the chorus.  Without missing a beat, just the chorus, Stabb swiped the mic back and moved on while I looked at Chris and my other friends who were laughing their asses off pointing at me.  I tried just to move on but at the end of the song, I looked at the guitarist and I remember him giving me this look that said more articulately than words could have that I was a thoroughly sad sack of shit at that moment.  I listened to that album for hours every day for months; I knew all the words to every song.  At the moment it actually came to singing just a couple of lines, I muffed it publicly and badly.  It really was the perfect ending to a great night.  

As I am a glutton for punishment, I went to Denton the next day to see Stabb and The Commonwealth play again.  I remember more sitting around waiting than watching the band play. Happily, I had zero successful opportunities to embarrass myself again.  I did however get a hell of a tan/burn and seriously dehydrated.