Barack Obama

October 26, 2008 – Fort Collins, CO

P = N*R*T

This is simple algebra that I learned in sixth grade. The number of people who make it through security, P, is equal to the number of metal detectors, N, times the rate at which people can pass through the metal detectors, R, times the amount of time you allow for security screening, T. Now, if N = 15 metal detectors, R = 400 people per metal detector per hour, and T = 2 hours, then P = 12,000. Now, what happens when the actual value for P = 50,000?

I knew today was a hopeless cause when around 11:00 a.m. I checked the Fort Collins Coloradoan online and saw this headline, “Line for Obama Rally at CSU over 1 Mile Long”. Ouch. But how often does a presidential candidate come to your little town a week before they make history? So, Paula and I decided to be a part of history. Ours was a case of optimization: I figured that we had no chance to see Barack Obama, so how much time did we really want to waste on this endeavor? The math was simple; the speech was at 3:30 p.m., the gates opened at 1:30 p.m. We had no chance. So, I figured I could waste two hours of my life.

Being the good Democrat, as is Paula, and the good Green Party member, as am I, we rode our bikes to the Forest Service where we started walking. We were smart enough to call our friend Brianna to find out where the end of the line was; she and David had cued up about 45 minutes earlier. With good advice in hand we headed west to Pitkin Rd. where we found the mass of humanity and took our place at the end.

But we weren’t at the end for long. It was humorous to see an incredible line of supporters walking counter to the real line as they searched in frustration for the end. After half-and-hour I followed them about half-a-mile backward to the new end, which was ironically close to the Forestry building and the entrance to the rally at the CSU Oval.

Waiting wasn’t as bad as you might imagine. This was probably because I had written off our chances of seeing Obama. So we joked with our neighbors, called Brianna (at 3:00, “No, not moving yet.”), and set very manageable goals, like reaching the stop sign 100 feet ahead of us.

We joked about what awaited us at the end. I imagined something like my trip to the National Zoo in D.C. back in the 80’s when they had the baby panda and everyone shuffled in line for a 5 second glimpse at the cute fur-ball. In a similar manner, maybe we would parade by and get our snapshot of the Obama rally. My favorite one was that we’d get there just in time to hear, “Thank you Colorado. Good night.”

We slowly worked our way towards Shields St. Every once in a while a SUV would pass with windows down, jeering and waving a McCain-Palin sign. But in general everyone was civilized.

Sometime after 3 p.m. the line finally started moving. First up to Moby Arena, then across to the Union, and around to the Forestry Building. At first it was slow, but anything was better than our 2 hour standstill. Then it was brisk. People started cutting across to different parts of campus. We could hear cheers. Eventually we heard the ‘essence’ of Obama’s voice. Then we cut a path north to the historic Oval. The words were clearer. We passed through security (what security?). Then there were lots of people. I couldn’t make sense of which structure was the podium. We walked the Oval counterclockwise. The voice was getting more impassioned. The crowd was really excited. Paula and I stopped and listenen.

“… and God bless the United States of America!”


Urgh, so what do we do now?

We hung around a bit. I still couldn’t make out any people on the stage. Hell, I couldn’t make out the stage. So we proceeded around the Oval until we got to a barricade. I stood on my toes and noticed people we still pretty excited. Maybe Obama was still there. And then I saw a figure give a wave and turn around and walk into a building. Was that him? It could have been. He was wearing a white shirt, no tie, and a dark jacket. Then the guy beside me remarked, “Did you see him? He just waved and walked into that building.”

It lasted about one-half a second. It reminded me of a drive through Shenandoah National Park and I yelped to Paula, “Look, bear!” After we got home I checked out the Coloradoan. Paula and I watched the other 34 minutes of his 35 minute speech. And yes, he was wearing a white shirt, no tie, and dark jacket.

Just think, there were probably 10,000 people in line behind us who didn’t even see that much.

October 10, 2008 – Keene, NY

Paula and I awake at 6:00 a.m. to get an early start on today’s hike. There are no alarm clocks here at the Bark Eater Inn, so when Paula asks for the time, I look through the darkness at my pocket watch and see 5 o’clock and declare that we have yet another hour of sleep. Fortunately I turn on the light and see my error; alas, our day starts too early. The inn keeper knows that we are rolling out early this morning for the summit of Mt. Marcy, so she has set out granola and muffins for us to take on the road. After a quick stop in Keene for some coffee and orange juice we are on our way.

The colors in the Adirondacks of upstate New York are breathtaking. I think the drive between Keene and Lake Placid may be among the most charming I’ve ever made. There is a series of narrow lakes that fill the crevice between two dramatic slopes covered in amazing oranges, yellows, and reds. The highway hugs the northern shore as it slices through this majestic land. We find the turn off to the Adirondack Loj, a quaint historic lodge that doubles as the trailhead to many of the high peaks of New York state. For a 7:30 a.m. on a Friday morning in October, the hiker’s parking lot is surprisingly crowded. We gather our gear, sign in, and begin our journey up towards Mt. Marcy, the highest point in the state.

Though the sun hasn’t made it into the valley yet, the birch forest nonetheless is stunning. We walk with the fresh leaves crunching under each step. This is very different hiking than in Colorado. After a couple of miles we finally get a good view from the Marcy Dam. We cross over this very simple wood structure and pass a large group of Canadians. At first I was puzzled by all their French, but then I realized how close we are to Quebec.





And then we continue to hike. And hike. And hike. I knew this would be a long day; the summit is about 7.4 miles from the trailhead. We hike up wet rocky trail. We pass a sign ‘Mt. Marcy 6.5 miles’. We hike up wet rocky trail. 8:30 a.m. We hike up wet rocky trail. ‘Mt. Marcy 5.2 miles’. We hike up wet rocky trail. 9:30 a.m. We hike up wet rocky trail. ‘Mt. Marcy 3.2 miles’.



Finally, we reach something different. I help Paula cross a stream when we see a sign for Indian Falls. We take a path to where the stream has spread out all over an exposed sheet of rock. From here we get our first view of some of the high peaks of the Adirondacks. As we get back to the trail our Canadian group has caught up, but we convince them check out the falls so that we can continue to hike in quiet.



And then we hike up wet rocky trail. 10:30 a.m. We hike up wet rocky trail. ‘Mt. Marcy 1.4 miles’.

And finally we see it. At 5,344 ft. above sea level and imposing itself above all else is the summit. We know we’ve still got 1,000 vertical feet to go, but at least we can see our destination.





It takes another hour to get up the last mile. Most of it is spent scrambling on the exposed rock. Up till now the weather has been spectacular, but at this altitude things get a bit chilly. We stop to put on our coats, hats, and gloves. The temperature is probably in the 30s with winds gusting 20-30 mph. As we rise above timberline the wind gets very annoying. But alas, we summit at noon. A mere four-and-a-half hours after we started.





The panorama from the summit is nothing short of spectacular. The fall colored Adirondacks rise and fall in every direction. To the east is Vermont and its high point, Mt. Mansfield (which three years ago we summited despite the relentless rain and sleet). North is the village of Lake Placid and its twin Olympic ski-jump towers. My favorite view is to the south. The colors are simply wonderful. So we choose to nestle beneath a ridge for some shelter and eat our lunch gazing south toward the sun.













When a large crowd begins to gather on top we know it’s time to head down. After a half-hour on the summit we start the long, tedious hike back to the car. I would like to say that Paula and I have lots of fun from miles 7.4 to 14.8, but that would be stretching the truth. Honestly, it is incredibly hard. Paula’s feet hurt most of the time. And nothing makes you feel good when your feet feel like giving out and then you see the sign ‘Trailhead 4.4 miles’. This four-and-a-half hours is never-ending.







But as 5 p.m. approaches our anticipation grows. Then we finally see it, the parking lot. We triumphantly sign out and peel our boots off. Nine-and-a-half hours are a lot of hiking for one day and we are spent.

And hour later our evening ends appropriately: sitting on the patio of our room at the Bark Eater, eating pizza, drinking a hard earned soda, and watching the day’s final hurrah of fall colors before bedtime.



Highpoint number 18 in the bag!

The Restoration of my Gibson ES-335 Electric Guitar

Okay, so this may be a bit boring for everyone (except Jeff P.). But the photos are interesting, and I hope they get alot more interesting in the near future. Here is my story of perseverance.

A brief history:

I purchased my Gibson ES-335 electric guitar from the Manhattan Pawn Shop, Manhattan, KS, on July 30, 1991. The price was $300. I paid $200 plus a trade-in on my Yamaha RGX-112 with its brand new hard-shell case. The $100 trade-in was probably out of pity; I knew the proprietor, Mark Goodnow, as an assistant scoutmaster from Boy Scouts.

Unfortunately, I have no photos of the condition of the guitar when I bought it. I remember that it wasn’t pretty. It had recently suffered a horrendous white paint job. Everything had been sprayed except the fingerboard and headstock; there were runs all over. Red automotive trim was stuck in place of the binding, down the back of the neck, and around the f-holes. On the back, a piece of crudely shaped plastic covered up a barbaric jigsaw hole created to access the electronics. The name Tommy Lane was affixed on the tailpiece. I was told that he was indeed the previous owner and was responsible for the recent paint job.

In the month that followed I completed my first restoration of the guitar. I intended to give the guitar a natural finish, so I removed all the electronics and sanded off the white paint job. On the neck and portions of the back I sanded down to the wood grain. I quickly decided that this would not work so instead I finished the guitar with black Krylon spray-paint. This all sounds horrible to me now, but consider that I was 15-years-old back then.



The 2008 restoration:

In early 2008 I decided that it was time to properly restore my classic guitar. So, I dismantled the body and stripped it down to the bare wood. This time I used paint stripped rather than sand paper. I uncovered more of the history of the guitar as I progressed through three layers of paint (my black coat, the white coat, and an earlier black coat) plus the original finish. The original orange Gibson serial number sticker was still inside the upper f-hole (unfortunately, the serial number did not survive). There were multiple tuner and tailpiece screw holes (obviously both had been replaced before). The original finish was probably a dark stain, but it was very difficult to see.





I have put considerable thought into the proper identification of my guitar. Tragically, in my haste back in 1991 I sanded off a majority of the serial number. That has made identification difficult, but not impossible.

The serial number written on the July 1991 bill of sale was 300896. At that time the number would have been visible but obscured by two extra coats of paint. In February 2008, the serial number was clearly six digits long. The specific numbers were barely visible, but they appeared to be 3?0896, with the second digit looking round.



The serial number was definitely from the 1960s. The serial number was not ink stamped eliminating 1958 to early 1961. There was no “Made in the U.S.A. stamped below the serial number, eliminating the early to mid-70s. The serial number was not 8 digits, eliminating 1977 to present.

Assuming the first number was a 3, the possible six digit serial numbers from February 1961 to 1970 were:

250336 to 305983 1965
306000 to 310999 1965 or 1967
311000 to 320149 1965
320150 to 320699 1967
320700 to 329179 1965
329180 to 330199 1965 or 1967
330200 to 332240 1965, 1967 or 1968
332241 to 348092 1965
348093 to 349100 1966
349121 to 368638 1965
368640 to 369890 1966
370000 to 370999 1967
380000 to 385309 1966
390000 to 390998 1967

Assuming the second number was round and the rest were 0896, the possible six digit serial numbers were:

300896 1965
330896 1965, 1967 or 1968
360896 1965
380896 1966
390896 1967

Other guitar characteristics were considered. The neck nut width was 1 9/16”, which was available only from mid-1965 to 1967. The peghead angle was 14o, which was only available from 1966 on. Therefore, the guitar was from 1966 or 1967. This contradicts the July 1991 serial number 300896. It also eliminates a 6 as the second number. Also, the code on the four potentiometers (CBA-811-1053 500k AT 1376720) identified them as Chicago Telephone Supply (CTS) 500 kW manufactured on the 20th week of 1967. Assuming these were original, the guitar was manufactured in 1967 and the second number must have been a 3 or a 9.

Ultimately, the second number was assumed to have been a 9. This was based on the characteristics visible in February 2008. The second digit looked dissimilar to the first, and it looked fairly round and top heavy.

In conclusion, the guitar was assumed to be from 1967, with the serial number 390896.

Other specifications from that year were:

Sunburst or cherry red finish available
A short pickguard that does not extent past the bridge pickup
“chrome top reflector” volume/tone knobs
White switch tip
Metal strap button
Small block fingerboard inlays
Wire added to the ABR tune-a-matic bridge
Double-ring tulip Kluson tuners
White nylon bridge saddles
“Patent Number” stickers on the pickups
A trapeze tailpiece
Chrome parts
Indian rosewood fingerboard
Bevel angle on pickguard changed so the b/w/b layers are less noticeable

In February 2008 I went to my local luthier, Michael Bashkin, to ask his help in painting my guitar. I was a bit dissapointed when he declined, but upon his adviced I had the names of a couple of guys in Denver that could help. So, on leap day I decided there's no better way to spend a free day than fixing your guitar.

I was surprised how both luthiers immediately were aghast at the jigsaw hole in the back. I guess I thought it would be an easy fix, I was wrong. Both of them weren't hopeful about the restoration, their estimates started rising, and I got more discouraged.

Ultimately, I handed the project over to Colfax Guitar Shop, Denver, CO. They are a father/son buisness that specializes in vintage guitar restoration (they even worked on one of Jimi Hendrix's guitars). I'd call these guys honest, yet a bit shady. Noah had dealt with them sometime ago when he was shopping for a Mossman acoustic. The father is Scott Baxendale, a longtime employee and former owner of Mossman guitars (from Winfield, KS). They're pretty thorough; we got into a disagreement as to what color to paint it considering what was available in 1967.

So, they said it would take a couple of months. That sounded good to me. So I went back to Fort Collins, and I waited. In April I was driving back from a Kansas and decided to stop by their shop. Nothing new. In June I gave them a call. Nothing new. No word in July. Nothing in August.

Then, last Friday I gave them a call. I was planning something witty like, "If this was a baby, it'd be a little bundle of joy by now." Instead, I was shocked when the son, John, said, "We got the hole patched. It looks pretty good. We'll be done in a few weeks". Oh my god. It only took nine months!

So, in my excitement I made a road trip down to Denver on Saturday. The patch looked really good.



While I was there I loaned John a set of number stamps from the Forest Service (we use them to make tags and mark trees) to create a new serial number. I was a little anxious when he asked, "Are you sure you want 390896?" I said yes. A few hammer strikes later and he remarked "Its a 9 now". Hurray, my guitar has a name!



It'll probably be a few more weeks. I'll update this post when I have more information. I'll also try and dig up some old photos of my black beauty.

Take care,
John

My Morning Jacket

Morrison, CO, Red Rocks – August 21, 2008

Setlist:
Anytime
Off the Record
Gideon
Evil Urges
Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 1
The Way that He Sings
What a Wonderful Man
I’m Amazed
Thank You Too!
Sec Walkin
Golden
Two Halves
War Begun
Lay Low
Aluminum Park
Mahgeeta
Phone Went West
Bermuda Highway
Librarian
Dondante
Smokin From Shootin ->
Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 2

Encore:
Wordless Chorus
Highly Suspicious
Cobra
Steam Engine
Dancefloors
Run Thru
One Big Holiday

Opening Act:
The Black Keys


This day doesn’t start out according to plan. Around lunchtime Paula gets a call from Jen. Her three-month-old son Ellis has decided that nighttime isn’t appropriate for sleep; consequently she and Tom have been walking around like zombies all day. It’s a tough decision, but they’re going to bail on tonight’s My Morning Jacket (MMJ) concert in Denver. You see, Jen and MMJ frontman Jim James were friends in college at the University of Kentucky back when he was known as James Olliges. She can claim to be one of the oldest MMJ fans and had been looking forward to catching them at Red Rocks all summer. But it is not meant to be.

So, I spend the afternoon searching for a good home for Tom and Jen’s tickets. After some time I find Adam, an old friend and musician who’d seen MMJ with me in 2004. You should hear his excitement when I make the offer. “My Morning Jacket? You’re kidding? Of course I want to go! So where is this? The Fox Theater or something?” I reply, “No, Red Rocks.” There’s a moment of silence and then I hear a scream: “RED ROCKS! AWESOME!” He’s never been there before. Within an hour I’ve got the tickets in hand and Adam’s got his friend Elliot on board. They arrive at our house with a bounty of garden vegetables and chicken eggs. Who says this isn’t a barter economy?

The drive to Denver is smooth. After years of driving through Morrison toward the Manitou Experimental Forest I have this place figured out. We take the back road into Red Rocks and get a choice spot near the amphitheater. I love how laid back Red Rocks is. We have no problem taking in our cooler with snacks and beverages. Adam brings his camera. Compare this to San Antonio where they confiscated my pen. Being so late and after seeing that we don’t want to push our bodies into the front, Paula and I head to the upper general admission section. We find a home: row 55, seats 28 and 29. Adam and Elliot decide to test their luck up front. They eventually wind up in the 5th row!

It’s a pity that we’ve missed almost the entire opening set from the Black Keys. From what I see they’re really good. For just a two person band (guitar and drums) they produce a lot of sound. I like good old-fashion in-your-face guitar, and this has a lot of that. If anybody has one of their albums I’d love to check it out!

In between sets I notice one of the major differences between Red Rocks and most other venues. For example, at the Iron Maiden concert in San Antonio it cost $7 for a beer; well, rather a clear liquid masquerading as beer. At Red Rocks the price is the same, but the beer is good. Tonight I choose a Single Track from the Boulder Brewery. Very Tasty! As Paula and I sit waiting we notice a girl selling hideous glow-in-the-dark schlock. Who buys this crap?

Then the lights go out as the anticipation grows. At around 8:45 the assault begins: “Anytime”, “Off the Record”, and “Gideon”. Three classics from the ‘Z’ album. The band are dressed in dark clothes and the illumination is sparse. The first two-thirds of the amphitheater is packed; it is a bit thinned up where we’re standing. If you’ve never seen MMJ, do it soon. They are one of the best bands out there. I hate to describe their musical style, so I’ll just say it’s Kentucky music. Their music is exciting. Their live shows are exciting. What more could you want?

The band spends much of the set working though their new album, ‘Evil Urges’. I’m not too keen on the latest MMJ album, but everything sounds better tonight. They play “Evil Urges”, “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 1”, “I’m Amazed”, “Thank You Too!”, “Sec Walkin”, “Two Halves”, and “Aluminum Park” from the album. For “Touch Me” Jim James exchanges his guitar for a cape, a la Count Dracula (very strange). They throw a few classics into the mix as well: “The Way that He Sings”, “What a Wonderful Man”, “Golden”, “War Begun”, “Lay Low” (again featuring the cape), and “Mahgeeta”. They really get into “War Begun”.

I hate to complain that much, but the sound at Red Rocks really is hideous. I’ve been there several times and it’s always been terrible. I’m not sure if it’s the location of the PA at the base of the foothills, the sound bouncing off the rocks, the under-powered PA system, or the incompetent sound engineers. But it always sounds like mud. Tonight the bass really suffers. I’m not sure I can make out a single intelligible bass note all night. The bass and the kick drum create a low frequency wasteland.

Now, for those of you who’ve never been to Red Rocks, let me explain that you will never find a more dramatic venue to experience a concert. It may be equaled, but never exceeded. As MMJ settles into mellow territory with “Phone Went West”, “Bermuda Highway”, and “Librarian”, I take in the full beauty. It’s about 10 p.m. and the stars are shining on this perfect night. The pillars of rocks that make up the amphitheater are simply majestic; in the backlight they are the warmest red you could ever imagine. The music is romantic. The city is sparkling over the hills in the background. And the most wonderful half-moon is rising over Denver. I’ve only seen a few that were larger or more orange. Paula and I relax in our seats and enjoy this moment. This is my highlight of the entire evening.

The concert’s climatic end are “Dondonte” (with a beautiful saxophone solo) and the final songs from ‘Evil Urges’. “Smokin From Shootin” looses much of its drama in the acoustics. I watch “Two Tone” Tommy on the video screen and see that he is hitting different notes up and down his bass. All I hear is this throbbing mush, “whoomb, whoomb, whoomb, whoomb.” “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream Pt. 2” really exceeds my expectations. Armed with a Casio keyboard and plenty of smoke, Jim James leads the band through this psychedelic dance anthem. Perhaps the ending is a bit rushed, but it is triumphant nonetheless.

As the audience cheers for the encore I hear a fan screaming for “Highly Suspicious”. I’m thinking, “Just a few more songs and we’ll be spared that abomination”. The band and the cape reappear a few moments later for “Wordless Chorus”. By the end of the song Jim James is flailing around some kind of the lion’s head. Who knows why, but consider this is the guy who dressed like a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder the first time I saw him; last time he was wearing two six shooters around his waist. And then my nightmare is fully realized when I hear the first few techno-thrash notes of “Highly Suspicious”. The crowd around me is really excited. Why on earth? I don’t think there has been a worse song ever written since Axl Rose tacked the garbage that is “My World” onto the end of ‘Use Your Illusion II”. Much like a beaten down Rocky Balboa, Jim James performs with a towel over his head. If it were me I’d be wearing a bag over mine. “… Peanut butter pudding surprise!”

The first time I saw MMJ they finished up with their disco/dance anthem “Cobra”. Over the years that song has really grown on me. It seemed out of place back then, but makes a lot of sense today. Again, the acoustics ruin some of the experience.

The home stretch of this epic concert features the album ‘It Still Moves’. On “Steam Engine” Jim James donnes the lions head. I though gimmicks like that belonged at Iron Maiden concerts. But, there’s nothing gimmicky about “Dancefloors”, “Run Thru”, or “One Big Holiday”. The strobe lights are in fully force. The band is on fire. Two and three-quarters hours is a lot of music. It’s 11:30 and MMJ says “Good night” to Red Rocks.

The next day I find a discussion of the concert. There’s a comment that I want to paraphrase: “To Jen, your little band isn’t so little anymore.”

By the way, you can read little Ellis Hayes’ blog at:

http://www.babyhayesblog.blogspot.com/

John
August 2008

P.S. I do not have Adam's pictures yet. So come back soon for his photos of the concert.

Notes:

For those of you who care, here’s the breakdown by album:
‘The Tennessee Fire’ – 1 song played
‘At Dawn’ – 3 songs played
‘Chocolate and Ice’ – 1 song played
‘It Still Moves’ – 6 songs played
‘Z’ – 7 songs played
‘Evil Urges’ – 11 songs played

Woodshed

Rusty’s Last Chance, Manhattan, KS - Tuesday, September 16, 1997

Setlist:

Runnin’ with the Devil
Do You Want to Go
Sea of Tranquility
Up it Rose
Ice Cream Jeans
Slipslide
Paint it Black
Delirious
Red Field
Cinnamon Girl
Giving It All That You Can
White Picket Fence

Opening for: Shaking Tree


You may ask yourself, why would something this preposterous make this list? Doesn’t this belong in the bottom 10? Well, believe it or not, this just might have been the most fun gig that I ever played….

… Even I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Let’s start with a tutorial on who Woodshed were and what circumstances brought them back to the stage one last time. Woodshed was the creation of a very odd group of musicians: Jeff Lees, Darren Strope (Manhattan High ’91 if I’m not mistaken), a long haired hippie named Jimmy, and Andy Van Meter. On vocals Jeff was a modern day cross between Jim Morrison and Fred Schneider. Imagine that juxtaposed against the Eddie Van Halen-inspired guitar playing of Andy (ironically, this was one of the few times Andy wasn’t in a cover band). And somewhere in between were the flammable temperament of Darren and the kitten-like personality of Jimmy.

The mighty Woodshed formed in the spring of 1997. My first encounter with the group was when Andy proposed that I help produce their first demo in our garage. Early in the project, Noah and I were listening to an instrumental version of “Delirious”, when we thought, wow, this is really heavy. I wonder what it’ll sound like with vocals. A few days later we had our answer. Try and picture the pounding music of Soundgarden’s “Birth Ritual” paired with the lyrics “I am CURIOUS what you KNOW… and I PONDER what you KNOW…” sung to a melody that wouldn’t have been out of place on “Love Shack”.

From the start, Woodshed was amazingly unpopular. I doubt Manhattan was ready for their avant-garde style. But, they had one ally, and a powerful one at that: Steve Anthony, station director of FM 101.5 K-Rock. You see, Steve and Jeff were housemates. Despite their lack of fan base, Woodshed found themselves booked at various venues around town in the summer of 1997. I saw them a few times, which come to think of it, may have been every show they ever played.

But, their biggest coup was inclusion on the big ‘Manhattan Project’ CD that was slated for production that summer. That compilation was to feature a dozen bands from the Manhattan music scene, who were to be recorded live during a three day festival. Somehow Woodshed was selected. They paid their $100 entry fee and then geared up for their inevitable big break. But the Manhattan Project was in financial trouble from the start. The festival was pushed back, the recording was canceled, some of the bands dropped out. The Project struggled for a long time tying to raise the dollars and to keep the dream alive.

Meanwhile, the personalities that made up Woodshed began to clash and tear it apart. I remember one incident in Bomber’s Upstairs when Darren was upset about the Manhattan Project and refused to help distribute promotional fliers. Andy and Jeff felt differently; tempers flared, profanities were thrown around, and Darren grabbed the stack of filers and ran off (presumably to toss them in a nearby dumpster). Unfortunately, in his anger he never looked down, missed the first step, and tumbled down the entire stairway leading out of Bombers. I had to laugh, because in the process he’d done a pretty good job distributing all the fliers he’d vowed to throw away.

The breaking point was reached soon after when Jimmy moved to western Kansas and the band imploded. His Snuggle Bear demeanor apparently had been the glue that kept the band together. I’m not sure anyone in the music scene ever noticed Woodshed’s absence.

Then, by some miracle, the Manhattan Project finally got on track. The venue would be Bomber’s Upstairs, the dates would be August 28 to 30, and one of the bands would be, believe it or not, Woodshed. I asked Andy why. “We paid our $100, and I’ll be damned if we don’t get our money out of the deal,” “So, who’s going to play bass?” “We thought about asking you!”

Oh my, oh my. I was suddenly in deeper than I wanted to be. I guess my mistake was being too familiar with the band: having helped produce their demo, having seen most of their shows, and being a fairly competent bass player on the side. I reluctantly agreed.

Woodshed drew the short straw and opened up the festival. We took the stage in front of a mostly empty venue. I can’t say I remember too much from those three nights at Bomber’s, though they had their moments. But, for better or for worse, the tapes were there and they were rolling. (This is off topic a bit, but when we were setting up on stage Andy’s amp was picking up some crazy crosstalk. I took a peek in the backstage electrical room and immediately slammed the door in shock and horror. I told Andy, “we’d better be careful or this place will burn to the ground.” It did a few months later!)

A few nights later the four of us made the trip downriver to Lawrence to the studio where we’d mix our part of the show. Again, there was another contentious situation. To be honest, our performance wasn’t very good. Three of us agreed that one song, “Slipslide”, was probably the best choice for the compilation. One of us, Andy, was aghast that we’d choose the only “wimpy” song from the set. His temper rose to the point of quitting right there, calling Vicki to pick him up (from 90 miles away in Manhattan) to take him home, and pulling the plug on the whole project. I guess he didn’t want his unshakable heavy-metal reputation ruined. We eventually calmed him down, finished the project and went back to Manhattan, and that was it. Woodshed was dead. Done. Finished. Case closed.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Jeff Lees had one more card to play. As bar tender at Last Chance, he was asked to find a band to open up last-minute for some headliner that time has also forgotten. In a pinch he reunited Woodshed for a one-off performance.

And now you know the backstory.

I once read that Paul McCartney’s favorite memory as a Beatle was recording ‘Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band’ because they got to make believe they were somebody else. I guess Woodshed was that for me, and I was playing the role of Billy Shears. That September night I remember being dressed up like Buddy Holly with horn-rimmed glasses and an Aquafresh blue and white stripped sport coat (the sport coat is long gone, though I still own a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, but the joke’s on me as I have to wear them most of the time). It sounds ridiculous, but so was the idea of a Woodshed reunion concert.

Darren and I were ornery and started our last show by baiting Andy into playing “Runnin’ with the Devil”. It was funny to watch him, much like the ecstasy of a dog rolling on its back, as he jumped onstage and tore into the famous Van Halen riff. The bar was pretty full (Noah, Jennica, and Brett Speidel were in the front row) and everyone was having a really good time. I figured why not just enjoy this for what it is: pure, unadulterated fun. There was Jeff laughing during “Up it Rose” when he intentionally sung the wrong lyrics to poke fun of my earlier misunderstanding of the real ones. I remember one point when a part of Darren’s drum kit broke down, and he stopped in disgust. Normally, he would have stormed off stage and thrown some sort of tantrum. But this night even he smiled as the rest of us jammed on and he joined back in. It even got pretty intense during the epic “Giving it All that You Can”, to the point that I broke my bass string by pounding on it so hard. I played the final song with only three strings.

There were plenty of hugs afterwards. Of course none of us were stupid enough to suggest we ever reform again. And since then Woodshed has been purged from all memory, well, except from mine.


Notes:

Here is a list of all known Woodshed Recordings:

Demo – May (?) 1997 [1]
Rusty’s Last Chance, Manhattan, KS – May 27, 1997 [2]
The Waydown Lounge, Manhattan, KS – July 13, 1997 [2]
Bomber’s Upstairs, Manhattan, KS – August 28, 1997 [1],[3]
Rusty’s Last Chance, Manhattan, KS – September 16, 1997 [4]

[1] The original multitrack tapes are currently in the possession of Andy Van Meter. It is not known whether anyone else has a copy.
[2] The original microcassette tapes are currently in the possession of John Frank. It is not known if they have ever been played since being recorded.
[3] “Slipslide” is available on ‘ The Manhattan Project 1997’
[4] The original cassette tape and CD transfer are currently in the possession of John Frank.

Def Leppard

Bramlage Coliseum, Manhattan, KS - Thursday, October 20, 1988

Probable Setlist:

Stagefright
Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)
Women
Too Late For Love
Hysteria
Steve Clark guitar solo
Gods of War
Die Hard the Hunter
Bringin' on the Heartbreak
Foolin'
Animal
Pour Some Sugar on Me
Phil Collen guitar solo
Rock of Ages

Encore:
Love Bites
Photograph
Supported by: L.A. Guns


Is there anyway else to begin than my first concert?

Wow, it’s been almost 20 years. That’s pretty amazing considering I was only thirteen years old. You’ll have to forgive me if some of the details slip my mind. I am getting old you realize.

First of all, this wasn’t just my first concert. This was the first concert of any significance to come through my hometown in it’s entire history. Not only that, it was the biggest cultural event since the Harlem Globetrotters beat the Washington Generals in Ahearn Fieldhouse some years before. And I don’t think I’m exaggerating a bit when I say that Def Leppard in 1988 was the biggest show on the entire planet! Can you imagine how excited we all were when the word spread around town the Def Leppard was coming to Manhattan, KS? Electrifying doesn’t even come to describe it.

Surprisingly, I didn’t have much trouble getting permission to go. So, Travis and I pooled our money and gave it to my brother to get us some tickets. It’s hard to imagine in this in the age of Ticketmaster, but Scott graciously went and stood in line at the Coliseum all morning to buy tickets. Of course he came back with something in the nosebleed section for us while he picked up some great seats near the floor for himself and his friends. He was seventeen, and of course he wasn’t going to let us sit near him.

But to be honest, no seat was a bad seat as long as you had one in Bramlage that night. Travis, myself, and I’m not mistaken, Jeff Norvell, made our way with eager anticipation through the concourse, past the merchandise stand (how cool was that to see my first overpriced authentic concert t-shirts), into the Coliseum, and to our seats. And then, the lights went out …

And of course I learned that you always have to sit through and opening act before you get the real deal. For us that night was L.A. Guns (who, believe it or not are responsible for the Guns in Guns ‘N Roses). They’ve never been my favorite band, but I’m sure I still thought it was really cool. I can’t say I remember much. I only knew one song then, and I only know one of their songs now.

Now that my appetite had been wetted, we waited again for the headliners. And then the lights went out again …

Okay, so what if Def Leppard is looked on as kinda wimpy nowadays. Back in ’88 no one could challenge there heavy metal supremacy. Some of their early work is almost interchangeable with early Iron Maiden. And ‘Pyromania’ brought metal to the masses like no other hard rock album before. So, when Bramlage erupted with the pounding riff to “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)” you can imagine the thrill the 13,000 fans were feeling. I’ve loved that song since grade school; back when I had a Def Leppard shirt and wore it to the third grade (by the way, it was also one of those horrible white shirts with dark half-sleeved things like my Iron Maiden shirt Scott bought me).

It was quite a concert, believe me. They famously played “in the round”, which is to say, their stage was located at center court with the audience seated a full 360 degrees around the band. They had lots of nifty smoke and lasers. Of course they were all dressed in swanky ripped jeans and flowing long blond hair that defined 1988. If you ever saw the video to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” (and how could you not, it was number one on Dial-MTV for an eternity) then you know what I mean.

Now, I’ll be honest, I can’t recall a lot of the songs they played that night. Apart from the set opener I vividly recall “Bringing on the Heartbreak”, “Pour Some Sugar On Me”, “Foolin’”, “Rock of Ages”, one of the guitar solos, “Love Bites”, and “Photograph”. I also remember it being a blast. What a night!

The next day at school was quite a sight to see as well. I’d bet three-quarters of the student body were wearing a Def Leppard t-shirt (or L.A. Guns for those few renegades). That’s quite an accomplishment, considering everyone was either in seventh or eighth grade. Even John Stamey, a guy who has never had any interest whatsoever in attending a rock concert once said, “I was really jealous that day because I didn’t see Def Leppard”.

One last thing I do remember was when singer Joe Elliot said something along of the lines of, “Manhattan, KS, you have been incredible. We should come here more often. We will be back, that’s a promise”. Sure enough, years later when they were on tour for the ‘Adrenalize’ album they came through town. But by September 1992 the magic was gone, and so was the audience (and so was I).

Today I own a few Def Leppard CDs. I laugh when Paula and I compare our musical tastes. I like ‘High ‘N Dry’, she likes ‘Hysteria’, we both meet in the middle and say ‘Pyromania’ is decent. At least we agree on something.


Misc. Notes:

This was at the end of the incredibly long 'Hysteria' tour, which lasted from August 1987 to October 1988.

Steve Clark preformed his final show with Def Leppard one week later in Tacoma, WA. He died in January 1991.