South by South Gomer DAY NINE: New Skeletal friends and Mosh-pit Asthma Attacks!

South by South Gomer DAY NINE: New Skeletal friends and Mosh-pit Asthma Attacks!

Day nine:

Continental breakfast El Paso style! By that I mean the usual frosted flakes and a Costco danish...mmmm, just add some dishwater coffee and a hazelnut non-dairy creamer and you got something special.

Properly satiated, it was back to the van and our carefully curated butt indentations. The next renters of our little home away from home will know more about the shape, smell and texture of our asses than our wives do. It's satisfying to know that even if no one remembers our music after we're gone, at least our butts will live on like a Rodin statue in a rolling museum of farts...

Anyway...there we sat as the big blue van hurtled us (at a breakneck top speed of 65 MPH) towards the dusty

shores of Phoenix Arizona. Aside from the usual screaming emergency bathroom breaks, the drive was uneventful, aside from a stop somewhere in New Mexico at an Indian craft store filled with traditional handmade dream-catchers from China. We stocked up on souvenirs of the finish Apache plastic and buckled in for the final stretch. In record time we rolled into the Best Western.

As we spilled out of the van cracking our backs, some of our more herbally inclined band members were openly bemoaning the lack of medicine on the trip. As this discourse was going on we tried our card key in the wrong door, causing an irritated and mildly paranoid fellow to emerge from the room, complaining about the noise and wondering why we were talking loudly about Rastafarian pastimes so loudly outside his window in Pheonix Arizona of all places. He wore an ironic "Circle K" t-shirt which we soon found out wasn't ironic at all, because he indeed worked at the Circle K. Clearly by now something strange was afoot. Fortunately after handing the lad a cold beer from our cooler, he cheered up considerably and like Florence Nightingale in a Cheech and Chong war epic, he offered our dreadfully sober lads a glimpse of the green grasses of home.

We took this as a good omen and rightfully so, as the night was young and full of wonders! We had a bit of time before showtime, (our slot was last on a bill of six bands) so Mark was able to have dinner with his Grandfather who lives in Phoenix, we got to meet him the next morning on our way out of town.

They had some profound connections about loss and what is important in life, things like finding love and and holding on to the good memories

you have left when that love is gone. It was only part of several family encounters that night which made the whole trip worth it on a personal level, more on that later.

We loaded in to Joe's Grotto, an all ages Metal venue in the corner of a strip mall. That sounds terrible, but it was a good it was actually a great vibe. The place was packed with metal-heads of all ages. It reminded me of the old days of the Stone and The Omni in the thrash metal glory days in SF. We got a beer and met Clinton, a very sweet man dressed like a Heatmiser skeleton. He booked the show for us and I guarantee you'll never met a more pleasant hideous demon from hell. This was another good omen, so we settled in for a loud and rowdy good time.

Before the music started we were thrilled to see our long lost pal Trey Butler who lives somewhere in the wild cul-de-sacs of Phoenix. We knocked back a sidewalk hotdog and a beer and shared some pleasant conversation until the first band started. Then it was far too loud for conversation, and who would want to with an opener as great as 2 In The Chest.

I feel like if the drifters play together for another 50 years, then all die in a horrible snuff elated accident, then get dug up and propped on stage with bigger amps, we would be 2 In The Chest. They were dressed not only in western shirts, but the whole get up, full-on dusters and ascots hats and gloves under the hot lights. Best of all, they were skeletons, like full on hideous skull masks. The band consisted of a husband and wife team of lead singer (husband) and undead, pioneer woman drummer (wife), plus a long tall skeleton in a top hat on lead guitar and a deceased outlaw on bass. They hit hard, they hit heavy and they were halla fun to watch. The best part was, later at the bar a handful of dusty folks appeared and it turned out it was the band unmasked. They were all at least our age if not older (the guitar player looked like Obi Wan Kenobi for Christs sake). I am thrilled to have found my back-up retirement plan if jug band music doesn't work out, just get a skull mask and keep in rockin.

Next was a band called Ashes From Arson. They were heavy duty and a pit opened up in the front. I was tempted but didn't jump in but thought better of it.

The next band however was Fatal Malady, (our jovial undead pal Clinton was the lead singer), they had all sorts of big theatrics, smoke machines, make-up, video clips of Silence of the Lambs etc. A big pit opened for them and this time I couldn't resist.

I was sitting at the bar with Bryn and I said something like "Hey Bryn, watch my Jacket, I'm gonna mosh."

Bryn said, sagely over his bourbon and bitters "You think that's a good idea?"

"Pashaw!" I quothed. "I can handle a bit of the mosh pitting, by gum!" I quothed again.

Bryn just shook his head, knowing somehow that was was too fat to do this sort of thing.

I jumped in enthusiastically and thrashed around with a pile of the nicest, sweaty and shirtless, tattooed fellas this side of Albuquerque. It was great fun and I felt like a kid again. Sadly my body didn't feel much like a kid and as I limped back to show Bryn how much of a good idea it was for me to jump in a pit with twenty or so teenagers and virile young adults right before a show, I realized that I was down to about a quarter of my lung capacity...Ok, just don't tell Bryn that he was right, and let's just hope he doesn't know how to read.

As I sat heaving on a stool, through the dark tunnel-vision of my oxygen deprived ocular facilities I watched the next band Black Curtain take the stage. They were four on the floor, old-school metal. Another family affair as the lead singer had populated his band with his two sons on guitar and drums.

Finally the last band before us Dead Light Shines took the stage. They are the only band to feature a female lead, (whom Aaron inevitably fell in love with immediately). They sounded great, but regrettably we were in the back setting up our gear and missed most of there set. Aaron did get a chance to go out and flash some bass player, puppy-dog eyes at her for a song or two.

Before I summarize our set, I will share the other family connection of the night. Callahan's lovely niece Terri

came to the show. She was there early whooping it up with us all night. Then later in the evening, at Chris's invitation, her estranged sister Serena showed up with some friends. They had lived in the same town but not spoken for three years. When she arrived, they hugged, they cried, they rocked out. It was beautiful, ahhh the healing power of Gomer strikes again...

At last we took the stage around 1am. By this point we were mostly down to family and friends, plus most of the other bands, who were cool enough to stick around. We brought the thunder to the enthusiastic crowd. It was a great time and great topper to a special night.

After goodbyes and a shot for the road we peeled ourselves off the stage and rolled back to the Best Western for a night cap and a quick snooze before the final day. Tune in next time as the sun sets on our tour in the west...