I’ve told the story about my old rock bands, Dragula, and The Dislocated( parts one, two, three, four, five), but I’ve never gone into much detail about the punk trio I led in between. That is until now: Michael Landon’s Ghost is calling, the story must be told.
I started jamming with Toby Holmes on some punk rock tunes late in 1990. We were doing Ramones, Fear, and Dead Boys songs – just guitar and bass and screams. I started writing songs too, but there was no serious thought of forming a band even though we did kick around the name Carbonas in honor of the deleted track from Leave Home; “Carbona Not Glue.” The catalyst for forming the band was when Toby took his bass and joined the speed metal punk band Knucklebones led by our common friend Jon Roy Sloan. Jon Roy was a great guy, but Knucklebones was just lame. I couldn’t accept losing Toby for such an act so I asked Toby if he wanted to do some Ramones covers for open mike night at local Murfreesboro club The ‘Boro with Knucklebones drummer Wes White. He said sure (as long as it didn’t interfere with Knucklebones) and soon we started rehearsing. After I showed them some of my originals the die was cast. Knucklebones would soon crumble and a charged up Didjits loving trio would take over for a short flash of time.
The rock and roll dream was hitting me hard and before we even played the open mike night I started to think about the future. I was always writing thoughts and observation into these 80 sheet college notebooks I picked up in the MTSU bookstore so it was natural that thoughts about my new band found their way into the mix. Before I get into the following piece from a notebook titled Nowhere I should explain how the band came to be known as Michael Landon’s Ghost. It was a Saturday in the middle of the day and I was on the phone with Toby setting up the next rehearsal when an infomercial hosted my Michael Landon came on television. I joked with Toby about how the recently deceased Michael Landon’s ghost was on my television. We thought that was some funny stuff and it became the name of the band until we changed it to Pipe Bomb. While the reality of the group didn’t match this fictional take, it very nearly came close.
MLG Take The Stage
Picture this: three guys, one stage, and a stack of amplifiers, a pile of drums, tumult, chaos, bedlam, and all of it loud as hell. I plug my guitar in and one chord later the whole club is awake, hair blown back plastered to their skulls; ears invaded it’s too late for them all, they’ve been infected by the ghost of rock and roll which is something that hasn’t been seen around these parts in a long while. My wingtip shoes are shining like obsidian mirrors and I’m ready to take flight. Wes is pounding the drums with idiot savant fury spit flying form his mouth he’s lost in song. I don’t know if he will even stop before the next song starts; everything bleeds into one. Toby stands to the side with his face bent down over his bass guitar – it looks like he’s nodding off, but how could anyone sleep amidst this decibel discharge – his fingers concentrating on the bass while the bass concentrates on him, it’s like a magnet for his head. Meanwhile I’m halfway to oblivion and beyond. I’m James Dean on his death trip, but I’m gonna make it back. I’ve broken loose from the asylum and somebody’s given me a guitar to flay, I mean play. Sharp and jagged chords swirl in the air with crescendos of feedback and distortion just steel wool ear plugs for the mentally dispossessed in the audience. I’m screaming out “Keep your hands off of my stash” and sweating in my thrift store suit. I’ve got nothing to lose and nothing to prove. Rock and roll may be dead for some but for me it’s the lifeline and for this moment I am alive though grotesquely bent out of shape because I’ve crawled from the Funhouse. When the audience stops trying to fight the sound – that glorious desperate sound the now sound – when their ears finally begin to ring with the knowledge that there is no truth and beauty, but one big UGLY; the most beautiful and truthful thing I know – they will stop feeling their pain and bewilderment but jump for joy instead with a song in their hearts and love in their eyes, which by now has been reduced to tiny flaming embers (what can you expect from such nuclear shock), and they will start chanting, “Toby, Wally, Wes…Toby, Wally, Wes, Michael Landon’s Ghost” softly under their breath and it will sound louder than the show. Then I’ll walk over to the payphone next door and tell Beth that me and the boys will be playing all night, walk back to the club and watch the crowd part like a wave, plug in my old beat up guitar and stoke those shocked embers back to a full blaze and never stop.
Did it really happen that way? It came close and you’ll get the details in part two. Look for it next week.
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