We were
on roughly Hour Six of the long drive to Anchorage when I first heard it. I was
fifteen-years-old in the backseat of our then-new Ford Explorer wedged between
the interior of the rear-passenger door and a mountain of convenience store
foodstuffs and other forms of entertainment separating me from my brother,
Brian. By that point, most civil forms of distraction from the monotony of car travel
had been exhausted and Brian and I had resorted to the inevitable game we
called “Electrical Pole”, which was really just an excuse to hit each other as
hard as possible in the shoulder or leg. Think “Slug Bug”, only anything was
fair game. “Tree!” BAM! “Mountain!” BAM! “Asphalt!” BAM! The sight of an
electrical pole could bring the dreaded “Boom Crane” punch, which probably
would have resulted in permanent shoulder damage for both of us had we not
grown up in rural Alaska where large electrical poles were about as common as Volkswagen
Beetles in other parts of the country.
Anyway,
it was during a brief and precarious truce that we had convinced our parents to
turn on the radio and had them navigate it to Anchorage’s only alternative rock
station. It was then that I heard Banditos
by The Refreshments for the first time. Both Brian and I loved the song. It was
catchy and funny and we immediately wanted to hear it again. The problem was it
was 1996, before the days when the internet was in everyone’s pocket, and after
hearing the song the first time we didn’t even know who the artist was. It wasn’t
until finally arriving in Anchorage, heading to Sam Goody, and embarrassingly having
to sing a few lines to several record store employees that we found, now one of
my favorite albums of all time, Fizzy
Fuzzy Big and Buzzy.
For my
last birthday, Alecia bought me tickets to see Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers.
Roger Clyne was the front man and driving force behind The Refreshments and
when the band broke up following disappointing sales of the release of their
second studio album, Roger and drummer P.H. Naffah, formed RCPM. I’ve been to
many RCPM shows and, as usual, this one rocked. Roger always performs
tirelessly, pouring everything he has into each note, pounding one tequila shot
after another, encouraging crowd involvement as he mixes harmonica and mariachi
solos into his heavily guitar laden 90’s-style alt-country anthems. Sets at his
most popular show, Circus Mexicus, which he does twice annually in Rocky Point,
Mexico can literally last upwards of five hours. And although his style may not
resonate with everyone, to me it’s beyond fantastic.
As we were walking out of the show
with adrenaline pumping and ears ringing I began thinking about my life and
how, through everything, there’s always been Roger’s music. There are other
musicians I have grown to really enjoy, but no one for quite so long or who
brings up quite so many memories as Roger. I’ve met friends through the common
interest of being Roger fans, reunited old friends at his shows, traveled to
Mexico several times with different groups of people, introduced his music to
new girlfriends, listened to his music after break-ups, drank to it, sang to it
at the top of my lungs, shared an appreciation for it with my wife, my brother,
friends from college, and friends from work. In a sense, no matter what has
gone on in my life, Roger has been there. His vigor on stage and his obvious
love of life are inspiring to say the least. He is living evidence that it’s completely
possible to do what you love and love what you do.
I am thrilled to be entering a new
stage in my life, that of fatherhood, with many monumental events ahead all of
them occurring with just a little bit of Roger’s soundtrack in the background.
And because I really can’t end this any other way, here from Roger’s Mekong, “As cliché as this may sound I’d
like to raise another round and if your bottle’s empty, help yourself to mine.
Thank you for your time and here’s to life! Here’s to life!”
