Keep Laughing!

Not one, but two travel journals were lost on this trip. One had writings from a previous trip as well! On longer trips it's always been valuable for me to write down memorable moments and feelings. It helps solidify the experience which can be lost when I return to my life and I'm swept away and removed from the moment. I wish I'd written more daily journals in my life as quite often insights can only be made upon reflection. Whatever.

I’ve never shared any of my journals, hoepfully it's an exercise worthy of attention? It's worthy of my attention and so it goes. Here's my attempt to catch those memories so I can return to the whiff of the excitement I felt on the road. I try to write every day during a solo trip for every trip I’ve ever taken. So this is a trip diary written from memory days and weeks after the fact. If I don’t get this shit down soon real life will intrude and make me forget anything I might have learned.

I feel like I’ve already forgotten the best of what’s happened, which may or may not be true, I hope some of those moments come back to me, but even the best memories are fleeting, especially if you have a long string of them. I’ll try not to embellish too much but thats damn near impossible if I’m doing this from memory. Just assume everything here is true for the most part. That's what I'll be doing.

August 17,2020

As a motorcycle enthusiast I’d never worn goggles before this trip. This go around it was a neccessity since my eyes got irritated and fucked up on the ride to Glacier National Park a few weeks prior. I couldn’t tell if they were sunburned or wind blown but it nearly ruined the ride. If I had that same reaction I vowed to just come back home after the first day. As a result this was a goggle test run and it worked out for the best. Every long distance ride I take from now on will include goggles.

However, the added ritual of putting on the goggles somehow confused me the morning I departed as I left my glasses on the back door steps in the process of putting the goggles on my face and didn’t realize they were missing until I got near Troutdale. Had to ride back to pick them up, believing that reading on this trip, which I expected to do, would be a pain in the ass without them. I had a copy of You Can’t Win by Jack Black in tow. Little did I know that in the process of putting the goggles back on hours later at a shitty diner I would again leave my glasses in Condon, Oregon after eating chili cheese fries. When I realized what I'd done I was already too far away to give a shit. So the first casualty of this trip was a pair of eyeglasses. It wouldn't be the last thing I'd lose on this trip.

Took the exit south between The Dalles and Biggs Junction. It’s like driving into dreams every time I discover a new road in this area. It’s farmland mostly but it’s high desert to more of a degree. Cows everywhere. Rolling hills.

The odometer read 16661 miles. Windmills take over the horizon on the plateau rearing up from the Columbia gorge. Forests bordered the high desert near Tygh Valley. Stopped to pay my respects to the national memorial for motorcycle riders, near Shelton, Oregon. Camped near John Day? Shit, can’t remember where I camped.

August 18,2020

There’s not much to John Day town or Prairie City. And thats good. Any more would be too much. Saw a Goth lady all dudded up near Prairie City. Wondered who is less attractive to me, a rural Goth or an urban Goth? Passed through the nothingness which is Unity, Oregon. Their high school looks amazing with a football field that borders on a what looks like a thousand miles of emptiness. It was breathtaking for not being much.

Serious heat began immediately at the Oregon Idaho border. The visitors center just over the border overlooks a river and vast amounts of farmland that must be feeding the world. Not sure why everytime I come through here there is perpetual road construction immediately upon entering Idaho, specifically the point on the interstate that seems to have a huge granite formation that divides the highway. I don’t know if it's granite or what but every time I find myself here this same spot is loaded with construction equipment and the crew appears flummoxed trying to figure out how to deal with the formation. It’s a hell of a rock that seems to be a constant source of nature versus man.

Skirting Boise I pushed through Idaho in an attempt to set up camp in Nevada, outside Mountain City. To no surprise Mountain City is not a city. In fact it barely qualified as a town with a single restaurant and three ramshackle houses. I didn’t eat there. Instead I had to backtrack 15 miles to Duck Creek to get water. Entering Nevada is always an event. Thankfully this entrance was merciful.

I chose to camp outside “City” limits because it was getting near to sunset, also due to impatience I forgot the plans I’d made to camp on water a mere mile down the road. It ended up being a good thing as the campsite I stumbled on was crazily wild despite the fact I was a few steps away from abandoned ruins. Shortly after zipping into my tent I could hear animals scurrying and chattering in all directions, the sounds was insane and spinechilling. Things settled for a while and then in the middle of the night an INCREDIBLY VIOLENT windstorm swept through shaking the tree above my tent to it’s roots. Meteorites mimicked lightning exploding in the atmosphere that night due to the the Persid shower. I fell asleep in the midst of all this. I discovered how close I was to good camping the next morning as I drove south and almost immediately came upon the lake just down the road.

Wacky rock formations dotted the landscape along the road. I made a half hearted attempt for the first of many times this trip, to go down a fucked up dirt road in the middle of nowhere headed to Jarbidge, NV. Gave up after a mile or two and made my way back to the highway. Maybe I’ll return someday.

August 19,2020.

The Owyhee is a long distance river hidden away from most of civilization. Probably why it’s so pristine. Of course civilization is never too far out of reach as the toilet on the banks of the Owyhee would attest. I relieved myself and took a nap under a tree on rough grass.

Saw the Wild Horse Dam which powers Duck Creek reservation. Driving downhill towards the dam it appeared the river was flowing uphill? I’m convinced that’s what I saw?

Breezed through Elko. Made a habit of eating a plum for breakfast nearly everyday of the trip, this idea began in Elko.

Long haul through the wilds of nothingness on the road between Elko and Salt Lake City. A word of advice, Wendover, NV, or more to the point West Wendover, is to be skipped if at all possible if you find yourself in the area. It’s a border town enterprise existing to tempt Salt Lake City folks to drive an hour or so to “live it up” in Nevada. It’s a half baked half assed idea at best, but it’s big enough to make me think there’s enough gamblers in SLC to sustain it, if not maintain it. I shouldn’t judge too harshly considering I didn’t stop to investigate. And yet sometimes you can judge a book by it’s cover. It looks like no money has been put into it’s upkeep since the 80’s. But what do I know? Maybe it’s got more on the ball than Laughlin?

Didn’t see the Great Salt Lake.

Didn’t care. Got to SLC and got a room at a hostel, which was hard to figure out. A friendly black guy and his elderly sidekick checked me in. They talked about dinner to each other, being a smart ass, I enquired about dinner to which they said “Yeah go in the kitchen.” Lo and behold there was half a chicken left on the counter amid pots and pans strewn about. I didn’t trust it, instead opting to grab a piece of cake at the end of the counter which was clearly made at the local Safeway. I went to my room but later slipped out to explore SLC a bit and grab some Olive Garden which was eh, and ended up being somewhat expensive to boot.

In the lobby of the hostel I overheard someone mention how “so and so shouldn’t be cooking food for the rest of us” which led me to believe maybe this was a flop house/half way house for addicts? Or maybe they’re just real friendly communal folks? My room smelled weird. Couldn’t figure out the TV in the room which became a running theme for this trip since I stayed at so many shitty hotels. Ended the night with beer and some awful chocolaty snack. Which also became a habit during this trip.

The neighborhood in which the hostel was located was blandly suburban but impressive. There’s some history in this city, of course. Plenty of old houses and buildings. Large churches. I want to say a university was nearby?

Horses on a hill.

August 20, 2020

Made the mistake of going south from SLC towards Provo at 830am. Rush hour. It was a nightmare of shit heels passing on the left at 90mph, semi-trucks for days. ETC. It was also the first day I became overly concerned with the sun. For good reason. Prior trips have been ruined by the sun as my skin isn’t as accustomed to it’s dangers from living in perpetually overcast Portland these last several years. I stayed in the shadow of a truck in this traffic for a good three minutes, which was a fun game for a minute. When civilization finally broke and I trailed off into open space it was quite dramatic. I got to a pass just east of Provo which led to an interesting canyon with trailer parks outside prehistoric rock formations. It was awe inspiring and tacky in equal measure, kind of like the flair Vegas provides except more rural. This eventually led to an extended ride into the baking heat towards Moab.

My kickstand proved to be a pain in the ass on this trip, sticking incessantly. I fucked up my boots trying to kick the son of a bitch out. After dealing with it on a few stops I got pissed and later concerned it might stay stuck and I’d be unable to park the damn thing. So I stopped in a one horse town to get some WD40 to fix it. The guy at the auto parts store was on the phone and two old codgers were standing in the store chewing the fat about cutting wood on someone’s land or something of that nature. I kindly interrupted and asked if one of the gentlemen would happen to have any grey poupon, just kidding, I asked for some WD. Of course one of them had a can of it in his truck. The WD appeared in a flash. I thanked him profusely. And took off immediately. I wondered later if I should have given him a buck or two. Whatever.

Moab is strange and bordering on counter culture, for Utah. The day I entered town it was Hot. But not desperately so. Not yet anyway. I camped at the site closest to town along a towering rock wall outside Arches and near what looked to be Moab’s dump. The site was empty. Although as day turned to night a group of younger guys set up camp near the entrance. I slept secure in the knowledge I’d be staying another day to see Arches at length. In the morning the heat was unbearable so I got a room at the Moab hostel. A black guy sat on the couch watching TV the whole time I was there.

Took mushrooms and went back to arches at night. It was aight. But it didn’t mellow my mind so I decided I’d lay off the psychedelics for the immediate future.

August 21, 2020

As mentioned went to Arches. Lost one of my shoes which had an expensive orthotic in it. Bought goggles without sunglass protection so I could ride at night if need be. Replaced the spider bungee thing I was using to secure my red backpack to the bike. Found these tension straps that worked great if you cinched them the right way. More on that later.

My initial plan was to go north into Colorado. Instead forest fires blocked that path forcing me to improvise. A stop at the visitor center in Moab proved to be a good thing as a spirited interaction with a volunteer convinced me to cruise east to Telluride, Colorado. Also I put out feelers on Facebook and itinerant wanderer Steve Cox had the same suggestion. A hot redhead park ranger ignored me there. Visitor centers are great for people like me who barely plan ahead. I got free maps for Colorado, Utah, and New Mexico. These would prove to be invaluable as the internet isn’t always helpful in the wild.

August 22, 2020

Ate what I hope will be my last ever order of chili cheese fries (probably not) served by a Trump shirt wearing kid in Utah? Or was this Colorado? Proved to be a bad idea, go figure. One of many bad ideas involving “food” on the road. Stopped at some fancy whole foods type place and had some hot food as well. Even though it was hot as fuck outside.

As the elevation rose the temperature plummeted. In a good way. No in a great way. My insecurity with the sun was mostly paranoia at this point. Telluride is of course beautiful. There's invariably a dark side. Money made the place charming, because it's the only thing that can. Despite blatant evidence of permanent class conflict it’s adorable beyond words. Had a few occasions to interact with the locals. Who all happened to be retail workers, bartenders, or waitresses. The workers of Telluride rarely appeared to be happy or enthusiastic about the goods and services offered. Many attempted to talk me out of spending my money on the overpriced crap they were being paid to hawk. Which I still found to be really cute.

Vaguely hippie type on a tight rope.

Trams free if charge took you up over the nearby mountain to a small village on the other side. They float over amazing scenery, including a cute little mountain bike trail which was peopled with enthusiastic riders. Mostly families.

Cute town. Decent food. Good bud. Very Euro.

Went to the visitors center to get the low down. The lady at the desk mentioned a road just outside of town with ample camping. She neglected to mention it was a dirt road. I went two miles and gave up as the road was fucked. Trying to find something near town I stopped at Sunshine campground. Saw the Campground FULL sign and started to pull away dejected when this guy in the first site flagged me down and said “hey take this site its paid for, I’m getting a hotel my sleeping pad has an air leak.” He had a bad ass road motorcycle and a dual sport. Looked older, but he’s probably younger than me. We chatted briefly as he tore down his camp and loaded his bikes onto the back of his massive truck. He’s a real sportsman. Something I’m working on to a certain degree. Went back into town and had a plate of mexican food. Which was decent and overpriced. Still, I’ll admit on the road you get what you pay for, and if you’re smart you’ll pay extra to keep from getting fucked.

Plenty of elk sit outside Telluride in the field near the entrance to the town. Probably happens every day. It looked amazing. Good old buildings, interesting labor history in this town. And yet the class conflict persists. Took a hike along the river with plaques detailing mining history but I din’t walk the length of it to the waterfalls that were hyped to me. Met an interesting guy on a moto in the parking lot. We talked shop for a bit. He mentioned how Colorado is a great place for motorcycles. I would later find he wasn’t exaggerating.

August 23, 2020

Had such a great campsite I spent another day in Telluride. Worth it.

August 24,2020

That road from Telluride to Ouray to Silverton is spectacular. A light drizzle came and went along the way. The road hikes upward towards plenty of mining history. Ouray is adorable nestled in the canyon right before the climb up a mountain that leads to a plateau revealing Silverton. Beautiful forests and precarious overlooks were along the path to picturesque Silverton. Silverton is the first old timey western town I’ve seen which appears to be a ghost town, since the buildings are so fucking old, but by all appearance it’s still a functioning town. Took photos of the seedy backstreets of Silverton. Probably should have stayed longer but instead stayed in a mediocre hotel in Durango. Once situated in a hotel I stuck out into Durango. Just driving. Exploring. Riding.

Friday, July 3, 2015

A call for photos of Spit & Dan

Picture us coolin out on the 4^th of July and if you heard we was celebratin’ that’s a world wide lie!- Flavor Flav

I wasn’t close friends with Lin “Spit” Newborn. Like most people I met in the Las Vegas punk scene he was a passing acquaintance. But he stuck out like a sore thumb among the ranks of scenesters who regularly snuck into shows at the Huntridge or smoked joints in the backyard of house parties.

I remember being thoroughly stoked when I first saw him at some bullshit show featuring some forgettable bands sometime in the early to mid 90’s. I’m not ashamed to admit it was a thrill to see a black punk rocker. Sure there were a handful of black people who attended shows even as far back as the 80’s when I first made the scene but he was by far the punkest black dude I’d met up to that point. What I mean is he was aesthetically “punk as fuck!” He could’ve easily been photographed for those ubiquitous Punk and Disorderly compilations that came out back in the day. He was all spikes, bondage pants, creepers, piercings, tattoos and safety pins. Mind you, this was before that style became as above ground as it is today. He was more decked out than pretty much everyone who went to shows back then.

Not to downplay the black punks who didn’t get all duded up with the all those trappings. I mean the guy who introduced me to more punk bands than anyone was my good friend Ryland Luss. And yeah, he was a black guy too, but he rarely wore more than an Operation Ivy pin on his dirty gray shirt. It’s corny in retrospect to find that all so appealing but for Las Vegas, Nevada in the 90’s, that was a rarity. Living in Portland, Oregon these last few years I’ve seen my share of punq as fuck black people. I’ve even seen scary, somewhat ambiguous black guys wearing Burzam shirts, but that’s just too confusing to ponder right now. Although I guess I get their point as well.

As mentioned I wasn’t super tight with Spit. I’m not overly tight with anyone really, but we bumped into each other now and again. I was at a house party drinking beer in the backyard a few feet from Spit when this crazy lady I knew came up and began aggressively hitting on me. I normally would welcome those kind of advances but I knew this lady, and knew she wasn’t stable so I wasn’t taking the bait. Spit witnessed the whole thing go down and he busted out laughing, gave me a big hug and proceeded to tell me what a pimp I was for fending off the babes in such a carefree manner. The crazy lady got the hint, and being somewhat embarrassed by the attention from Spit, she slunk off, which was a good thing because I probably would have caved after a few beers if she kept up the pressure.

Another time at a different party/show in the same back yard, me and Spit got into a conversation about the challenges of refraining from “breaking the seal.” Which more or less is a challenge you issue to other drinking buddies to see who could continue drinking the longest without taking a piss. You could say we were intellectuals.

I saw him around and would say hi several times over the years even though I didn’t know his name and I'm sure he probably didn’t know my name either. It was just cool knowing the one PUNK black guy in the scene would say “sup.” at the rare Huntridge show I’d go to. I thought it strange that he later started working doing body piercings. Back then it seemed like a hippie trip to do piercings but hey it was the 90’s when bad hippie shit flowed with the same eagerness as industrial music, or the concept of “alternative.” In retrospect it was all considered "punk" since punk at that time, and really for along time since, had lacked any focus. In any event I didn’t see him for years unless I looked through the window of the body piercing shop on the way to the record store located next door.

It was quite the shock to hear that Lin “Spit” Newborn his friend Dan Shersty were found murdered in the desert on the outskirts of town a few days after the Fourth of July in 1998. It was a considerably smaller punk scene in Las Vegas in the mid 90’s. Shit, even I was in a band at that point. To me the specter of Nazi Skinhead fascism, which was a huge thing in the 80’s and early 90’s, seemed to have dissipated, at least as far as the parties and shows I went to, but the rumors were that this terrible deed was perpetrated by Nazis. Which turned out to be true. This being one of the last high profile murders attributed to the underground Nazi Skinhead scene in America during the 90’s.

It’s especially galling considering that just two years ago one of the main suspects, who fled for Germany shortly after the murders, was finally apprehended when he came back to the US with a fake passport. He would later stand trial, be accused by his SISTER. Yes, that’s right his blood relative. HIS SISTER. And yet be found not guilty. Smells like bullshit to me and just about everyone else who knew about this tragic event. And yet life goes on.

I’ve looked more than once to find pictures of Spit and Dan. In the age of the internet I’m shocked there are not dozens, if not hundreds of pictures of this guy. He was picture taking material by far. I have to assume there are more pictures of him out there but all that I’ve ever been able to find is what I am providing here. Strangely the site that hosts the most photos of both these guys is all in Chinese? I’m asking you dear reader. If you have pictures of Spit or Dan, please send them to me so that I may add them to this blog entry so that there will be a more high profile way to remember them. I ask you to please go back to your old boxes of photos if you think you may have them. Send them to me. I can digitize any old negatives or old photos or digitize them yourself and email them to me.

With all the recent racist bullshit that has gotten media attention in the last year it’s important to remember and put a face on the long history of racist terrorism that has been perpetrated on people who don’t subscribe to the bullshit stain of white supremacy in the United States. Especially when it was within our midst. We must never forget and make sure the world never forgets either. I think it important that the LVHC scene own up to it's ignorant past.

I was never the biggest fan of the fourth of July. I make no secret of my disdain for the ugly side of American life. Although it mostly comes from the love of the America I think I know. The America I believe in. But the 4^th has never been the same for me after all these years.

If you have any photos or other artifacts from the lives of these two men please contact me so that I may share them here. I can be reached at chadarad@hotmail.com.

I will include any photos sent to me below. Much thanks to Brandon Sledge, who was in the band Life of Lies with Spit, for sharing the photos below.

A photo of Spit from his senior year yearbook. He was voted Most Scatterbrained.

A video for Tribal Body Piercing, the place where Spit worked. I found this video a few days after writing this post.

Tuesday, December 30, 2014

A tasty treat for the KL anniversary

A new video for the KL anniversary. I promise myself to write more, and create more in the new year. Of course I've lied to myself before so who knows what to expect for 2015.

Once again I've made a new short video which might not be legally playable on youtube since I stole both sound and image. I'm posting it here for you to download but I've also posted it on youtube. I guess so long as it doesn't get to be popular it should stay on youtube for a while.

Heavy handed? You better believe it.

Download Yum here.

Yes it’s another unproducto year for Keep Laughing the blog. This the 6 year anniversary post makes a grand total of three posts for the year 2014. That’s a piss poor average. I spent most of the year doing anything but writing or creating. Most of it was spent chasing women who won’t have me, trying to become a better whiskey drinker, and fighting the same demons that have plagued me my whole life.

Not that I should have a whole lot to complain about. Because life is pretty good. Sure life isn’t exactly fair but it could be a lot worse. And them demons tend to be illusions in my mind. At least the personal demons are. And I know that myself. Maybe I take comfort in running around in circles chasing my tail. Or just chasing tail in general. I break out from under the spell when I want to and not a moment sooner. Life is fucking great. Maybe if I keep saying that loud enough I’ll hear myself and become a better person? At least I’m not dealing with a strangulated drug problem although with what I’ve shared with you here over the years you’d be lead to believe that my life would be in a shambles by now. It’s just not the case. However smoking copious amounts of weed never leads to productivity. I’m making that a new years resolution to stop smoking the weed. After getting a medical marijuana card I kinda took it further than it needs to go. But I got no regrets. And I never liked drinking enough to make that a priority. But I’m working towards that and maybe it will get there someday.

The broader litany of demons that plague not only myself but the rest of the world are also illusions. A house of cards really. I have taken it as a personal insult that I can’t figure out the worlds problems from multinational corporate billionaires, to fucked up racist cops, and it will continue to haunt me. But I’m finally starting to see that maybe it’s not my fault that there is such a lack of unity and such an inability to see the reality of the forest from the trees. I continue to see glimmers of hope. But I’m such a pessimist I still think that only catastrophe will make people hold hands together. If history is any gauge.

I love history. It always seemed like something I could see way off in the distance. Somewhere hidden in a desert cave. A lot of history is locked away in those caves but it’s exciting and a bit intimidating to know that we’re living history today as well. Let’s hope we have the balls to make it a better history that the bullshit we lived through huh?

I always thought that the grown ups were keeping it held together by sheer force of will but now that I’ve been a grown up for a while I can see that they were all kinda winging it. And it makes me feel a little more confident in my own uncertainty.

I thought I was making a smart decision to throw my lot in with the labor movement, if you can call it such. I still think it was a smart decision. It's hard work to hold it together under the face of adversity within your own ranks. This house of cards is literally sitting in a breeze, hanging by a thread. It might as well be chewing gum as opposed to concrete and steel beams that bind corporations to our American lives.

I like to think I look out with positive emotion but that’s a fucking lie. I comfort myself to sleep with visions of explosions laying America to waste because I can't see ant other way. Is there is any positive life left in me? I was a child who saw cynicism as a virtue, something to aspire to. I thought I knew too much. But I couldn’t have realized how desperate and fucked up the world really is. How the bottom keeps dropping out day after day. Now I wish I could be more transfixed with Star Wars, Rocky Horror, Ren Fair, punk rock or some other hide your face in the sand bullshit gothic lifestyle. Why is the weight of the world always in my cranium when I could just as easily get really good at Super Mario Cart? I might have to if I'm gonna keep it together.

Wait a minute is this the same thing I wrote for last year's anniversary? Damn. Have I not grown much in the last year?

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Fried Green on the radio

Fried Green was a band from Henderson, NV. Henderson seemed like it was a million miles away from my world back then but the last two decades have seen the behemoth of sin city swallered up every last patch of dirt from Mount Charleston all the way to Boulder City joining it all together as one big blast furnace of asphalt and interconnected pavement. Eventually you won’t be able to see desert anymore within the valley as strip malls and housing complexes fill in the rest of the empty spaces. Which is bullshit or progress depending on who you ask. From what I understand it’s been spilling outside of the valley for the last few years as well. But in the late 80’s Henderson was pretty far away. Nick’s Supper Club was the main attraction for the area if KVVU TV5 could be trusted.

I met Shiloh the lead singer of Fried Green through a funny set of circumstances. It stems from a D.I. show I went to at the Elks Lodge in downtown Vegas by Cashman Field. I think 5150 opened up for D.I.? Anyway I had a jean jacket back then which I bleached and dyed bright red. And my hair, which I had a bunch of back then, was permanently unkempt. No style at all just totally mussed up like I just got done having sex. When in fact I rarely got to have sex as much as I’d wanted.

I always enjoyed watching the crowd at a punk show. To this day I’m still surprised how few people turn around to scan the crowd. In my experience it’s usually the case where the bands suck so the only real entertainment is the crowd. The bands certainly didn’t suck that night but I still found myself unplugging from passive observer mode as I turned around near the front of the stage to survey the “scene” who were all super well dressed punk rockers for 1988 or whenever it was. Then I saw her.

God knows what her name was. She was the most adorable punk chick I’d ever seen up to that point. I wanna say her name was Michelle but that’s a plain Jane name for such a duded up punk seductress. It doesn’t fit the mythology I’ve built up in my memories of that moment but her name is lost to time. She smiled briefly and looked away only to lock eyes with me again. She smiled again and continued to hold my gaze. I motioned for her to go near the open door at the side of the stage. She nodded and met me just outside the door facing Owens Avenue.

It was a tender moment I had nearly forgotten about over all this time. I was sweaty from the stifling heat and the night air was nice and cool as we leaned against the wall still within earshot of “Hang Ten In East Berlin.” We flirted with each other briefly. Exchanged numbers. Made a promise to meet again. To varying degrees I’ve seen it happen several times in my life. A feeling like it could be love. And then something unexpected stepped in to make it fly away into my own fantasy world.

She was from Henderson so while we never met again in person we talked on the phone at length two or three times. In between calls I learned that she was seeing this guy Shiloh also from Hendo. I heard through the always unreliable grapevine that they had been a couple for a while and that he was the jealous overprotective type which lead me to build up in my mind that we were serious rivals for her affection.

I tried reaching her again by phone but my calls were never returned. I heard later that she rolled her truck and was seriously injured. I never saw or heard from her again. But I held on to the idea that Shiloh was now gunning for me.

After the scene collapsed following the break up of F.S.P., 5150, and Atomic Gods there was a vacuum created wherein the last remaining hangers on from the old guard and the random new faces that started going to shows were looking for a new focus, a new band, a new… fucking anything. In this silence Henderson rose to prominence in terms of accessible all ages shows. Don’t get me wrong, the desert gigs were still happening. But the onslaught of the racist nazi skinhead subculture within our subculture made desert shows more violent. Less and less people were willing to go out in the middle of nowhere when you could potentially get the shit kicked out of you. Vegas, always the city that refuses to acknowledge the existence of underage people made it even harder to produce a viable all ages venue and so one of the only alternatives sprouted in Henderson. The Henderson Elks Lodge strangely enough.

I saw a bunch of shows there during this time frame. Many of them unmemorable. Even though we all desperately wanted to believe. I could run down a list of shows that happened there but there just wasn’t much to the music at that time. And the lack of unity within the scene itself made for a lackluster experience time and again. But it was something and so we returned to that venue time and again. More new faces flooded the scene. And eventually the scales tipped as they have with each new generation.

I don’t remember who I went to see play on this particular night but somehow I talked my parents into giving me a ride all the way to the Henderson Elks Lodge. Me and the folks were often at odds during that rebellious part of my life and so it came as a bit of a surprise that they would agree to get me out there. It was especially funny because I somehow snuck a full six pack of beer in my jacket as I sat next to my mom in the tiny mini truck we drove 25 miles from Linn Lane to Henderson.

I wanted to get there super early so I could chill in the desert outside of the Lodge and catch a buzz before the show. Plus if I got there early I wouldn’t have to share my beers with anyone like the selfish bastard I was. It was precious cargo for an 18 year old kid, and I’m not remembering how I got a hold of it now but I’ll assume I fished for beer outside of a seven-eleven eventually getting some adult to buy it for me.

So there I was at like 7pm broad daylight trying to choke down a six pack of Shaefer beer when this dude walks up and asks me if I’m going to the show. Back then it was unexpected to find people who were clued in and excited about the underground. Punk was still puke to the masses so if you chanced upon someone with a Rudimentary Peni symbol hand stenciled on their jacket you were stoked to meet another misfit castaway adrift in the “straight world” and bonds were immediately formed. We talked and I eventually offered up one of my shitty beers. It was only after we had cracked a brew that we exchanged names and I found out this guy was my supposed nemesis. Shiloh.

Obviously there was no animosity. He told me he wasn’t even dating her and he shared with me the unfortunate news of her accident. From there we became fast friends. The show that night I can’t clearly remember and something tells me it wasn’t because I was drunk off that piss beer. But I do remember hearing Shiloh talk up the band he was trying to form. It would be months before this band would play out, but I was inspired to know someone just like me could start a band and I was eager to offer up my support.

When I look back it sometimes surprises me how many shows I missed. I talk a lot of shit like I was clued in and present for this and that but there were so many things that appeared to be happening and so many cliques I wasn’t privy to that I missed more shows than I would have liked. And Fried Green was numbered among those shows. I was there for their debut but I know they played at least a few dozen more times for which I wasn’t present. I must have been trippin balls on the East Side playing R-Type at the Nellis arcade. Broke as usual.

Much thanks goes out to Rockin Chris Crud for sharing these tracks of Fried Green broadcasting from 91.5 KUNV on the Lunch With the PMRC Locals Only show. Over the years I’ve been friends and acquaintances with several of the dudes who were in Fried Green and over time they have all gone on to different bands or different projects. Listening to these guys on this broadcast is endearing and speaks volumes to the death of the old scene and the birth of something new. A change that’s happening even now as we march on towards irrelevancy.

This ain’t hardcore punk by any stretch of the imagination and they even admit that while being interviewed on the radio. I’m not sure what you’d call it but it is still a representation of the Vegas underground as it existed in that transitional time. It speaks more to the pop side musically and in some ways prefigures what would later be called grunge in a few years. That is if grunge was baked and dehydrated in the 110 degree heat drinking St. Ides in a ditch just off Boulder Highway.

Another gem of a time capsule from a much simpler time from a small town out in the desert South West. It sure seemed more complicated at the time. Shit if we only knew? Henderson…of course.

Download Fried Green presenting their new demo live on 91.5 KUNV below.

Fried Green broadcast 1

Fried Green Broadcast 2

I got no date for the broadcast. If you think you know the date tell me and I'll add it here.