Chubtone
Well-known member
(I wrote this for the Dinosaur Rock Guitar forum but though someone else might like it)
The year is 1981 and I am a freshman in high school. I have an ok Aria Les Paul copy and a horrible Univox amplifier. I am still a jock, playing football and baseball for the school teams. I meet a kid on the bus on the first day of school. He lives in my neighborhood and is a drummer with a younger brother who plays bass. Now I already knew who he was because we had played baseball against each other in little league and later pony league baseball. Kid couldn't hit the curve ball to save his life.
Anyway, we get to talking about what bands we like and that we all played instruments. We are going to get together on the weekend and "jam" a little bit. That weekend comes along and we get together. These two kids are clearly better musicians than I was. They were just natural players and seemed to just know everything, and if they didn't know it, they could fake their way through it great. Apparently, since I had a pulse, and hadn't thrown a single curve ball to the drummer in the whole jam session, they decide they want to form a band. So we did. And we start getting together in their basement every chance we could. Football practice put a damper on how often I could practice with them and by myself at home. The almost constant sprained and jammed fingers that were a part of playing in the defensive secondary didn't help either.
So those two keep progressing at a very fast pace and I am the weak link in the band, clearly. There are a couple of seniors in the school that we have all heard in hushed tones about how bad ass they were on guitar. One of them, some senior named Mike Kowalyczykski, or some other vowel deprived, typical Chicago/Polish name ends up befriending the drummer and he wants to come over and jam too. Oh crap. I have heard he is the most bad ass guitarist in the whole school. Not only that, but his hair is down to his shoulders and he has that sweet, early 80's, almost a grown man, wispy mustache going. So much cooler than I could ever dream of being.
So the day comes, Mike Kowczykczylczylczyk is coming over to jam. We all warm up before he gets there and I am sweating bullets. He gets there and he needs us to come help him with his gear. Now I don't know where his mom or dad were with the family station wagon, but somehow, he had gotten himself to our rehearsal place in some cool ass, primered 1970 Camaro. If I had had a girlfriend, I would have just helped her get into his car and waved goodbye. So we pull out a Marshall 4x12 cabinet and a Marshall JMP 50w head!!!!!! I already wished this guy would slip on the ice in the driveway (Chicago, you know?) and now he has a FREAKING MARSHALL HALF STACK?!!!!!!!!! We take that down into the basement and he walks in with a V shaped case with "Gibson" stenciled on the side in silver.
Then Mike pulled out a cream colored Gibson Flying V and started setting up his gear. A real flying V and a real Marshall. I was now quite pissed at my parents for saddling me with my crappy gear, while cool-ass mustache, Camaro boy had the gear I dreamed of. So we start playing. I suggest we start things off with "Living After Midnight" because it is no kidding, the only song I know the lead for. Literally. The jerk lets me take the lead and I choke my way through it. Then he asks do we know, "Lights Out". Well, of course WE don't and as I am trying to tell him so, the other guys say, "WE KNOW IT!", and they quickly launch into it as I just stand and watch. I wanted to throw a wicked curve ball right at my "friends" head. So this guy is just nailing the Schenker guitar parts, rhythms and leads. "Oh crap, he is playing the live version". Jeff and Jason are playing the live version too. They don't miss a beat. I now hate them too. They finish up with Kowczykwczykwczyk just destroying the lead and my self confidence in the process. He asks, "do you know Doctor, Doctor?" Well of course THEY do. They launch into that and I have a seat on the couch. A couch that became famous in later years for providing a place for us to....... uh..... sit with the groupies. Mike kills it on Doctor, Doctor. The guy lives, sleeps, eats and breathes UFO and Michael Schenker. "Only You Can Rock Me, Rock Me" is next. Awesome. I am staring at all three of them like I want to kill them. I know I have never been so emasculated in all my life. Imagine the George Costanza just getting out of the pool and shrinkage scene, and now imagine the pool was ice water and I was an infant. That's how manly I felt.
I knew it was coming, I just knew it. I freaking knew it! Mike started into the opening guitar part on "Rock Bottom" and of course it was the live version. Jeff and Jason fell right in, those TRAITORS. Of course they were 1/2 Polish and it was a case of the Polish uniting and pounding the crap out of Germany (me) for once. Rock Bottom was just glorious and that kid who I despised and hated and couldn't stand and who I hoped would spin out on black ice on the way home and destroy that Camaro, that Flying V, that Marshall and that mustache, was really nailing Schenkers stuff just note for freaking note. I was totally destroyed. I didn't play again for the rest of the jam session. "Livin After Midnight" was the only song I played. I hated my friends, I hated my guitar, I hated my amp. I hated my parents, I hated my lame ass guitar teacher who kept telling me I needed to learn some Tull and Little Feat and not Van Halen and UFO. I hated Mike Kowczykczykczyk and I hated my mustache less upper lip.
That my friends is why I hate Michael Schenker and UFO!
That is why I hate drummers and bass players and people with mustaches. Why I hate "Strangers in the Night". Why I hate Camaros and Univox amplifiers and Aria Guitars. Why I hate seniors in high school and people who were 18 and people who played better than me and Polish sausages and Flying V's and Marshalls.
Once again, I hate Michael Schenker for the damage he did to me through Mike Kowalczyk that day. I am still friends with the drummer Jeff and his lil bro Jason (RIP buddy!) but those cats all worked a number on me THAT day and THAT is when I began to dedicate myself to guitar. By sophomore year I only played football, and then nothing from there on out but play guitar.
So thank you Mike and Michael. I hate you both.
The year is 1981 and I am a freshman in high school. I have an ok Aria Les Paul copy and a horrible Univox amplifier. I am still a jock, playing football and baseball for the school teams. I meet a kid on the bus on the first day of school. He lives in my neighborhood and is a drummer with a younger brother who plays bass. Now I already knew who he was because we had played baseball against each other in little league and later pony league baseball. Kid couldn't hit the curve ball to save his life.
Anyway, we get to talking about what bands we like and that we all played instruments. We are going to get together on the weekend and "jam" a little bit. That weekend comes along and we get together. These two kids are clearly better musicians than I was. They were just natural players and seemed to just know everything, and if they didn't know it, they could fake their way through it great. Apparently, since I had a pulse, and hadn't thrown a single curve ball to the drummer in the whole jam session, they decide they want to form a band. So we did. And we start getting together in their basement every chance we could. Football practice put a damper on how often I could practice with them and by myself at home. The almost constant sprained and jammed fingers that were a part of playing in the defensive secondary didn't help either.
So those two keep progressing at a very fast pace and I am the weak link in the band, clearly. There are a couple of seniors in the school that we have all heard in hushed tones about how bad ass they were on guitar. One of them, some senior named Mike Kowalyczykski, or some other vowel deprived, typical Chicago/Polish name ends up befriending the drummer and he wants to come over and jam too. Oh crap. I have heard he is the most bad ass guitarist in the whole school. Not only that, but his hair is down to his shoulders and he has that sweet, early 80's, almost a grown man, wispy mustache going. So much cooler than I could ever dream of being.
So the day comes, Mike Kowczykczylczylczyk is coming over to jam. We all warm up before he gets there and I am sweating bullets. He gets there and he needs us to come help him with his gear. Now I don't know where his mom or dad were with the family station wagon, but somehow, he had gotten himself to our rehearsal place in some cool ass, primered 1970 Camaro. If I had had a girlfriend, I would have just helped her get into his car and waved goodbye. So we pull out a Marshall 4x12 cabinet and a Marshall JMP 50w head!!!!!! I already wished this guy would slip on the ice in the driveway (Chicago, you know?) and now he has a FREAKING MARSHALL HALF STACK?!!!!!!!!! We take that down into the basement and he walks in with a V shaped case with "Gibson" stenciled on the side in silver.
Then Mike pulled out a cream colored Gibson Flying V and started setting up his gear. A real flying V and a real Marshall. I was now quite pissed at my parents for saddling me with my crappy gear, while cool-ass mustache, Camaro boy had the gear I dreamed of. So we start playing. I suggest we start things off with "Living After Midnight" because it is no kidding, the only song I know the lead for. Literally. The jerk lets me take the lead and I choke my way through it. Then he asks do we know, "Lights Out". Well, of course WE don't and as I am trying to tell him so, the other guys say, "WE KNOW IT!", and they quickly launch into it as I just stand and watch. I wanted to throw a wicked curve ball right at my "friends" head. So this guy is just nailing the Schenker guitar parts, rhythms and leads. "Oh crap, he is playing the live version". Jeff and Jason are playing the live version too. They don't miss a beat. I now hate them too. They finish up with Kowczykwczykwczyk just destroying the lead and my self confidence in the process. He asks, "do you know Doctor, Doctor?" Well of course THEY do. They launch into that and I have a seat on the couch. A couch that became famous in later years for providing a place for us to....... uh..... sit with the groupies. Mike kills it on Doctor, Doctor. The guy lives, sleeps, eats and breathes UFO and Michael Schenker. "Only You Can Rock Me, Rock Me" is next. Awesome. I am staring at all three of them like I want to kill them. I know I have never been so emasculated in all my life. Imagine the George Costanza just getting out of the pool and shrinkage scene, and now imagine the pool was ice water and I was an infant. That's how manly I felt.
I knew it was coming, I just knew it. I freaking knew it! Mike started into the opening guitar part on "Rock Bottom" and of course it was the live version. Jeff and Jason fell right in, those TRAITORS. Of course they were 1/2 Polish and it was a case of the Polish uniting and pounding the crap out of Germany (me) for once. Rock Bottom was just glorious and that kid who I despised and hated and couldn't stand and who I hoped would spin out on black ice on the way home and destroy that Camaro, that Flying V, that Marshall and that mustache, was really nailing Schenkers stuff just note for freaking note. I was totally destroyed. I didn't play again for the rest of the jam session. "Livin After Midnight" was the only song I played. I hated my friends, I hated my guitar, I hated my amp. I hated my parents, I hated my lame ass guitar teacher who kept telling me I needed to learn some Tull and Little Feat and not Van Halen and UFO. I hated Mike Kowczykczykczyk and I hated my mustache less upper lip.
That my friends is why I hate Michael Schenker and UFO!
That is why I hate drummers and bass players and people with mustaches. Why I hate "Strangers in the Night". Why I hate Camaros and Univox amplifiers and Aria Guitars. Why I hate seniors in high school and people who were 18 and people who played better than me and Polish sausages and Flying V's and Marshalls.
Once again, I hate Michael Schenker for the damage he did to me through Mike Kowalczyk that day. I am still friends with the drummer Jeff and his lil bro Jason (RIP buddy!) but those cats all worked a number on me THAT day and THAT is when I began to dedicate myself to guitar. By sophomore year I only played football, and then nothing from there on out but play guitar.
So thank you Mike and Michael. I hate you both.
!
