I was about 4 years old and in preschool. It was a “meet and greet” day and my dad took me. This was exciting, because I adored him and thought he was basically the coolest person on earth. I marched in, dragging him along behind me, and approached my teacher. “This is my dad. He’s in a band and they just released a song called ‘How Can I Get You Off My Mind (If You Won’t Get Off My Face)’!”, I said, as I excitedly introduced them to each other. A raised eyebrow and a sheepish look were exchanged as I bopped off to start my day. It’s true, though. My dad’s band, CW Junction, had a song with that title. If you were around Michigan during the mid-'80s and checked out your local dive bar’s jukebox, you may have seen it as a selection.
I have so many fond memories of hanging out in venues as my dad prepared for shows. There were tons of unsupervised hours spent exploring basements, crawlspaces, and eaves of old churches and town halls. Or playing with a cigarette machine for 2 hours. You know, whatever gets you by. I remember when CW was set up at the local bowling alley in our town, Skidway Lake, Michigan. (If you feel like taking a deep dive into what is truly the middle of nowhere.) I used to participate in a Pee-Wee Bowling league there on the weekends.
To use the bathroom, I would have to walk back to the hallway that connected the bar/restaurant to the bowling alley. It was always freezing in that hallway and in the bathroom. You’d go back there in the dead of winter, and it was not heated. I would get to pass by the stage every time I went back there and remember feeling a sense of belonging. My dad’s band’s stuff was onstage, and it was like a claim on the property itself. I only got to see their matinee show there once (as children weren’t allowed in the bar after 7pm). I used to love dancing while the band played. In between sets, my dad would join me on the dance floor, letting me stand on his feet as he danced us around.
As I got a little older, my dad asked me to join the band onstage for a song. At 7 years-old, this was the first time that I performed publicly and I bombed spectacularly. No, really. It was a monumental failure that I have spent time dealing with in therapy. I will start this by saying, while I was getting prepared to perform onstage with the band, I wasn’t prepared to perform on that particular day. My dad decided to bring me up for a trial run to see how I was progressing.
While I was clearly not born a natural performer, I was, however, a fast learner.
When I got up onstage, I had to stand on a chair, because the microphone stand couldn’t go low enough for me. The band started into the song that I had been working on for months, “Daddy’s Hands” by Holly Dunn. They played beautifully and the intro finished, but I was completely frozen. Every agonizing second of staring into the light but still being able to see every set of eyes in the bar is seared into my memory. If a 7 year-old could sweat, I would have been pouring buckets. They played the entire song, and I stood there, perched on a chair, for almost three minutes in terrified silence.
While I was clearly not born a natural performer, I was, however, a fast learner. I decided that I never wanted to have that experience ever again. A month later, I performed the song at the show that I was originally meant to perform at and completely killed it by singing the song perfectly. At the end, I let out a huge sigh of relief into the microphone, which earned me a big laugh and a standing ovation. I was hooked on that feeling.
At one time, I thought that I would grow up to play country music, just like my dad. After all, he got to play some pretty impressive shows. He existed in a time when it was possible to make actual money from being a professional musician. He did the Downtown Hoedown in Detroit to several thousand people; I remember meeting Dan Seals. He even opened for Donny and Marie, for crying out loud. That’s some clout! Playing in a band seemed like the coolest thing a person could possibly do.
One memorable show was back in the early '90s. CW Junction played the Bay City River Roar in downtown Bay City, Michigan, which took place in a beautiful park next to the Saginaw River. Wild Rose was the headliner that day. In 2018, I had a full circle moment. I was backstage at that same venue, pounding beers with my band, TA-80. Who knew that I would get to play that same stage someday? As I performed, my thoughts flashed back to my younger self, watching my dad’s show from the audience.
My introduction to punk rock was Green Day’s 1994 album, Dookie. I was about 10 years-old when that came out and it was amazing. After that, I remember hearing older Green Day and some NoFX and Bad Religion through the wall from my brother Jens’ bedroom. I loved it. At that point, I had already long left behind country music in favor of oldies and psychedelic rock. Punk rock seemed like a natural progression from that genre to me. I know there are some folks out there that won’t get that at all, but trust me. Punk rock is directly related to oldies and '60s pop.
These days, our roles have reversed. My dad no longer performs music, but he comes out to our shows and to the recording studio in support of Jens and I. Sometimes when I’m getting ready to play a show, I still remember that old wooden bowling alley and where I first felt like I belonged on a stage. I feel that cold hallway and hear the crank of the old ring towel dispenser from the bathroom. I smell smoke and stale beer in the air. I remember why I wanted to do all this in the first place.
