By Jef With One F
By Rocks Off
By Chris Lane
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
By Angelica Leicht
By Corey Deiterman
"So Hank buys some stuff and gets talking to Stanton and his assistant, and they decide to go have a meal. Stanton's like, 'Y'all aren't from around here. Why don't I pick the restaurant?' So he gets talking to his assistant, who asks us if we like Mexican. We say sure, and he's like, 'Eggsellent. I know just the place. It's called El Coyote -- it's where Sharon Tate had her last meal.'
"So we go over there and get a table and this guy's all pissed off that we didn't get the table Sharon sat at, and I'm like, 'Dude, it doesn't matter, it's okay.' And Stanton and Hank are talking and laughing, and every now and then you'd see this other side of Hank. Ordinarily, he's just this stoner, slacker kinda guy, the kinda guy who back in high school would work on a car all through lunch listening to Slayer, and then come in class smelling like cigarettes and sit there and laugh at the teacher and draw skulls on his notebook. But I saw this other side of him then, the same side that would say, 'Hey, check this out' and sing those spooky Luke the Drifter songs. And then all of a sudden it hit me. I'm sitting here at the restaurant where Sharon Tate had her last meal, with the grandsons of Hank Williams and Anton LaVey, both of whom look just like their grandfathers. It really freaked me out bad, man. I couldn't even finish my meal."
As one of Houston's top DJs for the last couple of decades, Sean Carnahan has also been privy to plenty of weird scenes. "I think one place that would get top marks would be most nights when I was spinning at Some," he remembers. "One particular night on Halloween, the entrance to the club had a petting zoo of completely wack animals: two-headed creatures, peculiarly developed sheep and goats and many other oddities you could pet as you entered the club. Inside there was this man in a full suit and tie, which really stood out, as he looked out of place. He then proceeded to stand in the middle of the room and undress into pink pig-print pajamas, put on a Nixon mask and then started dancing around like a madman while giving the victory/peace sign to everyone in the room. Later he ended up dancing with someone dressed like Malcolm X who was being constantly leather strap-whipped by a girl in an I Dream of Jeannie outfit on a leash connected to her chest piercing."
Live music is a visceral experience. Literally. Here are a few tales about bodily fluids, starting with one from Hank Schyma, front man of the Southern Backtones, with a tale of a bladder that could take no more.
"One night we were headlining in New Orleans. Headlining usually sucks in that town because some bars are open all night, and on that night we arrived at 6 p.m. and started playing at 2:30 a.m. I was in the middle of a long song/long solo when I thought, 'After this song I have to take a restroom break!' I then discovered you can hold your pee and play the guitar, you can sing and hold your pee, but you can't sing, play the guitar and hold your pee when you're drunk. My urine drenched one of my pants legs and overflowed the top of my boot while we finished the song. I was so astonished that I unwillingly announced into the mike, 'I just pissed my pants.' The crowd loved it! And we didn't have to take a break."
Pam Robinson has another tale of misplaced sewage. "The singer from 36 Crazyfists took a crap in one of our men's urinals. My husband was going to kill him.[Robinson's husband is about six-foot-four, 250 pounds, all muscle, and resembles one of the heavies in a Guy Ritchie flick.] We didn't owe him any money or anything like that -- we paid them high dollar. It was just one of those hardcore shows, and they were on Headbangers Ball, and for some reason when they get on Headbangers Ball they get an attitude. And this band was sponsored by Jägermeister, and liquor doesn't agree with them, it doesn't bring out the pretty side of them. Anyway, my husband says, 'Hey, you're gonna clean that up!' And the guy was like, 'Yeah, go ahead and touch me. Just try it.' And my husband says, 'Honey, if I touch you, you're never gonna walk again.' And our bartender Ryan's got a baseball bat -- he's about to kill him. And this kid says, 'Look, I ain't cleaning that shit up, and neither are my people. You're gonna clean it up.' "
Eventually, Robinson's manager Tim Carrizal defused the situation by cleaning up the mess himself. "So I said, 'Look, it's all cleaned up, why don't y'all just leave?''' Robinson says. "So the band walked the singer outside, and right before they got to the van, his own band kicked his ass. I mean, just tore him up. My door guy almost called 911 'cause he was scared for him. He had gravel all over his face -- they just pounded him. Then they threw him in the van and just drove off.