the crying dymes (part 1)
tells us that her sister
has a boyfriend
who's a good musician
we should "jam" with him sometime
we were so desperate to form a band
we'd have probably been up for jamming
with a convicted serial killer
did he have both limbs intact?
ok - we're in!!!
so faris told gretchen
"i want to meet this guy..."
bob schneider was one cool dude
even in '86
he had movie actor stubble
girls loved him
i hear they still do
he had devilish charm
and a quick wit
kind of mysterious
and world weary
never really revealed too much
he drove a yellow jeep
that used to belong to the US postal service
it didn't last long
broke down and abandoned behind his apartment complex
he seemed to have a penchant
for not being able to hold down a job
we instantly hit it off
he was a rebel
we were aspiring rebels
he was born in the same small town in michigan
as my brother
a place called
have you ever met anyone from ypsilanti?
i doubt it...
so we started "jamming"
bob on a beat up casio keyboard
me on my shiny crimson rickenbacker guitar
faris on the drums
we christened ourselves
the crying dymes
practices took place in the front bedroom
of our red brick house
we made a joyous racket
once every week or two
bob was hard to get a hold of
i remember dropping by his efficiency apartment
on mesa street
all the time
trying to pin him down for rehearsals
he didn't have a phone
and was almost never home
he would just disappear for weeks
then turn up
and see if we wanted to "jam"
we'd always be chomping at the bit
faris and i were very ambitious
and serious minded musicians
even way back in '86
we were ready to take the world by storm
and to do that
REHEARSE REHEARSE REHEARSE!!!
song titles i remember were
"looks like murder"
which i played for papa severs once
i wonder what he thought of my morbid chorus
"it looks like murder but it feels like a kiss
i never thought it would come to this..."
"the perpetual party"
with bob's carnivalesque organ part
and lurching waltzy beat
"label me as truth"
we made demos on my 4-track cassette recorder
i still have them
i couldn't sing to save my life
my flat monotone warble still haunts me
i was truly not born with a velvety golden throat