WHOoPLA Chapters 8 – 10

Chapter Eight: The Scene

Warning: This chapter describes the 1982 club scene. It contains raunchy graphic depictions of sex and drugs that may be offensive to some (if not all). If this might be you then skip it and move on to Chapter Nine. You won’t miss any of the “ledge” storyline.

A key component to the wild bar scene back then was the 18 year old drinking age (which was rescinded just a few years later). Milwaukee had at least twenty live music clubs with dozens of bands playing original music almost every night.

The Violent Femmes grew out of that Milwaukee time period playing first for the pre show outdoor lines that formed outside various venues. For a Pretenders show that I attended at the ornate, east side, Oriental Theatre, the Femmes were invited off the street by the band to play as the opening act. Without microphones, they rocked the fans in the first rows but got booed by the antsy balance of the crowd.

Brian Richie, of the Violent Femmes, described the period in a later 1986 interview with me on a call in style Sunday night talk show I hosted. He said:

“We’ve played in over 300 cities around the world and we’ve been able to check out a lot of the music scenes there and talk to other musicians and, in general, I would say that Milwaukee has really- and this is serious- has one of the best music scenes for live music in the country…or the world…because there’s so many bars per capita and just so many different styles of music playing in bars for free or $1, $2 or $3… and that’s an opportunity that you really don’t have in most other cities.”

Femmes drummer Victor DeLorenzo agreed,

“It was a very exciting time.”

Each jock had a club, bar or tavern that they were practically affixed to. Most of us made more money from those “appearances” than from the radio station. We were beyond accessible. We were the first ones to arrive and the last ones to leave. That stood in great contrast to the seasoned and spoiled LPX air staff who were doing fewer and fewer “drop in” gigs for bigger and bigger fees. That kind of connectedness put us all in touch with the pulse of the city and the feedback we’d get from being out there was invaluable.

Most nights were horribly boring with mediocre bands playing to half filled or empty rooms. But by being everywhere, if something did happen, we were always right in the middle of it. And every now and then, something would happen. It didn’t take a full moon for there to be nights that blew up and got completely out of control. It was the coke, the booze, the dope, the pre-aids free sex and the ear splittingly loud metal blasting in densely smoke filled cavernous dens packed wall to wall with factory assembly line escapees in desperate need of every kind of mass or individual release that could be had.

Everything you see typically now was bigger back then. Wet T-shirt contests that ended with not only the removal of their tops but flat out illegal groping of their nipples with a softball sized chunk of ice. One winner grabbed the half melted cold stone and shoved it down the front her unzipped hip hugging jeans and let out a scream that likely caused half the guys in the place to cum. And there were hundreds of local band groupies that were that perfect combination of classy, sexy and really fucking horney. One such “Crazy” band fuck vixen was legendary for her ability to let herself go completely and thoroughly enjoy the sex to the degree that she kept a respirator next to her bed to breathe into after her violent multiple orgasms. A popular NW side live rock club had a hot tub in the basement. It was often filled with leather banded, mascara dripping, half naked, drunken, coked up, barely legal teen rock chicks whose torn fishnets were soaking in a bubbling steamy soup of semen, beer and vomit. When I would pass by the hot tub on my way to see the owner and hopefully get paid, I remember that, due to the dim blue neon beer sign lighting and similar hair, make-up and accessory styles, I seldom could tell the 80’s band guys from their groupie girlie fans.

As the overnight guy, the clubs I would get to “appear” at were not the cream of the crop. Rock City in white hick suburban New Berlin, now torn down, was one of my regular haunts. Its décor could best be described as “early rec room.” Dark Walnut stained rough sawn wood barn beams lined the walls and a black low drop ceiling helped to enhance the heavy “what if there’s a fire” claustrophobia. I spun records there in a corner closet-like, cramped booth with The Stones “Miss You” being the memorable guaranteed dance floor filler. It was lined with foot wide floor to ceiling mirrors and featured a mirror ball that that you literally had to dance around or you’d hit your head on it. Summer or winter it would get wickedly hot and quickly filled with the sensual stench of sweaty caucasians.

Being the famous radio DJ in the place protected me from the many brawls that broke out amongst the football jocks, spoiled rich kid freaks and biker friends of the owner.

Two very drunk strapping farm boy brothers whose parents owned a local bowling alley were talking to me when suddenly one of them looked at the other and said,

“Hey! Let’s go kick the shit out of that fuckin’ freak.”

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~ by Scott on December 10, 2007.