C. P. and Hound Dog

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My brother-in-law C. P. was visiting me at 122 on a pot run. No, C. P. does not stand for “Cabbage Patch” (doll), which had not yet been invented or “Communist Party”, which had, but for for “Carl Parsons.” I still have the suitcase in which I used to carry the marijuana. C. P. and my sister grew on their communal farm in upstate New York. The Samsonite would hold eight pounds of the dry, greenish stuff. Away from the restrictions imposed by my sister, C. P. could drink as much as he wanted and hang around WBCN, trying to score drugs, when I went there to work. So C. P. was at the station the afternoon Hound Dog Taylor and the House Rockers came to the studio to perform live.

I put the four House Rockers right in the studio with Maxanne Sartori. We had tried putting bands out in the office next to Carla’s desk but it didn’t work out – there was too much coming and going and people tripped over the wires. Also, you needed two announcers – one to rap with the band and another to do spots. So I set up mics in the studio. The band also had had their instrument amps. So there were seven of us crammed into the bedroom sized studio: myself, Max, the four jammin’ House Rockers, and C. P., drunk. Within five minutes the temperature had gone to a hundred degrees. The sound level was a hundred twenty decibels. Sweat was pouring off the House Rockers. C. P. and I retreated to the shop. After about a half hour Max suddenly came into the shop and quickly closed the door, cutting off the blast of noise and heat. She leaned her back up against the vibrating door, gasping, looking up at the ceiling. “The smell,” she moaned. “Oh my God, I can’t stand the smell!” Then she darted back into the studio to rap with Hound Dog and pay a couple of spots. Another half hour and she was back. “I can’t get them to leave! How do I get them to leave?”

When the band finally did leave, after a two hour set, I went into the studio to help Max clean up. I coiled up the mic cables while Max sprayed air freshener. C. P. sat in the corner, red-faced, giggling. Tomorrow would be another busy day. The Big M was coming to town.

Previous:Destruction Came From Above Next:The Big M

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