Devils & Blue Dresses: My Wild Ride as a Rock and Roll Legend

that would be the only way to save me.
    Back in Germany I relied on friends. My wife was a different matter altogether. She was ignored by me and allowed herself to find solace and good feeling by entering into a world in which we didn’t communicate. At all. Billy Csernits became the closest thing to a friend I had known since the early days when Joey Kubert and I were teenagers. Billy and I shared a great deal of our personal lives with each other, and I trusted Billy’s instincts and critiques where my music was concerned. Billy once gave me the Sex Pistols first album
Never Mind the Bullocks
as a Christmas present. A few years ago a friend called from Minneapolis to tell me he had just heard an interview with their lead singer, Johnny Rotten, in which he named me as one of his influences. How cool is that?
    Billy was a tall young man with huge hands. When he played the keyboards his hands sometimes got in the way but the music was always perfect, and more importantly, always from his heart. Our best times together were in the two-year period before Germany and the three years after our arrival there. He was the ice-breaker, whether it was in a room full of strangers or simply getting to know our different German crews, Billy was the one with no inhibitions and a friendly smile. I can’t count how many times I found myself doubting my resolve or courage to take the next step forward, only to find Billy standing firmly behind me pushing me on. It was his caring and respect for me as an artist that was essential in enabling me to create the wonderful songs for the first four Line Records releases.
    Joe Gutc is innocent, in spite of his protestations to the contrary. He is a child locked in a man’s body. Joe is also a truly original slide guitar player. His tone, however, was very hard to record because had fallen in love with a cheap guitar and refused to abandon it. To me, it sounded like a fishing rod casting reel unwinding too fast as you threw out the line. But Joe’s mind and the musical notes that he created for his solos stand alone in the world of original music. Joe was our jester and a serious practical joker. I could never talk with Joey the way I talked with Billy, and so I could never uncover what it was that caused him such deep sadness. I believe the reason he carried such sadness was the fact that he was always joking about something. He always kept us laughing, but he feared the night and sleep the way many of us fear death. Therewas no audience then, and he had to be alone. Joe is not a disciplined musician, but his music is beyond compare.
    Mark Gougeon was the brooder in the group. He was also, compared to everyone else, a professional. He was serious more often than not and he was in a serious and loving relationship with his wife. Mark was ambitious, productive, and not afraid of hard work, and he was usually the first one to crack if we were away from home for any length of time. He brought to the stage a great look, a professional attitude, and he was active and pleasant to watch. His down side was that when he did occasionally drink, he became a violent ugly drunk.
    Rick Schein came from a well-to-do family and was a partner in his family business. He owns three of my original oil paintings, two of which appeared on album covers. Rick chose to balance his family business with the opportunity to be in a real rock ‘n’ roll band. I first met Richard when we were doing the track for “Tough Kid” on the Vacation album. I don’t recall who brought him into the studio, but I asked him to play a short lead solo for the track. It was the most alive, energetic, and awesome solo, and it fit perfectly. He got the job.

     
    We’ve already spoken about Wilson Owens. And so I had the Thrashing Brothers. The antics and history of the original Thrashing Brothers would become folklore, but I was starting to blaze a trail separate and apart from the group.
    At home this manifested itself in an area of Detroit we called the Cass Avenue Corridor. I had played the Corridor quite a few times with the band Detroit and with the Thrashing Brothers, mostly at a club called the New Miami. It was a small club with a small stage and I remember it today for two reasons: I held the record for the most beers sold for a performance, and it was the place where Bobby Rodrigus, the drummer for the Edgar Winter Band, was beaten to death by three of Detroit’s finest killers.
    The punks were giving the effeminate