January 1 – the collective misery of the John Cooper era continues as OSU suffers a relative blowout in the Sugar Bowl, losing to 4th ranked Florida State. Though a 31-14 drubbing doesn’t look too horrific on paper, the Damon’s where I was working went from a riotous mob to mass walkouts somewhere around the halfway mark.
January 4 – Brasiliera play at Dick’s Den. At the behest of bartender Dusty, who also slings drinks at Damon’s, I’m finally getting around to checking out this legendary jazz epicenter for the first time tonight. He said he would slide me a free beer or two, and that’s pretty much all a cash strapped character such as I needs to hear.
The bar will establish itself with an auspicious start before I even set foot in the place. As I pull up to the curb on High, a short distance from the club, there’s a police cruiser with his jackpot lights twirling even closer to it, nearly in front. After making my way underneath the famous question mark sign and inside the bar, some crazy old timer, eyeballing the nonexistent scene out there with intensity, tells me that someone was just mugged up the street.
He adds that this is a dangerous neighborhood and that such incidents are constantly transpiring around here – which I find a guffaw inducing sentiment. No region is truly insulated from crime, but calling this area a rough part of town is a sizeable stretch. This is north campus. It’s no more dangerous than any other area of campus, and probably less so than many. Back in the summer I was even accosted on Summit while walking home from Studio 35. Some drunken or deranged hillbilly kept pace with me on the opposite sidewalk, block after block, and kept shouting insults, how he was going to run across the street and kick my ass. I’m not sure where he came from, for he appeared out of nowhere. Spotting, as it happens, a police cruiser with his lights on up ahead, I told myself to just keep calmly walking and saying nothing, until I reached that destination. Only to do so and find no officer in sight. Upon which, thinking it a good idea not to let this madman see where I live, I hook a left at the next intersection and book it out of range.
You can’t let fluke occurrences deter you from perfectly reasonable experiences. I’ve walked past this bar by myself, actually, to and from work or even just goofing around, on countless occasions. Setting foot inside a strange place is always nerve wracking, for whatever reason, particularly if alone, but the day we start fearing these neighborhoods is a mighty dim one.
Seeing a familiar face always helps with the comfort level and the safety, regardless, and when Dusty cheers my name from behind the bar, I already feel at home inside this cozy, wood paneled establishment. As I drop into an empty seat at said bar, he slides this unadventurous drinker a bottle of Budweiser, which is another old friend, you might say, the proverbial worn pair of shoes. A concept extending in some fashion to the band on stage in the other half of the room, Brasiliera, whom I’m never witnessed before, yet have seen mentioned in print countless times via Alive! or The Other Paper.
A band composed of seven white people who appear to be in their mid-thirties, they’re nonetheless blowing what I would term a Latin tinged jazz. The chick singing and dude playing the trombone seem to function as ringleaders with this troupe, complemented in exquisite fashion by another girl on flute, the guys manning drums, bass, guitar and piano posts. A very talented group, probably the best I’ve seen since moving to Columbus and if not then running a close second only to those swing leaning lads in Thirteen O’Clock.
As for the bar itself, this dark wood motif prevails everywhere, decorated in the same down to earth style as and exuding an identical vibe to Ruby’s. One key difference is that, by force of conscious decision and also as byproduct of booking these bands, this place does skew a little older. It’s far less saturated with hippie types, dependent instead upon a more reserved, non-cannabis-reeking hepcat crowd. Predominantly male, too, I would gauge, so it’s not exactly babe central. Just a solid entertainment option maybe once or twice a year.
Dusty buys me a second beer, as I check out their impressive liquor arsenal along a mirror lined wall behind the bar. Elsewhere, there’s a chalkboard posted, listing a number of upcoming bands. Then tonight’s outfit is on break and two of the members are chatting with this guy in a nearby stool, who by the sounds of things must run this place.
I’m listening to their conversation for a while and then, by the time Brasiliera grace the stage once more, I’ve just about killed this drink. Upon doing so, I thank Dusty and tip him a couple of bucks, though am wondering on the ride home if this was an etiquette faux pas on my part – at the very least, I should have slid him the cost of that second beer, as this is presumably the whole point of inviting people you know to your bar and sneaking them gratis beverages.
As it turns out, though figuring I’ll just apologize the next time I see him at work, that never happens. He’s just another character in the long line of them who simply stop showing up at our rib joint, and nowhere near the most remarkable. Sorry, Dusty, nothing personal – I’m mostly thinking about the women we worked with, and wouldn’t consider myself a remarkable character, either.
January 13 – Superstar Rookie, Midway, and Vena Cava play at Little Brothers.
January 21 – the Cincinnati Reds’ Winter Caravan comes to Flannagan’s. Manager Jack McKeon, hitting coach Ken Griffey, Sr., a couple announcers (among them Joe Nuxhall) and four players make this treacherous promotional journey.
February 1 – Trio Melange play Short North Tavern. This it would seem is a traveling portion of the Cleveland Orchestra, featuring flutist Heidi Ruby-Kushious, harp player Tina Struble and the cello master Paul Kushious.
February 4 – Swabby continues his residency at the Northberg Tavern.
Some mystery band also plays Bernie’s Bagels. UNSUB posted flyers featuring our elementary school guidance counselor throughout the campus region, promoting this show. Through years of diligent research, assisted by others, it has finally come to light that a band named the pinups was responsible for this poster.
February 6 – Alan & I split a pitcher & play some pool at Ruby Tuesday. Then we grab some more beer and sit down on the other side to watch this weird ass band called Foley.
Once they take the stage, we decide to sit down at a table in that darkened half of the bar to observe the show. And while they are thankfully free of the standard Dead style marathon jam trappings of seemingly ¾ the bands who play here, this is probably the strangest outfit I’ve seen thus far, Columbus or anywhere else.
After they’ve finished setting up and launch into their first set, we can’t tell if this is the actual performance or a quote unquote warmup for the real gig. Though the bar is about halfway full and these tables occupied to pretty much the same ratio, the bass player sits in a chair with his back to the crowd the entire time. He and his cohorts in this trio, a guitarist and drummer, play nothing but jazzy, upbeat instrumentals, which is fine, except they keep stopping and starting songs over again, even if a couple of minutes into the piece.
Alan and I exchange puzzled glances and many a what the fuck?, as it’s hard to tell just what these guys are trying to accomplish – had one of them messed up and picked the tune up from scratch, or did they like it so much they wanted to play it again, or was it some kind of experimental stuff like late issue Coltrane or Miles or something, where they were trying different variations based around the same melody? Then again, for all we know, these guys may very well still be in practice mode. It’s not like, I don’t know, they actually address the crowd or anything, not even once. But after about an hour of this, we’ve seen enough.
“You ready to go?” Alan asks me.
“Yeah,” I nod.
As we’re standing up to leave, however, he happens to glance at this table behind us, where amid the deeper gloom of that recess, some kid of roughly our age, with short buzzed hair, sits alone. Though I certainly would not, Alan insists he recognizes this dude and believes he went to high school with us. Thus walks over to talk to the guy, while I’m stuck watching more of this Foley horseshit.
He does keep the conversation mercifully brief, returning to explain, as we leave, that this was Aaron Little, an upperclassman who used to have really long hair back in our teenage years. The name does sound somewhat familiar, although I’m still astounded that Alan picked him out in there. After Alan explained that he plays the drums, Aaron mentioned that he has a little basement studio at his place over in Clintonville, and is looking to assemble a band. The two of them then exchanged numbers.
February 7 – Superstar Rookie/Salthorse show at Little Brothers.
February 9 – Local Color show at Not Al’s Rockers.
February 15 – a Cajun band named File (there should be an accent mark over the e, though I’m too lazy to figure that out at the moment) plays at Little Brothers.
Also, the professor of piano at Denison University, Stephen Zank, travels a short distance up the road to put on a performance here. It’s a free concert held at the Graves Recital Hall on Karl Rd, start time 4pm
And then a little later on, at 6pm, OSU’s Concert and Symphonic Bands take the stage at the Wexner Center. This one is free of charge, too.
February 18 – Secretary of State Madeleine Albright comes to St. John Arena to discuss a possible invasion of Iraq. The crowd is out of control, booing & challenging her every point, a disastrous town meeting that’s broadcast live on CNN.
February 26 – The OSU men’s hockey team plays its final game at the Ice Rink.
February 28 – And then two nights later, its men’s basketball team closes out the St. John Arena era with an overtime loss to Penn State. Both programs, along with the women’s b-ball, are moving to the Schottenstein Center when it opens in the fall.
March 7 – Drexel Grandview has a one-off midnight showing for the Neil Young tour documentary, Year Of The Horse. This is my first visit to this theater. I count an attendance grand total of 8 – although it’s worth noting and kind of cool that none of us leave until after the end credits have finished.
March 17 – St. Patrick’s Day Irish Fest event at Vets Memorial. I’ve just gotten home from work when Alan & Snoop breeze in, want to know if I feel like going. The ticket price ($10) is a bit too rich for my blood, however. “Mine too,” Alan admits, “but I figured what the hell.”
My coworker Kathleen is having a party at her place later, which is mainly what I’m concerned about. We agree to meet up after they leave the Irish Fest and hit this party. As it turns out, which seems like an amazing coincidence, Snoop lives at 100 W. Maynard, Kathleen in an apartment at 161. So Alan, Snoop, some of his roommates and I walk down to the party. One of Snoop’s friends, John S, takes one look at some of the people on the balcony, before we’ve even reached the building, says, “oh no. Huh uh. I’m outta here,” turns around and walks back to the house. We’re cracking up because it’s hard to imagine what would’ve provoked this reaction.
Uncle Sam’s Dream Machine play at Ruby Tuesday. Alan and Snoop cap off the festivities over there watching them. It’s a weird night even by St. Patty’s standards and Damon had been at Ruby’s earlier himself, before he and I join forces for a breakfast run over to Sugar Shack.
April 7 – Dick Dale show at the Newport. For a full recap of their 1998 events (and beyond), please click the link to visit that page.
May 9 – George Strait is at the Horseshoe, selling upwards of 70,000 tickets for this StraitFest show. That’s nearly twice of what U2 managed a year earlier, and more than even the Rolling Stones moved, last September. Who said this wasn’t a cow town? Our friends Mandy and Melissa and Mandy’s mom attend the concert, parking at our house and hanging out for like 5 minutes before walking down there.
May 13 – Some crappy band named Buddha’s Toothbrush is playing at Victory’s. This I know because Damon, Alan, and I somehow get the bright idea to check out that scene on a Wednesday. It’s completely dead. A few hot chicks but not many. In fact, some guy comes up and asks us, “is this a gay bar? I’m from out of town.”
We tell him no, then once he’s out of earshot, Damon jokes that he felt like adding, “no, but if you’re looking for one…,” and then making up some directions.
Each of us have exactly one beer apiece – who could afford more than one here? Although they do have a single redeeming feature, which is pizza for 80 cents a slice on Wednesdays. This is the kind of thing you tend to forget entirely, that Victory’s did (and may still) serve not just pizza but surprisingly decent pizza. I don’t remember this at all, but it says so in my notes. Anyway, we scarf down a couple of slices each, then split this lame establishment in favor of karaoke night at Woody’s.
May 20 – Alan and Larry attend Creed show at Newport. I’m invited but am not interested in going.
It’s a strange night all around. By the time those two return, we have a mini gathering shaping up at our house. But though I almost never come down with even the slightest cold, I’m feeling majorly ill out of nowhere and will spend the entire night in my bed, missing the festivities altogether. Meanwhile, a house that’s basically across the street from us burns to the ground. I have my windows open and can hear the crackling flames, as their orange lights dance around my dark bedroom, while the firemen shout instructions to one another, and people in our kitchen discuss what’s happening as they crane their necks for a look.
May 27 – Superstar Rookie are at Cafe Bourbon Street. Alan and Damon attend this show.
June 8 – Damon and I are walking to Not Al’s Too, and are right behind Bernie’s when Dave Copper exits the back door with some drums in his hand. Whatever hour this is, he just finished playing, but says it’s for another band and not Superstar Rookie. Dan and Travis and some other friends are down there at the bar anyway, but we don’t bother going in. As it turns out I forgot my ID and can’t get into Not Al’s.
June 10 – Swervedriver and Spoon show at Little Brothers, which I’m lucky enough to attend for free.
August 2 – This appears to be the day that OSU’s student newspaper The Lantern went live online, or at least uploaded a bunch of older content. It took me a little while to figure this out, and was creating some major confusion when attempting to verify dates in the event calendar – like for Stache’s, which went out of business in May of ’97. Stumbling onto a Lantern entry for 8/2/98 saying bands were playing at Stache’s “this weekend” sent me down a short lived rabbit hole, wondering if there was a brief revival for this legendary venue, and I never heard about it.
September 23 – Jill and I attend an Aerosmith show at Polaris Amphitheater. Monster Magnet opens. She’s decided that dreadful ballad from Armageddon is “our song” (guys have no say in matters like these), and they play that, sure, but otherwise it’s a pretty killer show. The two Joes in the band are amazing. Perry’s guitar tone is out of this world, and Kramer’s a complete animal on the drum kit. Monster Magnet are decent, although the only thing I remember distinctly is that they played Space Lord last, of course, and the crowd really got into belting out the chorus – that’s actually somewhat unusual for an opening act, in my experience. Jill’s wearing open toed sandals and by the end of the night, the dewy lawn has frozen her feet half solid.
October 1 – Gloritone, Superstar Rookie, 84 Nash, The Deal at Little Brothers
November 23 – WWF’s “Monday Night Raw” is filmed at the Schottenstein Center. Shaggy 2 Dope and Violent J of Insane Clown Posse are “with” some crew called The Oddities, whatever that means. They lose to an awesome sounding duo called The Head Bangers (Mosh & Thrasher). The Rock wins to hold onto his championship crown. Andy Kaufman’s buddy Jerry Lawler is one of the commentators.
December 28 – I think Superstar Rookie might have played a show on West Oakland somewhere.
