JUBILEE TRAIN

 Had a brief chat with my old buddy Dave yesterday. At one point I mentioned his song "Jubilee Train." Excuse me while I ramble on about the song and its personal importance. - MCM

I've been a lifelong fan of a band called The Blasters. Fair to say I think they're one of the most important musical acts in my life, and I think it's safe to say the feeling is shared by many. Not familiar with them? Go look them up. In the meantime...

Teenage me was, like many others of the time, a mess. Early 1980s. A world of angry young Americans being bombarded with Reaganistic bullshit. It still hasn't trickled down yet, has it? What's the hold-up?

Musically, my world was punk rock, old blues, The Beatles, and anything that caught my ear.

Enter The Blasters.

My cousin and I were helping set up his neighbor's place for a wedding reception. Lots of tables, folding chairs, tablecloths, etc. By no means back-breaking work for a couple of young lads, but it paid a couple bucks.

In lieu of a live band, a hangin' crime in my estimation, the reception had opted for a DJ. At the time, this wasn't as de rigueur as it is today. I've always believed in credit where due, so Mr. DJ, hats off to you!

Seeing that I wore the uniform of an early '80s suburban punk, he offered to play something he thought I might like. My cousin was more into Yes and Pat Metheny but was open-minded enough not to run screaming if I should start blasting The Outcasts or GBH.

Mr. DJ put on a record by The Blasters called Over There: Live At The London Venue. And he played it appropriately loud enough to be enjoyed by teenagers setting up for a wedding reception.

Out of his speakers came what sounded like 1950s music but played with an energy I was more accustomed to hearing in punk rock.

To say I was intrigued would be an understatement.

I made him play the record a couple of times. Then he put on some Robert Gordon, which was good but not as energetic, and eventually turned his attention to more current tunes, which I tuned out.

All in all, it was a nice summer wedding reception. I can't say if the marriage lasted, but that's not important here.

Skip ahead to the holidays.

My father had no qualm with spending money at Christmas. The only issue was that he neither knew nor understood me. He knew I loved music. He knew I loved guitars, amps, etc. He knew my wardrobe was purposefully limited. Black T-shirts, jeans, tennis shoes, and, weather permitting, a black leather jacket.

Christmas sweaters weren't going to happen.

Izod shirts were out.

Suffice to say, I wasn't easy to shop for.

But this year he surprised me.

I remember opening a present and seeing a greasy mechanic holding a rose.

NON FICTION by THE BLASTERS.

Yep, THAT Blasters! The band I'd heard the previous summer.

Dad informed me that he'd asked for help at the record store. Anyone who knew my dad understands how unlikely this must've seemed. He told the clerk that his son was into "that punk rock crap" and blues. I already had the entire Beatles catalog, everything by Hendrix, and tons of other selections.

I thanked the old man repeatedly, for years, for this album.

As a typically antisocial teenager, I quickly hid in my room, headphones on, and played the album nonstop.

The song "Jubilee Train" hit me like a ton of bricks.

This wasn't the angry punk I was accustomed to, nor was it the silly love songs of Lennon & McCartney. While closer to some of the old blues stuff, this felt more like an upbeat spiritual.

The words were an American history lesson, but not the stuff taught by my teacher, Mr. Craig. No dates set in stone. No long-winded treaty or pointless battle. These were authentic troubles from the Great Depression.

I recognized some of the words from my own reading habits. The New Deal. Hoovervilles. Breadlines. Poverty.

The economic state of the early 1980s felt like it was one bad week away from the same mess. I knew lots of people who were out of work, getting by on government assistance checks. I grew up in steel country. I'd seen strikes. All of us were keenly aware that things were changing, and not necessarily for the better.

The song hit.

And it hit hard.

The entire album did.

It was different.

There isn't a bad song on the album. This was the sort of music I wanted to hear more of. Could this band be this good live? If the one live EP I'd heard was any indication, they were.

It became my goal to play with that energy and, when possible, with that level of authenticity and honesty.

I unplugged my stomp boxes.

I joined a rockabilly band.

I ended up playing bass.

Every few years, I found another record by The Blasters.

I finally saw them live. Dave had already left the band, but his replacement, Greg "Smokey" Hormel, more than made up for the absence of Dave's guitar bashing. The only thing missing was "new songs."

No one can cover a song like The Blasters. More often than not, if they decide to cover it, they own it.

I've seen them a dozen or more times over the years. I've become friends with the band, and Dave.

He and I first met at a John Mayall gig. Dave had opened the show. We shared a beer at the back bar and discovered our mutual opinions about "white guys trying to play like Stevie Ray, who was trying to play like Hendrix, who was trying to play like Albert King."

Dave told me about seeing Hendrix.

My jaw about hit the floor.

Sheepishly, I gave Dave a cassette of The Rowdy Bovines' recording of his Knitters song "Wrecking Ball," backed with my song "Too Much of a Man." We went down to the green room, had another beer, exchanged numbers, and went our separate ways.

I next saw him with The Paladins. Then we opened for him and his Guilty Men.

Being total jagoffs, we closed our set with his song "Marie Marie."

He opened his set with it and dedicated it to "Those Goddammed Bovines."

Years later, "Jubilee Train" still sends a chill down my spine, as do many of his other songs.

If things hadn't happened for The Blasters, and Dave's ensuing solo career, I like to think he would've ended up a history teacher.

I think he'd have been a great one.

He has the gift of words and the love of history. He would have, no doubt, blown kids' minds. He probably could've been the Howard Zinn of Downey.

"Get on board, there's a New Deal coming..."

Thanks, Dave.

You might not have stood in front of a classroom and lectured, but many of us heard your words and learned.

More importantly, we were inspired to know more.

And we got to boogie in the process.