Gearlist: My Gear:Electric Gibson '13 studio dlx hsb Gibson '79 flying V Gibson '06 sg faded Gibson '15 LP CM w gforce Epiphone Casino coupe Epiphone dot studio Fender USA strat w mjt body _w Original body 81 Fender lead II Firefly spalted 338 Squier affinity tele bsb Squier strat std relic Squier subsonic baritone Agile al2500 albino Agile al3001 hsb Sx ash Ltd strat Sx ash strat short scale Sx ash tele Sx callisto jr Dean vendetta Washburn firebird. Ps10 Johnson trans red strat Johnson jazz box Vegas Seville explorer Inlaid tele flametop bigsby tele wood inlaid neck 23
Acoustics new Eastman acoustic Sigma dm3 dread x2 (his and hers) Fender 12 str Ibanez exotic wood Silvercreek rosewood 00 Ovation steel str martin backpacker acoustic Johnson dobro
Sorry it didn't last longer. I was living the vicarious life for a bit. Yup, gonna resent the "dadding"
Originals is one of the daggers that killed my last band. Pushed by my drummer. "Whats the problem. He said. "I'll write up the drum parts. All you need to do is the lyrics, melody, chords and riffs"
My rule on originals is if it is as good as the top 1000 songs we keep playing over the last 50 years then no problem. So far 1 guy I've played with may have been in the ballpark.
A couple days ago the band reached out to me and I was propositioned to play a one off gig on Saturday, October 22nd at a private Halloween themed party (costumes required). Apparently their guitarist is unavailable on that date. Compensation in sufficient cash, plus free bbq and booze.
I've kept busy playing since I left the band, fielding lots of offers for my services, gigging steadily with a duo act close to home, as well as starting up a new partnership with an immensely talented female vocalist/songwriter with whom I've already recorded some amazing original material which we will soon unleash upon the world as VELVET VAMPS. I've told her about the stalker, warning her that there is a 100% probability that she will soon be contacted by the psychopath.
But as I've elaborated upon previously in this thread, there's nothing that can compare to playing rock and roll music live with a group of young guys. Honestly, I miss the crazy, the energy, even the ringing in my ears the morning after. The lure is irresistible.
So I accepted the offer. I already know their set list like the back of my hand. The stalker won't be there because it's a private party. I'm under no pressure. There is no down side to playing this gig.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
toomanycats wrote: ↑Fri Oct 14, 2022 7:22 am
8f37d95d5add553774c4192502890cac8ddad1864e965da5809f7ab2306ef372.jpg
A couple days ago the band reached out to me and I was propositioned to play a one off gig on Saturday, October 22nd at a private Halloween themed party (costumes required). Apparently their guitarist is unavailable on that date. Compensation in sufficient cash, plus free bbq and booze.
I've been busy with music since I left the band, gigging steadily with an established duo act, as well as starting up a new partnership with an immensely talented female vocalist/songwriter with whom I've already recorded some amazing original material which we will soon unleash upon the world.
But as I've elaborated upon previously in this thread, there's nothing that can compare to playing rock and roll music live with a group of young guys. Honestly, I miss the crazy, the energy, even the ringing in my ears the morning after.
So I accepted the offer. I already know their set list like the back of my hand. I'm under no pressure. There is no down side to playing this gig.
Bring some empty Tupperware for that BBQ.
Let em know your evolving talents are now worth a heavier cost of chicken and ribs.
"The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted."
I'm attending a band rehearsal this evening in preparation for the Saturday night gig. Since I left they haven't added any new material, so it wouldn't be a problem for me to just show up at the show and play all those songs.
However, shortly after I resigned the bass player also split and there's a new guy holding down the bottom end. In effect, it's an entirely different band. I'm curious to jam with them and see what kind of player the new bassist is and how the three of them interact musically. A band is really like a recipe. If you change even one ingredient the cake is going to come out different.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
I went to the rehearsal on Thursday night. It was very chill and extremely enjoyable with lots of spontaneous jamming interspersed with selectively running the set lists and drinking beers. Since I left the band they've only added one original song to their show, and even that one is being dropped from the set list for tonight.
I was reminded of what a great voice the singer has. Man, that "kid" can belt it out. He can sing Robert Plant all day long. The new bass player is polar opposite from the previous guy. He's more of Lemmy kind of player, keeping it simple, with a fat and dirty tone.
They ran the idea past me of having two guitar players, asking how I felt about joining again and sharing co-lead guitar duties with the other guy. They want to be able to do material like "Hotel California."
The next day I spoke with them and asked, "Are you serious about the two guitar player thing?" and, "What does the other guy think about the idea?" They were serious, but the other guy doesn't know anything about it. If the other guy was open to the idea of sharing the space, I'd be willing to try it out for a gig, just for the fun of it.
A band with two lead guitarists is different than a band with one lead guitar player and one rhythm guitar player. Examples of the latter would be GnR, The Scorpions, AC/DC, and the classic Def Leppard line up. Having two lead guitar players requires more discipline and cooperation. I'm talking about bands like The Eagles, Skynyrd, RATT. In such a configuration both guitarists have to go into it understanding that the whole is greater than the parts; their egos have to be sufficiently in check that they can back off when required, understanding that they each get their own chance to shine, and that showing restraint makes the entire band shine brighter.
I know some off you may think I'm nuts, as I resigned from this band not too long ago and provided a detailed list of the reasons why. This week I've had offers to join two other established gigging bands, one that's in an outlaw country vein, and one that's predominately 90s oriented. But neither of those genres is where my heart is at. With these kids I get to play Leslie West, Ronnie Montrose, Jimmy Page, Eddie VH, and Hendrix, and I get to play loud as f*ck. None of this silent stage bullsh*t that's become the "mature" thing to do with so many bands and venues, which for me is like sex with a condom or drinking O'douls.
Anyways, the gig at the private party is tonight. From what I've been told the guy putting it on is known for having a no-holds-barred Halloween bash. We play outdoors and apparently their's some kinda "stage" on this guys property. Costumes are absolutely required. With my hair and beard it takes little effort to throw something together, as I'm 3/4 of the way there already. Put a pointy hat on me and I'm a Wizard. With a robe, a cross around my neck, and a tassel around my waist I'm Rasputin. You get the idea.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
The Rasputin costume only works if you open with a cover (rockin' of course) of the Boney M classic.
There was a Newfoundland (all acoustic) band here in Canada called Great Big Sea. They did a Halloween gig by coming out in KISS makeup and playing "Rock and Roll All Nite."
"I'm not a sore loser. It's just that I prefer to win, and when I don't, I get furious." - Ron Swanson
Yep, this thread that started a year and a half ago is back. A lot has happened in that time.
About a month and a half after my last post the stalker communicated terroristic threats to me through her accomplice Victoria. This was around December 18th, 2022. I haven't given the stalker or her conspirator the opportunity to carry out their threat to have me "handled," as I've almost entirely ceased performing due to their criminal intimidation. I called the Sheriff once again, though they refused to meet with me. Mrs TMC and I decided to meet with a court advocate at a place in Hickory, NC called The Family Guidance Center.
The easiest way to present what happened during that encounter is through a narrative. Although, like Holmes, I have reverence for hard facts and evidence, I also recognize, as did Watson, that a narrative structure is often the most compelling means of presenting such information. While the following is not a literal transcript of that meeting, it is absolutely truthful regarding the facts, details, subject matter, and disclosures made in that room.
SCENE — It is January of 2023 and John and Suzi have contacted The Family Guidance Center in Hickory, NC and set up a meeting with a court advocate named Alexis. They are sitting at a large table.
John: The situation we've spoken about on the phone has gotten out of hand. This woman sexually assaulted me a year ago. She has been stalking me since then, sending emails, contacting people I work with to slander me, and harassing me at my job. She sent renewed terroristic threats just a couple weeks ago. You have no idea of the mental torment that this psychopath's unconscionable behavior has caused me. I believe she gets off on the attention I've given her through exposing her actions in real time and that it's encouraged her to continue and even escalate her behavior. She doesn't care that she's causing me mental anguish, preventing me from moving around freely, and preventing me from working. I thought exposing her would make her stop, but it hasn't worked out that way.
Alexis: You're probably encouraging her. She sees any acknowledgement as attention from you.
John: Aren't those the signs of a narcissist? I know I'm just a layperson, but when something as disruptive to your life as this happens you have to take proactive measures. In the last year I've intensely studied stalkers, psychopaths, and abnormal psychology. But you guys have much more experience than I do dealing with this type of thing. That's why I'm here.
Alexis: She definitely has some type of problem. Have you called the police?
John: Yes, multiple times, starting eight months ago. The Catawba County Sheriff have refused to investigate the most recent terroristic threat. They wouldn't even meet with me. We're here because we don't know who else to go to for help. Where do you go when people are sending you threats and the police won't help? My stalker communicated her last threat using an accomplice, through Facebook Messenger, to a third party, with instructions to relay the warning to me. I have screenshots of all of this. These women are either incredibly stupid, or for some reason feel protected from the law.
Alexis: That is odd that the police haven't done anything. Who is the third party who received the threats?
John: A woman named Amanda. I told you I'm a musician. I began collaborating with Amanda a few months ago. When we first met I warned her that the stalker would contact her as soon as she found out about us working together.
Alexis: How did your stalker find out?
John: We've been writing and recording songs together. Amanda opened up a Facebook profile for our project, which is called Velvet Vamps. She was promoting us and posting our music online. When the stalker tried to contacted Amanda she was blocked. The stalker then used an associate to send the message that Amanda's career would suffer if she worked with me, saying I was unreliable, a cheater . . . you know, things to try to dissuade her from working with me. That is her playbook. Trust me, I know. She told me how she puts musicians who are her enemies out of work by spreading lies about them behind the scenes. That's exactly what she's doing to me right now through her most recent threat. I have the texts. She contacted this person I found work with just to slander me, to warn them that they will suffer if they collaborate with me, and to intimidate me with threats. I can't perform live anymore.
Alexis: How has she stopped you from doing that?
John: Wouldn't you be apprehensive to perform in public if you knew that somebody who was mentally ill was stalking you and sending threats? The police have refused to even look at my evidence. The people sending these threats are gloating because the law hasn't done anything to them. I'm seriously wondering if Patty and Victoria aren't protected by the police.
Alexis: [Taking notes] Who is this person Victoria?
John: She's the one who actually wrote the threats on behalf of Patty. She’s a young girl that lives in Patty's house and works for her. Patty doesn't even like her, detests her actually. The girl is drunk most of the time and on drugs. I've spoken with her ex-boyfriend at length and he has a restraining order against her. He warned me that she's violent and dangerous. Not only did Victoria say in her message that I would be handled if I didn't remain silent, but also that they knew things that could get me in big trouble.
Suzi: This is very scary for me too. Patty wanted to be with Johnny and said that I was in the way of them being together. I know she’s crazy because I was reading the messages she was sending to Johnny from the very beginning. Johnny always gets a lot of attention and I’m used to it. He really needed the gigs Patty was getting him and he's the one who told me to not confront her about the things she was writing to him. Her messages were sad and pathetic in the beginning . . . until we realized how crazy she was; then it got scary. Right now I feel very isolated and vulnerable. I don’t drive. I live in the only house at the end of a gravel road in the middle of a woods. When Johnny has a gig I’m here all alone. I talked to the Sheriff myself when they came to my house last May. That's how long this has been going on. Johnny showed them the messages and threats he received and they haven’t done anything. These woman just keep coming at us. Patty has multiple personalities. She wrote to Johnny about ending her life, then came to one of his gigs and stood in front of the stage recording him. I don't understand why somebody from the County or the State hasn't gotten involved in this situation.
John: Here is my evidence and documentation. I know it's a lot to digest, but this has been going on a long time, and I've recorded everything. That's one of the first things stalking victims are told to do, you know, write down everything, take screen shots, record dates and times, save all communications.
Alexis: Yes, absolutely. There's a lot of material here.
John: It's evidence encompassing November 2020 until the present. There's even the documentation in there of her stalking me before we met.
Alexis: How could you have that material?
John: She sent it to me after me met. This is what I've been trying to explain to everybody and make them understand. This woman is not normal. She seriously has a screw loose. She wanted me to know she had been stalking me, following me like a groupie, and fantasizing about me before we met. Fantasy isn't even the right word. A sane person can distinguish between fantasy and reality. She has insane delusions, visions, and dreams about us. She wrote about those delusions and acted upon them. But it gets worse. Half the time her delusions weren't even about us . . . I mean about Patty and John . . . but they were about two other people called Felicia and Frisco.
Alexis: This Felicia and Frisco are characters she made up?
John: That would be the most generous interpretation of who they are. She would sometimes speak as herself, and sometimes as Felicia. She'd also often refer to Felicia in the third person, like it was a separate persona. I don't know what that means . . . but then I'm not a professional head shrink. I tried to ignore this constant babble about Felicia and Frisco, hoping she'd get bored with it and stop. But it continued and got worse. She wrote about dreaming about Felicia and Frisco and asked if I dreamed about them too. Do you know how weird that is? She talked about them in a past life and about their destiny together. It was nuts.
Alexis: So her Felicia messages happened more than just a few times?
John: Yes. There were hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand. I'm not joking. She must have emailed me at least a dozen times a day during the eleven months I was associated with her. Just do the math. It's that many messages. I only responded to a fraction of those emails. Most of the time I'd just let her ramble. Sometimes Suzi would even reply.
Suzi: That's true. I was screening her emails and only letting Johny know when there was a question about a gig. I responded to her a lot of the time [Laughing].
John: That's why I didn't know about some of the craziest Felicia stuff until long after I got away from her. Suzi started telling me about some of the messages. When I went back to read them I could't believe what I was reading.
Alexis: That is alarming about her multiple personalities. Do you think she may have been pretending to be Felicia as a way of being able to deny she had sexually harassed you? It would be a way for her to say she'd just been playing around, or acting.
John: I have thought of that. You see, that's the real question . . . Is she really crazy, or is she a cunning psychopath? At this point I really do think she's nuts. You wanna know how crazy and obsessed she was? She carved Felicia and Frisco into the wood of a bar in Denver. And how about sexually assaulting me onstage? That was not an act. That was real! Even after that, when I told her I didn't want to work worth her anymore and told her to leave me alone, she kept sending me harassing emails signed Felicia. She's continued her delusion about being Felicia beyond the point where it could be considered acting. Why would she continue acting now? She's gotta be crazy. She has actually proved that she's crazy.
Alexis: So you do communicate with her now?
John: God no! I broke all contact with her just about a year ago. She's continued sending me emails for the last year. I have never responded. She has also stalked me at my job and confronted me on numerous occasions. I don't speak with her or interact in any way.
Alexis: [Looking at the documentation]. From what I’m seeing here it looks like there are multiple crimes that Patty can be charged with. Assault, harassment, and communicating threats. We can start by getting a no contact order against her.
John: Great. That should stop her, right?
Alexis: No . . . not necessarily. She’ll be served with a notice about the hearing. It’s very likely that she will show up.
John: [Incredulous]. She will show up?!? Why in the world would she do that? Won’t the fact that this is actually going in front of a judge finally scare her away?
Alexis: Unfortunately, that’s not always the case with stalkers. You said that she's a narcissist and psychopath. When she’s served with papers you’ll finally be giving her the attention and interaction she’s wanted. She can also bring anyone she wants to court to testify and defend her side of the story.
John: That's very disturbing. I have messages where she says she will shamelessly dissemble and lie to destroy anyone who crosses her. She has already had associates bully, intimidate, and victim shame me. God knows what false accusations this woman and her associates could make against me in court. They have already told me they know things that will get me in big trouble. I have no idea what they're talking about. Isn’t that like blackmail, or criminal intimidation, or something like that?
Alexis: It could be interpreted as that. The fact is that she and anyone she wants to bring with her will have the opportunity to speak and can say anything.
John: You mean accuse me of anything, right there in court, exactly like they've been doing in the bars and online, saying I was her lover, that we had a relationship, that I led her on. She's actually told people that I'm the one stalking her! You know, I’ve noticed that the thing about always believing the accusations of a victim only works when it’s a woman accusing a man, and not when it’s a man accusing a woman.
Alexis: Do you have any friends you can bring to tell your side of the story?
John: Yes, I have a friend . . . a former friend that is . . . who can back up my side of the story. It's Patty in her own messages. Isn't that documentation enough? The persistent sexual harassment I accuse her of subjecting me to for the year that we worked together is documented in hundreds of the messages she sent me . . . everything from saying she loved me, to insisting we had to meet for a date to discuss job opportunities, to saying she'd pay me for sex, to asserting that I hadn't delivered on the physical contact that was part of her quid pro quo arrangement. If you look at her messages they clearly establish premeditation and intent regarding the sexual assault. She wrote about her sexual desire for me, her desire to touch me, even warning me that she was going to touch me and that I should passively consent. She documents a sexual assault, describing her anger and frustration because I'm continuing to resist her. She admits that she knows I do not want to be touched in any way. There are reasons for that, but we don't need to get into that here. Things are complicated enough already.
Alexis: I understand.
John: The threats I've received are documented too. They tell me they're going to say things to get me in trouble if I don't shut up, and that somebody will handle me. I'm not a lawyer, but aren't her own written words corroborating evidence to my testimony? Don't they call that prima facia evidence?
Alexis: Yes, but it would be helpful if you also had people there who could corroborate your side of the story.
John: Well, Suzi would of course be there, but she never saw Patty assault me. Patty kept her distance whenever Suzi attended a gig. Whenever Suzi came to a show Patty would fire off a series of extremely bizarre emails in the middle of the night, playing out the drama of a fictional love triangle that existed only in her own head. She'd insinuate that she might not continue to manage me anymore if I burst the bubble of her Felicia and Frisco fantasy. This woman was forcing me to be a foil for her own erotic mental masturbation. I most certainly did not encourage it, or condone it . . . I just had to endure it because I needed the jobs she was getting for me. Understand? Isn't that exactly what you woman have been complaining about for so long with your MeToo thing, saying that it is wrong to leverage power like this? Is it just wrong for a man to do this to a woman, or is it fundamentally wrong . . . wrong for anybody to use their relative position of power in order to coerce intimate physical contact, sex, and romance?
Alexis: No, it's wrong. Nobody should have to put up with that kind of harassment and there are laws against it.
John: Anyways, last week I did call one of the members of the band I was playing with on New Years Eve of 2021, in anticipation of you asking me about witnesses. This guy's name is Matt. He was onstage with me when Patty committed the worst of her sexual assaults. I had to push her off of me. She started screaming at me right there on the stage. It was a real scene and people were definitely aware that something extremely upsetting to me had happened. I remember locking eyes with the bass player's girlfriend for a brief moment. She looked disturbed, upset, and confused by what was happening.
Alexis: Do you know her name?
John: No. I have no idea who she was. She was a brunette with longish dark hair. Patty was sitting at the same table as her until she jumped onstage and assaulted me.
Alexis: Did this person Matt witness all of this too?
John: You have to understand, this happened around midnight on New Year's Eve. Every previous gig I've ever played with this guy he's been completely wasted going into the third set. That evening was no exception. On previous gigs I'd witnessed him exposing himself in public, going off script from the rehearsed show and embarking on extended impromptu guitar solos, and blacking out onstage. So please take that into consideration in ascertaining his worth as a witness. Unfortunately, this is what I have to work with. When I told Matt that I needed him to tell the truth about that night he said, and I quote, "You two need to just separate." I was flabergasted. It would seem that Patty is feeding him a story about us being engaged in an ongoing lovers quarrel. I told him that Patty had assaulted me that night, has been stalking me since then, that I have no contact with her, and that her and Victoria have just sent renewed terroristic threats. I was really pleading with him for help.
Alexis: What did he say?
John: He said, and these are his exact words, "There are two sides to every story." Please take into consideration that this guy is drunk a lot of the time, and stoned, and he frequently trips on LSD, and that he's an ex convict. He makes a living as a performing musician around Hickory and Patty helps procure him gigs and promotes him. Even though he admitted that he knows she is obsessed with me he has a vested interest in not going against her. It's frustrating to know that he knows the truth . . . from the very beginning! Right after I joined his band in the Summer of 2021 I went to his house for a rehearsal. It's not actually his band . . . it's Dani's band. At http rehearsal went out of my way to clarify to both of them that Patty was just my friend.
Alexis: Does this man Dani know the truth too?
John: Dani isn't a man, she's a young woman. Very talented lady who sings, plays guitar, writes songs. She has such a sense of style. It was her band. It was funny how she was the boss lady of a group of middle aged male musicians. Anyways, yeah, it was a rehearsal for her band. I interrupted a conversation with them about set lists, keys, you know, musician stuff, to clarify that Patty was just my friend. It was kinda embarrassing to have to go there in the context of a band rehearsal, but Suzi told me to make it clear to them that Patty had an abnormal, obsessive fixation on me, but she was just my manager. I couldn't disclose to them how crazy Patty actually was. Patty had connected me with that band and was friends with those people. I had to play it cool if I wanted the jobs which joining that band offered me. After that Matt and Dani came to my house on numerous occasions and met Suzi. They both knew, beyond any doubt, that I had absolutely nothing to do with Patty. Here's another thing. Shortly after Patty sexually assaulted me onstage at the New Years Eve show, she drove me off of a job with a gang of her victim shaming friends. I called Dani that night and pleaded with her to forbid Patty from attending a gig I had with her band later that week. Dani knew that Patty had assaulted me, that she was stalking me, and that I was in fear of her.
Alexis: When did that call with Dani happen?
John: That was a year ago. It was the evening of January 24th, 2022. I remember everything.
Alexis: Why do you think neither Dani or Matt won't tell the truth for you now?
John: [Laughing] I'm sorry. I'm laughing because Dani has a song called "The Truth." Nobody will ever understand the number of sick ironies involved in what I'm going through. I don't think they want to tell the truth because, for one, Patty probably helps secure them gigs and promotes them. It's a economic thing. Matt also told me he's known Patty for a long time, you know, has a personal connection. I think he went to high school with her kids. He feels sorry for her because her husband used her like a punching bag and cheated on her. Everyone seems to know all about that. He said Patty just wants love. Honestly, what does that have to do with me? This lady does not get a pass to sexually harass, assault, stalk, and threaten me just because her marriage is crap, she has mental problems, and became fixated on me.
Alexis: Absolutely not.
John: I just wanted to play guitar to help feed my cats. I innocently offered this woman my friendship. She was like my buddy and sidekick, you know, like what Wayne was to Garth . . . except Garth wasn't trying to have an intimate relationship with Wayne.
Alexis: It sounds like she manufactured the drama to create excitement for herself. Are there any other musicians you've worked with who might be willing to tell the truth about her?
John: Let me tell you, when something like this happens you find out the real character of people. I'm like the odd man out in that scene. Hickory is a small town and everybody knows everybody . . . like what I said about Matt's history going back with Patty and her family. Many of the musicians Patty booked me with have played together for years around this town. It was like I dropped out of the sky into that world, not knowing anybody, having no connections. Patty is the total opposite. She was imbedded in the local music scene and had all the connections. I did really appreciate her friendship in the beginning and enjoyed talking to her. If she would have just respected me and treated me with some dignity then out association could have continued and we could have we could have remained friends. But she was utterly incapable of that. There was a spiritual war going on inside of that woman, and I mean really good verses evil stuff. You can read it in her messages. I honestly don't know the depth of what kind of evil and criminality she was involved in, though she frequently made allusion to it.
Alexis: What kind of allusions?
John: Geez, I don't know . . . like talking about her husband's mafia connections, or how she'd like to take a hit out on her sister in law. She wrote about how she should be the madam of the whore house, meaning her house, where Vic was fornicating with a seemingly endless line of people. She wrote about wanting to start her own male escort service and said she wished I was gay. Then there were the drugs. She was open about everyone around her being on drugs, all her friends, her employees, the people who lived in her home. That's why I find it hard to believe that she wasn't a user too. You know the old saying . . . birds of a feather. The City of Hickory was trying to shut her down for running an illegal pet boarding business, but she somehow managed to keep it going. That's why I'm inclined to believe she has some type of protection with local government. She once told me she had been good friends who the mayor of Hickory, that is, the ex mayor of Hickory . . . I mean the guy who murdered a woman at the newspaper office and then killed himself. Maybe that newspaper lady was blowing the whistle on the mayor, just like I'm telling on Patty right now. Do you understand now why this situation is scary? Just a few weeks ago the Catawba County Sheriff refused to meet with me and look at the newest terroristic threats and warnings to remain silent I had received. Can you give me any plausible explanation why the police would flat out refuse to investigate this? I mean, they refused to even look at the evidence!
Alexis: That is bizarre.
Suzi: I told Patty the first time I met her at a gig just to be cool with Johnny. I warned her that he was long suffering, but when he's done with a situation he's done. I knew what was going to happen.
Alexis: Weren't you concerned with John working with Patty since you were reading all of her emails and had some idea about how disturbed she was?
Suzi: I've known Johnny for a long time and have seen what he's had to deal with trying to do music. Do you remember that story about that guy named Paul Cortez who cut off a dancer's head in New York City? It was on court tv when it happened, the trial and everything.
Alexis: No, I don't remember that.
John: Yeah, I knew that guy and played with him. It's weird to say that now. Around 2006 Suzi and I met Paul in a coffee shop on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I'd gone to the counter to get our order. When I came back to the table Suzi was talking with him, telling him I was a musician, writer, and philosopher. We had a lengthy and intense conversation, about physical training, the Upanishads, and music. We exchanged phone numbers. He came to our apartment a couple times to write with me. I also went down to the Bowery to rehearse with his band a couple times. He wanted me to join, but I declined. I personally never saw him act weird, but I suppose there was something about him that warned me. I remember the last time I ever talked to him on the phone. I'd just left Manny's Music on 48th Street and was walking back uptown. We didn't find out he'd been arrested for murder until seeing it on television. It was very shocking to hear how he had stalked and decapitated his ex girlfriend. That experience is still with me. There are people out there who really aren't what they seem to be. Real true psychopaths with ulterior motives. Paul was charming actually. Very intelligent and talented man.
Alexis: Getting back to Patty . . . so you say she had connections with musicians?
John: Yes . . . and with venues, bar owners, bar managers . . . everyone you need to know if you want to get gigs in this town. Just as important as that, she has control of a Facebook page that's the center of the local music scene. It promotes all the bands and all the venues. If you want to know what is going on with the local music scene that is the place. It's hard to quantify her influence. Let's just say that she could, upon a whim, a Facebook post on HickoryURock, and a flurry of text messages, convince dozens of people to travel to a performance and drop cash on booze, food, and tips. That is real world power. She put a price on that service, which was attention, humoring her romantic delusions, and ultimately the consummation of that fantasy though actual physical contact. New Year's Eve 2021 was the night she was done being compassionate about the overdue invoice call. She seized what she believed to be her's by right.
Alexis: So she used her power to get you jobs as a way of forcing physical contact on you?
John: Yes, absolutely. It's all there in her messages. It was sometimes subtle, sometimes overt, but it was relentless and sustained. She often used code words, like you owe me some "nickels," or a "special favor," or "hugs." There were a lot of code words used by her and her friends, like when Allen would refer to cocaine as his "cold medicine" [Laughing]. But other times she would directly proposition me sexually, saying things like she was horny, or that she needed somebody to take care of it, or that she knew ways to relieve a man's anxiety. She might have been drunk or on drugs when she wrote a lot of this stuff. A lot of her messages were sent in the middle of the night, like between midnight and four in the morning. They have the incoherent, manic, frenetic quality of somebody who is tweaking and rambling with no filter.
Alexis: That sounds like drugs.
John: But going back to the friendship thing. I don't like to make a big deal about this, though it is relevant because I believe it was part of the reason why she targeted me, but I have this aspergers thing that socially handicaps me to a considerable extent. I just don't connect well with people. For some reason I found it easy to talk with her. I honestly considered her my friend, even a confidant to some extent. But like I said, she had the ulterior motive of wanting something else from me . . . sex, romance, the ludicrous fantasies she wrote to me about . . . like dressing up like I Dream of Jeanie, or that she was a young Ann Margret who was going to kiss me onstage.
Alexis: She actually wrote those things to you?
John: It's all right there in my documentation. There's even crazier stuff than that. Like I said, she had another person inside her named Felicia. There was an alternate reality in her head where we were star crossed lovers.
Alexis: How did you respond to that?
John: Mostly by ignoring it. I learned early on that there was no absolutely no point in trying to dislodge this woman's severe mental delusions. If I wanted to keep getting the gigs I had to put up with it. Let me give you an example. One afternoon I agreed to meet her for coffee at this place called The Vault. It was strictly a business thing. Later she sent me an email saying, "Most people who felt this way about each other would have just done it already." I've got to imagine she sent similar messages to Allen. He said he finally had to be really mean to back her off.
Alexis: Who is Allen?
John: He was one of the musicians Patty booked me with. She was obsessed with him immediately before becoming obsessed with me. At the very beginning he confided in me and said that Patty was a stalker and had written weird things to him. Patty sent me numerous messages in which she describes her obsession with him. She even claims to have been intimate with him and that he initiated that physical contact. I've seen him in states where he wasn't even aware of what planet he was on, so it's plausible he could believe he was kissing a young Ann Margret while Patty was taking advantage of him. Here's a pic of the three of us outside a gig in September 2021. Allen is completely wasted and leaning on her. Patty has one arm around him, is leaning on me, and her other claw hand is stealthily creeping up my thigh. I'm reserved, guarded, protecting my crotch with both hands, simply enduring the awkward situation. Patty's body language towards Allen reveals that he is conquered territory, totally compliant and pliable. At the same time she's making her advancements on me, her new conquest. She actually wrote about it . . . called it, "breaking through my barriers." In almost every pic I have with Patty near me I'm protecting my genitals. She wrote about and alluded to what she called my "package" so often that I was constantly on my guard. One time she sent me a pic of her hand groping the balls of a giant dildo. I had constant anxiety that she'd try to grab my privates if she was drunk enough and the opportunity presented itself. I was adamant that I never wanted to be alone with her, that I always wanted a third party present. That drove her crazy. She was obsessed with gaining my trust . . . which off course she never did.
Alexis: Would this person Allen tell the truth for you?
John: I highly doubt it. She does lots of things for him and he wouldn't want to give up all the ways she supports, subsidizes, and assists. He may not even remember many of the events I've documented, even though he was actually there. That applies to quit a few of the other people I regularly worked during that time. The degree of alcohol and drug abuse I witnessed around me while gigging around Hickory was astonishing. That was another thing that set me apart from many of the musicians I worked with. I mean, sure, I'll have a couple beers over the course of a gig . . . but many of the musicians I worked with were alcoholics who also got high during a show, whether it's on weed, coke, and whatever else these people do. Some of these guys get so wasted on the job that they can't perform. Patty actually joked about marketing me as the sober sideman who can play anything off the cuff and can keep it on the rails when the frontman becomes inebriated. It wasn't really a joke, because that's what I actually did a lot of the time. The thing is, when you're surrounded by people like this, and you're not a hard drinker or drug user, you become ostracized to a degree. You don't get invited to the back room or out to the car where they all get high together and do their illegal stuff. There's a bonding that goes on at those times that you're not included in because you're square. You’ve got to be compromised like them in order to be in the gang. Understand?
Alexis: Certainly.
John: For all those reason I was not part of the circle of musicians I played with all the time . . . at least not on a personal level. Our lifestyles did not jive. Like I said, from the point of view of these people, I just showed up one day out of nowhere, was highly visible on the scene for a year, and then just as abruptly disappeared. I'm sure some of them wonder what happened to me. But my entire brief existence in the Hickory msuic scene occurred against the backdrop of outrageous lies and fabrications being told by Patty . . . crazy stuff, like that I was her boyfriend, that we were engaged, that I was going to move into her house. More now than ever it is clear to me that those people, no more than Patty, were ever my friends. I believe that there was also a lot of resentment and underlying jealousy towards me.
Alexis: Resented you in what way?
John: Because Patty was getting me lots of gigs and very aggressively promoting me on that Facebook page. She was actively warring with people who accused her of playing favorites and running a pay for play type operation. Nobody was ever directly accusatory to me about that . . . but then nobody had the opportunity to confront me about it online or in the bars, because I hardly ever socialized after a gig. But I'm sure things were said. It's not difficult to understand why some people could believe I was paying Patty in some way in exchange for what she was doing for me. The transitive leap to the notion that this payment involved not cash, but rather sex, is not difficult to conceive. There are plenty of guys with girlfriends, guys with wives, who have no problem. . . and please excuse the crudity of my language . . . with letting an old groupie blow them in the parking lot. This is the reason half these guys get into bands. The bottom line is that none of these people are going to speak up and defend me.
Alexis: Okay, let's just proceed then assuming that you won't have anybody with you. You should also understand that the period immediately after a stalker is given a no contact order is the most dangerous time. You should be vigilant, change your routine, secure your home, take extra precautions.
John: I've already been doing all of that for the last year. It is very upsetting that the police have treated this situation like it’s a joke. We will have no protections from the cops if this nut job finally blows a fuse.
Alexis: It’s very common for stalkers to gain access to your phone, email accounts, social media accounts.
John: I’m not on social media, unless you count this one guitar forum I post on. She got caught stalking me there with two fake accounts and the website administrator reported her as a cyber stalker. It hasn't impeded her from continuing to attempt to contact me online. She convinced me to let her open up a Facebook account using my name and likeness, saying it would help me get more gigs. I never saw the profile and I have no idea what she posted in my name.
Suzi: [Shaking her head in disgust.] Tell her about the DNA thing.
Alexis: What?
Suzi: She gave him a DNA test kit.
John: Yeah, that's true. Listen, nothing we're telling you here isn't in the documentation right there in front of you, in her own messages. We couldn't make this stuff up. I mean, it’s almost like she wanted to document what she was doing to me, or confess it, or like she was playing a game. That fact that she wrote everything down may be the craziest part of this whole story. Nobody would believe somebody would actually do that unless they actually saw her thousands of messages.
Alexis: Has Patty ever had access to your phone? This would explain why she's threatening that she knows things that could get you in trouble.
John: On at least one occasion I can recall her having access to my phone, while I was at a gig. Victoria and Allen may have briefly had access too it also. After that Patty dropped a hint that she was aware of the activity of my yahoo email account. She always told on herself like this, like she wanted me to know what she was doing, that she was in control. It was a power thing. I reasserted my demand for privacy and immediately changed my password.
Alexis: I’d also advise that you not communicate with any people who would facilitate cross talk between yourself and Patty. What a stalker most wants is that interaction, even if it’s through a third party. You need to deny her that motivation.
John: I’ve read about that already in my research on stalkers. That won’t be a problem. Since Patty blacklisted me no musician in Hickory will pick up their phone for me. I’ve also never responded to Patty’s or Victoria’s provocations. I won’t give them the satisfaction. I’ve also told Amanda that the ground rules for us working together is no interaction with my stalker.
Alexis: Good. Now I’ll need you to write up a short, one page description for the magistrate which describes your situation.
John: That’s going to be extremely difficult. Do you realize how many things have happened? There’s stalking, sexual harassment, sexual assault, blackmail, and conspiracy to communicate terroristic threats. There may be a hate crime component here. The Catawba County Sheriff has violated my right to equal protection. This has played out over a timeline of almost two years. How do I describe all of that, plus include my documented evidence, plus explain how she’s a schizo who thinks she’s someone named Felicia, all on one page?
Alexis: Just do the best you can. I’ll be there with your lawyer to represent you when you confront your ex girlfriend.
John: Whooah! Wait a minute! Patty was never my girlfriend!
Alexis: Oh, I’m sorry. I thought she was your ex-girlfriend. So you never actually lived with Patty?
John: No! Patty was never my girlfriend and I never lived with her! Those are the lies that she and her friends are telling. I can’t believe I’m actually having to refute them here!
Suzi: [Shaking her head and laughing.] I'm sorry . . . I can't help it. This is getting crazy. The lie is actually being repeated, in this room where we came to get help.
John: Let me go back to the beginning and clarify. Patty was just my friend and my manager. That was it. It was a work relationship. I never lived with her and she was not my girlfriend. Suzi and I have lived together for sixteen years. Patty is a nut-job who is obsessed with me. She was stalking me before I even met her. I worked with her for less than a year, then got away after she sexually assaulted me. She resumed stalking me after that and has sent sent terroristic threats to silence me about what she did. Proof of every single thing I just said is in my documentation.
Alexis: Unfortunately, our organization can only provide pro bono legal assistance to victims who were domestic partners with their assailant. So you never actually lived with Patty?
John: Absolutely not!
Alexis: Can you afford your own lawyer?
John: No. I'm struggling just to take care all of our animals as it is. Part of the way this woman is continuing to harass and abuse me is by putting me out of work. It has been financially devastating. I can barely feed the cats, let alone afford a lawyer. That’s why I’m here. So let me get this straight . . . if I had actually complied with Patty's sexual requests and had an intimate relationship with her, and had even moved in with her, then you would be able to provide me with legal assistance. But since I was only a friend, who she sexually harassed, and sexually assaulted, and is now being stalked by her, and who is now being subjected to victim shaming and threats from her friends . . . I don't qualify for assistance. Do you know how messed up that sounds? Remember those sick ironies I mentioned earlier? Another one just happened.
Alexis: I'm sorry, but these are our guidelines. It looks like you’ll have to confront her without a lawyer.
John: Honestly, it’s sounding like I have more to lose than I have to gain by taking Patty in front of a judge. With my luck the judge will be that woman who was screwing around with that guy in Amanda's band. I'm sure she'd be real sympathetic to me [rolls his eyes].
Suzi: Yeah, tell her about that.
Alexis: About what?
John: It's a story that Amanda told me. I heard the same account from another guy I was in a band with at the time it happened. Apparently one of the guys in Amanda's band was sleeping with married older women and then extorting them for hush money. He did it to a woman who is a judge, Amanda got angry about it, and he was fired from her band. With my luck it would be that same horny woman judge who I'd have to present my story to in court. Observe how you yourself almost instinctually gave credence to Patty's assertions about our having a romance, assuming it had to be true. No offense, but this must be a woman thing. To be honest, part of me can't blame you, as there's plenty of bad men around, cheaters, adulterers, liars, ones who would use sex to extort a lady judge. I'm just not one of them.
Alexis: That story about the judge really happened? Was it around here?
John: I'm just telling you what I heard. Now do you see what I mean about the risk I'd be taking by bringing Patty in front of a judge without having a lawyer? Since the judge apparently doesn’t have time to look at all of the documentation I’ve assembled, in which Patty actually documents her crimes, it will only be my word against hers. I’d be giving Patty the opportunity to make false accusations against me in court, which her lying accomplices will back up. Her lies will be believed without question and without proof because she has the protected status of an elderly woman. Even if the judge sided with me, from what you're saying all I’ll be accomplishing is to give her the attention she wants and riling her up even more. So I'd have this piece of paper that says she can't contact me or come near me. What do I do when she send's someone else to handle me, as just a couple weeks ago she communicated through her accomplice Victoria that she is going to do ? I still can't believe that the police refused to even look at that threat.
Suzi: How about me? I’m and elderly woman too and I'm afraid because a young person keeps sending terroristic threats to my household and the police won't help me. Don't I count?
Alexis: These are things you need to think about before proceeding down this path.
SCENE — Suzi and John talking.
Suzi: I've been reading a historical novel by Aldous Huxley called The Devils of Loudun and doing research on the story. This is unbelievable. Have you ever heard of the Louden possessions?
John: No. What's it about?
Suzi: There was this notorious witchcraft trial in France in 1634 where a French Catholic priest named Urbain Grandier was tortured and then burned alive at the stake. He was a handsome man and the ladies liked him. He had enemies who were jealous of his success. That’s what motivated his persecution. Does any of this sound familiar?
John: So what are you saying — that this is me?
Suzi: Listen for yourself. This priest visited a convent in Ursuline in 1632. What he didn’t know at that time was that the Mother Superior, named Jeane des Anges, was this neurotic, hunchbacked, sexually repressed creature who had been watching him from afar — you know, like stalking him. She was infatuated with him.
John: Oh boy. I see where this is going. So the old, ugly, hunchback woman is sexually obsessed with a younger man — got it.
Suzi: It gets worse. So this Mother Jeanne is in lust with the priest, and also insanely jealous because he gets attention from other women. She makes advancements on him, offers him a residence at the convent, which he rejects. She becomes enraged, and retaliates by accusing him of seducing her, sexually antagonizing her, using black magic to bewitch her, and committing evil and impudent acts.
John: Yeah, like what acts?
Suzi: Like making her horny, and making her masturbate. She accuses him of sending a demon named Asmodai and some other imaginary beings to have sex with her.
John: Gee, imagine that. Was one of these demons named “Frisco”? So this sexually frustrated nun made up a bunch of lies and talked about people that didn’t exist. Sounds pretty far fetched. Like that could ever happen. [Rolling his eyes and snickering]. What happened then?
Suzi: So this scorned Mother Superior makes a big noise about this, telling everyone. She then gets other nuns at the Ursuline convent to make similar accusations against the priest, you know, saying that he’s evil, a liar, a seducer. Like I said, this priest had enemies who were jealous of him and wanted to see him torn down, and they used the false accusations of the Mother Superior to frame him, put him on trial in a lurid, carnival like atmosphere, and destroy him.
John: A lurid carnival courtroom? That sounds like Facebook and the bars.
Suzi: At the trial the nuns are writhing in a frenzy, shouting, swearing, and . . . [Starting to laugh] . . . barking like dogs.
John: This isn’t funny. You weren’t there that night at Mountain View Pub when Mother Superior Patty and her crazy coven of drunk witches drove me off the stage. Those women were acting about like that.
Suzi: Sorry, but I have to laugh. The nuns accuse the priest of being a fornicator, a cheater, a liar. This story has actually been written about by philosophers, historians, and playwrights. There’s even been movies made about it. Have you heard of a band called Morbid Angel?
John: Yeah, I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never listened to their music. It’s death metal — not my thing.
Suzi: It says here that Morbid Angel wrote an album about this story.
John: [Facetiously] It’s so comforting to know that Morbid Angel understands my pain.
Suzi: It also says here that modern psychologist speculate that what made the nuns behave this way was hysteria, a need for attention, mass psychosis, multiple personalities, you know, the same type of stuff that makes these crazy women still act this way today.
John: Yep. I suppose this innocent priest’s trial is rigged.
Suzi: Of course. They torture him in the most hideous way, trying to make him confess. I'll spare you the description. He denies everything to the end.
John: Of course he does. What else is he gonna do — say that the imaginary people in the Mother Superior’s head are real and that he really did fuck the crazy old bag? So the guy told the truth. I suppose they really stuck it to him for that.
Suzi: They sure did. After torturing him the court orders him burned alive and his ashes scattered to the wind.
John: [Revolted]. Huh! Well that was a thoroughly sickening story, especially knowing that it’s true.
Suzi: In one film version of the story, after they burn the priest they put the Mother Superior in an insane asylum because she keeps flip flopping on her story, contradicting herself. They give her the charred femur of the priest, which she kisses and masturbates with.
John: It certainly sounds like something a lunatic like Patty would do.
Suzi: Can you believe this story? It’s just like what’s happened to you!
John: That seems to be the case. I'm the persecuted priest; Patty is the infatuated, sexually obsessed, jealous, scorned, vindictive, lying, ugly old Mother Superior; Patty’s friends are the crazy nuns who back up the Mother Superior’s lies. There are the other musicians who were jealous of my success and were glad to see me destroyed. Then of course there are the derelict cops and the corrupt court. The grotesque atmosphere where the trial occurs is Facebook.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The young dude band is still going strong and has been gigging regularly on the local circuit. During Summer 2023 the drummer reached out to me, we had a great conversation, and the two of us got together to have a jam over a six pack of Guinness.
Around that same time my studio project VELVET VAMPS came to an abrupt end. There's no reason to not reveal the name of the singer in VELVET VAMPS, which is Amanda. The stalker appeared at a gig Amanda was playing with her band at a venue in the city of Hickory, demanding to speak with her. I don't know what was said, but after that Amanda informed me that she was going to work with the stalker. Unbelievably, Amanda also indicated that she actually believed in the reality of the psychotic fiction of Felicia and Frisco fabricated by the stalker. It was incredibly disheartening and demoralizing to learn that this seemingly educated woman, who teaches psychology, who is a practicing therapist, and who has claimed to have dealt with stalkers, could be so easily deceived by a psychopath.
One plausible explanation for Amanda's egregious lapse of judgement is that her reason is clouded by her emotions due to recent traumatic events. The stalker is, as are all psychopaths, exceptionally cunning. She targets the vulnerable and surrounds herself with the easily manipulatable, with alcoholics, drug users, and victims of various kinds of trauma. Amanda was in a vulnerable state at that time, as in the preceding few months she had caught her husband engaging in adultery with a woman whom she described as, "Old and ugly." This was devastating to Amanda, really messing with her head. For this reason Amanda may have been susceptible to believing that a man like me could actually fuck around with an "ugly old woman" like the stalker. After all, her own husband had done exactly that to her. A betrayed woman is distrustful, more inclined to believe that what one man can do, another man can do as well. Perhaps Amanda saw in the stalker's hideous countenance a reflection of the woman who had seduced her own husband.
The more cynical explanation for Amanda stabbing me in the back would be that it was for purely mercenary, economic reasons; it was strictly business. At that point I had produced an entire album for her gratis, having spent hundreds of hours coaching and mentoring her, composing music to her lyrics, performing all of the instruments, engineering, and mixing. I undertook this arduous task because I appreciated her as a friend and respected her talent. I was compelled to create art, even if it was Ars gratia artis. After Amanda had the finished tracks in her possession she no longer needed me. When the stalker presented herself and offered a means of advancing Amanda's goals in a way which I could not, then I was discarded. It's very painful to verbalize this reality, but sadly, such exploitative, predatory behavior has become the norm. It's how the world works. Look around and tell me I'm wrong.
About a month ago the drummer in the young dude band called once again to touch bass, asking if I was interested in gigging with them if they needed me. As I had absolutely nothing going on a this point, and was starving to be involved with any creative musical endeavor, I told him it was a definite possibility and to keep me informed.
He had been trying to get ahold me since Tuesday of this week via phone and text. I'd been busy earlier in the week, intensely focused on some other things, and I'd turned my phone off and put it in a drawer for a couple days. If you never do this, I highly recommend it. When I finally got back to him he asked if I could play lead guitar for the band in a week-and-a-halfs time on a Saturday night gig. It's at a great venue, a place I'm familiar with and have played before.
The interesting thing is that the lead guitar player, the guy who I had originally came into the band to replace, who then subsequently returned, is moving over to the bass guitar spot on this gig. Apparently he already plays bass in another band and is highly competent in that role. From what I gather there is some type of scheduling conflict with the regular bass player, he can't play the gig, but the band is determined to play the show. The net result is that all guitar duties have been turned over to me, I've been given, "The keys to the Laborghini." I've been waiting for years to use that cheesy Michael Angel Batio quote from the Speed Kills Metal Method video.
But seriously, no, we won't be playing any NITRO songs, though there will be VH, Zep, Sabbath, SRV, Hendrix, Mountain, Montrose, Aerosmith, and ZZ Top. As I looked at their most current set list I see one they added called "Hey Baby." I hope it's the Ted Nugent song that they're referring to, as I love that tune and have been dying to perform it. Since recently buying two Kramer Baretta Specials I've been playing Van Halen pretty much non stop and it would be nice to add a couple of Eddie's barn burners to the set list. "Show Your Love" and "Hot for Teacher" immediately come to mind. One of my previous struggles with the young guys was that they tended to rush the tempo, but that wouldn't be an issue with those upbeat boogies.
So anyways, that's what's going on. If you guys wanna come along for the ride, then I'll continue to post content about this 50+ year old guy's adventures playing rock & roll with some "kids" in their early 20s while trying to avoid hitmen sent by a crazy old lady.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
Could be Jimi's "Hey Baby" ? Aka, "Land Of The New Rising Sun". Probably not, its a space drifter song. ( ooh, that could be my next groups name "Space Drifter")
Have fun.
"The man that hath no music in himself, nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils. The motions of his spirit are dull as night, and his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted."
One of the things I knew about the young guys when I first became associated with them a year and a half ago, which they didn't know about themselves because . . . well, they're young . . . was how rapidly things can change at that age. I'm old enough now to look back at myself at that age, 22, 23, and see how my interest were constantly shifting and evolving. I was figuring out the world, trying things out, learning lessons (some of them the hard way).
And so, things have changed for them. It's a different situation I'm walking into this time.
Since playing with the band in the Summer of 2022 one of the members got married. One guy left the band and last I heard had a baby on the way, if not already arrived. A couple of the guys have got quite religious and also perform in a church band. The band is no longer interested in pursuing a career in music. There's no more talk of becoming rock stars and "making it," and they don't perform any original songs at their shows. They've settled into performing only once or twice a month, and rehearse only when necessary. Overall, they seem more laid back about things and realistic in their expectations.
These are just some observations on my part, as I once again prepare to cross paths with these guys in what may only be a one-off situation . . . or not. File it under topics of sociological interest relating to the subculture of rock musicians.
These guys don't update their Facebook page very often and have not updated the band photo to one with me in it. The stalker might not even be aware that I'm playing with them again — which relieves a tremendous amount of the underlying pressure and anxiety of appearing in public and returning to the stage. It's actually her antisemitic accomplice I'm more worried about. Since the attack in Israel last month there has been increased violence perpetrated against Jews. Antisemites have been emboldened. The stalker's accomplice is young, drunk most of the time, on drugs, has a history of violence, has no fear of the law, and intensely despises not just me, but what I am. I feel like I have a target on me.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
Good luck with this new stent with the band. It does sound like you enjoy playing with these guys. Back in the 90's I went to a biker bar in Tampa and saw a band play. There were not many people there at all, maybe 5-6 other than the four of us. It was four guys in the band, drummer, vocalist, bassist and guitar player. They were doing Hendrix, ZZ, etc., and at one point the guy on guitar just went off on Eruption like he wrote it and then they banged out some VH. They were extremely tight and in the pocket. The vocalist soon introduced the band and stated the regular guitar player could not be there and the guy that just pulled off all the Hendrix and VH was usually the bassist in the band. The bassist was a fill in. I remember thinking, holy crap is he is not the regular guitar player then the other guy must really be good.
"Will follow through with a transaction when the terms are agreed upon" almightybunghole
tonebender wrote: ↑Fri Nov 24, 2023 6:55 am
Good luck with this new stent with the band. It does sound like you enjoy playing with these guys. Back in the 90's I went to a biker bar in Tampa and saw a band play. There were not many people there at all, maybe 5-6 other than the four of us. It was four guys in the band, drummer, vocalist, bassist and guitar player. They were doing Hendrix, ZZ, etc., and at one point the guy on guitar just went off on Eruption like he wrote it and then they banged out some VH. They were extremely tight and in the pocket. The vocalist soon introduced the band and stated the regular guitar player could not be there and the guy that just pulled off all the Hendrix and VH was usually the bassist in the band. The bassist was a fill in. I remember thinking, holy crap is he is not the regular guitar player then the other guy must really be good.
I have tremendous respect for any skilled lead lead guitar player who is willing to take on the role of bass. I don't mean a guy who approaches bass like Billy Sheehan, as basically a lead bassist. Don't get me wrong, I think Sheehan is great, but I'm talking about really owning the role of the bottom end, locking in with the drummer, establishing the groove, and making people's azzes shake. A guitarist has to have his ego in check to take on that job, which is entirely different than the lead guitar role. Jimmy Page first toured America as the bassist in the Yardbirds. He was already a well know session guitar player in London, but bass was the position available, he wanted the experience of playing in the States, so he adopted that role.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
The show, considered as a whole, went really well this past Saturday night. Despite it being a new iteration of the band, albeit with members who have all previously been in the organization, though not necessarily in this particular combination, it felt very familiar and "at home" to me. Many people commented both during and after the show that it was the best version of the band they've ever seen. The bar manager's husband, who is a student of mine, said it was exceptionally packed, even for a Saturday night, and the best show they've had there that year.
At the gig I also learned that my partner in VELPS VAMPS, Amanda, had recently almost been strangled to death by her husband. This was chilling news, as I believe the stalker had said things to that man to make him distrustful of me in regards to his wife, almost like she was trying to wind him up and point him in my direction.
Despite it being a rainy and foggy night there was a spectacular turn out. Imagine the weather in your typical Hammer Horror film, which is on my brain having just come off my late October Halloween binge of Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee flicks. I didn't get home until nearly 3 AM and had to drive through that soup.
The soundman hired by the band was a super nice guy. Honestly, he was extremely attentive and accommodating to me in so many ways. About 7 minutes before show time he noticed that I was struggling with my Cry-Baby wah, as many of us do. Damn thing is so hard to click on and off. He say's to me, "I can fix that in a couple minutes." I'm thinking, "This guys is going to disassemble and repair one of my pedals only minutes before we start?" Before I can protest he's taken off with the pedal in one hand and a Phillips-Head screwdriver in the other. When he brings it back a few minutes later he briefly describes how her removed a washer. The pedal engages like butter, so smooth and silky, like I just got a new boutique wah pedal. I'm very impressed with this guy.
But there was one particular situation that I had to deal with.
I've mentioned many times in this thread that this band has always allowed me to play loud. In a world of old farts and pussies who wear in ears, go direct, and are into the silent stage thing, it was one of the things that appealed to me immensely about playing with this band. You've seen the video of previous gigs I've posted, and it is a loud, raw, visceral rock and roll experience. It is important to me to be authentic to the 70s and 80s hard rock ethos.
To clarify, I'm not one of those schmucks who shows up to a small bar gig with two full Marshall 100 watt Plexi stacks and then complains when people say he is too loud. What's most important to me is tone, though of necessity the tones I'm going for do involve a degree of reasonable volume, which has never been a problem for me before. I'm taking about pushing the power tubes on what are essentially non master volume amps. To that end, I have carefully assembled my rig to be ideal for producing those tones at manageable bar/club volumes.
The core of my present set up is:
An 18 watt JTM45 type head with a master voltage regulator pushing a 2x12 cab loaded with one Celestion Vintage 30 and one Celestion Alnico Blue. I typically run this amp with the master voltage set at between 1/3 and 1/2.
A Marshall SV20 pushing a Marshall Origin 4x12 loaded with two stock speakers and two Celestion Greenbacks. This head is a 5/20 watt switchable Marshall 1959 Super Lead. I was running it at 5 watts at the show.
So were talking about maybe 15 tube watts pushed hard and driving six 12" speakers. It's woody, organic, deep, wide, three-dimensional, singing, and glorious . . . without being ear bleeding loud. I've got all the touch responsiveness, sag, and push back between guitar and speakers that you'd expect from this set up.
When I initially fired up my rig this same sound man said I was way too loud. I was actually playing at less volume than I'd previously used with these guys. Let me remind you, the kid playing drums hits hard! He's got a Bonham Ludwig kit and he whacks the sh*t out of that thing. My right ear is still ringing on Wednesday morning from his snare. I'm not complaining, as I love loud and thunderous drums.
So I look over my shoulder and the aforementioned sound man is messing with the knobs on my amp. I asked him what he was doing, telling him he's messing with my tone. He asks if I have a direct line out. I'm a little incredulous. I mean, surely he must recognize what my rig is. The hand wired JTM does not have a line out. The Marshall SV20 does, as sorta a grudging concession to modern players. But who in their right mind would want to go line out on a Plexi? That would mean bypassing the sound of those big bottle EL 34 power tubes, the output transformer, not to mention the Greenback speakers, the feeling of pushing air onstage, the musical feedback, and that thump and roar that is the sound of live rock and roll played through Marshalls. But seriously, he does not get it.
Now I'm curious, so I ask the soundman if he plays guitar. He does not. In fact, he's not a musician at all. His favorite genre is metal. He makes some comments about Axe FX and Kempers. I felt it would be pointless to give a long explication how my amps are instruments in and of themselves; that the power tubes, output transformer, cabinets, and speakers are as essential to the "voice" of my guitar as are the braced maple arch top to a cello or violin; that I'm going for the tone of 70s Billy Gibbons, Paul Kossof, Jimmy Page, that type of thing.
It dawns on me with horror that what he really wants is for most of my onstage sound to being come out of my monitor, with my amp as quiet as possible, and preferably silent. I had to submit to a compromise in that moment and settle for a tone that wasn't really mine for the show. I just didn't have time to hash this stuff out in the moment. Bottom line, all I heard of myself during the performance was monitors, no amps.
The net result was that I lost that break up tone I get from power tube distortion and speaker break up. I also lost the guitar volume knob control I required. I felt like I'd been ham-stinged right before going out on the field. Obviously, this wasn't the sound man's intent; as I've said, he was a very nice guy who genuinely wanted me to sound good. I just don't think he ever encountered a situation where he had to mic a a JTM or Plexi, and has mostly dealt with modern amps, modelers, and metal tones.
Regardless, I played my ass off. I kept thinking of one of my favorite Ted Nuggent quotes, "I could plug my guitar into a diseased goat's ass and make it sound good," hoping I could similarly rise to the occasion.
This particular issue will have to be addressed before the next performance. I know and have played with people who use silent stage, with in ears and all that, and I absolutely hate and detest it. I know it's the modern way, but it's not rock and roll.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
Despite the bad amp situation I'm glad that the gig turned out well. I would have had a big problem (read: hard to concentrate) having a not-to-my-taste tone all evening.
I would have a real problem with a sound guy or band member turning on my amp knobs. I would not mind them asking me to adjust but cranking on my knobs would result in an unpleasant encounter.
"Will follow through with a transaction when the terms are agreed upon" almightybunghole
I've got to be honest with you guys — I feel like I can no longer use this forum to write honestly, openly, and earnestly about the really interesting philosophical, gritty and raw experience of a gigging guitarist — so you're not going to be privy to all of that. Make no mistake, there is stuff going on that I could regal you with in the literary tradition of Hunter S Thompson, Jim Harrison, and Bukowski . . . but you're not going to hear these rock & roll stories from the trenches because I don't want this thread memory holed.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
toomanycats wrote: ↑Mon Feb 19, 2024 6:06 am
I've got to be honest with you guys — I feel like I can no longer use this forum to write honestly, openly, and earnestly about the really interesting philosophical, gritty and raw experience of a gigging guitarist — so you're not going to be privy to all of that. Make no mistake, there is stuff going on that I could regal you with in the literary tradition of Hunter S Thompson, Jim Harrison, and Bukowski . . . but you're not going to hear these rock & roll stories from the trenches because I don't want this thread memory holed.
Why not? Does it involve gatuitous sex and drugs to go with the already demonstrated rock 'n' roll?
"I'm not a sore loser. It's just that I prefer to win, and when I don't, I get furious." - Ron Swanson
Rollin Hand wrote: ↑Mon Feb 19, 2024 7:58 pm
Why not? Does it involve gatuitous sex and drugs to go with the already demonstrated rock 'n' roll?
Why not, indeed! Especially if it involves gratuitous sex and drugs. Some of us here are living vicariously through you...
Delightful mix of insolence, arrogance and narcissism
Republican moderate trapped in a heavy metal chassis
Growing up, only kid in the neighborhood with an Uncle Ahkbar
Gearlist: My Gear:Electric Gibson '13 studio dlx hsb Gibson '79 flying V Gibson '06 sg faded Gibson '15 LP CM w gforce Epiphone Casino coupe Epiphone dot studio Fender USA strat w mjt body _w Original body 81 Fender lead II Firefly spalted 338 Squier affinity tele bsb Squier strat std relic Squier subsonic baritone Agile al2500 albino Agile al3001 hsb Sx ash Ltd strat Sx ash strat short scale Sx ash tele Sx callisto jr Dean vendetta Washburn firebird. Ps10 Johnson trans red strat Johnson jazz box Vegas Seville explorer Inlaid tele flametop bigsby tele wood inlaid neck 23
Acoustics new Eastman acoustic Sigma dm3 dread x2 (his and hers) Fender 12 str Ibanez exotic wood Silvercreek rosewood 00 Ovation steel str martin backpacker acoustic Johnson dobro
toomanycats wrote: ↑Mon Feb 19, 2024 6:06 am
I've got to be honest with you guys — I feel like I can no longer use this forum to write honestly, openly, and earnestly about the really interesting philosophical, gritty and raw experience of a gigging guitarist — so you're not going to be privy to all of that. Make no mistake, there is stuff going on that I could regal you with in the literary tradition of Hunter S Thompson, Jim Harrison, and Bukowski . . . but you're not going to hear these rock & roll stories from the trenches because I don't want this thread memory holed.
Why? What happened? I think we all want to hear what's going on
Apologies for leaving you hanging all this time, and for skirting the line of what's allowed on this forum. Yes, my Mother has read this, and she is pissed about my language; not for the words themselves, but because they describe actual events. I mean no disrespect to my fellow members and the mods. I justify the subject matter because there was a strong interest expressed in knowing what was going on, and I also cannot tell this story, with completeness and fidelity, without making extended reference to the stalker.
“The truth is like a lion. You don’t have to defend it. Let it loose. It will defend itself.” - Saint Augustine
HOW DOES A SOUNDMAN NOT KNOW WHAT A JTM or PLEXI IS . . . AND WHEN DO I GET PAID?
My return to the band was weird from the beginning. I noted how the soundman asked if my JTM style head had a direct out. When I said "No," he looked puzzled, asking if it had a preamp. That was a disconcerting conversation to have with a soundman.
After that first gig I had almost no communication with the band for six weeks, from December 3rd, 2023, until mid January 2024. I hadn't been paid for the job. When summoned to reconvene in mid January of 2024 I was finally paid. The band’s manager took me aside, as though he felt guilty, disclosing that they'd played around with the lineup in the past six weeks. I was annoyed that during that time I had devoted myself to practicing the band's material, that those efforts hadn't been necessary, and I hadn't even been paid out. I didn't appreciate being treated like this, though I wasn't in a position to complain, as feline emergencies had recently occurred, vet bills were piling up like a tsunami, and I needed any work I could take on.
A different soundman assumed live mixing duties. I endeavored to communicate the tone I required. He didn’t know what a JTM was, was indifferent to my Marshall Studio Vintage 20 watt Plexi, and instead suggested I use his own 100 watt Marshall DSL with the line out. As I attempted to explain the reasons why I couldn't achieve my "voice" in this manner, he told me about his favorite bands, demonstrating cookie monster vocals and throat growls. Oy vey. He constantly approached me onstage while staring down at a tablet, asking me to turn down my stage volume. Meanwhile, strangers in the audience were approaching me and saying, “I see your fingers doing all this stuff but I can’t hear you!” Even a drummer complained that he couldn't hear me!
For every four scheduled rehearsals the band played one gig. The majority of these rehearsals were canceled at the last minute, which greatly interfered with my lesson schedule and cost me much needed income. I've already got into the semantics of "rehearsal" vs "practice" in this thread, so I won't belabor those points. Suffice it to say that I felt ill used because some of these "rehearsals" were hangs where band members were late, didn't show up at all, were not prepared, got high, and checked out early.
I still had no real musical input, being unable to add any of my song choices to the set list. I pushed Van Halen's "I'm The One," "Hot For Teacher," and "Panama," amongst other VH tunes, suggesting I bring out my EVH Frankie Relic for a mini VH set. I played Dokken's "Kiss Of Death," saying, "How about this." After jamming on Cream's "Crossroads" I asserted, "We should add that!" We didn't add any of those tunes. Meanwhile, our singer floated the idea of adding a power pop song, Fall Out Boy or something like that. WTF?
JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL!
Let me preface this next part by saying that I'm not hostile to religion. To be sure, I've got my own religious beliefs, and having formally studied academic philosophy and theology I can be hyper-articulate about these subjects, in the proper context. However, the milieu of playing bump-and-grind, bluesy rock and roll music is not that context. I’m able to partition those things in my mind. That being said, these guys had gotten vociferously religious, with praying all the time, invoking scripture, talking about Christian fellowship, and encouraging me to actively participate in worship. They prayed and proselytized at rehearsals, before a show, onstage, during breaks, pretty much constantly. Supplications were made in Jesus’ name over playing the show, driving home, the health issues of everyone they knew — you name it, there was a prayer for it. It was exhausting. It felt like brainwashing while treating the second part of the trinity as a transcendent switchboard operator.
At the same time I was being invited to smoke the devils lettuce while they boasted about how cool their preacher was because he was covered in tattoos and got high. I wasn't down with this stuff. I don't do drugs of any kind. I also had to stick my neck out and reveal that I was a jew, saying that what they referred to as the Old Testament was to me the Torah, and that I didn't accept Jesus as my savior. I've learned the hard way to hide what I am around here, and I didn't want to have to reveal that when I was just trying to play music — but then nobody should be pushing their religion on me in the first place.
How long would it be before these "kids" realized what Led Zeppelin was about, and Robert Johnson, and Muddy Waters and his Johnny Concheroo, and rock & roll? I had been good friends with a professor emeritus of philosophy at Syracuse University named Larry Hardin, who, besides being esteemed in the field of epistemology, was also interested in the occult. We spent a lot of time in his home talking about voodoo, Magick, Thelema, Crowley, the Qabalah, and the relation of music to the mystical. Such was the depth of my background on these subjects.
One night at rehearsal our lead singer declared that he wouldn’t perform Van Halen's "Runnin' With The Devil," Led Zeppelin’s “Houses of The Holy,” or any other such music. This was a stake driven through my heart. I knew that people who went down that road eventually want to burn Shakespeare, Willian Blake, Norman Mailer, and forbid the flat 5th note; you know, the whole Footloose thing. Robert Frost had said something to the effect that people who don't understand metaphor aren't safe to be set free in the world. Maybe this guy would grow out of his biblical literalism and fanaticism . . . but probably not on my timeline.
FELICIA LOVES FRISCO
Long story short — several years ago I let a stalker be my manager. Never do that. The rest is all details.
Beginning in early 2021 this person booked me around the city of Hickory, NC. She was a female Harvey Weinstein who sexually harassed me and assaulted me. After I broke away from her she communicated terroristic threats that I would be "handled" if I spoke about what she'd done. Many members of this forum are familiar with that story. If I wanted to work as a musician, it had to be outside of her territory, off the 127 circuit, beyond the influence of the "Hickory Music Mafia" she boasted of controlling. That situation was the raison d'etre of this thread, why I began playing with Lucid Outbreak around Mooresville, NC.
Despite my repeated urgent pleas, the police refused to investigate the ongoing terroristic threats being communicated to me by this mentally deranged person. When I contacted the North Carolina Coalition Against Sex Assault they denied me legal assistance, overtly discriminating against me based on my gender. Let me say that again: Ericka at the NCCASA told me, in these exact words, that they would not help me because I was a man, further elaborating that the State of North Carolina does not acknowledge female upon male sexual harassment or sexual assault. I had no civil rights, no equal protection.
It's okay that the real time capturing of these crimes, as they happened, has been expunged from this forum. I perceive that erasing of history as a challenge. In medias res is, after all, the most interesting of literary forms, and I willingly accept that handicap. Honestly, it's more interesting this way, like coming in on STAR WARS Episode IV – A New Hope.
Hereafter I will refer to the Stalker as "Felicia." I didn't make up that name, she did, as either an expression of her mental illness, or as cover for her psychopath sex predator activity. She simultaneously referred to me as "Frisco," her lover, husband from a past life, object of intense obsession, lust, and desire. While my manager merely pretended to be my platonic friend, Felicia had an irresistible compulsion to grope Frisco. If one resides local to where my story takes place, the words "Felicia Loves Frisco" can be seen carved into the wood at a bar called Two Trees, in Denver, NC. It is another "love letter," amongst hundreds of others from Felicia.
When I first met Lucid Outbreak I told them I had a stalker, trying to make a joke out of it, as though it was a perverse merit badge a performing musician earns. "You've got a stalker? Ha ha! I've got one too!" After all, the police too had laughed about it. Yet the responsible part of myself knew I owed these guys full disclosure, as Felicia had warned that if I crossed her she would, in addition to crushing me, also harm anyone who supported me.
Felicia pursued me outside of Hickory to my new position with Lucid Outbreak. This thread documents how she traveled to a gig on July 17th, 2022, at Clutches in Statesville, NC, where she terrorized me as I performed onstage. Preceding this show she had sent an email alluding to self harm. I was seriously in fear of a Dimebag murder/suicide event, my terror being so pronounced that I pissed myself onstage while she leered at me.
When I first resigned from Lucid Outbreak in August of 2022 I didn't disclose that Felicia's ongoing stalking was a significant reason why I had to leave. The fact was, I needed to cease performing altogether. Felicia had continued sending me messages throughout that period and my nerves just couldn't take it anymore, not knowing when she'd show up at another job. Mrs tmc was also very frightened to be left home alone during my gigs.
After this multiple bands contacted me, asking me to join. One offer came from a female vocalist named Amanda who fronted her own band. I declined her, explaining that I had a stalker who had made it impossible to appear in public. She said she had a stalker too, dismissing it as no big deal. But there was something about this woman which connected with me — her intelligence, her poetic soul, her thwarted artist calling, and her own history of abuse. We agreed to begin a recording project called VELVET VAMPS (hereafter referred to as "VV"). This collaboration lasted from November of 2022 until June of 2023. I warned Amanda that my stalker would be jealous that I was collaborating with an attractive woman, that she was hell bent on preventing me from working as a musician, and that she would soon be contacted.
Like clockwork, in mid December of 2022 Felicia made slandering posts on Amanda's Facebook page, making snide remarks about my aspergers. She was promptly blocked. Felicia then directed a conspirator to contact Amanda. This attack dog already had a restraining order against her by another musician and had previously spoke to me about burning Jews in an oven. Charming young lady. She warned Amanda that her career would suffer if she worked with me. She said I was a liar, unreliable, and had been Felicia's lover, and that either she would "handle" me personally, or somebody else would do the job. She threatened blackmail, saying that if I talked they had info on me that could get me in big trouble.
I called the Sheriffs department, reminding them that this was the second time I'd called about NaziGirl's threats. Mrs TMC and I were in imminent danger, with terroristic threats being communicated. They refused to meet with us. We barricaded our doors, strung barbed wire around the property, bought more ammo, and hunkered down in anticipation of a home invasion. I left home only to get food and other essentials. Okay, I confess, I did also stop at a pawn shop or two, scoring a Gibson Les Paul and a Colt Python. I flipped the LP and kept the Colt. Mrs TMC became very attached to having that magnum revolver laying next to our bed.
At this same time my thread on AGF documenting these real time harrowing events was deleted. Mrs TMC and I felt isolated, alone, stripped of the invaluable public documentation of what was happening to us, which we saw as a way of insuring our safety. Mrs Tmc had been personal friends with Jaap Polak, author of Steal a Pencil For Me. Recollecting her experiences talking with Jaap, Mrs tmc encouraged me to keep writing about what was happening to us, no matter what. Someday people would read our account.
Under this pale of dread I spent the next six months recording an album for VV, composing all the music and playing all of the instruments. I buried myself in that project, attempting to escape my terror through immersion in work. I had horrific, violent nightmares most every night. As the songwriting partnership of VV had a bit of magic to it and was quite prolific, Amanda continued to ask me to gig with her band so we could showcase our original material, though my fear would not allow me to appear in public. A warned her to be wary in her own perilous situation.
In June 2023 Amanda performed with her band for the first time in Hickory at a venue called Fyreside. Felicia was there, demanding a private audience. Immediately after that VV was dissolved.
One can understand my acute anxiety upon performing live again with Lucid Outbreak in December of 2023. I was coming out of hiding. I learned that in the interim Amanda had almost been strangled to death. I also learned that Felicia's old maid insanity hadn't subsided when she resumed posting comments on videos in which I was performing. Psychopaths fuck with you like this. As Deniro's character Max Cady says in the film Cape Fear, "I'm not doing' nothin' . . . I'm not on your property."
The aberrant fixation of stalkers can go on for years. I once spent a week at a private estate on Martha’s Vineyard and had an experience tangentially related to stalking. I had piloted a small boat across Triangle Lake to a sand bar bordering the ocean. After strolling some way down the shore of the Atlantic, I spied, in the distance, a four wheeler rapidly approaching and aggressively heading me off. A man with a cigar in his mouth politely though very firmly addressed me, saying that I was trespassing on private property and must turn back immediately. I profusely apologized and hastily made my way back the way from which I came. After returning to the estate where I was staying and relaying my story, I was informed that I had strayed onto David Letterman’s private beach. It seems that Dave had never gotten over his much publicized ordeal with his stalker, a mentally disturbed woman named Margaret Mary Ray. It was only now, that I had experienced a stalker myself, that I understood Dave’s need for hyper vigilance. Dave's stalker claimed to be in an intimate relationship with him, just like mine. Dave's stalker kept showing up at his job, just like mine. Dave's stalker eventually killed herself.
Oops! Sorry about that Mr. Letterman.
In July of 2023, after the catastrophic implosion of Velvet Vamps caused by Felicia's interference, I began seeing a therapist. All my trauma poured out on that sofa. I was devastated that I was unable to perform live or collaborate in the studio due to Felicia's continuing harassment, slander, and threats. Even worse, I was being re-victimized by having my civil rights to equal protection violated. I showed my therapist the entirety of my documentation and meticulously kept journals. I also had, more importantly, thousands of confessional emails sent by Felicia, revealing her premeditation and assaults. My therapist warned me to back up everything in a safe location.
As I did with my therapist, I'm now going to take you back to February of 2021, when this person who had already been stalking me first revealed herself as Felicia. This story could almost completely be told in Felicia's own messages.
This is what sexual harassment looks like. It was continuous and unrelenting. I endured this debasing abuse for one year, suffering this humiliation as a condition of securing gigs around Hickory, NC.
"He said, she said," expresses a truism that there are two sides to a story. This is not the case here. I need not make accusations. I can show you her own voluminous confessions, which perfectly corroborate my lengthy and detailed testimony. Let her deny her own words.
The stories of Felicia and I exactly correspond, her own messages corroborating my accusations in a manner which no amount of multiplied, strenuous allegations on my part ever could; they are the perfectly matched testimony of a perpetrator and a victim. My allegations and her messages have the relation between the input and output of an electronic amplifier, with her words magnifying the truth of my assertions.
Psychopaths want to be the center of attention, the "star." The small fraction of my documentation revealed here places Felicia almost entirely in the spotlight. She says most everything that needs proving in soliloquy. Mine is a minor supporting role. On the one hand I am the compiler of the great morass of her messages; on the other I am the victim, the necessary second voice who is the foil for her madness. Through my first person testimony, as subject who was the object of Felicia's obsession, desire, infatuation, and abuse, I relay how it felt to be the victim against whom she directed the intense psychotic assault she so carefully crafted, implemented, and, unbelievably, thoroughly documented in her own words.
Why would Felicia document her own crimes?
A Catholic compulsion for confession?
A psychopath playing a game?
Did she know she was untouchable by the law?
Dumb criminals often record their own crimes out of sheer stupidity. I suspect the reason for Felicia's indiscreet disclosures are more sinister. Her malevolent cunning played out in a game of abusing me while simultaneously taunting me with confessions. It was a demonstration of power, a way of her saying, "I can get away even with this."
The truth is I still don't know if Felicia is mentally ill, or if she is a calculating psychopath who lies and deceives for motives of power, control, sexual gratification, elevation of social status through association with someone she perceives as "famous," or for making her estranged husband jealous.
The argument for mental illness is supported by the message below. Felicia watched me perform hundreds of times, beginning before I was even aware of her existence. I understand falling in love with an artist. My romantic heart wanted to believe that Prince, Joni Mitchell, Thomas Mann, and Matisse all "spoke" to me directly, though the rational, sane core of myself which was adjusted to reality knew this wasn't true. I once had a conversation with Steve Vai, looking him in the eye and expressing how deeply his music had impacted me — though afterwards I didn't try to follow him home. Yet Felicia did actually seem to believe that my artistic output, my music, words — even my body and my thoughts — were personally hers. She had an abnormal idée fixe upon my person.
The argument that Felicia is a self-aware psychopath is also supported by this same message. Remember, this person is not really "Felicia," and that may be a mask worn by a psychopath for the cover of plausible deniability. She acknowledges that I have a partner and that I'm incorruptible. She is lucid as she meditates upon being old and ugly, upon what ground she has already gained by pushing physical contact, while also premeditating putting her mouth on me in the future. She rationalizes her harmful actions because they are fulfilling her needs. That is psychopathic behavior.
Mrs tmc read Felicia's emails from the beginning and was aware of the outrageous sexual harassment I endured to obtain gigs. Felicia's insane infatuation, absurd coquetry, love bombing, and increasingly bizarre messages were a joke in our home. Willful ignorance does not describe the denial she exhibited in disregarding my repeated assertions that I wasn't interested in sex or romance with her. I brought Mrs TMC to gigs to give Felicia a jolt of reality — yet she persisted in her advancements, even escalating and multiplying her strategies. This was not a normal person we were dealing with. The situation devolved into something not funny, but disturbing, degrading, and terrifying.
Felicia was stalking me before we met. I was her "Crush." She only likes younger men, naming many she "made out" with. She says I'm her new #1. When I talk to #2, who I had displaced and began regularly gigging with, he warns that Felicia is a stalker who wrote weird messages to him. He had to be extremely mean to back her off, and expresses his relief that she's now fixated on me. He advises that my only hope is for her to attach herself to the next guy. Felicia's version of this story is that #2 and herself had a romantic relationship, initiated by him, and that she had broke it off.
She informed me that I would owe her a favor in exchange for her making me the busiest hired gun guitarist in town (a "star" and "famous," as she refers to me). "Nickels" was one of the euphemism she used for physical contact. She is extremely possessive, and particularly fixated on my Jewishness. She informs me she's figured out I have aspergers, like it's a compromising secret she's discovered. She asserts that we're "twin flames," and that her psychic says we're destined to be together. She constantly brings me presents. She asserts that she's my therapist, and under the guise of "evil therapist" fishes for personal information, even sending questionnaires. She kibitzed like this with other people, keeping dossiers, bombarding me with emails revealing the intimate details of their lives. I was continuously queried about my dreams, numbers, finances, family, history, sex life.
The favor I owe in exchange for bookings is revealed when Felicia insists that looking sexy onstage and being groped by an old lady is part of my work arrangement. I protest. She suggests I, "grin and bear it." She offers to pay me for intimate contact. I'm baited with opportunities for gigs, with the caveat that we must meet for a "date" to discuss it. She says she is in love with me, it isn't fair she can't have me, and that if we didn't advance beyond our friendship then she'd have to MoveOn, find another musician to promote, and I could work at Walmart. One of her guy friends needs to, "help her out," and if I don't then someone else will. She writes about her horniness, her oral fixation, having a void that needed to be filled and being willing to pay good money for it, my giving her a lap dance while playing guitar, and having an orgasm while watching me perform onstage.
I began refusing her Andrew Cuomo style "friendly hugs," keeping the barrier of an open car door between us in the parking lot when I left a gig. She expressed her great frustration that I was avoiding her, turning my back, refusing her hugs. She reiterated that I owed her physical contact in exchange for bookings, said that I hadn't met my end of the bargain, and that we needed to discuss this.
When I tell Felicia how stressful it is dealing with alcoholic musicians who smash their equipment onstage, expose themselves in public, snort lines in my vehicle, skim the band's pay for drug money, and drag ass about paying me, Felicia says I'm a "butthead" for complaining about her friends, that this is normal band stuff, that even her babysitter does cocaine, and as for my anxiety — she knows ways to relieve that in a man.
On the morning of my birthday mrs tmc opened an email revealing a pic of Felicia's hand fondling the balls of a dildo as she watches a guitarist performing. As revolting as this pic is, it has a touch of genius. Felicia had captured, in a single symbolic image, her own epithet. It is a hallmark of psychopaths that they frequently tell on themselves. This image was representative of everything Felicia was: A lascivious sexual pervert, a stalker, a dirty old lady incapable of restraining herself from touching the object of her desire and infactuation. It was also a depiction of the power relationship between Felicia and myself, as she most certainly had me "by the balls," not only being my manager, but also the administrator of a Facebook page HickoryURock, which was the hub of the local music scene and which gave her control over my access to gigs. In the background a guitarist performs for their living as the predator watches. To their right is the ATM machine, filthy lucre, the cash nexus that relentlessly drives all working musicians; and poor as they usually are, often handicapped by alcoholism, drug addiction, and other vulnerabilities, like aspergers, or past abuse, renders them easy prey for opportunistic predators like Felicia — especially if a protective woman is not constantly present to cock block. The scene is the darkened environment of a bar, Felicia's hunting ground, with alcohol and food representing intoxication, hedonism, and the carnal appetites.
Like many other women, Mrs TMC too had experienced sexual harassment, knowing what it is like to put up with abuse when you really needed your job. What Felicia was doing was crossing the line and causing trouble in our home. We suspected this was intentional, part of her strategy. I reminded Felicia that Mrs TMC read everything and to cease sending disrespectful messages, to which she responded that we should communicate without Mrs tmc knowing about it, that she could write some "really juicy" letters in longhand, though I'd have to eat them after I read them.
Rock & roll invokes the spirit of Bacchus. Some amount of "crazy" is baked into the thing and one must have a degree of tolerance — though there are limits. Mrs TMC and I had dealt with crazy people in the rock & roll world. In Eric Clapton's autobiography he tells the story of a Witch he had sex with, who afterwards stalked him with a pillow under her blouse, telling the tabloids that she was the mother of his love child. When I first met Mrs tmc in Manhattan, Clapton's Witch and her Savanah cat named Leon were sleeping on the sofa. The Witch had been a famous muse, groupie, and partner and protege of Dr John, though she was now aging, down on her luck, and working as a saleswoman at Gracious Homes. Though she had an incredible voice, our musical collaboration was stillborn. It was beyond my limit of "crazy." So was Felicia, though I was trapped in my current situation out of need to care for my cats.
I'm embarrassed to admit that Mrs TMC was often entertained by the "crazy" of Felicia, which is understandable given the popularity of Lifetime movies about stalkers and related programs. There is something about the aberrant mind which fascinates people. However, Mrs TMC ceased being amused was when Felicia wrote, "I know Mrs TMC is cheating on you," and, "You can move into my home as a houseboy and bring all your cats,"" "My son is excited about you being his new Dad," and when she spoke about the child molestation going on in her family. Felicia referred to Mrs TMC as being "in the way," elaborating that we'd have to see "Where the chips fall" with this imaginary love triangle.
Things got more insane as 2021 progressed. Felicia alluded to having a mental breakdown, said she desired to be evil, and declared, "This fat bitch is being released to the world." If demons are real she may have been one.
She wrote that her good friend, the previous mayor of Hickory, had murdered a woman he was having an affair with at the Newton newspaper offices, then killed himself. This story of a murder suicide felt like a telegraphed message. Most everything with Felicia was a "tell" disclosing her real desire and intent. Did this Moriarty want to "take me over the falls" with her?
After discovering the "grey rock method" while researching psychopaths, I attempted to stop reacting whatsoever to Felicia's outlandish provocations. She complained that I was being "emotionally unavailable" and "pushing her away," then intensified her taunting and tormenting, as though my silence was a green light.
She told me about starting a gigolo business and that she wished I was gay.
Felicia said she wanted to write a story about the year since we had met, embellishing it with a romance. I knew she was already publicly promulgating her embellishments, planting a seedbed of lies, because people started referring to her as my girlfriend, and in one alarming instance my wife! I was dumbfounded when people told me Felicia showed them proof I was in a romantic relationship with her. Mrs TMC reminded me how Felicia hounded me to send her some of my poetry. I had let her read metaphysical love poems in the style of John Donne, which I had written to Mrs TMC. Was she telling people I wrote those to her?
She referred to the gig where she conspired to first be introduced to me as our "anniversary." She began framing her messages as though we actually were in a relationship, contemplating whether we should break up. I told her that this was "bizarre and disturbing," that she was writing, "far fetched fiction."
She wrote that if anyone became her enemy they would be crushed, along with all who supported them. She would accomplish this by working behind the scenes to hurt them with all her venue contacts, while being two faced in public. She named local musicians she was crushing in this manner (QC and TH), gloating about how they now wished they had "kissed her ass."
Felicia's messages are indicative of premeditation of sexual assault. She had taunted me about the sex contact I owed her, and here forewarns me what she will do "next time."
She documented her sexual assaults, framing them as a child molester would, like it was fun, a game. Below she describes premeditating her assault, my rejection, her anger, and her assertion that she deserves to put her mouth on me as payment. This is textbook quid pro quo sexual harassment. There is no such thing as a "friendly kiss" from somebody who openly lusts after you and has offered to pay you for sex.
Patty knew that her repeated assaults were traumatizing me and that I didn't want to be touched by her. What she called "breaking through my barriers" was sex assault. As she told me I made her horny, her talk of "friendly hugs" was merely a cover for sexual groping. She found my acute distress funny, hence the following message:
Patty sent what could be characterized as "sexual assault poetry," rhapsodizing about her arousal, and her compulsion to touch me, while at the same time perversely apologizing for her inability to stop this groping. She knew what she was doing, confessed it, justified it, and kept on doing it. In another poem she talks about dreaming me before she met me and the possibility that I was her husband in a past life.
Patty's most egregious sexual assault occurred on December 31, 2021, while I performed onstage at Waterside, in Catawba, NC. She jumped onstage and advanced towards me with arms outstretched, a wide eyed, deranged, lunatic look on her face. I felt like a cornered animal. She seemed to leap the distance between us in a second, tightly seizing ahold of me by my shirt with her stubby, pincer-like, liver spotted rat claws. She raked my chest like a wild animal, writhing and dry humping while pressing her stumpy torso against mine and poking me with those hideous tits and bulbous belly. She then bared down with that revolting peach fuzzed mouth. In that moment all the feelings of being violated as a child decades ago flooded over me. I wondered if her granddaugher felt this way while being undressed by her mommy's boyfriend. All of this flashed through my mind in that moment. My legs weakened and I was overcome with nausea. I gathered sufficient strength to pull away, standing there shocked, repulsed, humiliated, utterly stunned at what this crazy woman had just done to me in public, onstage, in front of countless witnesses! I expressed my indignation through body language and verbally. A wrathful look came over her. Psychopaths become enraged when their goals are thwarted. She flung her arms in the air, twirling and pumping her squatty little legs like Rumplestiltskin having a tantrum. She began screaming, berating me in front of the band and the audience, saying, “You scumbag!” She drew in close once again to laugh maniacally in my face with the kind of “paradoxical laughter” that accompanies mental illness.
The next night, at my gig at Fyreside, Felicia stormed into the bar with her eight year old granddaughter in tow, marched directly to the stage, and demanded that I apologize for having fought her off the previous evening. I told her she had sexually assaulted me, refusing to speak with her further. She planted herself at table and had a histrionic crying tantrum while her granddaughter cartwheeled around the bar like a Honey Boo Boo impersonator.
"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on." — Winston Churchill
I told everyone that I had been sexually assaulted by Felicia, including coworkers and employees of the venues where I was performing. Realizing that she'd overplayed her hand and was in danger of being exposed, Felicia began a savage smear campaign, broadcasting a plethora of contradictory lies in an attempt to muddy the water, saying our contact had been consensual, that it was a "friendly kiss," that she had always respected my boundaries, that I wanted it, that I had led her on, seduced her, teased her, that we were having a lovers quarrel, and even that it was I who was stalking her! She tried to turn the entire thing around, crying profusely in public, saying I was making horrible accusations against her, and playing as though she was the victim of an Lothario and cunt tease. Her coterie of friends repeated these lies verbatim, shouted me down, threatened me, and told me I was ungrateful for all the selfless things Felicia had done for me. The following is the last message I sent to Felicia, on January 17th, 2022.
After my final message to Felicia her stalking resumed; and I say "resumed" because she'd been stalking me before we'd even met. Technically, this nutter said she'd dreamt me before she'd even seen me. Her stalking was insane beyond measure. Even though I'd told her that she'd sexually assaulted me and to keep away, she kept coming to my jobs, getting within inches of my face, acting like she owned me, demanding acknowledgement.
On 1/24/22 Felicia brought a gang of friends to Mountain View Pub to heckle, harass, threaten, and victim shame me while I worked. These woman drove me off my job that night, with Felicia screaming as I exited, "This is all because of me!" She lurked outside my jobs in the parking lot, leaving notes on my car. She sent an email suggesting self-harm. She threatened to reveal "nasty" things about me if I didn't shut up. She stalked me online, on this forum, using multiple fake accounts, and was reported to her internet service provider as a cyberstalker. I was warned to stay out of her area and told that I would be confronted if I came into her territory.
Every musician in Hickory abandoned me. I was a pariah. Patty was The Master who controlled Bartertown and she had shut off the valve. She was the “weird uncle” of the Hickory music scene, a creepy, short, embarrassing inappropriate weirdo who was disturbingly attracted to young people and over eager to touch — yet they refused to disown her, even defending her like family. She had warned me what she would do if I crossed her. She did exactly that, and more.
April 21, 2022. Patty posts this on Facebook. This is gaslighting on an epic level. She has reestablished #2 back into his former #1 position. Maybe they had resumed the romantic relationship she had written about. She mocks the idea that she is a stalker who targets "young" musicians. I also believe her intent was to gloat and personally humiliate me, communicating that she had total control of the narrative, that nobody would believe me, and that she would continue on just as before. At the same time she made this post she was actually stalking me, threatening me, the police had been called, and she had been reported as a cyberstalker.
To help connect the dots and bring the story full circle, after this I fled Hickory and I began my first stint with Lucid Outbreak in June of 2022, which is where this thread begins. Felicia followed, continuing to stalk me both online and terrestrially. I then began my partnership in Velvet Vamps in Fall of 2022, which ended in June of 2023 after Felicia once again followed. I basically hid until rejoining Lucid Outbreak in December of 2023, at which time I discovered, to my horror, that this diabolical monster with a taste for young musicians, who in the previous year had threatened to send someone to "handle" me, was posting on the bands Facebook profile.
After viewing my documentation my therapist confessed that Felicia was the most extreme case of sexual harassment and psychopathic behavior she had ever seen. She said that Felicia was experienced at this behavior, exceptionally cunning and manipulative, and there was no doubt she had done this before. She was in disbelief that the Sheriffs department refused to investigate terroristic threats I had received, and even more astounded that the NCCASA had discriminated against me based on my gender. Felicia was a predator, sex assailant, and demonstrable fabulist getting away with her behavior because she was hiding behind the cover of being an old lady. My therapist was distraught that such a grave injustice was being done to me, though she was powerless to do anything but listen.
I apologize for getting very personal here, but what therapy has helped me to understand is that the depth of my trauma has to do with the close association of several things: 1) I was sexually assaulted as a child, when vulnerable, by a person I trusted, and was frightened into remaining silent about it. 2) Felicia did the same thing, pretending to be my friend while trying to force sexual contact on me, then threatening me to remain silent about it. 3) At the same time Felicia was sexually assaulting me, a little girl in her care was being sexually molested. 4) Felicia was adamant that #2 had been sexually molested as a child. I suspected that Felicia was a predator who specifically targeted people with this vulnerability.
These things were yoked together in a vicious circularity, forcing all my deeply buried pain to the surface. It was mentally excruciating. Molestation had murdered a part of my soul as a child. Felicia's groping, lies, and threats to remain silent were forcing me to experience that murder all over again.
Has anyone reading this ever worried about being shot onstage? It's a horrible feeling. It robs all the joy out of performing. Before every Lucid Outbreak gig I told my therapist about the terror I felt not knowing if this would be the gig where I was "handled." I told members of my band that I feared for my safety. They gave me an uncomprehending look I'd seen many times before. In fairness, it probably is difficult to understand why I'm afraid of a little old lady. Felicia had never been investigated by the law, and it probably doesn't seem possible that somebody could do the things I was claiming and had gotten away with it. My concerns, very real and legitimate though they were, probably seemed absurd, like overblown drama — which nobody wants in a band. I was in a hopeless, unwinnable situation. I couldn't go through this cycle all over again: Felicia acting the innocent in public while telling outrageous lies about me; her renewed stalking, gaslighting, and threats; and all while the police refused to help me and the NCCASA openly discriminated against me.
SHOW ME YOUR RESUME
The manager of Lucid Outbreak wanted to book us at a venue called Boatyard Eats, in Cornelius, NC. It was further away than our usual gigs and we'd be playing in the opening slot, consequently earning even less pay than our typical jobs. Needless to say, I was not enthusiastic about this. In order to secure the gig, our manager requested that each band member write a short resume about themselves, including a photo, which would be submitted to the venue to demonstrate that we were the caliber of artist worthy of performing on their stage as an opener. In response I sent our manager a pro shot pic of me performing at Boatyard Eats as the headliner. I mean, what else is there to say? I clearly meet the venues qualifications. Maybe our manager thought I was being too cute by way of making a none to subtle point about myself vis a vis the rest of the band, as after this he ceased all communication with me. There could be no assistance from him going forwards regarding questions of scheduling or getting paid. It is notable that the gig pictured below was shortly after Felicia had sexually assaulted me on 1/31/21, that my bandmates in this photo knew about it, that I had told them I was afraid that she would assault me again, and they had consequently forbid her from attending this January 28, 2022 show at Boatyard Eats.
EVERYONE IS ON THE TAB
Parallel to my anxiety about Felicia, upon my return to the young guy band there was funny stuff going on with the money. A bar gig somehow ended up being eight hours of work, the duration of a factory shift, encompassing several hours before the show and extending until long past midnight after breakdown and load up. The more time I spent lingering in a bar, the easier target I made of myself for Felicia and NaziGirl.
I've played countless gigs with pro musicians who showed up 30 minutes before a bar gig, set up their gear, killed the room for three hours (without a set list and occasionally calling out Nashville Numbers), then tore down, payed their personal tabs, split the cash on the spot, and arrived home in time to watch M*A*S*H reruns while lying safe in bed. As unglamorous as this sounds, this is how one really makes a living as a musician.
I'd protested about there being a collective tab during the eight hour marathon of a gig, and I suspected that lots of people were drinking and eating on the band during this time. This included the soundman, and possibly spouses and girlfriends. My portion of this collective tab was only ever the cost of a couple beers, if even that. The large offsetting debit of the band's tab came off the top of whatever we had grossed for the evening. I felt like a substantial amount of what I was earning was being embezzled before it made it's way into my hands. I gave everything of myself onstage, playing my fingers to the bone trying to earn enough to keep my family's head above water, not so people could drink beer and eat chicken wings all night long. That the band paid a soundman an equal cut was absurd. We were playing the kind of local bar gigs where no band brings a soundman, as it's neither necessary nor economically feasible. This guy was eating and drinking on my dime while simultaneously killing my tone.
THERE'S A CRAZY GIRLFRIEND!
To add to these issues, a girlfriend of one of the other guys in the band was a certified whack job. Hopefully you can now understand my desire to stay as far away from such people as possible. She was one of these skinny, sorta witchy, Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo type of chicks who wear all black and which are ubiquitous around bands. Maybe a junior Felicia in the making? She was aloof towards me, though one night, after she appeared intoxicated, she became confrontational and insulting. You see, I had bumped her boyfriend from lead guitar to bass. I didn't see it this way at all, having tremendous respect for his musical talent and ability to change rolls within the band, though she may have perceived it as a reduction in his status, consequently seeing it as her duty to fuck with me. There was some Lady Macbeth stuff going on here. After a gig one night she deridingly said to me, in front of some band members, “I’m surprised you actually pulled it off. Don't worry, you'll get better.” I’d been performing professionally and melting faces since before this skinny little bitch was even a period stain in her adolescent mother’s maxi pad; I had guitars with strings older than her; and yet here she was, having the chutzpah to try to gaslight me. I addressed this issue to one of the guys in the band, saying that I did not want to deal with her.
"Since before you were even born."
At a subsequent gig I looked down from the stage, observing as though through a vignette made between my leg and the monitor upon which it was propped, this whack job girlfriend dancing and writhing like Morgan le Fay in a trance, directly in front of me, starring up at me hypnotically. Over the years I've watched hundreds of girls make these gyrations in front of me as I played onstage. It's an ancient dance. There are images of Orpheus all over my bathroom walls, which are representative of this power that music has over nature.
During the drum solo, while making my mad dash to the men’s room, the crazy girlfriend suddenly appeared in front of me, barring my path, as though by teleportation. “I like you,” she said. “I like everything,” she seductively reiterated, raising her hands dramatically and then slowly tracing a line from my head down to my loins with her pointed fingers. She was actually a pretty little thing, in a feral animal kind of way; but God did she have a horrible, acrid body odor! “How old are you?” she playfully asked as she panted and a bead of sweat rolled down her wet brow. “Old enough to be your daddy,” I curtly replied. "My boyfriend said you're jewish." she retorted, as if revealing a secret she knew about me. "Yeah," I said, "Just like him. His family is from Russia, mine is from Poland," adding, "I suppose he's got Aspergers too." "Yes!" She responded, adding, "And I'm bi-polar!" "Aren't we a pair," I said, as I watched her boyfriend, the bass player, approaching from behind her. I abruptly turned and made a bee line to the men’s room, being further waylaid and forestalled in my urgent need to relieve my bladder by a series of boomer aged dudes wanting to compliment my guitar playing that evening.
CAN I PLEASE BE PAID FOR MY WORK!?!?
My end with Lucid Outbreak came abruptly. I was in dire financial straights, suffering from a serious liquidity crisis, ready to take my guitars to the pawn shops I trolled to be bent over myself. It would be a humiliating role reversal, the ultimate comeuppance for the infamous AGF pawn shop scrounge. Recently several cats had died in my arms; I'd dug their graves, solemnly burying their stiff bodies under this accursed, ultisol North Carolina red clay. Yet the vet bills kept coming. I cursed Felicia every time I lost a cat, knowing that my refusal to give her hugs, kisses, romance, and the "special favor" she desired was the reason why I couldn't work as a musician, and subsequently why my cats hadn't gotten every comfort they might have otherwise enjoyed.
Besides the vet bills, the most pressing issue was the failing brakes on my car. I’d already gone off the road once, having a white knuckle, everything-in-slow-motion, literal "Jesus Take the Wheel" moment. I'd informed the band about my car situation and arranged for a friend to transport me to the gig that weekend. I had never let my personal issues interfere with my responsibilities to the band — not even terroristic threats had done that. It was partly out of a sense of professionalism and obligation that I drove my compromised vehicle to the last band rehearsal I attended, though there were also practical and selfish reasons for attending.
The practical reason was that I urgently needed the cash from my last job. Mrs toomanycats had harangued me all day about needing the money for cat food. Everyone else had been paid weeks ago, from the performers, to the venue, to the bartenders, and yet I still hadn't been compensated.
The personal reason was that the band had agreed to learn "Mr Crowley," and I was ecstatic at the thought of being able to perform this song for an audience on Saturday night. As a guitarist I lived for playing things like that. It had puzzled me that the lead singer, given his refusal to perform "occult" music, had been the one who suggested playing the song. When I asked him about this, he laughed dismissively and said, "Crowley's philosophy is bullshit."
Upon punctually arriving at rehearsal my heart sank when I was informed that my cash from the gig three weeks previous was not on hand. One of these guys was a salesman at a local marina and had supposedly just got a 20K commission on a half-million dollar pleasure craft. Another one of them had recently spoke about the real estate empire he was going to inherit. How could they not have the paltry sum they owed me from three weeks ago on hand, which Mrs Tmc and I needed to keep us afloat?
I was also informed that the gig for that weekend had been canceled at the last minute due to a scheduling error. My risky drive to rehearsal was turning out to be a complete wash, with my cash not being in hand, my weekend job being cancelled, and the dozens of hours I'd spent that week learning "Mr Crowley" for naught.
I reiterated how desperately I needed my pay. They said that they could drive to an ATM, but I knew that would delay the start of rehearsal and retain me there until after dark. I'd promised mrs tmc that I'd return before sunset and deer came out on the hilly, winding back roads I had to traverse to get home. The cash should have been waiting there for me, as I'd told them about my dire financial situation. I told them not to bother driving to the ATM, and that I just wanted to get out of there as soon a possible. They said some stuff about Jesus loving me, that they loved me, hugged me, and offered to taxi me around in their vehicle until my brakes were fixed. I declined their offer, as I do not get into anyone's vehicle who I know uses drugs, and some of these guys also drive after they’ve drank too much. I've dealt with this issue many times while playing in bands, which is the reason I only drive solo. That's my policy, period.
They said they had a friend who could fix my car. Again, I declined. The band's manager had told me that there was a rich-kid poor-kid economic divide within the band, like the relation between the other kids in South Park and Kenny. I would not be treated like another "Kenny," or be used as a pretext for their Christian charity. I didn't want charity — I wanted what I had earned through my own labor three weeks ago!
I'd brought a made in Japan Jackson King V to rehearsal. When I took it out of the case they freaked out, offering to buy it. I'd recently given them a sweetheart deal on an SG bass because I urgently needed the money. I imagined that they thought they could score a similar deal on the Jackson, as I was now in an even worse financial predicament. I declined to sell.
All of my alarms were going off, with my cash unavailable, offers being made to buy my gear after I'd revealed my financial crisis, and transportation being made available so the band's own interests could continue. It's taken me years to understand that I'm often taken advantage of because I'm passive, soft spoken, go-along-to-get-along, and in some ways naive and innocent — some of which is due to my aspergers. I'm really like an Idiot in Dostoyevky's sense. I've learned not to trust people when they love bomb me, want to constantly hug, and assert that I'm family when I hardly even know them. These have become warning signs to me.
I waited 45 minutes for the chronically tardy member of the band to arrive — the guy with the hot/cold, stinky, witchy, crazy girlfriend. During rehearsal he had the nerve to “shoosh” me because he couldn’t hear the Facebook drama our lead singer was dictating over the PA. At that moment I had a revelation about everything, thinking, “What the fuck am I doing here?”
Rehearsal ended after dark. I left without saying a word. Mrs tmc was pissed when I arrived home, excoriating me for wasting gas, risking my life by driving our vehicle, and for not even coming home with the money owed to me.
Before you ask, I don't Venmo.
My bandmates were absolutely aware of my dire situation. I was sure they would deliver my pay within the next day or two. I mean, that's what I would do. I'm a fool who has faith in humanity. It would drive me crazy knowing I owed somebody money and they were suffering privation. I'd crawl across broken glass to pay that debt. Maybe I was testing them. They knew my car was fucked up, that I was defaulting on bills, in danger of losing my home, and that I didn't even have money for food. Not only had these guys expressed concern for my body, but had also made my eternal soul their business. Surely people who had such an all encompassing concern for my welfare would not abandon me in my time of urgent need.
The days went by, one by one, and there was still no contact about the money owed to me.
A week later I still hadn’t been paid. It was Sunday morning, cats were crying, there was no food left. I was overcome with rage. All spirit of goodwill and empathy left me. Felicia was intertwined in my anger. I had looked these guys in the eye, telling them about my assailant, yet they still allowed that predator to hover near me. I no longer cared that they were young and ignorant. That was no excuse. As for the money, a mentsch pays his debts. I texted the band’s group chat, telling them they were religious hypocrites, to go to hell, to keep their money, and that Yahweh would judge them. I was Jesus turning over the money changers tables. That is how I quit the band.
Word got back that I was the bad guy for having said "hell" at the moment they were getting ready to lead their church in worship, and that they were traumatized. Yeah, right, the kids who talked about snorting lines in the dressing room of Apps and Taps with a Kid Rock impersonator were all shook up because I 'd said the word "hell." Give me a fucking break! For these guys, who live with their families, boast about their own affluence, and make someone like me almost have to grovel, beg, and demean themselves to be paid . . . yeah, go to hell!
I finally got my pay a couple weeks later through the intervention of a third party, a young female musician who was upset because a sex harassment scandal involving the pastor of her former church had become a cause célèbre.
MR CROWLEY, WHAT WENT ON IN YOUR HEAD?
After all of this I have been thinking much about Crowley; I mean the man, not the song . . . though the song has become my theme for quitting the band, being psychologically wedded to that experience, with the many hours I spent practicing it in anticipation of a performance that shall now never come.
You see, I have studied Crowley's works academically. Full disclosure — I once made a pilgrimage, while residing on the continent, to Boleskine House along the shore of Loch Ness. This was around the time that Jimmy Page was transferring the property to the MacGillivray family.
How far I have fallen since then, from that man preoccupied with the sublime, cosmic mystery of Loch Ness, with all that it implies geologically, metaphysically, and cryptozoologically, to a middle aged dandy undergoing a crisis of confidence, cosplaying at being a half-baked "rock star" around the shores of man-made Lake Norman, a cooling pond for a nuclear reactor owned by a Gas Holding Company, and secondarily a community for neuvo riche Americans and their spoiled brat millennial offspring. What have I become?
Were I a Christian, I'd hope to be able to provide a more articulate apologetics than simply declaring that Crowley's philosophy was, "bullshit." Crowley can't be so as easily dismissed as that.
"Do What Thou Wilt" is the ruling ethos of our age, underpining the values of the boomer generation. The 60s counter-culture has won the culture war, and it's values of "sex, drugs, and rock & roll" are now the default moral code. Rock music was the soundtrack of the boomer's lives, espousing the values of self-seeking, transcendence through drugs, radical freedom, hedonism, pleasure seeking, sensuousness, and materialism. Nobody today who enjoys affluence and seeks their own advantage in any situation really believes, in their heart, that, "Crowley is bullshit." "Do What Thou Wilt" is the moral equivalent to Newton's first law, the first postulate of action.
I do in fact believe that Crowley is "bullshit." There is something higher than the individual's will, something underpinning our ideas of cosmic justice and order, to which I owe my allegiance. Yes, I've got a problem with Crowley — and probably even with rock & roll itself — which is an incredibly difficult thing for me to have to admit and come to terms with.
“There are only two means of refuge from the miseries of life: Music and Cats!” Albert Schweitzer
