Photo: The Ravin’ Brothers in their Sgt. Pepper finery
“The form of the monster on whom I had bestowed existence was forever before my eyes, and I raved incessantly concerning him…”
– Dr. Frankenstein, on creating a monster
And just as Dr. Frankenstein had raved, so had my brothers and I…
“VMF” Written by DC Duncan
The Ravin’ Brothers, Part Two
We had played for large gatherings at the Bull Ring for two years. We seemingly had reached our limit on how much we could earn there. Harry O would not entertain the idea of giving us a cut of the cover charge, so we decided it was time to move on.
In mid-1988, we negotiated a one-year contract with Al Lucero, owner of the Rafters in Sambusco Center. We eventually played four nights a week. Suddenly we were playing in a much larger venue that boasted the “longest bar in Santa Fe.” The dance floor and stage were huge compared to the Bull Ring’s, and yes, we would get a cut of the door.
Jon Asher’s Emergency Blues Band had previously played there to big crowds. And the Rafters employed top quality bouncers who were courteous and efficient. Little did we know, that within a few months, we would rely greatly on our bouncer brethren – we had created a monster!
The first thing we did was to build an elevated, paneled sound booth to accommodate our soundman, Dennis and our light-man, Ronnie – ‘Tripod the Impaler.’ (Don’t ask.) Eventually, they mounted a spot light from the ceiling over a particular table. During certain songs, Chris Ravin would saunter beyond the dance floor with his wireless guitar and end up on the table top, surrounded by pretty girls. Then the light man would switch on the spotlight and Chris would place his guitar in back of his head and play Stevie Ray style. What a show!
On stage, I had my big gong in back of me and my brothers front-right and front-left. We were quite animated, but the conga lines were a thing of the past – there were just too many people in the way. In fact, the bouncers could only allow new arrivals in when others left. So, there was a perpetual line out the door. If there was trouble, I’d call out “Code 10!” over the mic and the trusty bouncers were front-and-center to eject the troublemakers.
One thing for certain, Chris Ravin’ was the star attraction! He was an incredible guitar player, a powerful singer with a commanding presence, a great dancer and, in short, the consummate entertainer. It was in his blood; he lived for the ‘show.’
We became friends with everyone from the busboys to the general manager, Richard. We had found a home and every night we played was a house-party for ever increasing crowds.
“Low Rider” Written by DC Duncan, sung by Chris Donahue
But wait. Richard announced that the Budweiser Distributor had told him that the Rafters were selling more Budweiser than any other establishment in their huge distribution area. AND, they were making a Rafters poster, using a band shot of the Ravin’ Brothers. It was to be placed in every liquor store in northern New Mexico! Good news – I supposed – but the place soon turned into an overcrowded insane asylum. (Funny. I felt right at home.)
One Sunday we played a wrap party for the movie The Tracker, starring Kris Kristofferson. I believe it was at the Sheraton, but wherever it was, the cast and crew were having a splendid time. On one of our breaks, we joined Kris and his lovely wife at their table. I was sitting next to the star, and at one point in the lively conversation, I mentioned that a lot of people tell me I look just like Kris Kristofferson. He took a long look at me and chuckled. All he said was, “SHI-yit” in two syllables. Everyone at the table laughed out loud.
From that moment on, no matter where we were, when anyone commented that I looked like Kris Kristofferson, my bandmates would both belt out, “SHI-yit!”
Once we played a gig at Club West. The first act, the main attraction, was the erotic, male striptease troupe, the famous Chippendales. They were all half-naked hunks that delighted lonely housewives and horny women of all ages. They performed on stage in front of our equipment and then joined the crowd of inebriated, overheated party girls for more up-close titillation.
Finally, the sweaty Adonises headed for the dressing room and the Ravin’ Brothers made their way up to the stage, each one of us carrying a guitar case. Suddenly, the crowd of nymphomaniacal lunatics attacked us, as if we were a part of the freak show. It was amusing at first, but then they started tugging at our clothes… and grabbing our crotches! It was actually scary. The bouncers had to pull them off us.
What a way to make a living.
Our poor friend, Brian, was a mess. He suffered from a botched frontal lobotomy and was taking prescribed drugs that seemed to make him worse, probably causing his frequent spastic fits. We were playing Club West and Brian, not bad-looking, had asked a young lady to dance. Soon they were in the crowd dancing away when he went into one of his wild fits. I felt so sorry that this was happening while he was dancing with such a cute girl.
But then the girl stopped for a second and smiled. She then started imitating Brian’s every move! I guess she thought he was a very hip dancer and mirrored him. People around them were laughing at the crazy dancing fools, but the girl was having the time of her life. Of course, we were on stage watching this whole oddity transpire. I was glad Brian had found a dancer that could keep up with him for a change; and he might have gotten lucky that night.
I don’t know much about dancin’, that’s why I got this song
One of my legs is shorter than the other, and both my feets too long
I’m a dancin’ fool! – Frank Zappa
I was asked to co-produce Jon Asher’s CD, Blues Shadow. I hired a horn section and wrote the parts. And the two of us ended up with a really strong CD. (My pal, Steve Lindsay was on bass.) I had set up my jazz set at Jon’s house on Upper Canyon Road. He shared the place with his college roommate, Dan Fogelberg.
David Gilliland was working for the City of Santa Fe presenting Summerscene ‘89, a series of free concerts at the Plaza every Tuesday and Friday. David hired me to run the Tuesday shows. I set up the stage, emceed, and did a lot of shmoozing. I got to hear some great music and meet the bands, many from Texas. A very satisfying gig, indeed. And lucrative.
“One Night Stand” Written & sung by Chris Ravin, with Rasty Crutcher on sax.
One day Chris Ravin told me a very sad tale concerning the disappearance of his new bride. (I’ll call her Boopsie.) After missing for days on end, Boopsie had finally shown up back home. Of course, Chris had been frantic; she definitely had some explaining to do.
It seems that the beautiful Boopsie had wandered into a tavern near the Plaza and perched herself on a bar stool. Sitting next to her was a good-looking gentleman from New York City. According to her, this guy was the spitting image of Richard Gere. The two of them struck up a friendly conversation and the next thing she knew, he was flying her to the Big Apple for some serious fun – if you know what I mean.
Chris could not believe what he was hearing.
Boopsie’s only excuse for her transgression: “He looked just like Richard Gere . . . you would have done the same thing!” (Sad but true.)
Meanwhile, back at the Rafters, we were getting wired all the time. And some nights after the gig, we’d play pinball and carouse until the crack of dawn. Then we’d rush out to the loading dock to salute the garbage men. We were like candles burning at both ends.
By the way: I never liked cocaine – I only liked how it smelled.
And then one fine day, we were rehearsing at Chris’s house – minus Boopsie – when the phone rang. It was Richard from the Rafters informing us that the Feds had taken possession of the whole building, lock, stock and barrel! He said: “You guys better get down here fast and get your equipment out. They’re gonna padlock the doors!”
We rushed over to the Rafters and were greeted by a local FBI field agent. He told me he was sorry, that he was a big Ravin’ fan. That was a nice gesture, but the fact of the matter was that we had just lost our gig. And we had recently signed up for another year! DAMMIT!
Chris was on the ball and within a day had booked us at the Irish Pub on St. Michaels. We played the coming week-end without skipping a beat. He then booked the Ravin’ Brothers at Chelsea’s at the Santa Fe Mall. I wasn’t privy to the details of the contract, but we were to play five nights a week for an undetermined amount of time. Suddenly, we were back in the saddle, and our rowdy following showed up in force.
Unfortunately, the crowds were becoming out of control. In a few months the Alcoholic Beverage Control Division (ABC) was showing up every other night; not to mention the cops walking through the place looking for suspects wanted for crimes committed in the parking lot. Needless to say, the end of that gig was inevitable. So, Chris found us yet ANOTHER gig.
We moved over to Ally-Oops on Siler Road, back of the Ramada. The owner was pleased as punch to have us in his midst – a sentiment he would soon regret. The club regulars at Ally-Oops turned out to be what the name implied: a bunch of knuckle-dragging cavemen. Hiring us was like pouring gasoline on smoldering embers. There were serious fist fights every night, and the place was more Fight Club than a nightclub! They hired rent-a-cops, but the real cops were called to save their asses every time!
Meanwhile, Jayebird and I received a large packet of monthly “invoices” from the State Revenue Department. They claimed we hadn’t paid gross receipts taxes to the tune of tens-of-thousands of dollars. Gross receipt taxes are supposedly for shop owners, but they were threatening to put a lien on our house! So ensued a legal mess. We paid fines and interest and were instructed to pay state taxes monthly. I was fit to be tied . . . so we decided to sell the house and move to Hawaii!
One afternoon, the band returned from a gig in Taos to set-up at Ally-Oops. The owner called us into his office and informed us that he had to let us go. But he gave us a month’s pay to compensate. In other words: he paid us NOT to play! Unheard of.
We gigged elsewhere, but the end was near. And then, our realtor informed us that her mother decided to buy the house. We sold our home without even putting it on the market.
The Ravin’ Brothers booked one last gig at Club West – the Aloha Party! It was April,1990, and we had had a great run, but now it was time to celebrate. The night of the party, Club West, including the beer garden, was packed to capacity. The people showed up in droves. We were amazed and quite humbled by the affection shown to us by our diehard fans. We made lots of money: enough to tip the soundman $200 and the light-man $100.
Club West presented me with a beautiful book, a photo essay called Santa Fe. The inscription:
April 28,1990 DC – May some of your heart stay with us here – Thanks – Club West
Quoth the Ravin’ Brothers . . . NEVERMORE!
DC has been a frustrated musician for over fifty years, and now has decided to become a frustrated writer. Learn more at DCDuncan.com. He’ll keep you posted.