This hit me kind of hard today.
I took the truck out for some air, and ended up heading into Columbia, IL and onto Steppig Road, where Fragile Porcelain Mice rehearsed in the very early 1990s at the house of the late Bob Ault, a friend and mentor of mine.
Bob and I worked together for a while at P.A.S.S. (formerly "Police Alert Security Systems") in East St. Louis, where he showed me the ropes and trained me not only on how to pull wire, install motion and smoke detectors, etc., but he also gave me some real-life, tough love kinds of lessons in life that I probably hated him for at the time, but fully appreciate now as a man with 54 years of experience behind me.
FPM has a cassette demo recorded at this house that includes the first iteration of "Southside of Luck," along with probably the first real recording of "More Cop Shows" and some other long-forgotten gems like "Plant Wagon," "Welcome to Xenon" (named after a pinball machine in the basement next to us), "Meanbadaction," "Sky Houses," and "Scary Spiders."
Below is the current state of the basement room where we practiced. My drums sat in the lower, left-hand corner, Tim stood to my left, Scott in the middle (of course), and Dave to the right—over by the pinball machine. That extra framed-in room on the lower right wasn't there in those days, as I recall.
The song "Scary Spiders" was kind of a stream of consciousness, lyrically, that Scott wrote as we entertained a small crowd that consisted of the kids who lived in the house and their friends (who were there for a party or possibly a sleepover). The awkwardly-comical opening lyric, "Little girl sitting in a green trash can," was inspired by an actual little girl sat, sunken halfway into a (clean) waste basket, surrounded by her friends who were all transfixed on us—Tim, Scott, Dave, and me—making loud, goofy music in the basement where no doubt they were anxiously waiting to use for typical crazy kid activities once we wrapped up and moved our stuff out of the way.
These days, the house once treasured by Bob and his family—truly his pride and joy, that spot out in the peaceful country where drivers greet each other with a familiar wave while passing each other on those back roads—sits quiet and gutted. A remnant of its former life. Like it's been beaten by flood waters and ravaged by vandals and wildlife.
I experienced the "country wave" today—something like thirty-five years later—and it made me smile and actually laugh out loud as a guy in a passing truck lifted a single finger from the steering wheel as we made eye contact and passed each other on the narrow road before the railroad crossing.
That's the same elevated railroad crossing that I remember hitting at a high rate of speed while we all sang out the General Lee's famous call! 🛤️
I used to drive the band out there and back from our Belleville home base in our first, little band van: a baby blue, stubby beauty we named Gladys.
I tinted her windows in this same garage one night, probably after a long day of installing a burglar or fire alarm system with Bob and then practicing with FPM. I had that kind of energy back then, and was up for anything it seems.
So much has happened since those days, which seem like a lifetime ago, when we just did things. No internet or social media—just dreams, telephones with directory assistance, and seemingly endless time to build what we thought needed to be built.
Sad to see the old house sitting there dark and humbly resting where it once housed probably many others before and maybe after Bob and his family. I could almost hear the excitement in Bob's voice as he'd describe the exhilaration of being in the country finally, where he could play loud music or sit quietly on the back porch and watch the sun set.
Check out some random banter below from the actual recording session that happened in this very basement.
Been one of those seasons of looking back where I've been and looking forward where I'm headed, and FPM has been a recurring theme as of late. Not always the easiest times of my life, but priceless experience and a lot of fun along with the heartache and pain. Art imitates life, as they say.