Man, when we…when we.
[Pause]
Preach stage left.
Tim stage right.
The fuckin’ bass, me in the middle.
Caught between light and dark.
My parents’ love for me. My sisters. Their hate for each other.
Then the band.
And then there was Lyla.
Caught between light and dark my whole life, you know?
Tim was not an attention guy. He wanted to play his guitar. He was more into the music than me. Definitely more than Nick or Rick.
I mean, he didn’t talk much, but you got him rapping, it’d be about music. And he’d go on about shit I wouldn’t get until later.
About Bowie and Ziggy Stardust and how that shit was beyond. He was into Petty. And Springsteen. The dude listened to Joni Mitchell and Carole fuckin’ King. Stevie Wonder. Johnny Cash. Jackson Brown. Patti Smith.
None of us knew who the fuck Leonard Cohen was. But Tim did.
Preach did too.
Dolly Parton. The Eagles. Fleetwood Mac. Elvis Costello.
The guy did not discriminate.
Hell, when Paul Simon released Graceland, fuck. Tim listened to that so often, back then, if I heard “do, do, do, do…do, do, do, do,” [humming opening of “You Can Call Me Al”] one more time, I’d fuckin’ kill someone.
He blasted out the Runaways.
He was Joan Jett’s biggest fuckin’ fan. If she’d asked him to be in the Blackhearts, he would have dropped everything to follow her anywhere she went.
Yeah, he’d even drop us.
Believe it.
I think he had a little punk down deep in his heart.
It was quiet. Punk ain’t quiet.
But listen to his solos and tell me he wasn’t screaming about something.
And you know, when Mellencamp got airplay, we hadn’t even started the fuckin’ band. We were in junior high, for fuck’s sake.
And it was Tim who said, when we first heard “Hurts So Good,” “This is the guy.”
I mean, that wasn’t even “Jack and Diane.” And he was listening to Chestnut Street Incident and John Cougar and “Ain’t Even Done with the Night.”
It was also about Mellencamp for him, and all of us, I guess. Seein’ as we’re all from Indiana.
Except Preach.
So, Tim did not care that Preacher edged him out.
Especially when we heard the guy sing.
Tim got lead on a lot of songs. As you know. For sure. He was a decent guitar player, but with Preach in the band, we all got better.
We had to match him. The way Preacher played guitar like it was second nature, didn’t even look down at his strings. Moved his fingers, and miracles came out.
But there were a few songs he passed along to Tim to play lead guitar, also sing, but really, no one would sing lead, you know, regular, except Preach when we heard him sing.
That deep, raspy voice that had that Cajun lilt.
That was one of the things I thought made him even more badass. He’d say “dis” and “dat” and “dos” and “dem” instead of “this” and “that” and “those” and “them.”
You’d say something, and he’d reply, “talk about,” and you would not know what the fuck he meant. But it was a Cajun thing. After a while, we all said, “talk about” and every time we did in the beginning, it’d make Preach smile.
He was just him.
Twenty years old and he was just him. He wasn’t gonna change for anybody.
Like the Beatles, when everyone else from over there was singing in an American accent, they were all, “Fuck that.” They were English. They sang with an English accent. And that was that.
That’s rock ’n’ roll, you know.
You take me as I am or kiss my ass.
Preach was all about that.
Tim was all about that too, in Tim’s way.
I think he felt relief when Preacher came along, and he didn’t have to carry the band.
He could just play.
And when he could just play, he got better. So much better.
On “Best of” lists, you know. That much better.
Though, down from Preacher on those lists, just sayin’.
[Off tape]
You’re on “Best of” lists too.
[Long pause]
Yeah, I know.
The shit hit the fan when Ricky stopped coming to band practice and Nicky was being weird when he did.
Preacher had been with us for a few weeks by then. But I figure he’d sussed shit right out, doin’ this maybe the first time he jammed with us.
He worked during the day, no clue at what. He had his own apartment, but he hadn’t asked us around. Had his own car. Beat-up POS, but he had his own car and we all thought that was cool seeing as we were in our parents’ rides if we were in anything.
Tim still rode his fuckin’ bike everywhere. [Laughs] Guitar strapped to his back. [Laughs more]
People at home, they still talk about seein’ ol’ Timmy Townes peddling around on his bike with his guitar on his back.
When Rick bailed, Tim’d play rhythm while Nicky hit the drums. Or Tim’d hit the drums while Nick played rhythm. Tim’d play a lot of rhythm in the end, so this was good practice.
Didn’t feel that way then. Never feels good when someone bails, and Nick would not say dick about why Ricky was gone, which felt worse.
And man, this is where the story gets famous. Nick blabbing his fuckin’ mouth after, you know, the band became the band and people would listen to what he had to say.
Kicked out of the band and made money off us anyway.
But whatever, man. He told no lies, mostly, so I guess, [pause] whatever.
[Off tape]
So it happened that day like he said?
[Nods]
Yup, he left some shit out, but yeah.
Those dudes rolled up, walked up my fuckin’ parents’ driveway into my fuckin’ parents’ garage, and…
[Pause]
Shit.
You know, there are times in your life that are etched into your brain.
My life, there are a lot of those times.
But I had help remembering things.
My dad, maybe he wanted me to live his dream. I don’t know. He was into rock ’n’ roll too. He played the bass too. He was in a band when he was a kid too.
He’s the one who got me into it. He bought me my first bass when I was ten. He’d listen to his music a lot. The Allman Brothers Band. Lynyrd Skynyrd. The Outlaws. He’d listen to it loud when Mom was out of the house.
But when we started rollin’. When Preach came to the band. Dad gave me this little notebook.
He said, “Write everything down, kid. Every gig. Every practice. Every song. Every girl. Every city. Every stretch of road. Write it down, ’cause there’ll come a time, you won’t want to forget.”
And you know, Dad got sick. And then Dad died.
And what did I do?
I went to every fuckin’ Kmart I could find, and I bought up every notebook they had that was the same size and brand and color of the one my dad gave me.
Still got ’em all.
Every one.
Natalie counted them once. I don’t remember how many of them she said there were.
Over fifty.
[Off tape]
I’d like to read them.
Wouldn’t everyone?
So, these guys roll up, yeah?