I was looking forward to the upcoming shows, a triple bill with The Peppercorns, The Penelope Tree and my favorite, the Jack Chicks.
I had seen the Peppercorns and the Penelope Tree a few times and they were enjoyable but my favorites were the Jack Chicks.

They came out in the early roll out of punk and new wave. Post punk hadn’t been invented yet. They were hugely influential to a lot of bands that followed. The Peppercorns were contemporaries of the Jack Chicks. The Jack Chicks broke up in 1979 and reunited in the mid 80s.

The lineup remained the same but this time the Jack Chicks were determined to get paid for their efforts. The reunion was a big deal in the alternative scene.

Having paid their dues on the underground circuit in the 80s,The Peppercorns earned their spot opening up for the Jack Chicks. Some thought their songs were a bit twee, but if the Jack Chicks picked them out, then all the doors were opened on their behalf. I enjoyed the Peppercorns, I was friends with one of them, Stuart Errols.

I admit having a crush on Stuart. Not a sexual thing, just found his spoirit and talent so warm and inviting and we jammed a few times, one song we called ‘Driving in Arabia’ which was a blatant rip off / homage to Pylon.

It never went any further from my apartment, Stuart made his way back to the Carolinas after the Peppercorns took a break, only to reawaken when the Jack Chicks tapped them to open the tour.

The Peppercorns in turn asked the Penelope Tree to open for them on the tour and while the Penelope Tree were still somewhat wet behind the ears, they were game and willing to take a chance. I enjoyed them, their music was very much chill out music, perfect for a 3AM hang out after the bars had closed.

In fact that was what was playing that night on Jane Street when I was with the Patricks and our collective coats toppled a chair causing much alarm in the beds of Pattie and Fred Kleinke. The Patricks soon left after that, after the powders had been inhaled and come down was approaching and Pattie and Fred Kleinke were sharpening their knives to jab me in the direction of the exit.

I canot blame the Peppercorns for that. So the Jack Chicks. Sometimes melodic, sometimes abrasive, sometimes like a detergent removing sink stains on a rainy day. That was an actual line from a review during their heyday.

A few documentaries of the Jack Chicks pop up every now and then on the You Tube but the Jack Chicks are very private and somehow get them taken down almost as soon as their are put up.

Friends have recorded the videos directly off the screen of their computers so as to have their own copy that will not be taken down. It works for them.

Who knows what will unfold for the Jack Chicks, much less the Peppercorns and the Penelope Tree? Anything is possible I reckon, though the world has changed considerably.

I have been having very vivid dreams lately. Of course, hours later I can’t remember them. Last night though I had a dream where I do remember I yelled at Bill that I should be sleeping. And I was sleeping. It was weird, but then again it was a dream.

I have had some dreams that involved my old friend Pedro. We’d had a falling out five years ago during the pandemic and that was the last we spoke. There were some angry, pointed posts back and forth on social media which left me smelling of kerosene holding a book of matches next to a bridge.

Of course I regret those things. I can’t say he regrets them but in the dream I hugged him and cried as I told him I love him and missed him. That brought me to contact Excer, a mutual friend from those days when we used to run around doing crazy things with powders and cannabis.

The last time I saw Excer was leaving Pedro’s house in Otisville. Excer was giving me a ride to the bus terminal at the George Washington Bridge, and that must’ve been about 10 years ago.

Mutual friends have come and gone. It was good to speak with Excer though. The funny thing is, one night in the 1980s, Pedro and I were working at 2 Park Ave in Manhattan. Pedro asked if I wanted to go outside and smoke some weed with a friend who was pulling up in his car.

Of course I wanted to smoke weed with Pedro; we had done that often enough that he didn’t even have to ask. We met up with his friend, Excer, in his red Honda Civic. We sat in the car outside of 2 Park Ave, a joint being passed around.

This was the first time I met Excer and we seemed to be getting along just fine. Then, two obviously gay guys were walking up Park Avenue past the car and Excer make a derogatory comment about them. That was all I needed to hear and I excused myself and left the car.

I did not know until after the fact that Pedro told Excer off about his mocking the gay guys, stating that I was gay and Pedro’s friend and what Excer did was not cool at all. Here we are years later, Pedro and I have been on the outs and Excer and I are still friends, planning on meeting up for dinner before the winter sets in. An adult plan since neither one of us really drinks such these days, so it’s dinner.

I sit and listen to Compay Segundo once again. Solo por ti, Pedro Ramos. I really miss being your big bro. I hope someday we will reconnect, our wounds turned to scars and a friendship might bloom once again.

Not the same friendship of course, but some kind of friendship. Excer suggested dropping him a line and I just might do that.

I sent a heartfelt email if there is such a thing. I suppose the ball is in his court.