As we got better, we also got more creative. Ideas started popping into our heads -- wouldn't it be great if? -- and then we figured out a way to make those ideas come to life on our woefully limited budget. Lots of Goodwill and scrap-heap carpentry was involved, along with tools, paint, and sundry items "borrowed" from our jobs. Through it all, we managed to present a fresh, unpredictable and fun face at nearly every gig:
-- One of our fans kept all his empty beer cans in a closet in his apartment. At the end of the term, we built a frame out of wood slats and cardboard and made a huge sign bearing the band name, spelled out in more than 300 or 400 beer cans. When we trashed it at the end of the show, the crowd went wild.
-- We'd decorate the stage with the strangest icons and baubles we could think of. A Spiderman bank, a telephone on the Pharfisa, a newspaper delivery tube, stuffed animals, pre-fab signs, a Mr. Potato Head, a working TV, you name it.
-- In an attempt to present a multimedia experience, we'd project humorous slides as a backdrop to our shows. True sensory overload.
-- Once, we built a wood frame that encircled the stage and tried to make it look like a big TV set, with the band on the screen. People didn't get it.
-- We tried to top each other with stupid, ugly and outrageous clothing, generally bought on treks to inner-city thrift shops. I knew where to get red and white plaid sportcoats for 99 cents and ties at five for a buck. I would wear four or five layers of clothing at a time, peeling one off at a time to match the mood of the next tune.
-- And while some band members HAD TO get truly pissed (drunk) before a show, I couldn't. Maybe two beers to calm my nerves. Once, before a show at the Palms, I puked from nerves, right in the dressing room. Hey, the band Triumph was in the audience, so cut me a break.
