Keith Pille of Minneapolis sent in this beauty:
We were a really, really by-the-numbers country-rock band with some pretty serious Uncle Tupelo Envy. We were a 4-piece, with 3 of us living in the Twin Cities and being really, really into the band and convinced that we were always just a month or so away from getting signed and making it big because we were so awesome blah blah blah. The 4th member, our drummer, lived way out in rural
So after about two years of straggling along like that, we finally landed a show at the
And then, the day before the show, the drummer calls with news that few bands have to deal with on the eve of their big performance. There's an emergency school board meeting the night of the show, and he has to go to testify in a debate about cuts to school band funding. He hates to do it, but he can't make the show.
We called the junior booking guy at
The next day, then, about an hour before the actual show would've started, the phone rings. It's the senior booking guy at
Pretty much as soon as we put the phone down, we realized our days as a band were done. Our drummer did convince the school board not to cut band funding though, and I am left with the memories and a concert poster in which I am farting around with a college friend's Chinese assault rifle. With the bayonet and the box of cigars, I figured it would make for some good "revolutionary"-type pictures. (Yeah. I know.)