Maggot hipped some of us to a
new documentary about 80's/90's supergroup (whoops) Fishbone that some folks made. They were some weird cats, but for some reason what 6 guys in late 80's LA did- (with too much energy and totally confused about where they belonged and what they were doing there)- resonated like hell with 6 young guys in late 80's suburban Raleigh (who had too much energy and were totally confused about where they belonged and what they were doing there). I can remember the feeling at those Fishbone shows. There was some wild shit. In Wilmington one time Dirty Walt Kibby was singing into a weird looking microphone- upon closer inspection, it turned out to be the FIRST black dildo I ever saw. I remember knowing that I didn't know anything, but that whatever this was, it was for real and it answered that nagging doubt that tormented us and made us ride skateboards and search the cassette wall at Record Bar for answers- that there had to be something else out there.
The years went on and we moved on to other music, other obsessions. But soon after I got to the newspaper in Stockton in 2006, I got assigned to cover a Fishbone show in town. I was psyched. I think I tried to negotiate some kind of backstage shooting access that got shut down. The place was nearly empty. Most of the crowd sat in the theater seats. The Rialto it was not. I tried to feel that same explosion in me, but it wasn't there. I couldn't tell what had changed- if it was me, or the band, or the scene. Or maybe just time. After the first couple of songs, Angelo decided to matters into his own hands. He scaled the seat backs, crawling with the mic until he was face to face with the (lack of) crowd. He screamed at them into the mic. In all those years, his energy had not dimmed a bit. He seemed like he was asking us, begging us for an answer- why had it turned out this way? Why were they just sitting there, and why hadn't his band ever become famous? For all of this effort and all these songs and all those miles, why were they playing to 50 people in a shitty theatre in a nowhere town? And why wasn't I screaming and jumping and going to the end with them? Where had we been, and how did we end up here?
I took some pictures, and they came out in the paper the next day. I didn't have an answer for him.
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