Backwater Blues
Buck was forced to go on hiatus. His country music group, The Skinners, had been touring for three years consecutively and didn’t know which way was up. At Shandy’s Tap Room, in Oklahoma, the guitarist Birch Robbins confused the crowd with constant references to Blake’s Billiards in Muscle Shoals. After a few boos, and beer bottles barely missing his head, Birch stage dived like he was in Black Flag in 1985. An Afghanistan war veteran was unfortunately on the receiving end of Birch’s fury and pummeled the guitar player like Alex Van Halen pounds the drums. Buck Mackie, the singer, stared in disbelief as his career came to a full stop. He began to disband the band in his own mind.
***
Two years later, at a tater tot festival in Males, South Carolina, Buck surveys the talent backstage. There’s a mother/daughter gospel duet, a pretty boy Keith Urban copy strumming a Martin DX, and two good ol’ boys with medium-length mullets and protruding guts modeled on Big & Rich.
“Hey, that’s Buck Mackie,” one of them says, standing right in front of Buck.
From their tight tour t-shirts, Buck can see they’re part of New Ford, a revivalist movement started by a DJ in Dallas who had been complaining about the lack of authentic country musicians. The CMA awarded expensive musical instruments to the top ten songs submitted to their website with the hashtag NEWFORD and had the performers agree to a six-month low-rent tour of the South. Normally, Buck would have no part of this. But, after having his home foreclosed in Durham, he’s been looking for pennies under any couch cushion that’s offered. Still, he’s not impressed with the lay of the land.
“What’s he doing here?” the other fellow says.
Buck takes a swig from his cold can of Busch and stands up. “I’m here to make sure you guys don’t fuck up my songs.”
He walks past them and sees Harley Robinson, the concert promoter, at a booth dunking tots in various cheese sauces offered by a young woman with a big smile and bigger curves. Robinson has been running this circuit for twenty years. The Skinners crossed paths with him a time or two.
“Harley, I never thought I’d see you again.”
The promoter looks slightly uncomfortable but continues eating. The woman offers Buck a little basket of golden fried taters and one, or six, kinds of gourmet cheese sauce.
“Are you telling me this man sprung for six kinds of cheese? Well hell, honey, hook me up with all of ‘em.” The woman places small ketchup cups in front of her and fills each one from a line of pump bottles to her left.
Harley tries to explain. “Mack, your record company told me to cut the band off. They said if I let you and Birch play, the talent well would dry up. I had no choice.”
Buck is sampling each sauce as he listens. The thought of Blackstrap Records bringing his career to an end still cuts into his soul. The wound is still open.
Harley continues. “I heard Birch was out in California fronting an Eagles tribute band.”
Somebody hands Buck another cold Busch.
“Yeah, he landed on his feet. After the divorce and attempted suicide. He’s doing well.”
A ruckus spreads through the backstage area as Antelope Melody arrives and makes their way to a dressing room. Harley notices Buck’s snarky smile.
“I know, Mack, but they’re about to blow up. They have a single that’s been streamed three million times on Spotify.” The trio looks like Elton John crossed with Lynyrd Skynyrd.
“And they’re playing this festival?” Buck asks, incredulously.
The promoter smiles. “Yeah, they signed the contract with New Ford before anything happened. Nobody thought they’d make a dime; could be selling out the theater across town right now. Contracts are a bitch.”
Now Buck wants to meet them; wants to warn ’em about evil record companies and shady promoters. A young man in a ponytail interrupts. “Mr. Mackie, you’re on in ten minutes!” Buck nods at the enthusiastic roadie. He gives Harley a long hard stare and finds his way to the stage.
The vibe reminds him of starting out a decade ago. The Skinners would play everywhere: gas stations, Walmart parking lots, Christian bookstores, strip clubs. It didn’t matter. Everyone in the band needed to play, to get something out of their system that couldn’t be contained. They knew if the demons weren’t channeled into music, the only other outlet was self-destruction. Buck and Birch had setbacks but Ronnie and Matt went dark, deep, fast. They’re still in rehab, with nothing to come home to. The thought forces Buck to change his set list, to alter the mood…
Let’s start out with Backwater Blues, he thinks, as a ray of sunshine hits the stage and roadies put the final touches on his guitar and microphone. It sucks to open the show, but at least he can show the amateurs how it’s done. Standing on the side of the stage in his own thoughts, he’s startled when Luke Bowery pats him on the back.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Buck. Just a thrill. I learned to play with your songs. If my introduction is a little sappy, I apologize in advance.”
Buck watches Luke walk to center stage. The crowd of about two thousand screams.
“Listen up. The line-up tonight is new artists learning their craft. You’re gonna hear some great songs from amazing performers. But, to start the show on the right foot, we’re lucky to hear a legend perform. I’ve got the Skinners Greatest Hits in my truck, and I’m sure you do too. So now, get ready to cheer for the lead singer and chief songwriter of that badass country blues band. All the way from his backyard in Durham, North Carolina… Buck Mackie!!”
Buck can’t conceal the small grin as he heads to the microphone and shakes hands with Luke. It’s all coming back to him now. He’s drawing energy from the raucous crowd. Should he start off with a depressing song? Hell, it’s a good tune, so why not?
“Thank you, Luke, and thanks, everybody, for coming out today. It’s tempting to stay at home in front of your flatscreen, but sometimes you have to get out of your comfort zone. That’s a cliche for a reason. Because if we don’t get uncomfortable, life will certainly step in and force us to grow.” He hears some “Amen, brother.”
“They say we don’t learn from success. Failure is the true teacher…”
Boooooos from fans way in the back rows.
“Isn’t that a bitch?” A few cheers from the front row.
“Well, I had a fight with failure.” Buck surveys the fans, gives them a big smile.
“And I kicked his ass.”
The crowd erupts as he launches into a ferocious version of a little known deep cut.
I was down for the count for a decade
Couldn’t see straight, was forbade
To love anyone, to be close to
A beating heart
I was locked up and locked down
In my basement
Talking to walls made of cement
The doctor said I was demented
Was doomed to die…
Everyone is quiet, hanging on the lyrics.
Luke Bowery is watching and listening with his band on the edge of the stage. Buck looks at them and waves them over. Trey Garret plugs in his guitar. Tommy Knight gets behind the drums, and Derek Brumley picks up his bass. The audience goes crazy as the band kicks in. Luke sings the next verse and chorus with Buck.
I saw a gleam of light down the alley
Didn’t know she was there to save me
My heart exploded as my eye
Caught the love in hers…
She cured my backwater blues
Thought I was bound to lose
No more lonely nights
I’ve finally found my muse
She cured my backwater blues
I told everyone the news
We walked hand in hand
Out of the darkness
To brighter views
It’s quiet, still… until a wave of applause crashes over the performers. They’re having a good time. Buck wants to give the audience a treat for enduring a sad song. He also wants to make it impossible for the young bands to follow him up. Buck covers the microphone with his hand, asks Luke a question.
“Do you guys know ‘Convoy’?”
Luke just shakes his head yes. There’s a mischievous look in both men’s eyes. Buck turns around, hollers the song to the band. They immediately drop into the groove.
“Breaker, breaker, one-nine…”
Homegrown Hillbillies are watching this performance from the side of the stage. They were confident about following a has-been like Buck Mackie, but the crowd is reacting like they’re listening to Led Zeppelin. Brian Moss, the lead singer, looks at his band mates when “Convoy” finishes.
“We can’t compete with that. What do you wanna do?”
“We gotta play,” Ray Stone, the guitarist, says. “Or Harley will shut down our career.”
“Alright, let’s change the set,” Seth Nelson, the drummer, says. “Start out with ‘Whole Lotta Love.’”
Brian knows they have to make an impression, but he’s not happy about pandering. “Guess this’ll just be a covers concert… okay.”
Luke, Buck, and the band pass the Hillbillies after their very successful set.
“Good luck, boys,” Luke says to them with a grin. Buck stays silent and sizes them up. They’re not worth his words. Trey Garret asks a roadie for a Heineken. He’s not happy with the response.
“Sorry, Mr. Garret. We only have Busch products, since they’re sponsoring the tour.”
Before Trey can complain, a huge rush of power rock overwhelms the tranquil backstage area. The Hillbillies have it cranked up to eleven. Derek is not impressed.
“Motherfuckers always start with Zep when they don’t have the goods.”
Luke looks at Buck.
“We scared ’em. They’re overcompensating. How do they think their original songs will top that?”
Harley comes over. He looks very happy.
“Good job, boys! That’s the way to open a show!”
They all look at him with contempt. Buck is a peacemaker.
“Thank you, Harley. It’s the best circus in the state.”
“Damn straight, Buck. You should stay with the tour. Ten more shows would do wonders for your bank account.”
Luke drops a surprise on them all.
“Buck’s going on the road with us. A few Deep South stops, then we head to the west coast.”
And just to piss off Harley, he adds…
“Ticketmaster told us to take our time. They’re all in.”
Luke’s band is ecstatic. They hi-five each other and shake Buck’s hand. The promoter tries to keep his composure, but is lacking in concealing his feelings. Harley’s face is redder than South Carolina.
“I’m a little disappointed, considering how lucrative our deal could’ve been, but good luck. Maybe we’ll cross paths again.”
Buck and the guys watch him walk away.
Luke says, “I don’t think we’ll ever cross paths with that man again.”
“Damn straight,” Buck says. “How about we get out of here and grab some barbeque? There’s a killer place about a half hour away.”
“We know that one,” Derek says. “Lou’s Shack, off interstate 95?”
Buck nods yes.
“As much as I’d love to stay and hear some new songs, Lou’s place is what I need now.”
“Hell yeah!” Luke blurts out. “Let’s go!”
The musician’s head toward the tour bus in great spirits. Their future is suddenly brighter than before, and they can’t wait to get started.
***
After a two week run through Biloxi, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Memphis, and Atlanta, Buck, Luke, and The Loaded Weapons (Luke’s band) end up at The Hi Hat in Los Angeles. It’s a small venue about fifteen minutes north from downtown that’s intimate, has good food, drinks, and an excellent sound system. Next door is a Thai place where performers eat before or after their gig. Buck is enjoying a meal of hot chicken, sticky rice, and papaya salad with Trey as they compare and contrast the country.
“My brain just works here. Down South, it feels like my head is moving in slow motion. Why is that, Buck?”
The singer finishes chewing his spicy chicken.
“Because down South, most people have their heads up their ass.”
Both men grin, acknowledge the wisdom of the statement.
Trey is eating Panang curry fries and dipping them in a sweet pepper sauce. He takes a sip of Heineken.
“I wanna stay in L.A. for awhile. There’s plenty of studio jobs for me. Luke can find another guitar player.”
“I don’t blame you,” Buck says. “Live in the modern world for a change. Birch seems to like it out here.”
This gets Trey excited.
“Have you talked to him lately? Can you get him to play with us?”
Buck looks out the window at the busy street as the light changes from bright sun to evening shade.
“Yeah, we’re always in touch. I told him we’re in town. He said he’d come by if he could.”
Trey smiles.
“I’ll be more than happy to share the stage with him.”
Buck’s gaze lingers on a woman getting out of a car across the street. She’s chic, confident, fitting in well with the city.
“Me too,” he responds. “It would be a treat for us all.”
Later that evening, four songs into the set, Luke introduces Buck to the Hi Hat fans. It’s Honkytonk Hacienda night, a twice-monthly country music mini-fest with two hundred fifty Angelenos in the audience. Some are at the bar drinking craft beer from a can, and the rest are soaking up Luke Bowery’s songs about depression, drink, and the dregs of society. This may be The Weapons’ best show of the tour. They seem to have something to prove to the musicians who are watching. Luke’s voice is top-notch too; a gravelly baritone with the slightest twang. But now, everyone needs some songs about love and forgiveness.
“Los Angeles. Highland Park!! Good to be back! We have a special guest who has graciously agreed to join us on this short tour before we head off to Europe. He’s had seven top-ten songs with The Skinners, and even though his solo work didn’t achieve that level of success, to me his latest songs are in the same league. So please, give a hearty welcome to my new friend and teenage hero, Buck Mackie!”
Luke and Trey look over and see someone chatting with Buck on the edge of the stage. A roadie gives the stranger a black acoustic Fender guitar. They both walk into the spotlight as the cheers grow louder. A few people in the front rows recognize Birch Robbins plugging in his instrument. Luke and Trey are in awe when they realize who is standing by them. Buck tells them the next song and The Weapons lay down a slow groove. It’s a classic Skinners tune, and everyone knows it well. Buck begins.
Losing herself in the city
One day she decided to quit me
There was nothing for her to hang onto
Or make her stay
I had no prospects in line
No highlights
My resume only
Contained blights
I wasn’t a big enough man
To keep her in my sights
Birch joins him on the chorus. The band elevates the tempo.
But she surprised me by grace
Looked right in my face
Said she loved me
Wanted to stay
Here in our
Place
I had a beer with dear
As long as she’s near
There’s no heartache
Nothing, we can’t
Overcome
I had a beer with my dear
As long as she’s near
There’s no dream
Nothing, we can’t
Become
The crowd sings the chorus again with Buck, Birch, and Luke followed by many whoops and hollers. Finally, Buck takes the microphone.
“For those who don’t know, this is the man, the legend, the outlaw. All the way from his vineyard in Sonoma county… Birch Robbins!!”
Everyone on stage has huge smiles, with Birch the happiest of them all. Since he’s been playing Eagles songs for the past year, he wants to sing “Take It Easy” before leaving. He leans over, tells Buck and Luke, and the song starts as if he opened Spotify.
“Well I’m runnin’ down the road tryin’ to loosen my load
I’ve got seven women on my mind…”
***
With the Hi-Hat mostly empty, Buck and Birch sit at a corner table with glasses of Burning Chair, a Kentucky whiskey finished in California wine barrels. Buck swirls it in his glass.
“This is damn good stuff.”
Birch sniffs and tastes.
“I told you. Things are happening everywhere now.”
“Yeah, I know. Progress. I feel like I’m ancient though.”
Birch just shakes his head.
“You just need some fresh air. There’s more to life than Carolina.”
Buck agrees.
“The proprietor of this place offered me a regular gig. Maybe I should take it?”
Birch looks around the club. The servers look like classic California girls, like they’ve been at the beach all day. They look happy, healthy, content.
“You’d be crazy not to, buddy. And you could visit me in Sonoma. We’ve got some pretty good garage wines about to hit the market. I could turn you into a connoisseur.”
Buck finishes his fancy whisky. A dirty blonde server appears, towers over him.
“Would you like another one?”
He takes it all in, smiles.
“Yes, I’d like more, please.”
