Heard it from a friend who...heard it from a friend who..heard it from another that you're about a fuckin' dick, asshole.

Growing up in Indianapolis was odd for a young teen music fan/musician. Having started playing guitar at 13 and always wanting to see live music to see people play guitars was tough because outside of arena shows, there was fuck all for live music options. There was the Pizza Castle, a wonderful place where all ages could go see killer regional bands play. But getting a driver license and car was still a couple of years away. Such few options pretty much left arena shows as the only way to see music.

A big problem with arena shows was that even though there were plenty all year long, the bands who played were many times shit you didn't want to see. This is how author here ended up seeing the Grateful Dead when he didn't even want to do so. Just to see some live guitar music. They were awful. One band who played Indianapolis a lot was REO Speedwagon. They had a tradition for a spell of playing here at Market Square Arena on New Years Eve every year. This was big news every time it rolled around. You were special if you had been to one of these shows and had awesome stories about all the ludes you took, weed you smoked and cherry vodka you drank. All the while shouting along with songs like RIDIN THE STORM OUT or 157 RIVERSIDE AVENUE. "MAN THEM MUHFUKKERS PLAYED THAT ONE SONG THAT RIVERSIDE STREET SONG AND MAN THAT DUDE MADE HIS GUUTAWR TALK AN SHIT NO SHIT MUHFUKKER I'S RIGHT UP FRONT WITH WILD BILL MAN AND THAT GERY RICHRATH LOOKED RIGHT AT ME WHEN HE WENT WOO WOO WOO ON THAT GUUTAWR A HIS".  And you can't forget the invented stories that went with shit like this. Locals like to make it all local. About them. "MAN THEY WROTE THAT 648 RIVERSIDE SONG ABOUT RIVERSIDE RIGHT HEER IN INDY MAN NO SHIT THAT NUMBER THATS THUH ADDRESS OF THEIR PARTY HOUSE MAN THEY GET ALL FUCKED UP UP THERE ON REDS AND SHIT MAH COUSIN WENT". Sure you're cousin did.

REO released Hi Infidelity in 1980. The album was huge for them. Shitloads of radio hits. You couldn't turn on Q95 or WNAP and not hear that shit. One of the best things about it was that creamy tone of Gary Richrath's '59 Les Paul. Dude had tone like crazy. It made some of those songs kind of listenable back then. So tickets were a must when NYE rolled around. Oh yeah.

It was Christmas break when the concert rolled around. Arriving early at the arena could be fun for a dumb kid because you could walk around, get high and watch all of the dealers, scalpers and people selling bootlegged shirts all around the arena. Or go up the ramp to the third floor where all of the band's equipment was loaded in. Spy a courier delivering towels to the backstage area. Offer to help him carry them. Watch him get tipped with cash by the band's road manager while you receive an after show only backstage pass. And fuck it, ask for two more for your friends waiting in line up on the 6th floor outer concourse. Get them too. Because you got it like that.

The concert ended up being a standard REO Speedwagon show of the time. Gary Richrath played like a beast too. Excitement built at maybe being able to meet him after the show. We were seated in a special area to the side of the stage and really close that was roped off for pass holders. We felt special and partied hard. More joints. More cherry vodka. Sitting next to me was this older woman - in her 20s!!!- who kept telling me stories about how she knew Alan Gratzer the drummer and blahblahblah. She was fun though and impressed the hell out of 15 year old me by being so nice, sophisticated and beautiful. Finally the show ended and we left our seats to head backstage. Walking in saw me heading bumping right into Neal Doughty, the keyboard player. He's the guy who thought up that stupid ass name for the band. He ended up being super nice, laid back and funny as hell.  Then Kevin Cronin and he was nice as fuck too. That awesome woman from the seat next to me grabbed me from behind and introduced me to Alan Gratzer who ended up being super cool and letting me sneak drinks from the champagne bottle he had. All of this was killer but was really just build up to my dream of talking guitars with my axe idol of the moment, Gary Richrath. Then he walked out of the dressing room. My hand shook as it passed him a pen to sign my pass. "Dude, could you sign this please?"  He bent down (no growth spurt yet for me - was still about 5'2"), started to scribble his name. He didn't finish. He stood up and threw the pen down, looked at me, grumbled "Fuck this shit" and booked. WELL FUUUUU-HUCK YOU PAL!! Nice way to treat a kid you fucking dick. A kid who bought your shitty ass records new at Obadiah's and Camelot and not some fucking yard sale or Goodwill. FUCK YOUR SHIT. Shocked and hurt, the night was over for me. Collected my buddies and headed downstairs to wait for whichever one of our parents was picking us up. Wasn't bummed long though. Cheered up that night once back in my room with my old SG Jr. and Fender deluxe cranked with a Big Muff. REO who? Had a funny story to tell too. Still do.

Gary Richrath ended up leaving that shitty band and drinking away one of the most impressive collections of vintage Gibson guitars ever. Playing shitty bars drunk off his ass and pissing off the one or two people who still like him. For years,  Kevin Cronin stated that he wanted nothing to do with that fuckhead at all but recently they have allowed him onstage here and there for a song or two. Fuck him. It makes me happy in a small and admittedly cheap way that his life went to shit. Be mean to people for no good reason, especially kids and see what happens. Dickass. He looks like a drunk goddamned muppet show reject now too. HAHAHA