AAs I’ve mentioned in other posts, the late ’60s into the ’70s was one long cultural shift. You went from American rock bands to the British Invasion, and then the ’70s just kept mutating—long-haired rock, underground rock, prog, proto-punk, glam, arena rock—all in rapid succession.
I started listening on a transistor radio. KXOK, baby. I remember sitting on our porch on Victor Street, listening to Johnny Rabbit give updates on the Beatles show at Busch Memorial Stadium.
As a rock fan, I chased whatever was new. That usually meant abandoning what no longer interested me. This is a story about two friends moving along that musical continuum—and what happens when promoters mash incompatible fan bases together.
he concert was Ted Nugent concert July 17 1979 Checkerdome. By then, I was already nauseated by the idea of Ted Nugent—and for good musical reasons.
A few years earlier, I’d been in a band that played Stranglehold. I was the bass player. If you want to stare into the abyss, try playing bass on that song.
Meanwhile, the KSHE crowd never shut up about how much they hated three-chord punk rock—while worshipping a song that barely had two chords. The cognitive dissonance was almost impressive.
Article that points out Mike’s hypocrisy in the holier than thou sweepstakes.
Most people complaining about “simple” rock don’t know a thing about music theory—they just parrot whatever they’ve heard elsewhere.
Then came the breaking point: Cat Scratch Fever. That was the moment I went from mild dislike to full-blown hatred.
By this point, Nugent had ditched the halfway-decent singer who helped him climb out of playing St. Louis high schools and sketchy ice rinks in Jefferson County—both of which I witnessed. One of those ice rink gigs still makes me laugh. They laid boards over the ice, which slowly melted, so everyone ended up standing in freezing water. Even better: every time Nugent touched the mic, he got zapped. Absolutely priceless.
So naturally, he took over vocals himself—and celebrated that decision with one of the most tedious songs ever recorded. Cat Scratch Fever was boring in every possible way: the riff, the singing, the lyrics pretending to be clever. The whole thing was a masterclass in mediocrity.
So there I was, already hating Nugent decades before he leaned into being… well, himself… and somehow I still ended up at his concert.
Why?
Go ahead and listen to the choicest sounds of these gentleman together and with their other bands.
I went with my good friend Jimmy T. At this time we were playing in the punk band the Camaros. Jimmy and me go back years before this. With Chuck he was one of the new friends that I had met since I moved back to the city from South County. Where Chuck was naturally adventurous in culture Jimmy took a bit more nudging to transition from one thing to the next. Unlike myself who had no older siblings who would color my ability to accept things and Chuck who had older siblings but being the youngest they didn’t have any affect on his tastes. I believe that I may have had negative influence on Jimmy to the point where instead of playing in a ZZ Top cover band he was in a punk band.
There was cross pollination. He was a stone cold freak for Alvin Lee and Ten Year After and to this day thanks to his having me listen to all their records my appreciation for this band grows.
Here we are at a concert that I was excited for the opening band and dreading the headliner. In true punk style we were copping attitudes with the KSHE Cowboys. Someone was tossing one of those giant inflatable balloons. Like good little hippies you were supposed to push it up in the air for someone else to do the same. Not us. We popped it with a cigarette. If dirty looks were cash I could have retired right then and there. Ha Ha.
THunter and Ronson were incredible, of course. The KSHE crowd didn’t get it. Same people probably loved those songs later when bands like Great White covered them.
Then on came Ted. I was hanging at the back of the floor of the concert hall and I look around and Jimmy is gone. Where could he be? Kidnapped? No! He had rushed to the front of the stage. Oh well. I went up to the front as well but was not happy about it already being so over the Nuge and being in a mosh pit of neanderthals.
Not sure how long into the show this was but I felt like being mischievous. But what to do? I reached in my pocket and I had an assortment of coins there. I picked one out and I was right in front and took the coin and hit Ted right in the head just as we was getting into one of his Ted jams. I could see him flinch. It wasn’t as good as seeing him get electrocuted at the ice rink but in this case I was the one causing the tormenting and it was fun, so plunk, right in the head with another coin. Such Fun!
Eventually I ran out of coins. I leaned on the stage yelling that he sucked, his new music sucked, and he’d be a has-been soon enough. But yelling didn’t hit the same once you’d upgraded to projectile commentary.
So I turned around and asked someone for their folding chair. Years of watching wrestling had taught me exactly how this should end.
The lad dutifully grabbed the chair and was handing it to me when a person next to him said, “Don’t, he’s throwing things at the stage.” This gave the young man pause and he declined to hand it to me. It is a mystery to me to this day why I didn’t just step back and get my own chair but as it was Ted was spared the wrestling ending that I’m sure would have made for the best show ever.
Because that was they way… in the rock and roll days.