Michael J. Martin: Warrior Poet
Like Oisín, the legendary Irish warrior poet, so was Michael. Praised for his heroism, and loved for his compassion, he was the voice of his fellow Vietnam veterans – those who fell, and those who survived.
Even though, at times, he carried the weight of the world in his songs, his irreverent humor was like a salve for the soul. He was funny as hell…
To Michael, running a band was considered a military operation! And joining the band was akin to signing-up with a benevolent combat unit, except you swore allegiance to Music.
In ‘Nam, Michael fought in the Army’s ‘Americal Division’ as a point man – a truly dangerous and unenviable position. His bravery was rewarded with the Silver Star: the third-highest decoration for valor in combat. But back in America, he was fighting the good fight. He soldiered on two fronts: his inspirational music for his fellow vets; and his heartfelt and often humorous music for the masses. I was a part of the second theater of war.
Life, post ‘Bee’s Knees’, was a little daunting. I hadn’t quite settled into the new reality.
Mike Paulson and I had turned my garage into a practice hall (den of iniquity), but now I was only teaching drum lessons out there. My favorite student was Bill Lockard, whom I had met through Michael. Bill was also a combat veteran: a Marine door gunner. I had served in the army but had never fired a shot in anger – but with some of my sergeants, I’d thought about it.
The three of us had become good buddies. Later, Bill became a world class drummer.
I’d been recording with Michael for quite a while, and had been gigging occasionally with Jay Cober, and Mike Holmes on bass. (Jay, Mike and I were also part of Christian Plique’s lavish album production.) Our Sunday gig was the Gong Show featuring Johnnie Greco at Arther’s in European Crossroads. Judges included Too Tall Jones, Charlie Waters, among other Dallas VIPs. We then moved over to the LeBaron Hotel for more fun and games.
I was glad when Michael asked me to join his trio, the Dead Eye Band. We agreed that I would also manage the operation. They’d been playing weekends at a club/restaurant in Grapevine. So, I set up my drums and off we went into the wild blue yonder. (I buckled up!)
“Adrianne” – Michael (guitar/vocal), DC (drums), Rick Jenson (bass), Ron Mason (piano), Rick Weidemann (flute)
In mid-1980, Michael J. Martin’s brilliant album Windmill was released. Half of the record was recorded live at Bowley & Wison’s, and the second half was recorded at Autum Sound. Working on that album was sheer magic! The ethereal song “Adrianne,” a standout, was dedicated to his beautiful daughter, Andy – his biggest fan!
Playing Michael’s music was easy; managing him was something else. I needed to be a combination psychologist, sorcerer, referee and diplomat. In the end, all he really needed was a brother – one who listened, and actually believed in him. I had his back, 100%!
Michael was larger-than-life, and sometimes amazed us with his antics…
One evening, after a show in Grapevine, we were leaving the club out the rear entrance. We were joined with a few fans and employees. Suddenly, a hopped-up Camaro raced into the gravel parking lot and slammed on the breaks. A big redneck with a baseball bat got out and started cussing out Michael. He claimed his wife, who was standing next to Michael, was having an affair with him. (Whether that was true or not, I never knew. I didn’t ask.)
The angry husband lunged toward Michael, but Mike held his ground. He immediately started grabbing large chunks of gravel and hurled them at the stunned husband. He pelted that guy in the face and chest repeatedly, and went for more ammunition. Then Michael advanced. His philosophy: the best defense is a good offense. The bleeding husband dropped the bat, got into his car and fled – probably to the nearest emergency room.
My man had displayed great courage, and belligerence… but it was an artful belligerence.
We started playing around Texas, and sometimes the gigs seemed more like skirmishes. It was like following General Patton across Europe. (We conquered whole towns with our music.) And like Patton, Michael Martin commanded respect. We’d play at rowdy clubs, but when Michael went into one of his typical “Texas soliloquies,” people listened reverently. They understood the language and essence that all true Texans understand subliminally. He was speaking and singing from an almost spiritual realm: a honkytonk minister preaching the Gospel of Michael J. Martin. He captivated audiences everywhere we played.
The Dead Eye Band played the Texas Tea House, and at Whiskey River we backed-up rodeo star Larry Mahan. In Victoria, Texas there were serious fistfights every night, but we never stopped, just kept on playing. It’s as if we were the background music for a fight scene in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
“You slap me in a dream, you better wake up and apologize!”
We played the Fort Worth stockyards at Billy Bob’s, the White Elephant and Filthy McNasty’s. One four-night gig at Filthy’s I had a bug and was out in the alley on breaks throwing-up. I told Michael I was sick. He looked me square in the eye and smiled: “Sounds like a personal problem.” I dragged my ass back up those stairs to the stage over the bar and manned my drums… like I was a gunner in a machine-gun nest.
“Wrong Again” – MJM (Vocal/guitar), DC (Drums), Richard Keithly (bass), “SJ” Barker (steel), Mark Easterling (elec. Guitar), Ron Mason (piano). Harmonies: Dick Casper, David Patton, Richard Keithly.
One thing for sure: I loved Michael – and his music – and that’s what kept me going.
I booked a session at Platinum Sound. We re-recorded Michael’s provocative hit “How Can I Get You Off My Mind (if you won’t get off my face)?” That charming little ditty – and the beautiful two-stepper “Wrong Again” – were released as a 45, specifically for jukeboxes. Now we’re talking!
45 Sleeve Drawing. Artist credit: Kate Sanborn
We also recorded and hung out at Ron Mason’s Fire House Studios with our honorary members, Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo. I used to tell concerned friends that “I don’t drink anymore. Of course, I don’t drink any less!” They weren’t laughing – neither was Jayebird, who was getting a little tired of my raucous lifestyle… and my dangerous antics. (She even threatened to lock up my Harley!)
As manager, I set up a slush fund for emergencies. Usually, the emergencies were either bailing our fiddle player, Johnny Medford, out of jail or getting his violin out of the pawn shop. Johnny was totally out of his mind, a womanizer, and a pain-in-the-ass, but a hell of a violinist and a real hoot to be around! (Do crazy people attract other crazy people? Yep.)
Sleepy John Barker played lead guitar and steel, and was a great source of entertainment. Everything he said was hilarious, but he never meant to be funny. A lovable character.
Our bass player, Rick Jenson, was an avid fisherman. Everywhere we went he hauled his bass boat with us like it was part of the band equipment. I really got into fishing with him. It was the only way to really get some peace and quiet. (And peace of mind.)
Seven Points, on Cedar Creek Lake – right across the lake from Gun Barrel City – was a major stop on the circuit. A good size room where two-stepping was the main draw, but the mechanical bull was definitely an amusing attraction. On break we’d grab a seat near the action and watch the pretty girls show off… and that’s no bull.
There’s an operator that runs the bull. He basically holds the life of the rider in his hands. A talented operator can throw a rider any time he wants (unless it’s Larry Mahan). One night an enormous fat guy (we’re talking close to 400 pounds!) got up on the bull and everyone in the house gathered around to see if pigs can actually fly. At first, old Fatty Arbuckle was holding on pretty well, until the operator slowly jacked up the speed. Finally, you could see the sheer terror in Fatty’s eyes. He was spinning around and around, when suddenly the sadistic operator shifted directions on him. Prepare for take-off!
The terrified boy was airborne! He looked like a giant 747 coming in for a crash landing. Luckily there are pads surrounding the bully pulpit, but he hit the crash pads and rolled into a table full of drunks; and drinks went everywhere except down the hatch. The boy looked like an exhausted, beached whale. He got a large ovation – bigger than the band ever got.
“Bug” Written by Michael & “Sleepy John”
One night we had a modest crowd: Jerry Lee Lewis was playing down the street! But after the third set, the place was packed. It seems that crazy Jerry had destroyed the piano at the concert venue and was actually fired by the outraged owner. Jerry Lee’s whole crowd ended up at our place, and we had a great time. (Never did see Jerry Lee, but he could have been on the bull.)
The one thing I always loved about that gig was after-hours fishing… in the moonlight!
After a while, everything was a blur. I guess you could call it ‘the fog of war.’ But unlike the resolute creator of Windmill, Michael – the mere mortal – was sometimes more like Don Quixote than General Patton. (Every battle is mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.)
Michael J. Martin and his fellow vet and singer/songwriter “Scratch” Holiday, were off to play for their venerated Vets. And rightly so. At this time, my tour of duty with the Dead Eye Band was over. But never fear! You’ll hear more tales of Michael and me later in the series.
[NOTE: At this time, please go back and read Part One to put it in the proper timeline.]
My last gig in Dallas was at the enormous bowling complex, Don Carter’s Allstar Lanes. There was a club on the second floor with a band: Steve Ford & Alleycat. At one point I even convinced my pal, Rodney Wall, to join the band. There were some good players including guitarist, Mike Boyd. Later I produced Steve Ford’s album at Pantego Sound Studio.
Thanksgiving,1981, Jayebird and I traveled to Santa Fe and rented a house. We planned on moving there in January. Jaye had had enough of my beloved Big D.
Back in Dallas, on New Years Eve, the Bird and I joined some of the Knees and friends at Fred Oakes’ upstairs apartment. We had a great time, but Jayebird and I drank very little. At the end of the celebration, Shorty Powers decided that he’d attempt to go down the staircase at full speed… in his wheelchair. Everyone gathered about to watch the death -defying stunt. It was not surprising that Shorty crashed and burned. What was surprising, was the fact that he was hauled back upstairs for yet another try. It was worse than the first!
The next morning, New Years Day, 1982, Jayebird, our son Tait, Tarsha the dog and I piled into the big U-Haul truck, SUV in tow, and headed to Santa Fe: a new life, and new music!
The only constant in life is change…
[NOTE: I will be taking a break from the series to devote more attention to my wife in her time of need. I look forward to continuing where we left off. Thank you, dear readers!]