Photo: Dog @ Large on stage
When the Titanic was going under, the band played on!
(They had to – union rules.)
Dog @ Large: Onward through the fog…
The following is an excerpt from ‘A History of Dog at Large’ by Gary Watkins:
We played aggressive, take-no-prisoners, progressive funky rock ‘n’ roll with a relentless groove and creative arrangements featuring inventive improvisations. At Farquahrt’s we were the top band of its circuit (except maybe for one band that featured a cross-dressing singer, but even they couldn’t touch us musically…)
“My Love is Alive” sung by Ray Loose
By 1995, the fog of tribulation had set in. The first to be enveloped by trouble was Ray Dog. His twisted ways had cost him time behind bars and ended his marriage – not to mention having hurt the Dog’s reputation. Sadly, by summertime, the band had broken up.
We’ll be right back, cause we gotta take a break
We’ll be right back, so don’t go for heaven’s sake
We’ll be right back, cause I gotta take a pee
We’ll be right back, so just listen to me
WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK!
– Dog @ Large ‘call & response’ break song.
We took a break alright. And I started gigging once again with the old Ravin’ Brothers in Santa Fe. Gotta work. But by November the Dogs began rehearsing with a new bass player: Delaney Marshall, and we began playing in January, 1996. Delaney was bursting with talent – but wouldn’t ya know it, the man, like Ray, had many personal demons.
Delaney, DC, Gary. Harvey, DC and Delaney at Bob Hemenger’s wedding.
It took months for the affable, good-natured character to morph into a drug-ridden werewolf. At Woody’s in Moab, Utah, Delaney went nuts in the middle of the night. It was alarming. At the Office Club in Alamosa, he got up on a big speaker and cussed out the whole crowd! We almost got fired… had I not pleaded with the angry club owner in his office. At Dennis Weaver’s big club in Ridgway, Delaney erupted on stage and embarrassed us in front of the shocked audience, including Mr. Weaver. Luckily for us, he decided to form his own band and resigned. (I think he finally came to the correct conclusion – he was toast.)
Both Ray and Delaney had let me down. But they would have never let me down had I not loved them first. In the end, I was much more disappointed than angry. In the final analysis, this was not a “band problem,” this was a human tragedy.
Of course, I had my own demons.
In the summer of 1996 Dog @ Large played on the “party boat” at Navajo Lake. The gig had become a band tradition. We’d load all our equipment onto a small houseboat at the marina and motor across the expansive lake to Turtle Cove. The cove was packed with large houseboats, speedboats and jet skis. Once there, a gang of well-lubricated dudes loaded our stuff up to the top deck on the largest houseboat. “Let the party begin!”
We would play all afternoon and into the nights while bikini clad women danced on the boats and sandy beach. At the end of the gig, loading and unloading was done in reverse. One time the band took a cigarette boat back to the marina and waited for our equipment to arrive. Talk about Miami Vice… with the emphasis on vice.
Yep. That gig was always the most fun you could have with your shorts on!
By this time, we had replaced Delaney with my old friend Mark Mendleski from the Ravin’ Brothers. Mark was a delightful human being and a true friend – but I’m afraid he was one pea short of a casserole. Case in point: One time Mark and I had to stay at a motel in Durango. After a big Mexican dinner, Mark began drinking his regular copious ration of beer and then passed out on his bed.
Later that night I woke up having a hard time breathing. Mark had filled the room with rancid fart gas. I held my breath and scrambled to open the door to let in fresh air. Had Mark gotten up and lit up a cigarette before I awoke, we would’ve been incinerated in a huge fireball! (I do declare, Mark was a handful.)
Things were getting complicated: I was playing music in two bands, in Colorado and New Mexico. And then tragedy struck. On Thanksgiving Day, 1996, our son, Tait, died. Luckily Jayebird was at his side but, unfortunately, I was not. Losing a child is something every parent dreads. And as far as “closure” goes, you never get over it; you just get used to it.
I was in a horrible state. Substance abuse and carousing seemed to be the only way to cope with the new reality. Dog @ Large played New Years Eve at Farquahrt’s at Purgatory. From above I looked down at myself playing drums and saw a pathetic shadow of a man. After midnight we watched dozens of skiers stream down the mountain with torches, magically lighting up the night. But I was a million miles away in my sad little universe.
A month later I announced to Jayebird that I was leaving her for another woman who I had met playing music. In doing so, I had effectively destroyed her world. Looking back after all these years I can’t imagine myself doing that to my sweet wife… but I did…
I moved in with the other woman in Santa Fe, but Jayebird made me promise that I’d call her every single day, and I kept that promise. My girlfriend had insisted that I stop taking my Zoloft. And that was a HUGE mistake. After months of depression and heartache I finally came to my senses. Jayebird had never given up on me and, thank God, she took me back.
Jayebird.
In the end, Jayebird and I are stronger for having survived those trying times. Our love is tempered and strong. Sometimes it takes almost losing something to realize how precious it is. And the moment I realized that, was the moment I became a real man . . . not some reprehensible man-child.
A good wife is far more precious than jewels. – Proverbs 31:10
“Turn On Your Lovelight” sung by Gary Watkins
In the summer of 1997, the Dogs were playing a gig at Farquahrt’s and occupying the band condo. (I had turned over a new leaf and was trying hard not to destroy anything.) I was in the pool when I noticed a pretty woman writing a letter poolside. She waved me over and introduced herself; and from that moment on, things drifted into the Twilight Zone. She told me she was writing a letter to her husband, Dan Fogelberg. Of course, I knew Dan and his true wife, Anastasia. The woman knew who I was and mentioned the Dogs. It was plain to see that she was off-her-rocker. And why the hell was she here?
As it turned out, she was the infamous “Bird Lady.” She supposedly had a dead eagle in her car and performed strange rituals under the light of the full-moon. She had been institutionalized several times and was considered psychotic, and Dan confirmed that.
A month later, Jayebird and I were at the City Market when a wild woman ran down the length of aisle 9 and jumped up into my arms. “Hi, honey,” she said. She looked over at Jayebird and announced: “This is my husband!” Jaye responded: “No. He’s, MY husband!” The Bird Lady uncoupled herself from me, ran back up aisle 9 and disappeared out the front door.
Rod Serling should have explained this sordid tale to my angry wife! She didn’t believe me.
Gary Dog:
We carried on playing the same band circuit for another year or two. But during that time, changes came fast and furious for us. Harvey unfortunately left the area for personal reasons and we lost his energy and solid keys. Bob Hemenger left around the same time. It looked like the band was disintegrating right before my eyes. But DC and I had developed such a nice groove that we hated to call it quits.
DC, Doc, Gary & Mark
In 1998 we acquired singer/guitar man, Don Carlson (Ace Panckes, etc.), who was known as Doc: “The doctor is in . . . and out, and in, and out.” Doc had an interesting set-up. He played slide guitar and used a modulator called a Talk Box which directed the sound from his guitar into his mouth, allowing him to shape the sound. He could actually make his guitar speak. It was incredible. Between Gary Dog and the Doctor, we had an unbeatable sound. We were back in the saddle again!
We played the Christmas party for the crew at Hall’s Landing at Lake Powell, Utah. Part of our pay was use of a 50-foot houseboat and a wave runner! So, the next summer we spent five days on the lake with family and friends. And then we did their next Christmas party with the same payment. Yet another great trip to Lake Powell. We were lucky dogs!
In the mean time we were playing as Rumbelly for the biker rallies. We played for the High Plains drifters and the Sons of Silence and once, barely escaped with our lives.
Mark finally quit in 1999 and was replaced with bassist, Bill Boyer. Bill, a great player, was with us for a short while but wasn’t too happy. He didn’t care for our “organized chaos.” Next up in the bass player’s musical chairs was Jimmie Barnes from Beaumont, Texas. Well, well… he fit the bill perfectly. He had played with ace guitarist Scott McGill who had brought him to Durango to gig. Now we basically had three front men who sang and played their asses off! Jimmie was as smooth as a double shot of Southern Comfort.
I actually played at the new Scoot ‘n Blues on Main Street with Scott McGill and Jimmie. It was a well-attended three-niter and lots of fun playing hot Texas blues. Scott offered me a job as his drummer. One catch: I had to move to Beaumont. Thanks, but no thanks!
Not much later, Jimmie returned to Texas with Scott; so we needed yet another bass man. Enter Mr. John June, a consummate professional. We hit it hard but John was booking off- nights with other bands – so was I – so it got complicated. (I would play and record with John in several other bands for years to come.)
Rear: DC, Bob & Jim Belcher – Front: Gary
In 2001 we hired our seventh (and last) bass player, Jim Belcher; and his bandmate from the Earthtones, New York guitarist, Joe Swark. Jim, a great bass player and a true gentleman, would play with Gary, Bob and me to finish out the last few years of Dog at Large proper. Much later we would get together for well attended Farquahrt’s reunions.
Big Joe Swark, on the other hand, turned out to be a full-fledged heroin addict. (Yet another Dog with demons – a Junky at Large.) He ended up in Albuquerque needing to score. He had no money, so he did the logical thing: he held up a bank. He didn’t have a gun. So, he stuck his finger in his overcoat pocket and pointed it at a teller, who shook his head and laughed at him. Poor Joe had used his finger – and the State of New Mexico gave him the finger.
One of our favorite gigs was playing at the famous Brown Palace Hotel in downtown Denver. We were hired by the law firm Patton, Boggs and Blow, for two gigs – one year apart – at the Palace. And, at the end of our second engagement, Gary Dog made a cordial announcement: “Patton like the general, Boggs like the baseball player, and Blow, like the job…”
Years from now, dozens of nutty players will proudly stand up and proclaim: “I used to play bass for Dog @ Large!