From Surfranch to Smokehouse: A Bicoastal Pilgrimage
By John Saranto

Tampa - I was watching the Red Elvises' New Year's Eve performance at Skipper's Smokehouse when an eerily familiar feeling of dread descended upon me. Igor had just stopped singing in the middle of a song and was sinking slowly out of view onto the stage, right in front of the audience. His bandmates began stalling off the next verse and my apprehension grew as the bass notes still emanating from his guitar began to weaken. I'd been briefly concerned that he might be having a seizure when, earlier in the same song, I saw him starting to slump over his guitar and as he continued to play his eyes rolled back, his jaw went slack and his head began to rock on his shoulders with chaotic but strangely rhythmic movements. He had seemed to recover but now I knew my intuition must have been right; a medical emergency was in the making and I realized that I was probably the only health professional close enough to the stage to be of immediate assistance. I wrestled my way through the crowd and a scene of horror emerged as his near-prostrate form came into view. There before my eyes was Igor, face frozen in terror as he regained consciousness only to find himself in the midst of a savage attack - an apparently crazed fan wearing a blue prom dress was gnashing on his right hand, trying to bite off his fingers while the still-uncomprehending crowd looked on as if nothing was amiss...

I'd flown into Tampa that morning on a red-eye (no pun intended) originating in San Jose and I had a ticket home the next afternoon. I was there for one reason: to see the Red Elvises' New Year's Eve show at Skipper's Smokehouse. Having seen them open the 2001 Rokenrol tour at Rusty's Surf Ranch on the Santa Monica Pier one blustery night last March, I was eager to learn how they had evolved as a three-piece over the previous nine months and, until I returned home and saw their 2002 tour schedule begin to emerge, I guess deep down I was wondering whether this might be their last tour as the Red Elvises (I'll bet I'm not the only fan who's asked themself this question over the past year).

I made my way across town and found a cheap motel room within walking distance of the venue, caught up on some sleep, and walked over to Skipper's, where maybe a dozen people were busy getting the place ready for the evening's show. I got some good pics of the stage being decorated and I stood on the stage to see how the place might appear that night to the Red Elvises. Excitement and festivity were already in the air. Skipper's is a VERY trippy place (one of their T-shirts reads, "At Skipper's we smoke EVERYTHING"). The place must have fallen through some 60's time-warp and, improbably enough, landed in the middle of an extremely plain commercial neighborhood in the middle of Tampa. It's been there for decades and is ably operated by some vintage hippies (for personal reasons I prefer 'vintage' to 'old'). Skipper's is very serious about presenting good shows and has featured the likes of John Mayall. You can read about the place at www.skipperssmokehouse.com. Basically, it's an outdoor venue that consists of a stage and a partially covered patio with some tables set in sand, surrounded by a psychedelic wall decorated with boat hulls, and a few structures around its perimeter that seem to have been added as afterthoughts over the years. The courtyard is surrounded by some 100 year-old oak trees. There are two bars and some bathrooms - what more does a good band like the Red Elvises need than a stage, a place for the audience, a plentiful source of alcohol, and a place where people can pee?

Later on when I returned the opening act, Urbane Cowboys, was finishing and I wished I'd picked up on more of their performance. I smuggled in a bottle of cranberry juice for Igor (at the Cactus Club in San Jose I'd once offered to buy him a beer and he'd politely said no thanks to the beer, but how about some cranberry juice instead? Of course they didn't serve cranberry juice so I felt like I still owed him). I came across him almost immediately in the crowd, gave him the juice and we chatted briefly. He remembered my truck, the Red Elvis, and the license plate the band had kindly autographed for me at one of their shows at Moe's Alley in Santa Cruz (you can see a picture of my truck and a related article in the FANS section of these very Red Pages - isn't the internet something?). The next time I saw him in the crowd was during intermission. A lovely lady who said her name was Gina was huddling against her date as the temperature dropped. She was wearing a short leather skirt and she was clearly freezing as the night air plunged into the 40's. Igor looked upon her with great concern and said, " hey, you look cold, you should go to the bar and get wasted. that will help". She replied through chattering teeth that she was going to let her date warm her up later on. Igor's face lit up as he headed for the bar and he said, "GOOD IDEA, I'm all for it, GO FOR IT!!!. If you ever need advice on how to stay warm on a cold night in Florida, just ask a Siberian.

I never got to talk with Oleg. He was extremely popular with the fans, both onstage and off, and couldn't make it ten feet through the crowd without being engaged in a conversation. I couldn't seem to break in and talk to him. Whenever I saw him in the crowd it seemed like he needed to get somewhere but just couldn't get there. I almost felt sorry for him, but hey, what does a popular guy with Dayglo hair, a red brocade suit, and gold lame' shoes expect to happen when he steps into a crowd of drunken admirers?

I'd first seen Z (then Zhenya) a few years ago at the Gilroy Garlic Festival. He was playing wild guitar in the sweltering heat in the relentless Santa Clara Valley sunshine late in July. This night I found myself talking to him three thousand miles away on a crisp December night under crystal clear skies, a full moon shining through a lattice of oak branches that met over the courtyard. He was relaxed, articulate, and very much a gentleman. He said he likes snow in the winter, that on a New Year's eve he would prefer to be playing indoors while it snowed outside. We talked about the guitars he used on Gypsy Heart, the evolution of Sad Cowby Song, his recording studio in Venice Beach, Bedroom Boogie, and how he likes returning to his homeland to perform. He, too, remembered my truck. This surprised me because it was a couple of years since he'd seen it in Santa Cruz and a lot of fans had bought him drinks that night (he remained a gentleman and his performance was stellar). And, by the way, Rock is his real name now, since he became a citizen.

The band opened with Red Shoes. The stage was lined with foil and under the lights it looked like they were standing in a burning oven. They seemed to be having a lot of fun with each other and the crowd, and, as always, they used their signature songs (Rocket Man, Love Pipe and, more recently, Sex in Paradise) to build the interaction. The most noteworthy development over the past nine months was a good one: Oleg went from being a talented guy who stepped into fill Avi's spot (which he did very well) to being a real live drummer. In Santa Monica at their first show of the year he told me he'd learned the material in less than two weeks. He did well; at that time he was understandably reserved and seemed very absorbed in what he was doing. Tonight he was able to let go and really got in the groove whenever it was time for a drum solo. He seemed very confident and expressive, both in his play and in his interaction with the audience, and this earned him a lot of attention, especially from ladies who wanted to kiss him. As he took the stage after the first intermission he looked down upon a woman in the audience and said with authority, "Come with me!". He led her onto the stage and stood beside her for all the world to see the red brocade dress that matched the suit he was wearingat the time. He told, the audience, "We shop at the same store!". She seemed thrilled and later I got a shot of her giving Oleg a big smacker (with all the smooching he did that night he probably needed to pack his lips in ice afterwards). The enthusiasm of the audience's response could be measured in the number ladies' intimate undergarments that were tossed onto the stage. Thongs were hanging off of Z's guitar, draped over Oleg's bass drum (bouncing to the beat as if they were alive), and on Igor's head. Eventually a pair of boxer shorts made it onto the stage. The musicians whom I had so pleasantly interacted earlier were at times lost amidst a wild melee of dancing, cavorting women who kissed them and fondled them (and sometimes each other) as the band played flawlessly on. Midnight came and the Red Elvises and their audience toasted each other and the New Year and as they resumed their performance things continued to go uphill, until I got the first clue that Igor might be having a problem...

I forget what song it was, maybe a new one I didn't recognize. Not long after I first thought he was having a seizure, Igor had paused between verses and had the crowd singing a refrain over and over, more softly each time, as he played his bass. Each time the refrain repeated he got everyone to crouch down with him, soon everyone close to the stage was singing in a whisper, almost on their knees, a masterful example of showmanship and crowd control on Igor's part. It was then that he disappeared from my sight onto the stage and I knew I had to take decisive action to help him. I startled a few people who didn't yet know what was going on as I moved rapidly through the crouching audience. My path through the crowd was marked by the startled forms of people jumping upright from their bent-over positions as I bumped into them from behind - there was no time to apologize. It was then I was confronted with that awful scene of terror. Or so I thought. Time was moving in slow motion, and as I prepared to leap heroically onto the stage to try to wrestle Igor's precious hand from the jaws of his assailant the scene took on a rather different appearance. The lady in the prom dress DID have the fingers of Igor's right hand in her mouth, but it wasn't exactly a savage attack. She was instead passionately sucking on them and Igor very much appeared to be getting off - all the while continuing to play his guitar with his left hand. He was gazing with rapture as she skillfully worked his fingers over, one by one, and the my whole concept of a hand job changed as her head bobbed back and forth. His gaze intensified and it became increasingly clear that this admiring fan was well her way to provoking a rather intense and uncontrollable physiologic response right there in front of everyone. It was also very clear that Igor would not be needing my assistance on this particular occasion. His eyes began to roll back and, perhaps sensing that the audience might be wondering what had happened to the song, he announced in a detached voice, ever the while carrying the bass line with his left hand, "It's going to be a while longer..."

Soon after arriving home, the concert fresh in my memory, I saw the Red Elvises 2002 tour schedule begin to appear on their website. Lots of dates, new albums on the way, it's just got to be a good year for us fans...