SD HOWL
by Walter Becker
I saw the best musicians of my generation
- okay, maybe not the best but plenty good believe
me
splattering their illegible scrawls on the fatal last
pages
of criminally exploitative record contracts,
beneath the gaze of predatory mobbed-up
executives
regarding with displeasure the sheepish grin
of their own helpless attorney
who deserted their beloved new york metropolitan
area
and tried their luck on the coast
where they couldn't even get a decent slice of
pizza
who slunked off with their paltry advances
into the alien streets of west l.a.
or back to their oppressive little cell
with its vile rmi piano
who pounded away at painfully arch pop ditties
thick with already antiquated jazz chords
who forced hirsute bar-band players to learn the
tunes
as if they actually like this kind of stuff
then into the sad studio
for a mighty ten week flogging
who emerged triumphant, flawless mixes in hand
only to discover that it was all for nothing
unless they would drag themselves
from the twin cities to dixie and back
performing in malodorous gyms for intoxicated
teenage boys
yelling "boogie, boogie, we want to boogie!"
who risked life and limb in toxic all-night diners
spitting takeout meat and milkshake
on the walls of overlit elevators,
who sucked on thin crumpled joints of cheap
mexican pot
sharing with stale groupies their perfunctory
buzzes
who humbled themselves in the arenas and outdoor
venues
opening for heavyweights like elton and sha-na-
na
trapped in dressing rooms with alcoholic brits
and scary blues bands from texas
who embarrassed their species in airports and motels
annoying overworked stewardesses of a certain
age
abusing the good will of sleepy bell boys
who straggled back to l.a. with busted equipment
only to transmit the clap to their poor girlfriends
who belatedly discovered that touring was too
stressful
and then sat in nate and al's
with their blue blazered booking agent
and their then manager and maybe someone else
discussing future shows paying in the low four
figures
who saw themselves and former band-mates
each go on to something bigger and better
the doobie brothers, boz scaggs, a season in hell,
the computer business, yuppie manhattan,
hawaiian islands, the big roundup, and, you know,
whatever...