#98 - Jonnie visited us once or twice a year. I would pick him up at the BART station. I think he enjoyed the change. He came for the homecooked meals and boat ride.
I always liked Jonnie K. Oss. His middle initial and last name suited him. He said his father was Dutch. He was a chaotic type of guy, always up and ready to go.
Jonnie was in and out of bands. The life expectancy of any group of guys could be weeks or a few months. He had a couple that lasted a few years.
He said his best days were his “band” days. He played bass and guitar. Always had a story about this place or that and the shows they put on.
They were do-it-yourselfers. It was easier, and paid better, than trying to get in the regular clubs and on a label. They recorded their songs and sold them at their gigs. At first on cassette and then on CD.
He’d had a taste of success, his band playing their own songs in large venues. It always served him as a reminder of what was possible. The carrot dangling before the horse.
He was recording in his studio the last time I heard from him. Still recording on tape. Pre digital age.
We moved out of the city to the outskirts of the Bay Area near the Delta.
Jonnie visited us once or twice a year. I would pick him up at the BART station. I think he enjoyed the change. He came for the homecooked meals and boat ride.
I’d take him out and cruise the Delta for a few hours. He loved being on the water. He worked on a charter fishing boat as a kid.
He said his band had “just returned from touring.”
“If you can call it ‘touring,’” he said. “We hooked up with bands from all over. We could put on shows with a couple days' notice and travel time. We made it to New York and back. We’re going south next time.”
They were doing well. They played regularly there in the city. The best gigs were at clubs in the Tenderloin, an inner-city neighborhood. Jonnie lived in the Tenderloin.
“Not the best clubs, but the best gigs. Great energy and fun!” as he put it.
One place was his favorite. It really was a dive. How the guy kept the place running he didn’t know. There is noise, there are neighbors. The place should have be boarded up. An old high-ceiling warehouse sandwiched between sex shops. A skateboard ramp is set up at one end. The boarders can get good “air,” - plenty of room for their 180s and360s.
On both sides of the street are liquor stores and grocery stores set between tenements housing an expanding number of Asians.
He said, “Where do the children play or hang out? There isn’t a park or open space near here you would knowingly let your kids spend time in. Bums take them over.”
“There is too much traffic to play in the street.
“Kids are usually outside standing around talking or bouncing a basketball near the door stoop at their apartment entrance as we unload our gear into the club.
“When we load up our gear after playing, in the wee hours, drunks and druggies are passed out on the same door stoop. With screwcap wine bottles, needles, and fast-food wrappers alongside them. Spend a little time looking and you’ll see rats make their rounds.
“The club gets going with the late-night crowd. So many night owls.
“There are the requisite drugs and alcohol, done to excess. In a two-week period three people I know died of overdose. Two were suspected suicides.
“One of them died in a fire, self-started. He was a real good player. He played during our breaks. And good with electronics, too. He connected a gadget of pencil-thin light beams to his synthesizer. The beams now had sound and he would play the light beams like you would a harp. The beams were played with the fingers of one hand while playing the synth with his other hand. The lights danced in colors on the ceiling and walls. Spacey stuff.
“It is a lively place. Dudes dressed as girls have made it a hangout. They are a flamboyant bunch.
“Regular folk mix with upscale trendies and skateboarders. We get loud. Yeah, great energy!
“Cops harass the club. Every other week or so, they come in and shut things down for the night. We never know why. I think they do it because they can.
“They like busting the place on rainy nights. They got us twice during downpours. They push people outside in a rush. They make us pack our gear outside and then we have to wait before loading while they run our IDs for any violations we might have.
“When it rains, the ceiling and walls leak and pools on the floor. The wiring is shoddy. It’s a wonder we haven’t been electrocuted.
“The city could close the place for that reason alone. But they don’t.
“You know, the dressing room is covered with graffiti, the walls and ceiling. There’s not an empty space. Such a jumble, you can hardly read any of them. The other night I was heading out for our last set and one scribble caught my eye. It read - ‘The Joke’s on You!’
“Sometimes it seems so. I’m just spinning my wheels. I'm not getting anywhere or any younger.”
I said, “Why don’t you move out of there? Get away from the city. You can do your music anywhere. Right?”
He said, “I don’t know. I'm all set up where I am. It’s such a good location.”
That was the last time I saw him. The years slipped away, and we lost touch.
I got to thinking about him.
Among other things, I wanted to ask him, “How is the Tenderloin?”
The Tenderloin is now a huge mess of tents and makeshift shelters housing broken and displaced souls. They blanket the sidewalks street to street through the neighborhood. A genuine slum.
I called his number, an old landline. I thought it likely that it was disconnected. It was.
I searched the internet and social media and found a few mentions of him and his band from “back in the day.” Nothing else.
I hope he got out of there.
Thank you for reading Before I Forget . . !
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For my newer Subscribers - an earlier post from Nov 17, 2023 -
A story close to my heart. I have been surrounded by musicians most of my life, and you have captured the experience well. It's too bad your friend couldn't catch a break with his recordings. It is always "The carrot dangling before the horse." Great memoir!
You made me wonder about a lot of past friendships that somehow floated away in the fog. It makes me wistful as I think about them.
A story close to my heart. I have been surrounded by musicians most of my life, and you have captured the experience well. It's too bad your friend couldn't catch a break with his recordings. It is always "The carrot dangling before the horse." Great memoir!