RED CARPET RATS

So here’s the band bio. Where you put everything you’ve ever done (or tried to do) as a band into a few paragraphs and sum up how "music is my life." How you met, what your influences are, who you’ve played with . . . "and then we opened up for the opener who opened up for the guy who replaced the guy who used to be in that band that toured with Aerosmith . . . in ’78!" Blah, blah, fucking blah. Boring!

So let’s skip
the tired back-story.

Kind of.

Red Carpet Rats. What the hell kind of name is that anyway? Just what are we trying to say with it? Well . . . it’s simple. Simple to read, simple to say, and best of all, it wasn’t taken. And besides, what’s a Yeah Yeah Yeah? An OK Go? . . . Panic! At The Disco? I have no idea what that is except maybe the first band name to ever have an exclamation point IN THE MIDDLE of the name. (Which has since been changed, so there you go!) Dig the video though, so it’s cool, ya’ know? Let’s continue. Pics. At first glance, maybe we’re just a group of guys trying to look like some U2/Velvet Revolver hybrid. Then again, take a deeper look and you might see something else entirely. Is that a Black Sabbath pin he’s wearing? Eyeliner? It’s the same old cliché, is that a woman or a man? The old Mötley Crüe line applies here, "We might wear makeup, but that don’t mean we still can’t kick your ass!" But hey, we’re all about harmony here. Not as much as we’d like to be at times in the vocals department, but you get the idea. It’s the thought that counts. We’re all here to partake in same experience anyway, and the free buffet.
Do you feel like we do? Do the songs say something to you? Anything? Cause if they do, something’s gone horribly right. Good or bad. By a show of hands, how many people remember the first time they heard The Darkness? I do too. Why? Because we all had the same reaction . . . What the hell is this? Is this guy serious? Then after hearing it a thousand or so more times that summer, we all found out the same thing. Who cares! Nothing was more fun to sing along to on a hot night after way too many cocktails than "jus lissen tuh da rithum uh mahart." Ya’ see it’s not about who’s got the best ass, or even who gets the best ass, but it’s about can you pick up on what we’re laying down? Just kidding,

it’s really about
who gets the best ass!

Where do we see ourselves in 6 months, a year, five years? Where do we want to be? It would be easier to tell you where we don’t want to be, and a hell of a lot more fun. But that’s for the blogs. Where have we been? Well, someone somewhere got the bright idea (no names please) a few years ago for us to all live together. So we did. Still do. Writing and rehearsing right in the living room at times. ( WARNING: CABLE THEFT IS A CRIME . . . but when you’re an unsigned band trying to steal it one night after a show from one of the most powerful people in the music industry who you happen to share a back alley with, it’s insane!) Right out of the Metallica: Behind The Music . . . or the one on Poison, if you’re busting balls. It’s Entourage, without the money . . . just a lot of jokes about jacking off!
(Editor’s note: The following contains shameless, albeit truthful, namedropping in an effort to make YOU, the reader, think we’re a helluva lot cooler than we actually are.)
Been a steady series of "what the fuck’s?" since the first downbeat. How many bands can claim a guy like (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 1) John Entwistle (R.I.P.) in attendance at their first show (albeit under a different band name)? No clue why he was in town, let alone out to see some band no one had ever heard of, but there he was in all of his "I’m the fooking bass player in The Oo" glory. (Our man Doc promptly shit himself, as would any self-respecting bass player who knows his Jaco’s from his insert random guy from band of the moment here). Wrote a song about terrorism, got some airplay on it (thank you FNX!), hell even got it on Armed Forces Radio which yielded letters from (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 2 and 3) W. and Cheney. The Veep even went so far as to write that the song was "a patriotic statement" and that his wife would like to thank us also. (You gotta be shittin’ me! Don’t shoot!) But let me tell you, when the return address on an envelope only reads THE WHITE HOUSE, your first response isn’t hey that’s cool, it’s

"Oh shit, what did I do?"

God Bless the motherfucking U.S. of A, that’s what I do! (Later, we..ll talk about the therapy needed when I thought we were gonna be a target for the Al-Qaeda. No shit!)
Played a horror film convention in Tennessee, which little did we know would also turn out to be a porn convention. Enjoyed the whole experience, complete with an "everyone met some nice young ladies and all I got was this stupid T-shirt" t-shirt. It’s those little surprises in life that make it a trip worth taking. Staying on point . . . "We coulda been a contenda" For the title of John Williams Of The Adult Video Industry that is. You see, one of Hef’s fave directors, (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 4) Dana Dane, was really into our stuff. Even went so far as to send us video of how it would "fit" into a scene. Very nicely I might add! Ultimately, it didn’t work out for us. Couldn’t "close the deal" so to speak.
Had songs added to college radio and European satellite networks. The latter of course fueling the obligatory "we’re big in Europe" line which I’ve found still works in some of the more uncharted parts of the country. Ah, touring! Ever been to the ATL? Land of the "G". Home of the Braves. Me neither! Blew up our first tour bus (sorry Dad, we promise we’ll pay ya’ back) on the way to play a show there. Broke down in God-Knows-Where, Georgia. Found a mechanic, who when asked how much of the engine could be salvaged, told us, "’Bout enough to fit in a coffee cup." Well thank ya’ Cooter. Now where’s that Daisy at? And does she look like Jessica Simpson? Shot a few videos with a shady character who claimed to be the devil’s manager, and after spending a little time with this guy who had like three assumed names and absolutely no Google history, we eventually paid him off with a set of drums that weren’t even ours. Keep it moving, that’s our motto! Want to know what pressure sounds like? Headline a Harley-Davidson anniversary celebration for a bunch of plastered hard core bikers yelling out requests. Requests? What are we, a Holiday Inn band? Well tonight, you bet your ass we are! You’ve never seen guys work up, in mid-show, a quicker cover of "Born To Be Wild" in your life. Played like our lives depended on it, with good reason! Hosted writer’s nights, been the house band at a place used as a front for more $%^&*@! than I’ve ever seen (probably shouldn’t have said that, but hey, it makes me feel like Sinatra back in the 60’s, ..there’s a gangster sleeping upstairs...

that’s gangster with an "er"
not an "a", big difference!)

was even asked to speak to a middle school on the subject of songwriting. Twice. I swear . . . I have video. A little scary in a lot of ways.
Moving on, quickly, to our version of "The Producers". Recorded a few tunes, or "sides" as he calls them, with engineer/producer (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 5) Jimmy Johnson down in Muscle Shoals. Jimmy is the leader of the infamous Muscle Shoals Rhythm Section, you know, from Sweet Home "now Muscle Shoals has got the swampers" fame. "Mustang Sally", "When A Man Loves A Woman" (Percy not Michael), that’s him on guitar. This guy’s got a picture wall of fame at his house that reads like an early subscription to Rolling Stone. And this ain’t NY or LA. It’s NA. Northern Alabama. How about a shot of Jimmy and Mick in about ’69 leaning over the studio console listening to a playback of "Brown Sugar?" Or was it "Wild Horses?" Performed right in our living room for guys like producer (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 6) Peter Collins (Jewel, Bon Jovi, a bunch of other acts that have sold a shitload) and producer/engineer/mixer (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 7) Michael "The Flying German" Wagener, whose credits (single names needed only here, Ozzy, Janet, Cher . . . just kidding about that last one Wags!) are only eclipsed by the amount of sushi the man can down. All Hail the power of Heavy Metal! Michael eventually produced not only songs but also a video for us (shot on a tour bus that once belonged to (Shameless Namedr . . . nah!) Andy Warhol as evidence by the trash bag padded ceiling), and then made us one of his host bands at his recording workshops where we did a punked-up version of "My Way" . . . and yes, in case you’re wondering, it always comes back to Ol’ Blue Eyes.
The record shows, we took the blows. Especially with one (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 8) Eddie Kramer. You know the producer/engineer of small time hacks like Led Zep, Hendrix, and Bowie. Sent him a package that he dug. Just to put things in a little more perspective, this is the guy who hit the record button for all of the music at Woodstock. WOODSTOCK! Legend. Period. Had much conversation about working together. When I say "working together", understand that I mean we would go into the studio with him and do whatever he said. That is until one day, walking on some bullshit makeshift bridge over the river while in mid-conversation (I shit you not, this kind of stuff you can’t make up), dropped the phone, which took one bounce twenty feet straight down into the water. Glug, glug. Wouldn’t have been so bad except,

with the phone,
went the damn number too!

Bon voyage Eddie. If you happen to talk to him, tell him to give us a call! Had the honor of playing for producer (Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 8 . . . sorry, just making sure you’re still awake, it’s No. 9!) Peter Sullivan, partner with Sir George Martin in AIR Studios. (Yes, that Sir George Martin!) He said he thought we had a few hits (cool) . . . in the country market (not so cool, but it pays, right?). Got a bigger kick out of the fact that not only was he the man who produced Mr. "It’s Not Unusual", Tom Jones, but he also invited us to his home so we could "breathe on" THE piano used on Sgt. Pepper’s. Which by the way, shouldn’t that be in a Beatle museum somewhere? At Abbey Road maybe? Noel Gallagher’s?
Watched a forty-five minute appointment with the man who found Kiss in 1970-whatever playing in a hotel ballroom (The Hotel Diplomat, for all you trivia junkies), (Drumroll please . . . ta-da, Shameless Namedropping Alert No. 10) Bill Aucoin, turn into a 6 hour marathon of Jaeger and such, complete with an

in-restaurant-full-on-
beer-pitchers-over-the-head-
water fight, a black eye,
and a "borrowed" Lexus.

"You wanted the best, you got the best, Mr. Kiss Army!" The best what? You decide. Me, I’m just a rank private on the chow line. With my very own sandwich named after me I might add, The Uni - "something small and mighty" (grazie to Corrieri’s Formaggeria in Nashville). Most recently, flirted with some producer types from VH-1 about being on a reality show. You know the typical "see what happens when five bands living together stop being polite and start beating the ever-living-shit out of each other. . ." stuff. Would actually consider it if they put us up in the same joint that Sebastian and The Nuge got, but they’d have to throw in Doc McGhee . . . and some of Tera Patrick’s friends.
Bio shmio,
Uni . . . out!
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