Momentary rock star

A part of me has always wanted to be a rock star. I guess it wasn’t a big enough piece to make me really work to get there, but enough of a piece to always make me think about it.

You gotta want to be a rock star

That rock star piece drove me more when I was younger, and it’s that piece that put me on stage as the bass player for local heroes Kevin Fayte and Rocket 8. We were a rockabilly trio that played around the Madison area through the 1980s with the occasional reunion show during the ’90s.

We were fairly popular around town, but only ventured out to other cities every now and then. Milwaukee a couple of times to play for no one, Minneapolis for an ill-fated week of non-attended shows.

Playing outside of Madison was like starting all over again. I guess that’s what you have to push through if you really want to make it. But we didn’t have the stomach for it. We were just content to play to a decent-sized crowd during our monthly appearance at the old Club deWash bar on West Washington Avenue.

Rockabilly with my buddies

Those gigs scratched our rock star itch. We had a lot of fun, and so did the crowd. Not many people even know what rockabilly is, but those that do tend to love it with a passion. And dance! Oh, they loved to dance at our shows.

Back then I even had a rock star name. I was Buster Fayte. Kevin and I were mythical cousins–every band has to have an interesting back story. And if you don’t have one, you make one up. Our old buddy Joe Snare was the drummer of the classic lineup, though we had four or five (depending upon how you count them) during our run.

I really miss Joe. He was the second of our drummers to die way before their time. Joe left the band after he’d had enough of my pushiness. See? I really did think I was a rock star. His replacement, Rick Tacey, died many years ago now. Joe’s been gone for just over a year. It’s hard to believe they’re both gone.

Anyway, back to the subject of rock star

Even though I never really became a rock star, every once in a while something happens that gives me a little taste of it. This happened the other night.

My daughter was visiting from her apartment down on campus–she’ll be a junior at the University of Wisconsin here in Madison. I was driving her home on Saturday night and I realized it was after 6:00.

We have a famous community-sponsored radio station here in town: WORT 89.9 FM. Saturday nights a guy called Rockin’ John McDonald hosts a rock and roll show where he plays music from the ’50s and ’60s, and music right up through today that fits the format. He’s hosted that show for something like 40 years now.

Rockin’ John was our #1 fan back in those days. He never missed a show. He is a rockabilly fanatic. And he still plays music from our 1985 record Ridin’ in a Rocket to this day.

Let Joe sing!

No sooner did I turn the radio on when John played one of our songs as a tribute to Joe Snare (who’d died that week a year ago). It was one of Joe’s songs, and the moment was meaningful on a couple of different levels.

Obviously, it put me in mind of Joe once again, and the memories were a mix of happy and sad.

But it also made me a rock star in the eyes of my daughter. Of course she’s heard some of my music before, but this was on the radio. Wow! That’s real rock star stuff.

Yeah, I miss Joe. And I miss Rick. And I miss those days jumping up on dive-bar stages to play three hours of rock and roll for people who loved to have fun listening and dancing. That was a million years ago, and I guess I’ve missed lots of years of being a rock star.

But I was one once. My star didn’t shine too bright, but it was out there in the rock star galaxy. And every once in a while a little glimmer of that rock star light shines through again.

Saturday was one of those moments. And the reaction I got from my daughter was worth more than any reaction I could have gotten from a million adoring fans had I really become a true rock star.

You take your victories where you can get them. And you rock on.