Mouthpiece for Cancer Boy or... Daniel Bull Day comes but once a year
Is it just me or does it seem like Daniel
Bull Day keeps coming earlier every year?
What? You never heard of it? The day the
big Daniel Bull balloon parades down Congress Avenue in Austin,
Texas? The day where everyone takes a holiday from their troubles
and cares just to say, "Thank god I'm alive in these days
of microbreweries!"
Let me illuminate you.
Officially, Daniel Bull Day takes place
July 16. Specifically, July 16, 1998, but Austin knows how to
keep a party going so don't be surprised if there are big doings
next year on DB Day (also known as Julyteenth, the day Texas
finally released the freaks from the hospitals). And like Halloween,
the big celebrations happen on the eve of Daniel Bull Day.
Why celebrate dead spirits when you can
celebrate an alive freak?
You see, Daniel Bull is a survivor and
he has the medical resume to prove it. He's survived leukemia,
a bone marrow transplant, shingles, spinal meningitis, cataracts,
hip replacement, liver problems, nine episodes of pneumonia and
a recent bout with Myasthenia Gravis, a neural-muscular disease.
A friend of his once said, "He must have the soul of a cockroach."
Yep. And the constitution of Keith Richards.
What I don't get is this: given all the
bullshit he's gone through, why does he want to stay alive at
all? When I broke my ankle I spent my days in a leg cast searching
the web for Dr. Kevorkian's home phone number. What does he see
in life that I don't? I just don't get it. Maybe someday I will.
Always Screen Your Phone Calls
I got a phone call on Wednesday afternoon,
July 8, and I actually answered it. Why, I'll never know. Call
it kismet, fate, bad judgment or simple stupidity. At 6 p.m.,
it should have been a telemarketer. Instead it was Daniel Bull.
"How's it going, Jasper," Daniel
said. His voice sounded raspier than Vito Corleone's. Then I
remembered he had gotten a tracheotomy and had a hole in his
throat. "I have a favor to ask. I want you to be my mouthpiece."
Mouthpiece? Sonofabitch, did he get out
of the hospital or prison? Am I the consiglieri now?
"You want me to talk for you?"
"Not exactly," he said. "They're
going to have a benefit for me at La Zona Rosa next Wednesday
and I need someone to sing my songs for me. I can play guitar,
but I can't sing yet."
Fucking damn it to hell. Sing his songs
while he plays guitar? Oh, this sounds like a bad, bad idea.
It's like one of many open mike acts I've seen before, usually
with a female singer and a male guitar player. Not very male,
mind you. Pretty much a tofu-eating, long haired, white-flannel
wearing, card-carrying member of PETA and Earth First! I used
to see a lot of these acts at the Chicago House in Austin, where
I hosted two open mikes a week.
"Hi, my name's Muffy and I'll be
your singer tonight. This is my friend Malcolm. He's going to
help me on guitar." They always said that, by the way. He's
going to help me on guitar. No, he's going to do fucking everything
for you on guitar, just like I'm going to do fucking everything
for you on sound and I'm guessing -- don't tell me, let me guess
-- you're going to want just a shitload of echo on your voice,
am I right?
Anyway, I was fucked. He gave me an offer
I couldn't refuse. I wanted to say, "I realize that just
a short month ago you were near death and fighting for your life.
However, what you are now suggesting will be nothing short of
frustrating and humiliating for me, therefore, FUCK YOU, I'M
NOT DOING IT."
But I said yes. I think I even said, "Wow,
that sounds great," in my best phoney show-biz voice.
There's more. Besides the benefit at night,
we were also going to embarrass ourselves on morning radio (KLBJ...
Austin's rock). The morning show at KLBJ is the Dudley &
Bob with Debra show, you know, the same show I slam dunked a
couple of columns back. Fortunately, I wasn't really worried,
since I've only got 30 readers and can account for them all.
A couple of days later, Daniel brought
by a tape of his music for me. I was to pick four songs from
the batch of eight tunes. I ignored the tape for a couple of
days, thinking it was going to suck. It's not that he's a bad
songwriter -- he actually writes some pretty good songs -- but
even when he's healthy his voice is suspect and, since he's a
low-tech kind of guy, I figured Daniel's tape was going to be
one vocal and one guitar recorded on a boom box in the bathroom.
Surprisingly, the tape was pretty good.
Even his voice sounded good, bolstered by a double-tracked lead
vocal and background vocals. He also multi-tracked guitars and
bass, making it a fully-produced recording by Austin standards.
Ever the entertainer, each song was introduced by various radio
announcers from live broadcasts he had made. The tape was a good
omen.
We got together on the Tuesday night before
the show to rehearse. Yet another good omen: his guitar playing
had improved by a factor of three since I last heard him play.
This might not suck after all.
Dudley & Bob With Debra
Do Daniel
The next day, we met at 7:15 in the fucking
morning at the KLBJ studios to do the radio show. Besides me
and Daniel, singer-songwriter Bukka Allen came along to do a
song as well. He was one of the featured acts at the benefit,
as well as a member of Ian Moore's band. Waiting to go on, Bukka
and I sneaked a cigarette outside the building and Daniel joined
us. He asked Daniel about his recent near-death experience.
"Have you had any spiritual awakening
from going through all this?" Bukka asked. "Holy shit,"
I thought, "This dude's from California."
"Bukka, where are you from?"
"I'm originally from Fresno, but
I also lived in Los Angeles for awhile."
Fresno. It was worse than I thought.
We finally made our way inside the studio
and Dale Dudley interviewed Daniel. He used to work in sales
at KLBJ, so he already knew Dudley.
"I'd like to introduce a former friend
of mine..."
"Former friend?" Daniel broke
in. Nice start Dale.
Bukka sang first and did a great job.
Now it was our turn. I still felt funny about the routine. I
thought of Daniel and me as a weird novelty act, like the two
hunters on South Park.
"Look out, he's coming right for
us."
"Hmmm... better shoot to kill."
I figured that since I was there as a
pinch hitter (Daniel called me the "stunt vocalist"),
no one was going to talk to me. But since it was my first time
on the show, I was ready to babble if I had to. As it turns out,
I was prepared for every question and comment possible except
for the one Debra made.
"Mike's been in here before,"
Debra said.
I squinted at her closely. "Did I
fuck her?"
After a pause, I said, "I have? Ahhh...
I have."
"Haven't you?" Debra asked.
"Sure," I said, as brightly
as possible. Talk about a choke. I don't expect to get a call
from Yetti, the show's producer, asking me to be on again any
time soon. "Based on your wonderfully witty comments as
Daniel Bull's stunt vocalist, we want to get your bubbly-ass
personality back on the air as soon as possible." No, I
don't think so.
Fortunately, Daniel broke in on our conversation.
"Jasper used to run the Chicago House
open mikes. Now this song is about..."
The music portion of the show went well.
We performed "Brother," a tribute to Daniel's older
brother, who had donated his bone marrow for Daniel's transplant.
The first line is classic:
- "Growing up, I was the youngest
bull let out of the pen...."
- (Copyright 1998 by Daniel Bull.)
After the show, I handed out strips of
paper with the web address to this column. Dale Dudley looked
at it and said, "I think I heard of this column before.
Didn't you write something about us?" Now I was nervous.
I KNEW I had fucked him.
"I don't think you would have seen
this column," I said and headed out the door.
(So... which one of you bastards squealed
on me?)
TV Kicks Radio's Ass
After the KLBJ show, we went around the
corner to do the KGSR show. Apparently, both stations are owned
by the same media conglomerate. The only real competition is
KJFK. I'm not sure, but I think there's a law in Austin that
every other radio station has to have a dead president's initials
as the call letters. Look for KFDR to broadcast soon.
Things went much smoother at KGSR. We
did two songs and the announcer, Kevin Connor, seemed to actually
like us. I'm sure Dudley, Bob and Debra like Daniel too, but
they were in a hurry to get us out of the studio so they could
make prank phone calls to local businesses. I could see their
point.
During the KGSR interview, Daniel ran
through his list of infirmities again. And again I thought, "Why
does this guy want to live? I just don't get it." We performed
"Brother" on KGSR and then we left.
Daniel and I grabbed a quick breakfast
at Star's Cafe before we headed over to the Austin Music Network
for a noontime TV show called Reality. The show did not bite.
Tim Hamblin and Darcy Fromholz hosted the half hour music program
and they made us feel right at home. Hamblin sports a friendly,
easygoing manner, while Fromholz exudes the sexual energy of
a lap dancer on speed. In other words... she's a hotty. I felt
a lot more comfortable sitting on a sofa before a TV camera than
I did sitting on a plastic stool before a radio station microphone.
This time I was determined to talk.
"Someday all singer-songwriters will
be like us," I said. "You'll see Bob Dylan with Michael
Bolton, Randy Newman and Tony Bennett, Tom Waits and Cher."
That comment elicited looks of horror more than laughs.
Daniel was going into his litany of diseases
when I interrupted him.
"You know, I almost died once."
More looks of horror from the hosts and techies, who seemed to
be thinking, "We ask for one cancer boy, now we have two?"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I
meant to say I almost killed someone. But it's very, very similar."
Wednesday Night at the Big
Show
Daniel Bull's benefit show started at
8 p.m. at the La Zona Rosa and featured some of the biggest acts
in Austin, including Ian Moore, Stephen Doster, Kitty Gordon,
Bukka Allen, Billy Harvey, Punchy, Johnny Goudie, Terri Hendrix,
Papa Mali & The Instigators, Michael Fracasso and Renee Woodward.
The show was organized by Jan M., who runs an artist management
company in town.
By 9 p.m. the place was packed. How many
people? I don't know, a couple of hundred I guess. I have a hard
time guessing attendance, except at my own gigs where I can count
them on both hands.
Daniel served as the MC, oddly enough,
and introduced each act. So they tell me. I was sitting in the
back and couldn't hear his wispy, raspy voice at all. But everyone
was glad to see him onstage, reasonably well and alive.
I was starting to have doubts as to whether
I was going to go on at all. Daniel played songs with singers
Johnny Goudie and Billy Harvey between sets and it started to
look like he might skip me entirely. But at 11 p.m., I got the
call and Daniel waved me over and we took the stage, resplendent
on our matching barstools. Before we sang, Jan M. wanted to make
an announcement. Surprisingly, it took a lot of coaxing to get
her onstage.
"Would you do it for me?" she
asked.
"No, Jan, people want to see you.
They don't want to hear from me. These people love you."
Finally, she got up to the mike and did
a great job explaining the benefit and Daniel Bull Day and how
the show had earned nearly $1,000 for Daniel's hospital costs.
Funny. Every day she talks to people I'm scared to death of,
such as attorneys, record executives, club owners, accountants
and blood relatives. But get her onstage to make an announcement
to people who love her and she balks. Cool.
The set went great. I sang my ass off
and Daniel played his ass off and the people -- all there to
support Daniel Bull anyway -- loved it. I was getting residual
Daniel Bull love. I'll eat the crumbs, I'll lick the bowl.
Women, gorgeous women, came up to me and
said, "You did great. You sang with such passion. I could
tell you really were feeling the songs." It was like singing
at a wedding. As long as you didn't make gurgling noises, everyone
thought you were wonderful.
"Thank you," I said. "It's
easy to muster a lot of emotion on a day like today and all I
was thinking about onstage was that this one's for Daniel."
Of course I was lying my ass off. This
is what I was really thinking onstage:
- Damn... Jan looks hot tonight. So does
Marlene. Hey, Marlene's got a sexy sister too, doesn't she? Man,
there are SO many good looking women here. Uh-oh, here comes
that change in the chorus. Don't fuck up the rhythm, Jasper,
don't fuck it up. Is he going to hold the D chord? I sure hope
so. He did. Nailed it. I can cruise to the end now. Man, look
at all the candles. Nothing but candles and babes. I wonder if
this white shirt is working out for me. Damn, Nancy's got a sexy
voice. I love listening to her talk. Shit, here comes the bridge.
Get ready for the fucking bridge. Don't fuck it up, don't fuck
it up. Done. You nailed it. Damn... Jan looks hot tonight.
My girlfriend, who also came to the show,
didn't hear the conversation in my head, so when she went home
at midnight I was ON MY OWN. Of course, I did nothing, but the
potential to do something worked like Viagra through my blood.
One of Daniel's former girlfriends --
I forget her name -- came up to me and struck up a conversation.
She wanted to save me from the dark forces of the world. That's
right, she was trying to save me. Apparently, those who are going
to be saved live 30 miles west of Taos, New Mexico. I think there's
a Denny's there. She asked me to come to New Mexico when I was
ready to repent. I told her it was too late, the dark forces
already had their hold on me. I also made a mental note not to
talk to any of Daniel's ex-girlfriends again.
"It's not too late," she said
and gave me a long, long hug. Long enough for me to get an erection.
"Wow, is this what god's all about?" I made a mental
note to seek out all of Daniel's ex-girlfriends.
Suddenly, I had a moment of clarity. I
saw Daniel standing in the corner of the room talking to a willowy
blonde. I realized that despite all his illnesses, he wasn't
a bad-looking guy. He's thin, trim and still has all of his hair.
Hmmm. I wonder...
"Dan, I don't want to bug you or
anything, but I've got a question."
"Go ahead," he said.
"Do you still get hard-ons?"
"Absolutely," he said in his
raspy voice, smiling.
Okay, I get it now. That's why he wants
to stay alive.
* * *
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 1998 by Mike Jasper.
|