Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Dogs of Love

Here's how I remember it: I was singing in a punk band called Iron Fist in 1989. After rehearsal one night Nikki, the guitarist told me that he and Erick, the bass player ran into some English glam guy at the record store earlier in the day. The guy had "Dogs D'Amour" spray painted in pink on the back of his leather jacket, and with promotion like that how could they pass up the show.

We all piled into Nik's Cadillac and trundled down to the 7th Street Entry (a side room to First Ave. in Minneapolis) to see the show by this unknown band. First song into the set and the 3 of us are hooked completely. However, our drummer Crash (a more die-hard punk you'll never meet) kept egging the band on, calling them a "bunch of Glam Fags" between songs. The Dogs didn't take too lightly to this abuse (and my band-mates and I didn't like it too much either) and started spitting beer on Crash. Crash tells them all to "fuck off" and proceeds to drink himself into a stupor.

After the gig we find Crash passed out drunk outside of the venue. Just as we stumble accross him who comes out but Tyla and Bam. I, in the interest of band unity, duly point out that Crash was the one hurling all the abuse to them during the show. Tyla, looking at the inebriated Crash, asks me if he can kick him a few times. I gladly give my consent, just requesting that Tyla not hurt Crash's arms or legs as we had a gig the next day. Tyla, the gentleman that he is then declined the physical abuse. Bam looked at me pleadingly and asked if they could spit on him. I said that wouldn't hurt anything, to which Tyla and Bam both let fly a few rounds into Crash's hair. They then thanked me for coming to the show and found their way to the van that was taking them back to their hotel.

From that moment on I knew I was a Dogs fan for life. 


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