This is the part where I tell you what was going on when I thought about what I was going to write – where I was, or what I was doing. I talk about the tiny green weeds sprouting up in the alley after the recent rains, or how the sky is setting down low and gray in the mist, or how the music drifts in and makes me think and then usually if there are words in the song, I have to turn it off when I write or my brain won’t form sentences for me. Usually.
The intro part is what I’m seeing and how it all feels. Like, right now I am listening to Anders Osborne (who you may not know unless you are a Louisiana blues music fan or perhaps you heard some songs he wrote during a time when he was writing popular (money) tunes for Nashville. He wrote the #1 hit song Watch the Wind Blow By sung by Tim McGraw. Pop country. Not my thing. Like writers, songwriters often “sell out” and write pop stuff for the masses even if it’s not what we’d rather be writing. But when I first got into Anders, it was 1995 or so and he hadn’t gone through his harrowing alcohol and drug rehabilitation story, or headed out to Nashville to write pop tunes for stars or movies.
When I saw Anders Osborne perform live in 1995 at the Dingo Bar in Albuquerque, New Mexico he was a full-on talented, wild, poster boy lead artist for a traveling blues band. In the biopics, this was the period where (if they were making a movie) he’d had some local success, signed with a record company, but was still touring full-time with his band in a van trying to make it in the rock-n-roll world. The early days of the talented rock star on the road. Drunk or high most of the time, sleeping late. Hard-charging on stage and full of energy. Wowing crowds but probably destroying himself. That night at the Dingo Bar in 1995 was one of the best live, small club performances I’d ever witnessed. It was electric. I bought his album (Which Way to Here) and wore it out for a few years.
That night was also a big memory for me for a few other things that happened that helped me understand memory and the importance of realizing that your bad times aren’t the end of you (things can get better,) and that the lowest moment in your life is usually identified by contrast with the fact that all of the other times were better, therefore things are very likely to be better after that… if that makes sense. It’s a long story, but here we are.
When I thought of Anders Osborne a few years later, I checked in on the Internet and Anders had semi-retired from performing. He was living in Nashville and writing music for one of the big song factory companies.
For twenty years after that I was kind of searching for Anders Osborne, but I couldn’t remember his name. I remembered that night in Albuquerque and everything about it, but I could not remember the musician’s name.
How I came to be listening to Anders Osborne now is a long, circuitous story. Interesting if you like serendipity or some other explanation as to why things happen or coincide.
This week D and I were on our daytrip and I was reading something and I turned to Danielle (who serves as my off-site memory storage unit) and said “Remember the name Anders Osborne.”
“Why?”
“Do you remember the story of me going to the Dingo Bar in Albuquerque in 1995?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he was the guy who played that night.”
Ok, so now I set the stage. Like I said, it’s a circuitous story.
Five or six years earlier, about the time I met my future wife, I was working at a juvenile jail (not around here.) I had been promoted to a supervisor position, so I didn’t have to work night shifts much anymore, but I was supervising the people who were still doing the job I used to do. Which means that if an emergency happened short of a full-scale we need the cops, sheriff, and National Guard riot, I was the one they called.
We had a kid working there named Sam. We called him Sam-Sam. The reason we called him Sam-Sam, is because if you work in a jail you get cursed at a lot. And in those days, at that place, if you got cursed out – the prisoner called you by your full name. So, for example, “Expletive YOU Michael Bunker, you expletive expletive!” So when they cussed you, they used not only both your names, but the full, proper Christian names. Sam, however, refused to ever tell anyone his full name. I knew it, but none of the arrested folk did. When they cussed Sam out, they used “SAM-SAM” because to do it right you have to use two names, and they didn’t know the last name. From that, everyone called him Sam-Sam. I liked Sam-Sam, but he was a joker. He liked practical jokes of all kinds.
The worst kind of practical joke was to call me at 2 a.m. and wake me up and tell me there was a riot taking place. He did this a few times and succeeded in getting me to get up, get dressed, and speed across town… only to find out that nothing was going on. Sam-Sam was just bored.
The boy who cried wolf.
What does this have to do with the Dingo Bar in Albuquerque? We’ll get there.
Some months later, I get a call at 2 or 3 a.m. It’s Sam-Sam.
“Bunker, I’m in jail. I need you to get down here and get me out.”
“I’m not falling for it, man. Stop doing this ****. It’s not funny.”
“No, seriously man! I’m in jail. You’re my only call. I need you to come get me out before my dad finds out!”
“Not doing it. Sorry. Stop pulling these pranks. Bye.” …click… Back to sleep.
A couple of days later, I show up to work and I hear the story. Sam-Sam finally had to call his dad in New Mexico to come get him out of jail. His dad withdrew Sam from the University and made him move home immediately. I never saw or talked with Sam-Sam again… except for one time. One night.
Fast forward. It’s 1995 and I’m working for a company in outside sales. My territory is West Texas and New Mexico. Once every few months my boss would fly in and I’d pick him up and we’d go on a few days sales trip, visiting accounts. We did our calls during the day, and at night we’d go have drinks at a bar or go to a club.
One day I fetched my boss at the airport in Albuquerque and we drove around doing our usual sales calls. After work, my says “Where do you want to go?” Me: “Let’s eat and then go to a bar I heard about called The Dingo Bar.”
A few hours later we’re at the Dingo and we see a line to get into the bar. Never used to stand in line to get in anywhere, so my boss and I were on the curb deciding if we wanted to wait in line or go somewhere else. There was a $10 cover because they had a band that night. $10 was a lot of money in 1995.
At that point I hear “BUNKER! Michael Bunker! Get up here!” I turn, and there is Sam-Sam. He’s working the front door and he waves me to the front. (Oh no! Is he mad at me still? Resentful?) We bypass the line and (no cover charge) Sam-Sam walks us to the bar, buys us both a drink, then gets us a preferred table. He tells the server to put everything we order on him. He’s busy so we don’t have time to talk.
A little later he comes by and sits with us. He tells me that the night when he was arrested changed his life… for the better. He said it was the best thing that ever happened to him. Far from being mad that I didn’t go pick him up from jail, he was thankful. Effusively thankful. He said that hitting rock-bottom was what he needed.
Later that night, Anders Osborne (who I’d never heard of) came on stage and blew us all away. Seriously, one of the better concerts I ever remember seeing in a small venue. It was cinematic it was so good. I was not surprised to find out how many Anders Osborne songs have been in major movies. We hung out with Sam-Sam that night and it was a great and memorable night.
I kind of spoiled the rest of the story. Anders went on to some fame and money, hit rock bottom, blackout drunk and high he completely lost several days of his life with no memory of them. His friends told him about all he’d done that he couldn’t remember. At some point, he finally went into rehab and got better. It’s a fascinating story. The worst time of his life was the one that became the door to something better. He’s still writing, singing, and performing. You should check him out. If you want to be mentally time-traveled back to that night in 1995, download his album Which Way to Here. Think about that album title now that you know what you know. You won’t be sorry.
I wrote this for a few friends of mine going through some hard things. For me, God is sovereign and there is no chance, luck, or serendipity. Things coincide because God makes them coincide. That’s the way I see it. Maybe someone will read this for a reason?
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Michael Bunker is a local columnist for BrownwoodNews.com whose columns appear on Wednesdays and Sundays on the website.