(all photos from Brazen's personal archives!)
Summer, 1978. My school pal Zoltan had gone off to summer camp, leaving his big brother behind. Laszlo Papp was the very first true punk rocker I ever met. I've written of him on this blog before. Ripped t-shirts, safety pins and bleached blond Billy Idol hair, the whole bit. He went to CBGB and Max's Kansas City every week and always took his camera. I remember him proudly showing off his collection of Dead Boys live shots, one of which would become the front cover of their live album years later. So while Zoltan was away at summer camp I began calling his number asking to speak to Laszlo instead. He would usually take the line and always sounded more than happy to talk about all things punk with me. And he knew every new band that was out there, and I mean every last one. (Just a couple of summers later, Laszlo would become my hometown's very first Crass fan and be responsible for my introduction to anarchism... but that's another story.)
It was also in the summer of '78 that I caught an episode of an army-themed sitcom on NBC called CPO Sharkey, with Don Rickles in the title role, in which a few of the men in his troop slip off base to a punk rock club and encounter their share of trouble. The scene in the punk club opened with a minute's worth of this mysterious band playing the toughest, most amazing song I'd yet heard. I had to know what it was immediately. I watched through the closing credits praying this mystery band would be named, and sure enough, saw the magic words "The Dickies: Punk Rock Music." (Watch this episode in its entirety here!)
I shut off the TV and rushed to the phone to call Laszlo. Not only had he been watching the show as well, but he told me he was totally hip to the Dickies and said they were from L.A. and had just signed to A&M and put out their first 45. Was there anything this man didn't know? And sure enough, about a week later, I finally found that magic 10-inch white vinyl single of which he spoke, did cartwheels across the record store, then flew straight home and slapped it on my turntable, whereupon the sounds of "Hideous" filled my room. Hell yes! The very song they'd played on CPO Sharkey! I was now fully and completely sold!
For a short while I thought Laszlo and I were alone in our appreciation of this new band that was playing punk rock a little bit faster and punchier than it had ever been played before. But soon after, I was quite surprised to find other actual Dickies fans lurked within the halls of my high school, and they'd seen that Sharkey episode too! It was all timed perfectly to coincide with the release of "The Incredible Shrinking Dickies" in early '79, one of the greatest albums of all time in my humble view. By this time my 14-year-old self was also regularly venturing into Greenwich Village and visiting shops like Bleecker Bob's with some special and wonderful friends I'd made at Sam Goody's in Paramus, and accessing all those great imported music newspapers from the UK like NME and Sounds and Melody Maker. That's how I learned that the Dickies had suddenly become overnight stars in England, thanks to their version of the theme song of psyched-out '60s cartoon characters the Banana Splits, which had actually become a top radio hit there!
None of the shops in New Jersey seemed to stock the imported yellow-vinyl 45 of "The Tra-La-La Song," which made me feel mighty lucky when I successfully scored it at Bleecker Bob's in NYC. And when word got around that I was the only dude in town who had it, I wound up having to lend it out to each and every last member of my HS punk circle. For awhile it seemed to spend more time on their turntables than mine! 40 years later, it still wears its battle scars proudly.
The Dickies formed in the first punk wave at the same time as the Misfits, and just like them found bigger success in hardcore. So it was no surprise to hear Tim Sommer play them on the legendary Noise - The Show on WNYU in the summer of hardcore of 1981 -- after all, their debut was one of the first speed punk albums! But then Tim took the mic and admitted he'd just played the Dickies for a sad reason: their multi-instrumental wizard of sax and keyboard, Chuck Wagon, "shot himself in the head last night!" It was a horrible moment, one of those rare instances in those days where I found out about a punk rocker's death almost immediately after the fact, in a pre-internet age where news of such tragedies often took weeks or even months to spread. In fact, it wasn't until many years later that I would finally get the full scoop on Chuck's suicide, and under some VERY unique circumstances. (But we'll get to that later.)
Following this tragic event, the Dickies appeared to lay low for awhile while they recovered from the loss of Chuck. They would not be down for long, however, and when they finally re-emerged, it would be a triumphant comeback not only for them, but for me and my friends who had followed them throughout high school. Word soon got around that the Dickies had started to make live appearances in our neck of the woods, and in late '83 a tape of one of these shows landed in the hands of Pat Duncan, WFMU's legendary hardcore DJ, who promptly played it on his show. It was proof that the Dickies were back with a bang. (Portions of this very tape were later released on their superb live album "We Aren't The World!") Then, in December '83, we got the greatest Christmas present ever -- the Dickies came to NYC for two live shows! At long last, our big chance to see them!
I saw the second of those two shows, on a Thursday night at CBGB, catching a ride there with fellow fans Dave Scott and Bruce Wingate of the legendary NJ band Adrenalin OD. Of course, Leonard Graves Phillips and Stan Lee led the band as they always have, and Billy Club was still on bass. (I'll have more on him later, too.) Replacing Chuck was a second guitarist I don't recall catching the name of (I've included a shot of him here in case anyone can ID him), and on drums was Nickey Beat of fellow LA punk legends The Weirdos. The Dickies played all night, two whole sets worth, and were absolutely on fire the entire time, sounding just as tough as on that recent live tape, and I stayed till 3 AM in spite of having to be at school at 8!
They played all the hits and a few new ones as well, and Leonard was a total hoot in between songs, putting on a dog puppet for "Poodle Party" and that now-famous gigantic talking penis puppet for their newest hit "If Stuart Could Talk, What Would He Say?" and going through the audience asking boys AND girls if they had dicks and if so, have they named them? He utilized a ton of props on various songs and climaxed "Mental Ward" by almost literally exploding onstage, spraying the stage with a mess of confetti and streamers. It was a dream come true to finally witness the Dickies live, and at CBGB of all places! And for the icing on the cake, in between sets me and my pals actually ended up both meeting Stan Lee AND smoking weed with him! Whew... good shit!
But believe it or not, the most memorable experience I've ever had as a Dickies fan wasn't that show or even that encounter with Stan. Because in '94 I was making a fairly decent low-budget living as a street musician in the subways of NYC, and one fine spring afternoon while I was busking in midtown, this short, somewhat stocky guy took notice of my talents. Deciding to skip a few trains to listen to me, he soon struck up a conversation with me. For some reason, I didn't really recognize him at all. But suddenly he started talking about how he was a musician himself, and in fact he had been in a band years ago "who had actually put out a few albums on A&M." "Wow, who?" I asked.
The dude seemed apprehensive. "Oh... no one you've ever heard of, I'm sure." "No, seriously," I said. "I know a lot of obscure bands. There's a small chance I may have heard your name somewhere."
"Yeah, okay then..." He finally gave in. "We were called The Dickies."
And that's how I found to my shock and delight that I was conversing with none other than Billy Club, in between songs while I was playing in the NYC subway! And as soon as I recovered from the initial shock of realizing I had a new fan whose band I definitely HAD heard of, I got a wild idea and struck up "Nights In White Satin," in total Dickies style of course. And we treated a big midtown subway audience (who I'm totally sure didn't know they were in the presence of rock royalty) to a live duet between me and a (now ex-) member of the Dickies on one of their big hits! Billy sounded just as great on the falsetto backing vocals as ever, and I was on cloud nine, jamming with one of the Dickies and totally not giving a fuck what anyone thought -- this was OUR moment and no one else's. It was perhaps the most surreal rock star encounter of my whole life and I so wish some of you had been there to see it. How many out there can say they met a member of one of their favorite bands and jammed with him right there on the spot? Well, that's just what I did, and in the weirdest of ways to boot.
I randomly crossed paths with Mr. Club a few more times on the streets of NYC in the months following, and he was a very nice guy and interesting to hang out with. In the process, 14 years after hearing his death announced on the radio, I finally got the full story behind Chuck Wagon's suicide -- involving drugs, a girl who dumped him, a car crash which he survived, and his father's gun a few hours later. Billy and I met and talked a few more times in the mid '90s, then he disappeared from my radar and I never saw him again, but wow, it was really cool to get to know one of the Dickies for a little while, and great to meet someone whose music got me and my small-town punk crew through high school. Billy, if you're reading this, Ray Brazen remembers you fondly. And you too, Stan, and Leonard, and anyone else involved. The Dickies are forever.
(All of the live concert photos in this blog entry were taken by yours truly at CBGB in December 1983 and never seen by the public until now. Please enjoy these TRULY rare shots of the Dickies!)
