The Sordid History


One would suppose that the history of a band would begin with the genesis of the band name. St. Huckleberry is the self-canonization of The Rejected. I took it upon myself to immortalize that which is a rejection of the music industry. The character of Huckleberry Finn as the lead character of the Banned Book written by Mark Twain, is at the same time the most rejected figure, and the most divine. Also, as a Banned Book (because of the dastardly "N" word usage) it is deliciously paradoxical, in that it was one of the supreme anti-racism books of its time, and now in all our liberated politically corrected wisdom we reject the most divine. So the idea goes. It is my belief that those things that are most rejected by The Authorities of this world are more often than not most divine and beneficial to the human soul.

St Huckleberry was first coined by myself as a potential name of a band that included James Keegan of The Imperial Pints. The other potential name was of course The Imperial Pints. As things turned out, we went our separate ways and formed bands with our respective choice names. James went on to moderate success, and I of course went on to miserable failure.

Exactly where I wanted to be.

The "FAILURE" though has nothing to do with the music.

To assure I had at least one extraordinary musician in St Huckleberry, I forcefully married Laura Asselta in August of 1993, thus making her Laura Gallucci (Viola and occasional keys) and giving her no alternative but to be a bandmember or die. She is still mulling the choices.

Master Don NY Vice Johnson (saxotomies, flutaphonics, and lounge-lizardly ivory tinklings) became a potential member when I began cooking him enormous garlic and cheddar double burgers for him at 3:15 in the morning, at a club where he blew cheesy cover material out of his head. Listening to his tortured horn month after month, its anguish screaming forth from the hell that is a Chicago medley, I had compassion on him and hired him to record on our first CD Long Way Home. He immediately fell in love with Miss Laura (musically or otherwise), and became a full fledged member shortly after the “release” of Long Way Home in September of 1998.

After approximately 19 different drummers (one of which left us because he was offered “this really cool gig” as a bazouki player in a traditional Greek coverband), we came to entirely run out of options and desire to search any further, and (gladly) settled with Roy Thunder Drums Birkbeck, owner/engineer of Sound Move Studios, shortly after the “release” of our 2nd CD, We Had A Good Time, in August of 1999. It turned out to be one of the best things to happen to us in our sordid history. Thunder Drums extraordinaire can be heard on the 5 songs of Message To The Illuminati disc.

Last but not least, and, actually not last, but rather first is Joe Meltzer. A high school friend back in the 70's at Rocky Point High, Long Island, NY, and actually not a high school friend being that Joe wisely left the Grand DumbDown in 8th grade, we were in fact actually blithering teenaged drinking buddies who used to pee in our pants and pass out together. Put a couple of songs together as brief co-members of a garage punk unit name RAT TANGO (which also included Dan Cosimo Bassi and Vin Kralyevich – now of KPI TV Productions fame). Then Joe entered the shadowy portals of crime, and I went on to meet His Maker amongst the cows and gangsters. With his recent reintroduction back to reality, he’s all better. Being that I as well have flushed all acid flashbacks from my wee brain, we can now actually hear what each other is playing. Joe is heard on lead guitar on the Message To The Illuminati disc.

And there's this Paul Gilmore bassplaying chap.
He joined us in March of 2002. His veteran stature is a complete delight. Paul played gallantly at our final LINY show, thereafter to be informed "it is over, thanks a lot sucker". Paul recorded as well on the Message To The Illuminati disc.

Good bye former mates Frank Guillot (bass), Mike DeMaria (lead guitar), and Paul Lutjen (drums), who recorded on both LONG WAY HOME and WE HAD A GOOD TIME. It was a complete honor and delight (for the larger part)..


This leads us to where we are today. A sudden and furious relocation to the Chickadee State, Maine. A chance meeting of mandolinist Rich Silver. An introduction to percussionist Jeff Kaelin. Yet another BassPlayer...three doors down abides Doug Ronco. Now what?

A pleasant return to our acoustic genesis.

Then came the cruel and vicious murder...

St. Huckleberry Will Sing No Longer To This Nation

MY ULTERIOR MOTIVE
...eagle flew out of the night and said, 'forget your bags, i've come to take you home'
PETER GABRIEL

I COULDN'T HAVE KNOWN THAT I WAS PARKED RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SUMMER HOME OF MY NEXT GIRL FRIEND. HOW STRANGELY BEAUTIFUL NOW. I TEAR THE FILTER OFF MY TRUE BLUE, TAKE A MANLY SWIG OF BLACKBERRY BRANDY (IF THAT'S POSSIBLE), AND PLACE THE UNPROTECTED CIGARETTE IN MY MOUTH. DRAG, SWIG, SLAM, DRAG, SWIG, SLAM. THIS IS COOL - HEARTBREAK COMBINED WITH SMOKE, BRANDY, AND ANGER. THROW IN A REFRESHING LONG ISLAND SOUND BREEZE, A COUPLE OF BATS FLITTING, A DIM STREETLIGHT ON A VACANT BEACH ROAD, CRISP STARS AND FIREFLIES, HONEYSUCKLE RIDING LIKE LOVER'S BREATH UPON THE SOUNDWAVES OF CURLING SALTWATER INTO YOUR EMOTIONS, ALL WRAPPED IN SHADES OF EMPYREAN BLUE. " THIS IS LIFE TO THE FULL ", MY 17 YEAR OLD MIND FLASHED AMIDST PAINED GRIMACES AND HOT TEARS. I TAKE NOTICE OF THE GREEN STREAMING RADIO LIGHT AS IT BEAMS "CLIMBING UP ON SALISBURY HILL, YOU CAN SEE..."

ALRIGHT, I'LL CLIMB. I'M A VERY HAPPY MAN NOW. I WOULD DIE FOR MY WIFE AND CHILD AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT. RIGHT NOW IF THE NEED WERE TO ARISE. BUT THEN, THIS GIRL WAS THE FIRST PERSON I HAD FELT AND THOUGHT THESE CERTAIN THINGS FOR AND ABOUT. THE FIRST TIME IN MY HUMAN EXPERIENCE. THIS WAS NOT A YOUTHFUL MISCONCEPTION, THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN DISMISSED, NOW NOR THEN. THE PAINFUL WELLING IN MY CHEST, THROAT, AND HEAD WERE NOT THE CONCOCTION OF BLITHERING IMMATURITY. THIS WAS AN EMISSARY RID ING ACROSS MY SOUL, COME FORTH FROM SOME DISTANT EON, RELEASED FROM THE GATES OF AN IMPERISHABLE FORTRESS WITHIN MY SPIRIT. "WOE IS ME, I AM A DEAD MAN", MY EYES READ IN THE REFLECTION OF HIS HORSE'S EYES. THE TEARS INCREASED WITH EVERY ASCENDING FOOT FALL. I TRIED TO PLUG THE LEAKS WITH DRAGS, SWIGS, AND PUNCHES TO THE UNSYMPATHETIC DASHBOARD. ALL IN ALL WHAT WAS PRODUCED WERE BLACKBERRY SPRAYS SPECKLING THE WINDSHIELD, FLYING TOBACCO SPARKS, AND CHOKING BURNING EYES. 'SON', HE SAID, 'FOR GET YOUR BAGS, I'VE COME TO TAKE YOU HOME'. READ THE INSCRIPTION ON THE SWORD AS IT FLASHED IN THE BRILLIANT GREEN LIGHT, THEN IT SPED DOWN AND CUT MY HEAD OFF. THE TEARS GUSHED FROM MY VANQUISHED MIND, LIKE A MYTHICAL FOUNTAIN. THE EMISSARY SPED ON TO IT'S NEXT VICTIM / PATIENT, AND IN RODE THE DOOBIE BROTHERS IN THE DIM PALE GREEN LIGHT OF THE NEAR LIFELESS ENERGY OF THE CAR BATTERY. ENOUGH OF THIS. TWO MORE DRAGS AND SNUFF. SWIG, SWIG...ENOUGH OF THIS TOO. GODAWFUL STUFF. I LOOK TO THE RIGHT. "MURPHY" READS THE NAMEPLATE. I REMAIN SILENT AND STILL, BREATHING, ASTONISHED, WIPING MY FACE, END SOBS, CRICKETS, WATER, DISTANT HOOF BEATS. "I KNOW WHAT I WANT TO BE, AND I KNOW HOW TO GET THERE."

I want to be an INSTANT. I want to be a wave, a voice, a note, conveniently placed, positioned, injected into a moment. I don't want to know the moment, the circumstances, the people involved, and I don't want them to know me. I want to be about in the clouds, blowing among the autumn trees, across the roof top, through the rain gutters, down along the aluminum siding, wavering between the fluttering curtains and screen, and, like a beam of moon light, through your eyes and into your heart. I want to be that beer bottle or that lawn mower carburator that james bond catches out of the corner of his eye at the finalest of moments, when catastrophe and despair are hovering over him, dripping venom and saliva into his eyes - and flash - the vision, the moment, the weapon, the victory. This is why I play music - I want to help, I want to make a difference to someone, somewhere, sometime, some moment, some INSTANT. this is what I strive for, though I don't know how to strive. this is what I play for though I am not sure what I would need to play in the INSTANT. I don't know what to say, or how to say it. should it be warm and melodic? should it be my usual rasp and gasp? should I bless or curse? should I caress or be heavy handed? The INSTANT will arrive of it's own accord. it has to because I have spent almost all my live preparing for it, and if it doesn't I will look like a fool. some people give themselves over to become international bankers, and become just that. I have given myself over to be an INSTANT, and I believe I SHALL.

mike@sthuckleberry.com

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