Sunday, July 27, 2008
It was the late summer of 1958, when a young, 9-year-old, uppity whippersnapper — later to be known as the MotorCity Madman — nervously stumbled onto the tall stage at the Michigan State Fairgrounds near Detroit.
Nearly dwarfed by the oversized, blond Epiphone hollowbody guitar strapped across his skinny chest, he stood side by side with fellow guitar-hero wannabes from the Capitol School of Music in Motown, ready to jam up a storm on exciting renditions of boogie woogie and honky tonk.
God bless the youth. Houston, we had liftoff.
I suppose it qualified as my first professional appearance, because since the event was the Polish Arts Festival and we were paid in kielbasa, I did in fact receive tangible compensation.
I don't remember reporting this income to the IRS, but nonetheless, my rock-n-roll career was now officially unleashed. And the rest, as they say, is history. So far.
Today, 50 incredible years later, the fruits of a clean and sober life are paying off in immeasurable dividends.
I am so very blessed to be surrounded by gifted, gung ho world-class virtuosos.
Every guitarist since the dawn of twang dreams of jamming with the amazing quality bass and drum gods of Greg Smith and Mick Brown, my two partners in rock-n-roll crime.
These guys are so talented and dedicated to throttling my music into submission that I am constantly tempted to abandon my guitar duties during our concerts — just to watch, listen and dance to their animal thunder.
These guys are not human, and if I determine just what species they are, I will be sure to let you know. Meanwhile, I'm running with these big dogs. The energy and fun during our rehearsals alone are off the charts.
No song shortage
After recording 34 albums in 41 years, I certainly don't have a shortage of dynamo songs from which to choose.
In fact, the most difficult job each tour is trying to decide which to perform.
We're limited only by curfews and the sheer sonic abuse to our paying audiences.
The world's greatest and most respected philosopher once said, and I quote Dirty Harry: "A good man has to know his limitations." So each concert, in a loving humanitarian gesture of love and empathy, we try to limit our rockouts to under three hours so that nobody gets hurt.
I'm a dancing fool and damn proud of it.
With famous love songs like "Wango Tango," "Stranglehold," "Cat Scratch Fever," how could one control one's animal urges to dance till ya drop? And why should we?
Well, this is all fine and dandy, but why would I write about it in my Trib Sunday column, you may ask?
I have been jamming wildly in the Great Republic of Texas for more than 40 years now, with mind-numbingly fond memories in Dallas, Fort Worth, Houston, San Antonio, Lubbock, Abilene, El Paso, Beaumont, Corpus Christi, Tyler, Amarillo and, of course, good old Waco.
The local landscape has reverberated on more than a few occasions.
Nonetheless, my band and I are always excited about coming "home" to rock out for my homestate BloodBrothers.
This time we actually rock out my neighborhood.
That's right. Fire up the BBQ. Strap on those dancing boots and get ready to rumble, Waco.
Uncle Ted is coming to the Hog Creek Ice House next Sunday and nobody is getting out alive.
Jamming anywhere is always wonderful.
But playing our special music at a place with the name Hog Creek in it, add the fact that Bar-None ranch supply is right next door and the Rusty Star BBQ is just down the road, and, well, it will be like a full-on Uncle Ted all American rock-n-roll Texas hunting camp, I bet ya.
Country fans are welcome. We'll teach you how to really dance.
Ted Nugent is a Waco-based musician and television show host. Contact him directly at tednugent.com.
