From 1995, this track from the Torn Again CD features Greg Leisz on lap steel, Don Heffington on drums, Jerry Scheff – a veteran of both Elvises – on a Hofner bass, and Steven Soles on vocals (and co-production, with Larry Hirsch and myself.) It was recorded (as were most of the album’s tracks) at Capitol Records Studio in Hollywood. I co-wrote this song with Fred Koller.
We said goodbye to Bruce Springsteen and headed out to spend a weird night in a funky motel, right across from the beach. There was a lot of late night action in the parking lot, but it was nothing to get involved in. It was one of those “cover me, I’m going out for cigarettes” kind of places. In the lobby the night clerk was behind six inches of bullet proof glass. I went down to ask him for some towels and he about jumped a mile when I came in, kinda
In New York City, the club was the Bottom Line, over near Washington Square Park. At The Bottom Line, dressing rooms were small, but the mirrors were ringed by bulbous white lights, like you would imagine being in a Broadway backstage. A good night at the Bottom Line equaled “making it in the big town.” The Village Voice gave my show a pick, New York magazine raved about the new album, the writers were out front, even the reviewer from the New York Times. All the DJs were there from Fordham University, and KNBC. Paul from The Nerves showed
We recorded “Hanging On The Telephone,” “When You Find Out,” and two other songs at a studio in San Francisco’s Chinatown, then put it out on a 45 rpm record on our own label, and it was a little record with a big hole. We sold about five copies in the first month. The great radio station KSAN played “Hangin’,” “When You Find Out,” and “Working Too Hard” on New Year’s Eve. Then we moved to Los Angeles, driving that cold night down Highway 101, and arriving in L.A. on the
The latest lineup of Pig Nation moved into an old house out by Lake Erie, with six bedrooms, a fireplace, a porch, and a main room big enough to play ball in. It was situated in a remote and seedy wooded compound called Idlewood, and from the bluffs overlooking the lake we could see the steel mills of Lackawanna blowing sulfurous smoke into the cinereal gray sky, merely a few miles of polluted shoreline away to the North. The leader of an infamous motorcycle gang and his old lady lived across the