http://fargo.coachand6.com/index.xml A view of the Fargo music scene en-us Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:25:15 GMT Mon, 05 Oct 2009 03:25:15 GMT http://fargo.coachand6.com/index.xml http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P17 I was wearing a faggy 80’s sweater, tons of cologne, and had just made a final adjustment to my hair when Corey all but shoved us out the door. Did we even have keys to get back in? “Oh, well,” assured Dave, “we’ll just have to pound on the door till the sonofabitch opens it.” I imagined Corey finally jerking open the door to the hotel room we shared, two in the morning, standing there red-faced, and then I remembered the bruise he’d left on my arm from that punch the other week. “Yeah,”... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P16 So, we’d made it to the tournament, we’d drawn our schedules, and we were headed for the first round of competition, which for myself and fellow seniors Dave Schramm and Corey Stewart, was extemporaneous speaking, or extemp, a category in which you draw the topic you’ll be speaking on just minutes prior to your speech.<br /> Extemp topics are based on current events and ask such questions as, “What should the government do to stop the spread of AIDS?” In each round, students... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P15 The Concordia campus was alien to me; I wasn’t getting any kind of a vibe from it, yet I was only blocks away, only minutes away from my future. In a few years, my band, Pica, would come to this campus and fail an audition to play Cornstock, the college’s yearly spring party, where a year later I would meet my closest friend and collaborator for many musical projects. My future wife and I would meet just a mile from here and our first child would be born across the river in Fargo. Even... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P14 My recollection of the rest of that afternoon in 1987 is blurry, but I know what was on my mind: Mountain man's escapades, the Aitkin girls, and what might happen that night. Lewd scenarios leapt across my mind, distracting me throughout the afternoon. I thought I was in a strange place, in a strange town, on just another weekend getaway. But I was surrounded by my future. Punk rock was being born in Fargo. Paul Erickson and Paul Sanders were out there, experimenting with guitars... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P13 Yes, Mountain Man was indeed a non-conformist, he was a take-charge kind of a guy, I guess, behind the scenes. You’d just never guess from talking to him, not that people boast of that sort of activity. So that was on my mind as we slipped into our suits, scrambled into the van, and swooshed over to the Concordia campus. I always thought showing up late to these things was kinda cool; it was like, yeah, we’re here but it’s no big deal, probably gonna lose anyway, but don’t underestimate... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P12 We arrived in Moorhead, Fargo’s sister city to the east, early that afternoon, and made our way to- I believe it was a Super 8, or Motel 75, just south of I94 on 8th street. The sleet had continued through most of the trip, slowing us considerably, and now we were running late. There was tension in the van; we’d have little time to check-in to the hotel, change into dress-clothes, find our way to the Concordia campus, pick up our schedules, and then find the site of our first round. But... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P11 Finally we hit the road. There were a dozen of us in the van, driven by our assistant coach -whom I can’t remember except for that he was quiet and liked to listen to Simon and Garfunkel. The rest- Corey Stewart and a couple others -rode with our coach, Jack Armstrong, in his brown, 4-door Buick. We’d barely exited the school parking lot when I noticed it. Jack’s unmistakable nuclear yellow gas-station coffee mug with the red screw-on top: it was resting on the roof of his buick.... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P10 Duluth, Minnesota is the western-most point on the world’s largest body of fresh water, Lake Superior... On the morning of my second visit to Fargo...Thousands of orange lights competed with the dim glow of dawn to illuminate the harbor, its famous lift bridge obscured in fog...an inland bay whose far shores formed the city of Superior, Wisconsin. It was the usual pandemonium...“Just wear sneakers like a good yuppie,”...looking you dead in the eye trying to explain how a certain syllogism... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P9 ... is the greatest sport high school has to offer. You skip classes to make road trips...en route to college towns to dress-up and pretend... with punks, anarchists, and outcasts from around the state...all possible because our coach, Jack Armstrong, believed... It was senior year and my confidence was high... finished basic combat training... in the trumpet section, next to mighty Jon Flanders, anything seemed attainable if you just smiled. One of the sophomore girls, Mariah Steele, lived... http://fargo.coachand6.com//weblog.php?id=P7 And I <i>did</i> make it to Montana. It was the summer of 1976, the country was about to turn 200 years old. Other guys my age loved it, but handling grimy bait and dirty hooks and those sharp spines on the fish- a guy could get hurt. The real fun was building a fire. We passed under the baby-blue “Gateway to the west” arches on I-94 & University. The voyage from Fargo to Montana is remarkable. we would immediately drive up one of the nearby mountains through a place...