Head Full of Beer
"There comes a time when nothing seems clear. Passed out on the front porch with a head full of beer." It doesn't get any truer than Slobberbone's "Front Porch"--sung with Brent Best's hardscrabble twang and grit, it was the porch that birthed a thousand house parties. As the Denton music legends wind down a banner 13-year run with a two-night home-court grand finale at Dan's Silverleaf, there has been an outpouring of gratitude and support from admirers the world over, particularly from the Denton music community--and not just from the many who have been drunk on that fabled front porch. Slobberbone more or less put Denton on the national music map in the mid-'90s, ascending from gigs at the back of a beer store to tours with Cheap Trick and spearheading a national alt-country groundswell within a few short years of the group's humble beginning. This is the only band that nailed Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy's early vision of Uncle Tupelo--a seamless mix of old country, punk and garage rock delivered with bone-cutting sincerity. Slobberbone is Crazy Horse colliding with the heart-on-sleeve, fall-on-the-floor Midwestern punk of the Replacements and Hüsker Dü--with a little more country. As I was growing up in Fort Worth, Slobberbone wormed its way into my consciousness alongside the Von Erich family, late Rangers broadcaster Mark Holtz and the Trophy Nissan rap. But don't take my word for it. Ask the fans, the ones who have been there from the beginning and those who discovered them along the way. --Michael Chamy
In the Beginning, There Was Beer
The first Slobberbone show is more or less a blur. It was at the back of a beer store called (I think) Eagle Stop in Denton early summer '92. There was lots of beer spilled, a female vibe player (no kidding) and a great song called "The Trailer Park That Time Forgot."
Slobberbone performs its final shows Saturday, March 12, and Sunday, March 13, at Dan's Silverleaf.
The second show is a little more clear. The vibe player (again, no kidding) slipped on beer and fell on her ass. The original bassist, Lee [Pearson], refused to play anymore unless someone got him more beer, and the singer, a guy named Ryan, was in jail, so Brent had to sing all of the songs. --George Neal, ex-Little Grizzly and one-time scurvy victim
On Those Nights, Brian Lane Always Got Naked
The first time I ever hung out with Brent, we were tossing beer bottles into the street, watching cars run over 'em. That set the tone for the time I spent with him. The great thing was, there was always another show at Brent's house after the real show. He would back his maroon Dodge right up to the porch, open the tailgate, and the band would set up and play. And they never got busted, because if the cops did show up, they would just hang out and kinda dig the white-trash vibe. On those nights [bassist] Brian Lane always got naked. One New Year's Eve, there was a party at Brent's, just like every year. Brian stripped down and disappeared into the fog--the tallest naked, hairy man you'll ever see. Then he comes back a little while later with Quincy Holloway from Sub Oslo who lived up the block, and he was naked, too! So you had the naked white Southern rocker running up the street with the naked black dude from the spacey reggae dub band. That pretty much summed up Denton right there. --Philip Croley, booking agent, The Parish in Austin, formerly of The Argo in Denton
Baboon played a show with Slobberbone at Rick's Place in Denton, and afterward, both bands convened at an after-party. The show was Slobberbone's first since returning from tour, and after hearing a few road stories from one of the boys in the kitchen, I looked up to see Brent emerging with a prized trophy from the road--a big jar of moonshine. Moonshine?!? What kind of backwoods speakeasies had Slobberbone been frequenting? We knew they had a cowpunk rep to uphold, but this took the cake. Well, being in Rome, we Baboons partook. As would be expected, the homemade swill tasted something like gasoline smelled, but at least we could all now say we'd had moonshine. --Mike Rudnicki, Baboon
A Cautionary Tale
The one thing I know about Slobberbone is that [guitarist] Jess Barr can fucking drink. The boy has nearly caused me divorce at least three times. It starts out with innocent conversation about how bad the band sucked when he joined or how much younger he is than me, and somehow the guy slides two shots of tequila in front of my face. I tell him no, and then he guilt-trips me with lines like "You pussy, you would have done this when you were my age" or "What has happened to you, man?" Next thing you know I've got six shots in me, and I start talking to all the fat girls in the bar. Basically I'm not allowed to hang out with him anymore, and if I do, I have to take an oath that goes as follows: "Honey, I swear to God I won't take shots with Jess." Inevitably I fail to honor the oath. Fuck you, Jess Barr. --Corby Davidson, The Hard Line on The Ticket, KTCK 1310
The Great Slobberbone Mystery
According to legend, the members of Slobberbone woke up one morning in a hotel room after a night of hard rock and roll and even harder drinking. None of them could recall how they got there, who drove, how they got paid or who loaded the equipment. Upon stumbling out to the parking lot to check on their van, they found it unlocked, keys in the ignition and the back doors swinging wide-open in the breeze. How they didn't get robbed is a mystery. How they toured for 10 years without a DWI is an even bigger mystery. --Keith Killoren, Budapest One
Haze of Drink
In summer 2001, Slobberbone played the Taste of Lincoln, a Chicago street fest that generally books the likes of Edwin McCain and awful local cover bands. We started getting word out about having a little bash after the Slobberbone show, which began as 50 people and swelled to 500, sweating from every last pore, pumping their fists and bumping uglies. At one point, someone wrote a request on a $20 bill and threw it at Brent Best. People were flinging dozens of smokes at Jess Barr, and he smoked every last one. After the $20 request for "Haze of Drink" was fulfilled, a caravan headed to my place, and I spent the next 45 minutes letting people in. Much of the evening was a haze, but I do remember beer and several pizzas and that I blew my speakers trying to bring music to the back deck. Into the wee hours of the morning, we talked music, movies, literature and life. I came in a huge fan of Slobberbone and walked out an admirer not only of their music but of their approach to life. --Lane Campbell, Chicago, Illinois
Life's Rich Pageant
In late '92 or early '93 I used to walk my dog past this house off Oak Street in Denton, and I would hear this guitarist playing along with R.E.M.'s Life's Rich Pageant--one of my favorite albums. The music was loud, and I would stop and wonder, "Who is this person?" and "Should I introduce myself?" It took weeks to summon the courage to knock on the door. Brent Best answered, and we became fast friends. It wasn't long before he joined Matt Pence, Mark Hedman and me in Adam's Farm. Brent played with the band for about a year, but he was always busy with Slobberbone and Gravel Truck. Even after Brent left Adam's Farm, he would show up at our shows, harmonica in hand, and join us for a few foot-stompers. There were lots of memorable times at Brent's place, including a spell when Brent and [former bassist] Lee Pearson were living without electricity, using Coleman lanterns to illuminate the house at night. The guy really lives it, that's for sure. --Jeff Whittington, The Hundred Inevitables, ex-Adam's Farm, producer, The Glenn Mitchell Show, KERA 90.1
Born in a Small Town
When I think back on Slobberbone and the last 10 years or so, it would be easy to focus on the beer, the music or having to explain that Slobberbone wasn't a sexual term. But the older I got and the older they got, the thing that really struck me about Slobberbone was their fierce loyalty to Denton when moving to Dallas or Austin might have been the trendy thing to do and the sacrifices that a band of their ilk made to be at that level. I think of all the barbecues and get-togethers the guys missed and how it was as important to them to hear those stories as it was for us to hear their stories. I am sad for the Denton bands of the future, that they won't have Slobberbone as an example of how to be a real band. --Jon Turner, Denton
The thing to keep in mind with a lot of the old stories is that they tend to get embellished with time. Theres plenty more of the off-the-rails sort of incidents to recount, but the majority of those are from back before the transformation really settled in. That transformation is what gradually happened over several years of putting ourselves out there, all over, both here in the States and in Europe, without much of a plan other than to keep going to as many places as we could and play our music in front of whoever would show up. There was no strategy, no safety net of any kind and, perhaps most significant to me now, no single goal other than to do it. If you spend a lot of time doing something with no reward in mind other than doing it (be it physical labor, reading, fishing, etc.), youll find yourself more cognizant of the sublime developments occurring around and in reaction to your endeavor. Its in this manila envelope where I file the majority of significant events related to my past 13 years with this band. For every Remember when Tony and Dave Pirner got in a fight and Tony threw his leg at him? memory, there are quieter ones, like the entire band walking from our motel to the beach just north of San Diego at 4 a.m. after a gig, wading out into the cold surf until it was above our waists and realizing that three and a half weeks prior we had stood and looked upon the Atlantic somewhere in New England. It was walking down a street in Amsterdam and seeing a bicycle with a Slobberbone sticker on it, or driving with the Gourds from the bottom of a medieval fjord-lined valley to the snow-covered top of the highest mountain road. But more significant are the hundreds of people we not only met but became friends with. We were never really part of any one scene. At first, the only unifying factor between the people who ended up at our shows was the band. I came to realize just how meaningful it was to get in the van and play these songs that no one outside of the club would ever know. Every friend we madethose who put us up in their houses or who threw parties for us or who caravanned together on entire tour legsthese are the people, had we been from their town, we wouldve already known and been hanging out with anyway. That realization alone has some far-reaching impact whenever I get beaten down by the state of the world, and as such becomes a touchstone for the rest of my life. These are the sorts of rewards the four of us never could have anticipated when we recorded our first $400 disc and bought our first piece-o-crap van. It was a privilege to go and a privilege to come home. It was a privilege to make friends, not only with heroes like Larry Brown, Patterson Hood or Peter Jesperson, but with everyone we crossed paths with and knew wed see again. Im sure this all sounds terribly sappy, but Im not a sappy guy. This is the honest-to-God truth of it, and we can only thank anyone and everyone who ever had the smallest bit to do with any of it and know that itll stay with us for the rest of our lives. All this for some guys who got together to try and get some free beer. And you know what? We got a LOT. Brent Best, future ex-Slobberbone
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