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The
Smugglers on the "Lookout Invades The Eastern Empire" Tour: with, The Donnas and Ska-T, Smugglers Roadie and the
Canadian King Of Ska Thursday November 5 1998 Another Lookout showcase here in New York, and our first show in the fabulous Big Smoke in like two years, mama! This one was another packed house at Coney Island High, featuring the Crumbs, the Hi-Fives, the Donnas and your Smugglers, and it was great to be back. This bill was so red-hot, we decided to make a three night East Coast crush out of it, but more on that later. This show was predictably wild, and Lookout even threw a party in the downstairs of the club, much to the chagrin of the bands performing in the late show (the Lookout showcase was the early show) who were still using the downstairs as a backstage. Our beer-drenched screams of "LET'S FUCKIN' PARTY," "WHO WANTS TO FUCKIN' PARTY?" and "WE WANT TO FUCKIN' PARTY!" particularly spooked our rock neighbors from the east, the Japanese band the Zoo Bombs. They spent the duration of the party huddled around their equipment trying vainly to shield it from the random douses of beer, spit, puke and... my soggy gonch. Famous party patrons included the members of Anthrax (there to check out the Donnas), the Toilet Boys (there to check out the Donnas), Lemmy from Motorhead (there to check out the Donnas), Canadian film director Bruce "Hard Core Logo" McDonald (there to check out the Donnas), and a guy named Steve (there to check out us). Our night ended back at the Beauty Bar a few blocks up, and while witnessing a gay-fight from a pass gone wrong, most of the Smugglers tried to make passes at Tristin from Lookout, and Nick just passed out.
Okay - Boston. Totally fun show, great to be back, and no one threw sticky panties in my face this time! What did happen was Maximum Rock'n'Roll columnist Nikk Fitt won the kissing contest, made out with Beez, and has since been trying to "out" the whole band on various newsgroups around the Net. Wild, baby wild! We needed a place to stay so like an answer from a prayer to
Satan, out of the Cambridge night came Metal Murph, a one time Queer and current Cretin,
offering us supposed safe haven. He first taunted us with an all night jam, to which Beez
replied, "No way Murph! We're going straight to bed! No fuckin' jamming!" What
ensued after a Cannonball Run-like race through the streets of Boston at Murph's
navigation, was an experience for the Smugglers Tour Diary Hall Of Fame. Thanks for the memories, Murph!
Saturday November 7 1998 Leaving behind a basement full of freakish passed-out partiers and running on literally no sleep, we blearily followed Murph to the Mass Turnpike. With a weak wave of thanks, we turned the Smuggler booze wagon south and headed towards the City Of Brotherly Love for our last show of this mini jaunt. The Pontiac Grille is in one of those Americanized designated "party zones" called South Street, a strip that is crazy packed all night with bars and restaurants lining both sides of the streets for miles. Traffic crawls, people fill the sidewalks and music blasts out of every doorway. Turns out the Smugglers have actually played this place once before, many years ago on our first US tour, when the place used to be called JC Dobbs. We played to about two people that first time, so it was nice to pull up to the joint seeing a line-up of kids around the block and ready to rock! The show that night was a total gasser and all the bands
played great. The Donnas judged our dance contest, awarding a pint-sized punk named Andrew
with the Canadian gold, and après rock we had a real good time partying with a bunch of
Philly fans we hadn't seen in a long time.
The night ended with us back at the Pontiac Grille for the late show: the bizarre, baroque and brash rock sounds of Thee Upper Crust. All the bands contined to party the night away with old friends and new... atchoo!
Love, Your Smugglers
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Put
it this way: our sleeping quarters was a basement/bombshelter that resembled a cross
between the set of "Wayne's World" and the trash compactor from "Star
Wars." The night we'll never forget unfolded before our very wide eyes with booze,
strippers, neighborhood sluts, bootleggers, polaroids of naked, welted asses, strobe
lights, hookers, disco balls, members of the Irish Mafia, little blue pills called
"K," and about thirty boozed up 'n' horny Murph-pals and gals. The impromptu
bash raged to the morning light, with the Smugglers employing the ol' "if you can't
beat em join em" rule, and we partied very hard.
To top it off,
Beez ended up jamming his heart out at 5:45AM to Sugar Ray's "I Just Want To
Fly" much to the shout-a-long chorus delight of the one of the greatest motley crews
ever assembled in one suburban basement. 
Joe Kirk was
there (that's the guy who has TWO Smugglers tattoos), Mike "Gearhead" Lavella
and Cathy from Lookout checked in, the Lehigh Valley gang made it and so did a bunch of
folks we had met over the last few times through. Our after-gig party managed to spill out
onto South Street, where we all started screaming and jumping up and down and spraying
beer so much so, that the cops actually came over and told us to shut the hell up and move
on. As soon as they had their backs turned, Utrillo from Lookout (who is an incredible
party animal) shrieked "I WANNA TURN THIS STREET INTO A FUCKIN' PARTY!!! RIGHT
FUCKIN' NOW!!!". As the cops turned back, drawing their billy clubs from their belts,
we bolted. Bolted right into a Philly Cheese Steak joint just down the street where the
entire gang all lined up to get a sickly taste of Philly's "finest" food (except
the Donnas and Beez - they decided to "Thai" one on. Ha ha? I showed up at their
table drunk as a skunk and entertained the girls with my "hilarious" impressions
of the Lookout staff).