NIGHTCLUB RIPS OFF BLUES BAND

On August 14, 2004 we were set to play a gig at Lefty's Pizzaria and Blues Club in Salem OR. We had played there the year before. The Owners ( a husband and wife team named John and Karen Graham)were new to the nightclub game and were extremely excited about being able to present the style of music that is their passion: THE BLUES.

When we played there in 2003 John and Karen explained to us in no uncertain terms that they had made multi millions of dollars in their fertilizer business which they had recently sold for a handsome profit. John bragged to me that he didn't need Lefty's. It was a play toy to him as well as a classroom to show his daughters how to run a business. Karen, who does the booking for the club actually called me about playing there. This may not seem strange to most of you but the reality is that clubs rarely call artists or their agents about playing their club simply because they don't have to. Most musicians make a daily battery of telephone calls to various clubs in order to make their tour work properly. When the club calls you it is a rare thing indeed. Needless to say I was excited about playing a club where the owners seemed to be fans of mine.

Now that I've set the stage let's fast forward to August 10, 2004 (4 days before we were to play at Lefty's). On that fatefull morning I got a call from a frantic Karen Graham. She sounded like she'd been given an overdose injection of the hormones that make women insane when they have PMS. She told me that she was going to have to cancel my gig at her club on the 14th because she was afriad she was going to lose money. We argued and argued for what seemed like and eternity. My position was that a deal is a deal. Her position was that was that of an insane greedy bitch. Feeling totally backed down into a corner I finally agreed to lowering our price for playing there by 500 dollars. For us this is a lot of money and it totally ruined the tour for me. Naturally I payed my band members what I promised them because after all.....a deal is a deal. Not for Lefty's however. Ms. Graham seems to think that there is a sepearte set of rules for her. I hope her daughters aren't paying to close attention to business ethics lessons.

Anyway, we drove up to Salem Oregon and did the gig at Lefty's. I had to bite my tongue while the pathetic Graham crew tried to act like everthing was OK. So here is what I would like to ask of you.
DO NOT PATRONIZE LEFTY'S IN SALEM OR. They step on the people who the livelihood of their business depends on. They don't stick to their agreements. They are bad for the blues. I hope they burn in Hell.

"PANAMA CITY BEACH - WHEN PRIDE STILL MATTERED"
March, 2000. A cancelled show. The date is salvaged when the Primich Band is booked into a venue in Panama City Beach, Florida. The tone for the evening was set when we checked into our lodging, a 50's style court motel. We met our host, an ex - Michigan Wolverine football player with an amphetamine habit and a looming birthday bash to be attended by his biker friends. We were invited to stay and "jam." We had other plans.

The club was on the water, a hut-like structure made from some local trees. After a rather inconvenient load-in we set up, and were fed something typical of the region. We started on time, and were gaining some converts on the dance floor when the party really started. Several sorority girls arrived for a bachelorette party, and their leader approached the bandstand, requesting "Ladies Night." Gary apologized, informing her that she'd have to wait until the big disco medley in our third set. Complaining that they couldn't wait, she retreated. Her more determined friend then sat on a stool in front of Gary until we finished the next number, and pleaded her case. Gary subjected her to some sort of public humiliation that was more than appropriate, and she rejoined her table.

Our next plea came from the 22 year old manager on duty, who was enlightened when Gary told him that we really didn't play "Ladies Night" at all, and we were joking with the girls. We finished our set and took a union regulation intermission.

As we tuned up for set 2, Manager Boy had some "suggestions" for Gary. It seemed our show was not as peppy as they were accustomed to, and perhaps we could liven things up a bit. Gary apologized, saying he regretted any misrepresentations by his booking agent, but that what was heard in the first set was what the band played.

Things got more interesting when "Jerry", the Brooklyn-bred owner of the club rushed the stage, stating in no uncertain terms that we had better "pick it up." As Gary attempted to calm the situation with a bit of "Real Politik" diplomacy, Jerry erupted.

"PICK THE MO%#*R F*@!ER UP OR I WON'T PAY YOU!", he roared. Gary then calmly informed him that he would pay the band out of his own pocket, and instructed us to "pack it up." We left with our heads held high. As we loaded the van, several groups of arriving customers turned and left upon hearing that there was no band.

On our next trip to the Sunshine State, we learned that Jerry's club had gone out of business. Now that's justice, Texas Style.

That night, Gary demonstrated to the residents of the "Redneck Riviera" that "leadership is action, not position."

Swedish Underware Problem

Dear Folks,
Please enjoy this story. It's all true and written by a former Primich band member about another band member. The author is dyslexic and doesn't spell too well so please go easy on him and enjoy the content.
Gary

we were in the middle of a tour over in sweden when we stoped at this hotel that looked like it was brand new. i remember the lights being very bright in the loby and the hallway. the rooms were pretty nice, kind of small but at least the beds were pre-seperated. late that night i heard my room mate ( un- named band member) open the door. i could see my room mate, who's sort of flaby and hasn't seen the sunshine sence i don't know when, standing in the hallway in his underware. i said what'a up, he didn't say anything, just stood there. then the door slamed shut. i looked at my watch to see what time it was and waited for him to return. a few minutes later i heard the door try to open. i got up and let him in, his eyes were open but he didn't say anything, just walked in and went to bed. i stuck my head out, i could see all the way down to the well lit dinning room. the people there were visably shaken. i figuare he made it all the way to the front desk before he woke up. i could tell by the look on his face the next morning that he had a vauge recolection that something bad happend to him, but we sure didn't talk about it.

The Night Our Bass Player Got Beat Up By 2 Lesbians

On January 17, 1997, the Gary Primich Band played a little juke joint in El Paso, Texas called Wild Hares Booze and Adventure.

The band lineup at the time was Shorty Lenoir on guitar, Jeff Minnick on drums, and for purposes of anonymity we'll call him Rocky on Bass. The gig was fairly uneventful (our definition of a good gig is nobody got hurt and everybody got paid). Our bass player Rocky, as usual, was hitting on any female in the joint who had a pulse (and some who appeared not to). At the end of the night I noticed that he was talking to two rather masculine women and one guy. As always, Rocky had the full court press on the two female subjects. Also, as usual, he walked away empty handed.

After we loaded our gear out of the club, Rocky walked across the street to the 7-Eleven store on Mesa Ave. Just as he was about to enter the establishment, the two manly girls and their male accomplices drove up close enough to Rocky to throw an empty beer bottle at him and hit him square in the chest. Just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, leaving a rather disgruntled Rocky to toss the bottle into the trash.

Although he was not a happy camper, Rocky went about his business in the 7-Eleven and bought himself something to eat. As walked out the door, he noticed the car that had transported the perpetrators was in line at the Jack-in-the-Box drive-through window next door. Always thinking on his feet, Rocky fished the beer bottle out of the trash can and ran over to their car, yanked open the passenger side door, and threw it at the occupants while loudly exclaiming "here's your fucking bottle back."

In their inebriated state the two amazon women bolted out of the car and proceeded to engage our poor bass player in a fist fight.........a fist fight in which he came out on the losing end. One held him while the other administered repeated body blows.

Although he wasn't hurt physically, Rocky's pride got a major ass whuppin' that night. Naturally, all of us had big fun with the subject for the rest of the tour.