My mother and her husband hired a 3-piece band for their wedding party a couple of weekends ago. It was a bass player, a guitar player, and a female vocalist. They were quite good, and did a nice job setting the tone for the evening with mainly light jazz.
What no one realized, however, was that the guitar player was getting quietly sloshed as the evening went on. When the party ended and it was time for the band to pack up and go, the vocalist and the bass player packed up their own gear and left. It was at this point that we realized that the guitar player was bombed out of his gourd. He was stumbling around, babbling fairly incoherently, and trying to get another drink.
It was clear that there was no way he was leaving on his own, because no one was going to let him get behind the wheel of a car. So it was decided that a cab would be called for him. This proved to be a daunting task, because the only cab company in town is owned by my step-father – aka my mother’s ex-husband and Alex’s father – but that’s another story entirely. Suffice to say that the late night person couldn’t be reached, and a cab became not an option.
While everyone is talking about what to do about this guy, the guy himself is still wandering around looking for more booze. That was when Alex sprang into action and appointed himself the guy’s babysitter. It was then that the guy started making claims about having been the guitar player for Quiet Riot, among other claims I can’t recall. At one point, he was starting to get belligerant, and Alex was trying to contain him. That was when he said, in a trying-to-be-threatening tone, “You think you could handle Quiet Riot?”
And that was when I lost it and started laughing at him. Until then, I felt bad and embarrassed for him that he allowed to get himself into this position, but this absurdity was hysterical. I turned to him and asked, “Why? Are you going to call him and get them over here?” His response was to blink owlishly at me, mouth agape.
Eventually, Denny, being the mensch he is, decided to just put the guy up in a hotel for the night. One of Denny’s friends drove Mr. Quiet Riot over there. As of 3pm the next day, he still hadn’t come back for his gear. Eventually, several days later, the bass player came back to pick it up and gave back a third of the band’s fee.
And the reason I’m telling you about this now is that I keep thinking about this story over and over every time I see an article about the death of Kevin DuBrow. As you can imagine, I’m not much of a Quiet Riot fan, but I do feel sympathy when someone dies. In this case, though, the sympathy is overshadowed by remembering this crazy guitar player guy.