Click on the artwork for the full scoop on each era...

It had come full circle. We were back in the USA supporting DITD, and playing Madison, WI. Of all venues, the show was at a club called Gonzo’s and nothing had changed. There were folks in the crowd from TRAXX gigs, and they were still cheering. God Bless 'em. The house monitor guy was a club days alumnus and he expressed his desire to hit the big time (still) and I assured him the window had not closed yet! Keep at it! You can do it it! I did!

During our first number, he was so drunk he passed out on the monitor board. With that, his window slammed shut. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, until I saw our tour manager start to imitate the inebriation at the monitor desk. So, I laughed. After that, the monitor board got a swift back kick from my boot, the whole system went BOOM, he woke up, and they replaced him at his post. We continued our grueling schedule into December, then we celebrated the holidays and headed over to Europe.

I can proudly say that just like one of my non-musical idols, SK became huge in France. We played there around Valentines Day, in 1996. Jay and I had been there the previous fall to pump them up about the DITD release. We did some awesome photo shoots around Paris, had a blast and returned that winter to take France by storm.

The trip went bon, mostly, but the last gig should have been a clue. We all noticed the same thing when it was over:

"Boy, that gig went by fast, didn’t it?"

We also couldn’t help noticing a vicious backstage insult exchange that threw more gas on the SK funeral pyre. I was neutrally asleep at the start of it, but as the bellicose banter became more heated and hilarious, I crawled out of my jet lag nap, and started giggling. A dead giveaway.

The band angrily came home and began talks about what was next. This is where it got really ugly. Studio ownership was debated, agreed to, disagreed to, cursed, praised, new songs sworn at, previous songs berated, nastier names were called, and it all started sliding away from us. Actually, it didn’t slide away. We chased it away. The tenuous unity that exists in a band had finally eroded. We agreed to disagree, and talks ceased.

Enter the age of Radio Silence.

Factions of SK didn’t talk to each other for eight months. In the meantime Phil and I worked in a video store to make ends meet. Phil had saved me in a big way, because I had gotten laid off from my photo lab job (talk about an economic knee to the groin) and was staggering down Poverty Lane. Could our morale have sunk any lower? Why, yes, it could!

It was a thought that crossed our minds often, mostly at closing time. As Phil would vacuum the store floor and I would count the drawer, the nightly closing skit went like this:

"We have gold records, right?", as the sound of the vacuum losing power trails off.

"Right", and the vacuum goes back on.

Vacuum winds down. "We have bodyguards in some cities on this planet, right?"

"Right".

"OK, just checking." And the vacuum roars to life.

And the rift on went, until we had enough and agreed to let bygones be bygones and get together, and make the CD of our lives as an unstoppable machine known as SAIGON KICK.

Or did we?