After Midnight

The only thing harder than forming a great band is leaving one. After 14 years (or so – we’re not quite sure when this actually began) of drumming for the best cover band in Central Texas, I had to reluctantly tender my resignation from After Midnight last week. While this isn’t exactly John Lennon leaving the Beatles, it still hurts. A lot.

I’ve grown to love these guys. Barry Hankins (guitar, vocals) and I had played together at 7^th & James for several years, usually backing other people for youth talent shows, 7^th’s Up, and even Cool Yule when I asked him if he’d be interested in forming a band that specialized in R&B and Texas shuffle. He said yes. Barry had been in a number of bands through the years and has this wonderful Bob Seger/Detroit rock voice that was just achin’ to be spotlighted.

Within a couple of weeks, we’d heard about Steve Gardner (keyboards, vocals) at Lake Shore Baptist. We approached Steve, played a few tunes at his house and found an immediate musical/personal fit. Steve had also been in bands growing up in Oak Cliff In fact, Jimmie Vaughan, Stevie Ray’s brother, once asked Steve to go on the road with him. Steve instead chose to go to college. Jimmie’s loss, our gain.

Several other wonderful musicians came and went — Jim LePeyre, Scott Rasnic, Andrew Armond, John Haskett and others — before we finally found Lance Grigsby (bass) who, at the time, had an office across from mine in the Department of Journalism, PR & New Media. Lance is a multi-instrumentalist and good-naturedly set out to master the bass guitar. Which he did. In the process, he became After Midnight’s youngest member and token eye candy.

But between the commute from San Antonio and my knees and now my shoulder, it has gotten harder and harder. I never dreamed it would get so difficult I’d have to leave something I love this much. When I told the guys, they were disappointed, but supportive. In time, a good band becomes like family. And I had come to regard our Saturday morning and Tuesday evening practices as an anticipated family reunion. Relatives by choice.

I’ve strongly urged them to continue and I believe they will. After Midnight is certainly a lot bigger than one broken-down drummer. It gives too many people too much pleasure to stop now.

In those 14 years, we’ve played every possible gig – private parties, the Bosque River Stage, the Carleen Bright Arboretum, fund-raisers, benefits, wedding receptions, smoky dives off the Circle, La Fiesta, Hog Creek, Common Grounds, 40^th, 50^th and 60^th birthdays, even a particularly unsettling gig on the old Brazos Queen, where we were repeatedly asked to play the Eagles’ “Desperado.” And when we didn’t replay it immediately, the entire party left the dance floor, never to return.

And, oh, the stories …

We once played a reception for an academic conference in Austin on Halloween. I had had a kidney stone the day before. But in the great “the show must go on” tradition of rock’n’roll, I played the gig with a catheter and on some serious pain meds. That night, as Mary drove us out of the downtown hotel where we’d play, we were stopped by the midnight Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender costume parade. Still loopy from the meds, I watched hundreds of beautiful LGBT people – mostly dressed as slutty nurses – parade by. Strangely, nobody remembers this but me.

We eventually came up with a two-tiered fee system. We had one fee for afternoon Southern Baptist wedding receptions where only punch was served and a lesser fee for everything else. I didn’t become a drummer to play softly.

Over the course of the years, we got to be very good. Actually, Steve, Barry and Lance were pretty good to start with. I was the one who got better. Playing with real musicians will do that for you. I’m not enough of a musician to be a great drummer, so I concentrated on keeping a funky beat when a funky beat was called for. My drumming idol is the late Al Jackson Jr., the great minimalist drummer with Booker T & the MGs. But then, the Stax/Volt and Atlantic soul/R&B eras of the ‘60s are my musical foundation.

Being a drummer in a rock band, of course, is the greatest gig in the world. You make people happy. There is nothing I like better than watching people dance and enjoy themselves. The bass player and the drummer, relieved of the added burden to be the featured soloists and sex symbols, usually people- watch. Lance and I have seen couples come together and break apart, shy guys ask a girl to dance for the first time, tipsy 70-year-olds emulate the Solid Gold Dancers, and – at the many outdoor gigs we’ve played – shooting stars explode on the horizon.

When After Midnight is cookin’, I would get totally lost in the music and the beat. I never thought about what would come next, which drum to hit, which cymbal to crash. I would get caught up in it. Making music. Having fun. Watching people smile.

In songs like “Walking to Memphis” or “Brown-Eyed Girl,” I could just play and listen to the band at the same time and marvel at their skill and my luck to be a part of it.

We eventually adopted “Mustang Sally” as our “theme” song – or, perhaps, our audiences adopted it for us. As Lance would begin the intro, our most faithful fans – Mary and Kathy and Ann and Becky and Linda and Dana – would rush the dance floor. And when we’d hit the “Ride, Sally, ride!” chorus, everybody would sing along. Magic.

Jesus, I’m going to miss that.