This is a video recording of what I called "The Charlie's Palace House Band", in which I played bass and sometimes sang. The proprietors had another name for the band: The Goodtime Charlies. I think it should be fairly obvious why I chose to use the lengthier moniker. Charlie's was basically just a bar, though the emphasis was a lot more on the dancing than the drinking. It was the only place I knew of that had a house band. I considered myself lucky when the guitarist asked me to join them in January of 1997. It was a steady gig and a paying one to boot. Three nights a week (Thurs.-Sat.), $50 a night. Now I realize that sounds like peanuts. It is, I will agree. But this was Oklahoma, not Nashville. Bands were not paid well (and I'm sure they still aren't). The third night's take was basically the only thing that was making us any richer than the ordinary nomad band playing two night stands down the road.
Though I was not a huge fan of country music, I liked it well enough by the time I hooked up with the CPHB. I enjoyed playing it just as much as any style, just didn't listen to it quite as much. I came into this gig a decent bass player, by the time I left I was a pretty damn good one. Which is the long way of saying that these guys were good...worth much more than the pittance they were paid. I learned a truck load of new songs in a short period of time. Once a month our singer would take a break and we'd get the chance to play with Don Hayes. I don't even like to bring up that he's Wade Hayes' father, but I do so you can get an idea of the musical treasure trove the man was (where do you think Wade got it from?). He probably knew every song that Merle Haggard & Waylon Jennings ever wrote. When we played the gigs with him it was just like playing honky tonks in the mid-60s. Nothing against our singer, who was much better suited to the modern country of the day, but it was those nights with Don that eventually made the whole thing worth while.
A couple of things I'll not forget about Charlie's Palace, no matter how I'd like to...
There was a bathtub in the men's room that served as a urinal. They filled that sucker with ice before opening the doors and it was good to go. Every time I tell someone about that they seem flabbergasted. I didn't think too much of it, but it definitely left an impression.
The lady who owned and ran the place was a real bitchy person, not exactly in her prime and not too easy on the eyes, either. One of the unspoken rules for the band was that when we got paid at the end of the night she would stuff the bills in our back pockets and give a little pat on the ass. It goes without saying that none of was fond of this ritual, but it was either that or not get paid. A bit of humiliation in return for not having to book gigs in one of the less "respectable" dives with a band that's too green to be out on the circuit yet. Definitely sexual harassment, but then again taking cash under the table is not exactly legal, either.
I probably sang at least two songs per set in a 4 hour set. Here I am belting out one of the club's favorites, "Born to Boogie", originally made famous by that great patriot Hank Williams, Jr.. It's not a bad performance, either, in my humble yet un-biased opinion. The lights reflecting on the pattern on my shirt make it look like I have incredibly large man-titties. I don't.
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