Chuck Berry had a pained, angry look on his face.”Who is that guy!!?” he said from the back of the 20 foot tall platform stage.
“I don’t know.” I lied, sitting at the drumset, playing behind Jim, also known as Captain Ego, who was playing a borrowed guitar and singing Johnny B. Good, very badly. The audience was perplexed. They were expecting the real thing. Jim had snuck backstage, dressed in long fringe like a rock star, borrowed a guitar from BloodRock, walked on the stage, where me and Charlie and Christian were ready to back up Chuck in Tampa. We had done a few dates starting in Miami. Jim had left the grove and the band a few months earlier and gone back to St. Pete to hang wallpaper with his father. This was the first we had heard from him. Now he was bowing and waving at the pissed off crowd as he backed away from the mic, handed the guitar to a roadie, then backed up another few steps still waving and fell off the back of the stage landing in a pile of cases.
“I’m OK!” He yells.