The band arrives in Anguilla

The band, left to right: Me, Cricket, T-Bone, Bail-Out, Mrs. Pookie, and The Man. Luscious was taking the photo. I don’t know where our official band photographer was…Oh, wait! We don’t have one!

One by one the band arrived, although, frankly, Mrs. Pookie almost didn’t make it; she snagged a pro-golfer on the ferry ride over from St. Maarten and had to give a hard-think to whether she wanted to rock her viola with us or let the golf pro show her how to gracefully exit a sand trap, if you know what I mean. In the end, she chose the band (although she gave the golf pro her number, so we’ll see what happens).

Bail-Out, traveling from Boston, forgot to bring his mandolin. How do you come to Anguilla for band rehearsals and forget your mandolin? Anyway, as soon as he arrived, he hit the beach—sans sun screen. Just like him. That’s why he’s called Bail-Out. He’s our own little Steven Van Zandt. Part of the reason he’s so hard to schedule for band rehearsals is because he’s always doing some bit in an indie movie or some play in Boston. To be honest, I don’t think he’s really dedicated to his music.

T-Bone arrived right on time. Despite the name, T-Bone doesn’t do steak. Nor chicken nor fish. In fact, T-Bone grooves on a plant-based diet only—no cheese, no milk, no butter, no nada. She’s so tiny it always amazes me that she plays her electric violin with such gusto. But that girl can rock.

Mike “The Man” Espindle got held up in Rome or something, Luscious tells me. Driving a Jaguar around Umbria when he should have been packing his drum kit. He finally showed up in the middle of dinner last night, after way too many cocktails on the flight over, with some cutey on his arm who, evidently, just got married and is honeymooning here. And not to The Man. Have you ever noticed how drummers are always the flakiest musicians in a band (think Spinal Tap)?

Cricket, our keyboardist, lives on Anguilla. He’s the reason we decided to rehearse here, since he swore he could score us free rooms at the Cap Juluca resort (we’ll see what happens when we check-out). And, of course, Luscious, our vocalist and I (electric ukulele) have been here for a couple of days already. So we’re finally good to go.

Now if we could only figure out what to call ourselves. Oh, and write a couple of songs.

This is Luscious. You’ll have to ask her why she’s called that. Photo by David Lansing.

Tags: , ,


  1. Paul Kandarian’s avatar

    hey, it’s about image, man, image, gotta work the tan before the strings. Granted, most rockers are so pasty white they’d dissolve at the first hint of the sun’s rays (maybe it’s all that coke pouring out the pores, who knows?), but not this one, gotta look good behind that mandolin. Which I apologize for forgetting. Promise to work on song lyrics between film gigs and plays.

  2. Fred Harwood’s avatar

    Heh! I play (at) the baritone uke.

Comments are now closed.