Love in the Time of Cthulhu

(Clockwise from top left: Chris, Steve, Maniel, Me)

The Inverted Nines was the first real band I ever played in, in the sense that we played out of town, made actual recordings that were put out, made shirts to sell at shows, and other sorts of things that bands were supposed to do. The Inverted Nines started when my friend Steve Linquist, with whom I had played in a shitty high school cover band, called me to see if I wanted to play guitar in this punk band he was starting. He was living with the dudes from a band called Union of the Dead in a house on the corner of Warner St. and West Sac. in Chico with a stage in the backyard and they used to have all sorts of shows there, with local bands and touring bands, and he had met this dude Chris Huber who was down to sing and who had a buddy also named Daniel who wanted to play guitar. So I said “fuck yeah” and moved out of my shitty apartment and into 925 Warner St and we started dicking around with some songs. We tried out a bunch of drummers but no one really worked out; either they were super into Korn (this was 1999) or just couldn’t really hack it. So I decided to learn how to play drums, and I sold Chris my guitar so he could rock that and the band was formed. Gerardo from Union of the Dead I think was the one who recommended the name Inverted Nines, it was a lyric from some Misfits songs or another, and we played our first show at 925 with Union of the Dead and Beanfight and some shitty Bay Area punk band.

(Some totally original graffiti at our old practice space)

Not long after we went down to Ripon to record with some dudes Maniel Daniel (which stood for Mexican Daniel, to distinguish from the other Daniel) knew, one of whom was in Link 80 (the ska band that Danielle Steele’s son was in before he ODed and died). We recorded an EP and put it out ourselves, buying a bunch of fake naughahyde vinyl, cutting it into pouches and spray painting our logo on it. FUCK AS PUNK, eh? We started playing some shows out of town, usually alongside one of more of our cohorts in what we soon started labeling “Team Chico”: Union of the Dead, Hit By a Semi, and Johnny P. & The Whitewall Slicks. To accomplish this we bought one of the old Ambulances from the racetrack in Willows, still with the sirens and everything, and painted a bunch of badass shit on the sides and back. It was probably the baddest ass tour van I’ve ever seen, still to this day.We did Tahoe and Reno a shitload (which sucked because I was only 19/20) San Francisco a couple of times, Orange County, Modesto, a few other places. Another Chico band, The P.A.W.N.S. took us on a somewhat ill fated weekend tour to Oregon with a band from British Columbia called Rewind. The first show was at Burnt Ramen studios in Richmond; the P.A.W.N.S RV broke down right outside of Chico, but we figured we’d still go down and do the show and meet up with Rewind, who had driven like 30 hours from Canada. But when we got there there was a note on the door that said the show was cancelled “SORRY.” The next show was at a bookstore in Salem, OR and when we showed up there, a couple hundred miles and a day later, the guy didn’t even know there was supposed to be a show. We ended up playing to about 4 people, but it was cool anyways. And after that the shows got rad, in Eugene, and a basement in Portland with Tragedy, who were fucking badass, even though some hustler jacked us for scrill on Three Card Monte then “dropped” a giant ass knife out of his pocket. I talked everyone into driving home after the Portland show, which meant that they all got drunk while I drove until dawn and listened to our ambulance almost die a thousand deaths going up Mt. Ashland.

(The Ambulance aka The Best Tour Vehicle in History)

By then we also had gotten a new guitarist, Scott Petersen, who also was cool enough to give me his old ID so I could get into bars finally. Right before that, however, the old lineup went into Burnt Ramen studios (they were open this time) to record three songs live for a compilation the P.A.W.N.S were putting together called The Suburban American Tract Home Project. The song above, “Scurvy” is from that session.

(Tracking Vocals for the Suburban American Tract Home Project)

Not long after this I got sick of my girlfriend getting pissed at me all the time so I decided to quit the band. Everyone thought I was a pussy, but our friend Boston Steve said he’d play drums instead, so it wasn’t a big deal. We had a show booked at Mr. Lucky, so the plan was that halfway through the set, Boston Steve was gonna come on stage and fake stab me, and push me off the drums and keep playing the set as I stumbled offstage. That morning, I had been hired to take my step-dad’s racecar, which was sponsored by the “Tobacco Free Challenge” an anti-smoking advocacy campaign, to some school down in Stockton, but it was fine, because I would be back in the afternoon with plenty of time to get shit ready for the show. I went down to Stockton, did the school event, and started cruising back up when I blew a tire somewhere in Bumblefuck Central Valley, CA. No problem though, I had AAA…except that the fucking Rice Rocket race car I’m driving needs a special size tire that no one in the surrounding 4 counties has even heard of, let alone have in stock. I sat on the fucking highway for six hours until finally some cocksucker slapped on a tire and I hit the road. I drove about 130 mph on the backroads to Chico, with the gas light on, and pulled into the front of Mr. Lucky like fucking The Italian Job, and jumped out of that shit just in time to walk onstage and play the fucking show. When it comes time for Boston Steve to come onstage and murder me, dude sold it like a pro: we’re talking fake blood, trick knife with a collapsable blade, war cries, the whole bit. Someone forgot to tell the bouncers so they all tried to rush the stage, but thankfully the homies were there to keep Boston Steve from getting merked for real. So I bounced offstage and fucked off for good. Hopefully we’ll do a reunion show someday, though I don’t think I can play that fast anymore.

(Back when I was pissed)