Bert’s Market — Folly Beach, SC

Eric Gonzales was in my graduating class at Madison-Grant High School in Fairmount, Indiana. We were the two Erics, so he went by Gonzo and I was generally known by an intentional mispronunciation of my last name, said like Deans. While living in Charlotte, I found out Gonzo had moved to the beach just outside Charleston. I visited him in Folly Beach, SC on a couple lost weekends, gobbling some mushrooms and swimming far out under the moonlight, playing each other new tunes on his porch. But we lost touch. I heard he built up some resentment for me for whatever reason, maybe thought I was a sellout with a 9-to-5 job, not sure. I returned to Folly Beach whilst on tour with BCNC and took note of this sign on the glass door of Bert’s Market promoting Eric’s regular solo show and recently released album, Gold Clouds Blue Skies.

In fear our LPs would melt in the car, I took the box of vinyl into Bert’s and asked the woman behind the counter if we could store them there while we took a dip. She obliged. “You know this guy on the door, Eric Gonzales?” I asked. “I went to high school with him. One of my good friends.” 

“Yes. He’s in here quite often. Twice a day,” she said. “He has long hair, down to his butt.”

“If you see him, tell him Eric from Charlotte is right out there on the beach with a Bud Light Lime tallboy for him,” I told her. Eric never showed.

Eric, wherever you are, our paths are somehow parallel but also, somehow, not. 

BCNC at Hopscotch Festival — Raleigh, NC 9/9/10
Photo Credit: Ross Grady 

Tour reviews, etc. in a bit. But for now, this is the album cover. We have them for sale. People like them. Where post-punk skull fucks jam band cliche, there do lay Live in Miami 1984. And yes, that’s Don Johnson on the cover. And yes, those are, in fact, Melanie Griffith’s legs dangling over his shoulders.

This is our saxophone player, Brent, directing RUSH HOUR TRAFFIC downtown Raleigh during Hopscotch Music Festival. Waaaay more legit than you can imagine.

Bcubed.

Brent, Bo, and Bryan Reed soaking in some “Eliminator” on the patio outside the venue tonight. ZZ Toppin’ out at 110mph…

Bobby gon’ sell a merch for us now…

Farm 255 — Athens, Ga.

Farm 255 is a nice-ass restaurant that around closing time lets Mercer West (the Todd P of Athens) have his way with it. Last night, his way was us. We played on a wooden outdoor stage with streams of patio lights dangling above. We accepted ourselves as members of jam band. Dusty, a vagrant we met earlier during happy hour at a bar called Roadhouse, was supposed to join us on lead guitar for a rendition of Bill Withers’ “Use Me.” He didn’t show. We think this is because when Dusty inquired what our guarantee was for the show, we could only shrug. He used to party with Atlanta Rhythm Section and the “real” Lynyrd Skynyrd. They liked him because he was a comfort guy. This must be true, as Dusty said if he were to join us at Farm 255 there would be “100 people coming out.”

Broad Street — Augusta, Ga.

Lost souls come in many forms. Some human, some as spirit guides encased in bronze replicas (actual size). Whereas we lost souls have most always referred to ourselves as a “rare breed,” this tour has heretofore proven the contrary.

Postscript: I called this fella James Bronze.