Ned, my long-time attorney and musical partner, a true genius, and hero of our time, and I were recording the amazing Fine Time in America. We did part of it at our buddy (and producer) Ben's home studio. Ben also played incredible bass and guitars, and sang.
Ben lived in an iffy part of town, bordered by about a dozen blocks which were the bad, bad part of town, and which we had to drive through to get home, if we didn't want to circle the city. There was a convenience store that was open 24 hours. Ben had sternly warned us not to go there after dark, and said that even the cops refused to respond to calls after 9pm. After I saw it in person, I could clearly see why.
It looked like a scene from a bad movie, only it was real. I'd never seen anything like it, especially around here, and I was a bit shocked. There were a couple of guys passed-out, and one guy literally shooting-up in plain sight. I'd never seen that for real until then. There were about half a dozen guys inside, shooting the breeze, and I swear to Pete you could feel the tension through the plate glass window. I can say with relative certainty that the only reason they're open 24 hours is for dope-dealing. Besides their Homeys, no one else in their right mind would even think about stopping there, but who said I was in my right mind, right?
Ned is a true hero for what's he's done on behalf of the Cahaba River. He was an environmental attorney, and he sued the shit out of several major corporations who were illegally dumping shit into the river. I'm not sure he lost a single case, and he cost these companies millions in fines and cleanup costs, and they hated him with a passion. For 25 years or so he received quite a few death threats, which he took very seriously, and rightly so. He played a few messages that various goons had left over the years, and they were no joke.
Because of said threats, you never saw Ned anywhere out without two or three firearms. He and perpetual girlfriend Joyce, aka "Choice," always have "pea shooters" on them- a couple of 9mm Glocks. He keeps a .45 under the front seat of his truck, and usually a third piece, which changes with his mood I guess. It's all legal of course. He's a good shot too.
One night we were leaving a session at Ben's. We were in an even better mood than usual that night, especially Ned. He never took pills of any kind just to get high, but he'd wrenched his back and was in a lot of pain, and his doc had given him some Percocet. He didn't lose control or anything, but he was high as a kite...laughing and talking shit and just having a big time.
Talk about the "It only hurts when I laugh" thing...we were finishing-up a track, and I decided to record the sound of fireworks going off. They were called "Jumping Jacks." The look like firecrackers, except they have a tiny hole in the side, so instead of blowing up, all the energy goes out of the hole, and they spin around violently, and make a great buzzing/whistling sound, like supersonic Bumblebees or something. They're pretty too...they change from red to green, and shoot out sparks.
Mostly they stay on the ground and spin, but some of them fly off in all directions, and they're completely unpredictable. I've shot a million Jumping Jacks, and I've been burned several times. Once one flew up my trouser leg and burned a path all the way up my leg, stopping just south of the Jewels.
Anyway I decided that that sound would be cool at the end of the tune. I tied several packs together, and got a long mic cord that reached out to the patio, with a Shure SM-58 on the end. I knew that with several packs, some of the Jumping Jacks would fly my way. Singed hair or hot nuts is no problem, but I wasn't about to go blind just to record a track, so I lit the fuse, poked the mic as close as I could get it, and turned my face around like an owl.
For some reason (possibly the Percocet) it hit Ned's Funny Bone really hard. He was stooped down on the other side of the patio, trying to keep his back straight. When I lit the fuse and turned my head and looked at him with a grimace on my face, he started laughing so hard he lost his balance and rolled onto his back. He let out a yelp, but he just went with it and lay there laughing. I know it had to hurt, but he didn't care. After a couple of minutes lying there, the hard surface actually made his back feel better. Laughter really is the best medicine.
We also had a policy of being totally sober while playing, which I've done for decades, but if we were doing vocals, we'd have a glass or two of really good small-batch bourbon, just to loosen the vocal cords. We had a few sips, but nothing major. Ned was driving, and he was already high. We left Ben's around 1am.
When we were about a block from the store, inspiration struck. I had to stifle a laugh, and I said, "I'm thirsty. Pull in here." "Simpson...you've lost your mind" he replied. "Cover me" I said. We totally died laughing. How many times in your life can you say that, and really mean it? It was like the Wild West, which fit the general lawlessness of the place. To my delight, he pulled into the parking lot. I wasn't sure he would, but it was kind of like a dare...if he didn't do it, he'd be a pussy.
We pulled up to the front of the store, still laughing like lunatics. The guys shooting-up ignored us, but the guys inside all stopped talking, and stared at us. I think they were in shock a bit, seeing outsiders pull up. Maybe they thought we were Undo or something, or maybe so far from out of town that we hadn't heard about the place's reputation, or just plain crazy. To see two guys pull up was one thing, but to see them laughing their asses off was quite another, I imagine.
Ned reached under the seat, grabbed the .45, clicked off the safety and held it out of view. Although I figured it wouldn't come to that, I knew that if something happened, he'd shoot right through the window and take down at least a few of them. We sat there for a minute, until we could quit laughing, and I could screw-on a serious look. I got out and walked into the store, just like I was walking arm-in-arm with Jesus. "Grab me a water" said Ned.
I selected beverages and went to pay. Nobody moved or said a word, not even the cashier, but if looks could kill, I'd have been a goner. I didn't go in there to provoke a fight at all. I went in there to fuck with their heads, which it definitely did, and to create a memory I knew we'd cherish in years to come, which we do. I still get a kick out of it.
The looks on those guys' faces were wild, and not ones I really want to see again. I figured they'd be in semi-shock for 45 seconds or so, and I didn't plan to linger or chit-chat. I left the change on the counter, nodded and walked out, still grinning. I can only imagine what they must've been thinking...besides the fact that they'd probably love to fuck me up, just to keep in practice, but a couple of options that may have crossed their minds could've been that either I was straight-up insane, or I was a Kung Fu Master or whatever.
Was it a stupid-ass thing to do? Maybe, but it was truly a badass thing as well, and Ned, who wasn't one to take stupid risks, went along with it. In fact he absolutely loved it. I've always said that basically I've been an unpaid stuntman all my life, and this is more proof. While there was no physicality involved, it was still damn-sure a stunt. Again, I felt strongly that nothing bad would happen, but of course I could've been wrong. Mainly I trusted Ned, and his shooting skills, completely, and I can't say that about too many people.
He's semi-retired, but he literally put his life on the line for the Cahaba River, and for that he'll always be a hero. Although he's not quite as crazy, Ned and I are both Type-As. I did it for the Adrenaline rush, and he went along with it for the same reason. He'd have gone all Dirty-Harry on their asses if it'd come to that, but he wasn't figuring on violence either, and the chance for such a batshit-crazy stunt was too much for him to resist. We laughed all the way home, and I drank a well-deserved beer. Good times.
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