One day, during lunch, about a week after our second gig,
Keith told me that he was thinking of leaving the band.
“Leaving the band? Wha’ d’ya mean yer thinking of leaving the band? Who would ever wanna leave the band? We’re just getting started!”
“Yeah, I know man, but, I don’t know, I gotta finish school. Then I’m gonna be going away to school, I’m not sure I have time to play music…”
“Are you kidding? That’s crazy. What are you gonna do with all your gear?”
“I don’t know, probably sell it, I guess…”
“Jesus. Really?”
“Yeah, man…”
“Wow. That’s crazy.”
We made small talk about this and that, but I was stunned by this turn of events.
“Leaving the band! Why would anyone leave the band?” I thought to myself.
Then, a few days later…
I’d heard that Curtis, Al and Ernie were going to be jamming with Keith at his place in a couple weeks.
Wait.
What?
Were they starting another band or was I being fired?
I mean, I was certainly getting ahead of myself.
I’d started to think that I was not only on my way to the top, but that I’d already arrived.
I remember one day, Keith brought up the idea of maybe doing a Country song.
“I’d rather pump gas for the rest of my life than sing Country music.”
What a jack ass.
Trust me, the irony of me spending the better part of 20 years in Nashville writing “Country songs” does not go unnoticed, I can assure you.
Anyway, the next thing I knew, I felt like the dream was over before it even got started.
And not because I didn’t want to sing a Country song.
It was because I had all the attitude and nothing to back it up.
I was all hat and no cattle.
And now it was over.
For the next week or so, I moped around.
I started to ponder the idea of maybe moving back to New Brunswick.
Then one day, Keith called me at home and asked if I’d be interested in getting together with him and the rest of the guys.
“Yeah, sure man! Sounds fun! When?”
“Saturday afternoon.”
“Cool, see you there!”
“See you there, buddy!”
“You bet, Keith, I’ll see you there.”
I remember thinking “Maybe I imagined this whole thing of being fired…”
Regardless, I was thrilled to be going to rehearsal.
Whether I was singing or playing rhythm guitar.
I was fine with either.
Saturday rolled around, Curtis pulled up in front of my place, honked the horn and off we went to band rehearsal.
We pulled into the back alley at Keith’s, I grabbed my guitar and amp and went downstairs to the basement.
Keith was ripping through some scales and Ernie was setting up his drums.
Al wasn’t there yet, but he had an oil field job and always seemed to be running about ten minutes behind schedule.
There were also a couple girls from school who had been asked to audtion to be the singer in the band.
Bridgette and Alicia.
I didn’t really care one way or the other who was singing, I was just happy to be back in the band, that I may or may not have been fired from.
Alicia sang a really good version (if I remember correctly) of the Corey Hart classic “Never Surrender”.
Bridgette wanted to sing the Pat Benetar song “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.
We ran over each song a couple times and both, Bridgette and Alicia, sounded great.
I could see why either of them would be a better choice than me to be the singer in “Diamonds In The Rough”.
Then, out of the blue, Keith said, “Hey Mike, d’ya wanna sing “Johnny B Goode” for old time’s sake?”
“Sure! Sounds good to me!”
It hadn’t even been three months since we first played “Johnny B Goode” for new time’s sake, but I didn’t care.
I was back in the band again and all was well in my world.
For some reason, we didn’t work up any other songs for Bridgette or Alicia to sing.
I don’t know why and I didn’t ask.
Maybe it was to teach me a lesson.
Lesson learned.
For as much as it felt to me like I’d been fired and rehired, it was all in my head, I never even missed a rehearsal.
Our next show was towards the end of March, in the gymnasium at school during lunch hour.
It was the first time we got to play more than two songs.
Keith on lead guitar.
Curt on keys.
Ernie on drums.
Al on bass.
And me on rhythm guitar and vocals.
It was the first time I’d ever played guitar on stage.
We opened the show Bridgette singing “Hit Me With Your Best Shot”.
I moved towards the center of the stage, adjusted the mic stand.
Strummed a chord and looked at Keith.
He counted us in and we launched into a pretty good version of “Lick It Up”.
Followed by Honeymoon Suite’s, “New Girl Now”.
“Walk of Life” by Dire Straits.
“Life Is Life” by Opus.
We also did a smokin’ version of David Lee Roth’s version of the Beach Boys song “California Girls”.
We closed with our hit “Johnny B. Goode”.
Over the next couple months, we worked in a couple more songs.
“One More Time” by Streetheart.
“Talking In Your Sleep” by the Romantics.
We didn’t have a delay effect for my vocal (I’m not so sure we even knew what that was), so when I sang,
“When you close your eyes and you go to sleep…”
Back on the drums, Ernie would sing “sleep sleep sleep…”
Fuck man, we figured that’s how they did it in the Big Leagues.
We also learned “Runaway” by Bon Jovi.
Man, did I love that song.
It was one of the first songs that was, vocally, in my wheelhouse.
For some reason, we also worked up a version of Jim Croce’s “Bad Bad Leroy Brown”.
I don’t know why we learned that song, but we did and we did it justice.
Sadly, the same could not be said for “Love Walks In” by Van Halen.
That song was way beyond my station.
And, truth be told, it still is.
Jesus, what were we thinking?
I think I gave myself an aneurysm and a hernia by the end of the first verse.
If that song had been an animal, PETA would’ve been picketing outside our shows.
We played it once and then had to take it out back and have it put down.
We nailed it at soundcheck and butchered it at the actual show.
Bloodbath.
Hideous.
You’d think we’d never heard the fucking song before.
Why do good musicians execute their music and bad musicians murder their music?
There’s a fine line.
It was also another early lesson for me.
The better the soundcheck, the worse the show.
Over 2800 shows in and it still rings true.
I don’t why it is, it just is…
Whatever, all I knew was that we were back to the original lineup and I couldn’t have been happier.
We were also getting better as a band too.
We were starting to figure out what I could and more importantly what I couldn’t sing.
We’d also changed our name…
One day, while having a plate of fries and gravy at the Steak and Pizza, Ernie said,
“Hey guys, I’ve been thinking! Wha’ d’ya say we change the name of the band?
I was kins thinking, “Caught In The Act”!?! Wha d’ya think? Not bad huh?”
And with that, we were now, officially, called “Caught In The Act”.
Once again, thank God there wasn’t a tattoo parlor nearby because I’d have ink that’d read “Caught In The Act” to match my “Diamonds In The Ruff” tattoo.
There but for the Grace of God.
Our last show of the school year was to be at the Bonnyville Tradex in late June.
It was also supposed to be my last show with the band.
I had decided that I was going to move back to New Brunswick.
I missed everything about Moncton.
I missed the school that I’d hated so much.
I missed the beach that I never went to.
I missed my pals.
I missed who I used to be.
I just wanted to go home.
I talked to my Mom about it.
She wasn’t happy but understood where I was coming from.
It was decided that I would live at my aunt Claire’s place in Moncton.
I’d go back to Harrison Trimble High for my senior year.
At least that was the plan.
(If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans…)
Anyway, in early May, my Mom had rented a new place in town.
A little duplex just off the main drag.
Not a palace, but better than the trailer we’d been living in.
I remember packing our stuff into boxes for the trip across town.
Moving had become commonplace in our family.
This would be our 7th move (and my 7th school) since January 1981.
I was tired of moving.
But this time it was different.
This time, I was helping my Mom and my brother move into their new home.
I was leaving.
A thread of melancholy had crept into my disposition.
I guess I had the blues.
As we were loading up our junk, completely unannounced, a bunch of friends of mine showed up to help us move.
I couldn’t believe it.
Al Mercier.
Kelly Turzanski.
James Girard.
Pedro Garcia.
The four guys who I met on the first day of school, while waiting in line for my schedule.
They weren’t even asked to help.
They just showed up and started lugging boxes.
I guess they had nothing better to do.
While we were loading everything into our new home, my Mom snuck out and bought a two-four of ice-cold Molson Canadian.
After the job was done, we tucked into that box of beer like there was no tomorrow.
Beer has never tasted better than it did that night.
It was a perfect moment in time.
I’d give almost anything to go back to that night.
I could live in that night forever.
Easily.
No problem.
All these years later, I can snap right back to that Friday night in May of 1986.
I can still see us all sitting on the front steps,
watching the sunset,
drinking beer
and laughing.