For no reason at all, I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately about my first band, Nun of the Above. I played with the Nuns from 1985 until early 1990, when I left Little Rock. We sucked, but we sucked with originality, and that counted for a lot when you were a garage/punkabilly band in that era.
Actually, we didn’t entirely suck. The lead guitarist would be welcome in almost any band; the second guitarist had an artist’s soul and could write good songs; the bass player was a strong singer and a competent player; the Spinal Tap-ish series of drummers we used all could play some…but me, the keyboard player and the sometimes-third-guitarist constituted the boat-anchor wing of the ensemble.
But we did have fun. And we had great parties. And we got thrown out of a bar or two or five. And I learned how to play with a band.
The Nuns have scattered. Vinnie the guitarist is still in Little Rock; Mike the artistic guy moved to San Francisco for a while,
had the horrible misfortune of seeing his sweet wife die of cancer and now lives in northwest Arkansas (see comments below); Kevin the bass player was in Memphis, last I heard; Dave the keyboard player, who married into money, was a full-time sunset watcher the last time I got an update (2014 update: He got divorced and has been married again for a while); and nobody hears from Paco any more.
Some of these guys are approaching 60 now, if they’re not already there. We did things that no 60-year-old is ever going to admit to doing.
We weren’t dangerous, but sometimes we liked to think we were. Now that middle age has removed any doubt about that issue for us, nostalgia is an especially sweet thing.