Happy 80th Birthday to a man of wealth and taste 

When I first spotted the Rolling Stones gliding across my parent’s television set in 1981, it changed my tween life forever.

(Kinda like those thousands of kids who were never the same after they saw the Beatles appear on “The Ed Sullivan Show” many years earlier.) 

There was an excitement about the Rolling Stones that drew me in. They got into my soul and stayed there. 

I still remember the night I first discovered the British band. It was Monday Nov. 30, and the usual evening ritual was underway. My mom was cleaning up the kitchen after another one of her homecooked meals, and my dad was sitting in the family room watching Channel 7 Action News.

As I begrudgingly got out my sixth-grade homework, my eyes darted over to the TV as the news reported the Rolling Stones were in town to perform two nights at the Pontiac Silverdome: Nov. 30 and Dec. 1. 

I had heard of the Rolling Stones, but I don’t think I actually laid eyes on them before. As I watched the telecast, I saw footage of the band on a large stage performing in concert under a spotlight. 

Leading the band was a skinny guy dancing funky and pointing at the audience. He wore a colorful football jersey, supertight football pants and kneepads. It was my informal introduction to lead singer and charismatic frontman Mick Jagger. What swagger. Next to him was a cigarette-smoking guitar player with skinny elbows named Keith Richards. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off of them. Seeing the band lit a fire inside me. I felt inspired. Knowing they were in town, I asked my parents if I could go to their concert. They both said “no,” and gave me a brief speech about how the Rolling Stones were on drugs. And that was that.

But I still became a Stones fanatic. Still am. No “Mixed Emotions” here.

My dad, who got up at 4 a.m. to go to work every day and didn’t get home until 4 p.m., always brought home “The Detroit Free Press.” I read the comics and entertainment section religiously, and that week, the newspaper published a special section dedicated to the Rolling Stones. I still have it. It’s like the bible for Stones followers. 

My first year at Holly Jr. High School, when I discovered the band, was rough. I got called “freak” and “loser” a lot and it made me hate school. One of the things that got me through junior high hell was listening to my growing vinyl record collection. One of those albums was the Stones’ “Hot Rocks 1964-71.” Listening to songs like “Time Is On My Side” and “Heart of Stone” while nestled inside my sunshine-colored bedroom made me happy. I never got tired of hearing the music, reading the linear notes, and looking at the photos. It all struck a creative chord with me.

While Keith Richards was my favorite band member — I mean, come on, we share the same birthday — I’ve had my Mick moments, too. For instance, when I worked at Harmony House, I played the music idol’s solo CD “Wandering Spirit” every day for weeks in 1993. That’s why I had to write something on my blog in honor of the singer’s 80th birthday.

Turning 80 looks good on Mick. He’s a rock ‘n’ roll icon, a legend, a superstar, and one heck of a businessman. He can command a stage before thousands of people with so much drive and self-confidence. The man kicks ass. He’s also controversial, with his women and his wealth. And once upon a time, he was one of the bad boys of rock. I don’t know…maybe the deuce is still wild.

If my parents were concerned about me liking the Stones, they shouldn’t have been. If anything, the band had a positive impact on me. I took my piano lessons more seriously, and the band is one of the reasons I became a writer. (Speaking of writing, I don’t think Jagger and Richards ever received enough credit for their songwriting.) 

Some people rag on the Stones for being too old. Whatever. I say good for them for still rocking out the hits. The music world would not be the same without Mick Jagger running around stages all over the world.  

I always remember the day Mick Jagger turned 40 back in 1983. I had bowling league that day and locked myself out of the house. Anyway, his 40-year milestone was such a big deal. There were news stories about it. People seemed shocked that a man his age was still rocking and rolling. 

My parents finally became hip to the Rolling Stones. I wouldn’t say they became fans, but they relaxed about my healthy obsession with the band. My mom would laugh so hard at Mick Jagger’s dance moves. She also got a kick out of late drummer Charlie Watts because she felt he was too normal for the Stones.

I’ve attended three Rolling Stones concerts: two at the Silverdome in Pontiac and one at Ford Field in Detroit. I’ll share a couple memories. At one show, there was a woman sitting across the aisle and a couple rows up. She must have been eight months pregnant with twins. She danced so much that night in her denim jean dress. I don’t know how someone that pregnant could dance like that, but she pulled it off. Another memory I have is of a guy in a fishing hat who went nuts when the band went into “(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction.”

Someone once said about the Stones, “They’re so ugly, they’re appealing.” I would agree. 

Happy Birthday, Mick Jagger. Thanks for all the hip-shaking rock ‘n’ roll.

In Harmony,

Maria Allard

 

   Pucker up, it’s time to KISS

His hair was teased to rock ‘n’ roll perfection. 

That was the first feature I noticed about Paul Stanley when I interviewed him for my job at C&G Newspapers Nov. 4, 2006.

My little rock ‘n’ roll heart was beating like a bass drum underneath my gaudy, shiny purple shirt as a staff member from Parisian introduced us. 

My mouth felt dry and my head was on spin-cycle. It’s not every day you interview the Star Child from KISS. Here he was standing just a few feet away from me. 

Meeting Paul Stanley was a thrill.

Earlier that week, I found out the rock star would mingle with fans and sign autographs at the department store in Rochester Hills, Michigan, while promoting a new line of KISS cologne and perfume. I called ahead to see if I could come by and interview him for a story. Yes, I was told, by store staff.  

But I feared that between Wednesday when I made the call and Saturday when he arrived, that would all change. Luckily for me it didn’t, and Paul was more than willing to give me about 10 minutes of his time before he stepped out in front of 1,200 KISS fanatics waiting to meet him.

Parisian staff members led me to a back office that came equipped with a couch where Paul hung out before meeting his public. When I saw him, he looked just like he did in the magazines and on television. I admit it: I had a crush on Paul Stanley. How can you not? He’s got those big, beautiful dark eyes and that rock star glow. I love the sound of his voice when he speaks. And now, he would be speaking to me.   

With KISS being such a phenomenon, I figured every journalist within 100 miles would be at the department store ready to take a whiff of the cologne and ask the rock star all kinds of questions.

But I was the only writer who showed up with a notepad, pens and my own brand of enthusiasm. I felt like William Miller from the Cameron Crowe movie “Almost Famous.” 

As the rock ‘n’ roll frontman stood there with his hair cascading to his shoulders, I tried to breathe in and breathe out. I stammered a few words to the famous musician before admitting to him just how starstruck I was. I know, not very professional, but I couldn’t help it.

Instead of kicking me out, Paul had a heart and — in front of the few Parisian staff members in that back room with us — consoled me with a quick embrace.

“Awe, come here,” he said as he put his arms around me. He was so sweet and he smelled so good. Must be that new KISS cologne. I didn’t know what to do so I hugged him back and just tried to take it all in. I felt “Alive!”

“Sit down,” he motioned as we sat on the couch. Through our brief conversation, I learned he had two children, he liked the new band My Chemical Romance and he said he appreciated the life his fans had given him. 

He was very upbeat and personable, adding the Beatles, the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin were among his favorite bands. He also said, “I like Coldplay. I think the Killers are great.”  At the time, Paul had released a solo album, “Live To Win” and played Nov. 5 at the Emerald Theatre in Mount Clemens. His back-up band was the house band from TV’s “Rock Star: Supernova.”

Then, boo-hoo, my interview was over and it was time to go. We left the office, I gathered my husband Jim who had been waiting outside, and a group of staff members rode down the escalator with Paul, who was ready to meet his fans.

I walked through the crowd interviewing different people for my article. A couple people mentioned that KISS got them through some pretty rough times. I met one family where the parents said they liked KISS because the band members didn’t use bad language in their music. 

There was one guy dressed like Ace Frehley, and another guy that sang along as KISS and Paul’s solo music played overhead. One fan recalled seeing KISS in 1974 open for Rush at the former Michigan Palace.  

What a great assignment for me, I thought. It will go down in KISStory. 

My framed story hangs in our basement.

Paul was the third member of KISS I had now met. A friend and I met bassist and brilliant businessman Gene Simmons and drummer Eric Carr when they were on tour in 1990 with Slaughter and Faster Pussycat. 

We met them at a hotel lobby where they were staying. We found their buses and eagerly waited with a few other fans in hopes of getting a picture or autograph. When Gene Simmons walked through the lobby we asked for a photo. He wasn’t too friendly, but he did take a few pictures with us. I remember him being quite tall. He didn’t smile and my photo with him did not come out. But I met him, I swear!

Drummer Eric Carr and me in 1990. 

Eric Carr was a sweetie. 

Carrying luggage, Eric emerged from behind a pair of sunglasses and a heavy metal mane with lots of luster. I pulled out my camera to take his picture and then stopped. What if he didn’t want his snapshot taken? So I asked him, “Can I take your picture?” and he said, “Sure.”

He was a total sweetheart. Very genuine. He let each one of us fans take a photo with him one at a time. What a nice, humble guy. Oh and one more thing. Just like Paul, he smelled great. Sorry to know that he passed away Nov. 24, 1991. According to Wikipedia, he died of heart cancer. Very, very sad. I will always remember what a nice, humble guy he was.

In harmony, 

Maria Allard 

                                                                 “Hair Today, Grunge Tomorrow”

When the Seattle grunge scene went national in ‘91, I was completely caught off my stiletto heels. 

The days of cranking Mötley Crüe and Bon Jovi were coming to an end. 

A new musical force known as the Seattle sound had been shot out of a cannon, but I just couldn’t get with the program. My ’80s rocker chick heart wasn’t ready to trade in L.A.’s Sunset Strip for the Pacific Northwest. 

Before I knew it grunge — with its Doc Martens boots — stomped all over hair metal. Out with the Aqua Net superhold hairspray and power ballads, and in with the flannel shirts and Patchouli oil. 

A new era was unearthed, but I preferred the dying one. I know the hair metal scene was on its last legs and music fans were ready for a change. But the grunge and alternative bands that were taking over didn’t snap, crackle and pop for me. I always felt like grunge was for the supercool crowd and I just, flat out, didn’t fit in. 

Looking back, there were a few songs at the time that I liked. “Hunger Strike” by Temple of the Dog was very moving, and I could listen to Sonic Youth’s haunting version of the Carpenters’ “Superstar” on repeat. Who could forget Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” video, and I know I have a Mother Love Bone CD in my collection.

I tried to embrace the music. I even went to a few grunge concerts back in the day. I saw Soundgarden at the State Theatre (now Fillmore) in Detroit. I tagged along with some friends to the Lollapalooza concert at Pine Knob in 1992. It was fun to be there, but I felt so out-of-place, kind of like open-toed shoes after Labor Day.

Another concert was Pearl Jam at the Blind Pig in Ann Arbor, Michigan. I really didn’t pay attention to the show because I was on a date with Slash from Guns N' Roses. Instead of listening to the band, we found a worn couch and sat and talked.

No, guys, it wasn’t the real Slash, but a carbon copy. Here’s the lowdown. I met Slash, whose real name was Steve, about a week earlier at the Ritz in Roseville. It was Halloween night, and my friends and I came upon three guys who were dressed like Axl Rose, Slash and Izzy (I think) Stradlin from Guns N' Roses.

We spent part of the night talking. Steve was dressed like Slash. Black top hat, no shirt, bare chest, leather jacket, cigarette, wig and jeans. Axl Rose did some pretty good dance moves during the night…you know that swaying side-to-side motion from the “Patience” video. 

When Steve found out my friends and I were going to Pearl Jam the following week, he and I made arrangements to meet up. (This was before the internet and cellphones.) It was the only date we ever went on. And in case you were wondering, without the Halloween costume, Steve looked nothing like Slash, but he was a nice guy. 

It’s hard to believe that concert was 30-plus years ago, and boy there are times I feel nostalgic for those long-lost days of the early ‘90s.  I realize I probably missed out on a lot of good music of the time.

I’ve been to Seattle, by the way, and have great memories of fish tossing at Pike Place Market, going to the top of the Space Needle and seeing Mount Rainier in the distance. 

Now that my 13-year-old daughter listens to rock ‘n’ roll, including Nirvana and Soundgarden, With YouTube, maybe I’ll give grunge another chance, and perhaps I can borrow my daughter’s Nirvana T-shirt in the process. 

In harmony,

Maria Allard

    For my mom

“She deceased."

     Confused, I didn’t know what the nurse was trying to say.

But it was his way of telling me that my mom had just died. 

I don’t even know how to describe the moment. Surreal, I guess. Shock. Disbelief. What? Not sure what the next step would be. 

It was 20 years ago yesterday, July 25, 2002, that my mom, Anna Burak, passed away at St. John Hospital in Detroit from a blood disorder. She was 68; I was 32. I was sitting in a hallway outside her room when I received the grim news. That’s when my world started to crumble. 

I didn’t know how to process the fact that my mom was gone. I don’t think anything in life prepares you for that. It took me about two years before I started to feel like myself again, although I will never truly get over her loss. 

Twenty years has been a long time to be without my mom, and I am writing this blog entry in tribute to her. I’m not writing these words to bring anyone down or for anyone to feel sorry for me. I just feel a calling today to write about my mom at this time. I loved her so much.

I am listening to the Supremes right now as I try to collect my thoughts. She loved the Supremes. Speaking of music, my mom also had a thing for blonde rock ‘n’ roll frontmen. She thought Roger Daltrey, David Lee Roth and Bret Michaels were hot babes. She once did a hilarious impression of Sebastian Bach. One of the best nights we ever had was seeing Rod Stewart in concert (fourth row) at the Palace in 1996.

There are so many things I want to say about my mom, but it’s hard to fit it all in a blog. But here it goes. 

My momma Anna Marie (nee: Vagnozzi) Burak was born at 12:05 a.m. Sept. 25, 1933 in Detroit, Michigan. She always told me the story about how she was born in a house, typical in those days. When it came to official documents, including her driver’s license, there was a bit of drama. Because she was born just after midnight, the date of her birth always showed up as Sept. 24. But she was born on the 25th. She told me that story a lot over the years. 

                               Me and my mom on my wedding day. She died 10 months later.

Anyone who knew my mom can confirm that she was a talker. My mom had the gift of gab. Because of that, she made friends everywhere she went: the grocery store, church, camping trips, the city pool.  But even though she was a talker, Mom wasn’t a loud person. She didn’t talk over people. She was also a good listener, too. Even though she liked to talk, she heard what other people had to say. 

Mom was, well, to put it bluntly, short. She stood 4 feet, 11 inches tall.  She once told me that when she applied for a job, she had to include her height (not sure why.) She got so nervous when filling out the paperwork that she accidentally wrote that she was 11 feet, 4 inches tall. I remember her telling me that the man interviewing her laughed about it and showed it to other people in the office. She did not appreciate that.

“Buongiorno.” My mom was 100% Italian. She was bilingual, speaking both English and Italian. Her parents and older brother came from Italy. My mom always wished she had been born in Italy. She longed to visit Italy and finally got her chance in 1993 when she and my dad traveled there for a vacation. They went to Europe five times and saw many countries, including the United Kingdom, the Netherlands, France, Austria and Germany.

                                                                   My parents in Italy.

A graduate of Wayne University, she was a school teacher. In the 1950s and part of the 1960s Ms. Vagnozzi taught typing and shorthand at Northeastern (the big NE) in Detroit. That is where she met my dad, Vic, who was the boiler operator/engineer. (My dad died at the age of 89 in 2013.) 

She stopped teaching for many years to be a stay-at-home mom. When I was a young child, I’d go to Kmart with her or to the library or the fabric store. In those days, I remember playing in the sandbox while she hung laundry in the summertime.

Every once in a while, she and my dad would go to a wedding or a dinner dance, and my grandma or a babysitter would watch us for the night. I would sit in the bathroom watching her do her hair and put her on her makeup, thinking she was so glamorous. She sewed beautifully and even made my Communion dress in 1978.

Was there anything she couldn’t do? My mom was an amazing cook. Her meatballs melted in your mouth, and I really miss her homemade spaghetti sauce, oatmeal cookies and Mexican dishes. When I was sick, she would make me orzo pasta. It always made me feel better. On Sunday nights, we’d curl up in the family room to watch “The Sonny And Cher Show” and “Alice.” 

She was the best mother I could have ever asked for. We were superclose. Always. Even during those awkward teenage years. We did everything together. Lunch, movies, shopping. That woman loved Sears.

                                                        A teaching award she received.

Another favorite memory is going to see the film “Ice Castles'' in the dead of winter at Macomb Mall. She loved “Three’s Company” and laughed so hard at Jack Tripper’s antics. She almost went into convulsions watching John Ritter in his role. 

I wish she would have taught me more about men, but I guess I had to learn some things on my own. 

Sweetness and kindness were at the forefront of her soul. She had a goodness about her that you don’t find everywhere. She loved her family, her nieces and nephews, and her best friends Diane and Toni. My mom was teaching at the Kellwood School when she died. She loved her Kellwood colleagues. 

I miss her every, single day. I am so sorry she’s not here anymore. 

I’ll leave it at that. God bless you all.

In harmony

Maria Allard

                       “The Blonde Bombshell Sitting In The Front Row”

                                          (Photos by Maria Allard)

                       

For several years, my musician/songwriter husband Jim Allard traveled to Nashville about four times a year with his guitars and mandolin strapped around his shoulders.

As a member of the Nashville Songwriters Association International, Jim and the other musicians made the rounds at different events in Music City, including Douglas Corner Café, the Commodore and the Bluebird Cafe. Tin Pan South, too, was always a blast. 

Sometimes I went with him. While in Tennessee, I was always on the lookout for country music stars. The Southern rock band .38 Special once stayed at the same hotel as us. We came upon them in the lobby as we checked in. My husband pointed them out to me.

        I also saw the drummer of the Mavericks (a great country band) have lunch at the now-defunct Longhorn. And country crooner Rodney Crowell dined at the Palm Restaurant when my Nashville friend Tina and I had drinks before the Brad Paisley concert. I didn’t actually see him, but I heard he was there.

Another famous person I saw in Music City wasn’t a country star, but someone very well-known and very blonde.

        A group of us, including Jim and his cousin Angela from Kentucky, attended the Grand Ole Opry Show somewhere around 2005. It was my first time at the Grand Ole Opry. When I heard Loretta Lynn was headlining, I just had to go. Porter Wagoner was also on the bill. 

                                 The one and only Loretta Lynn.   

        We all spotted a blonde bombshell saunter in just as the concert was about to start. Her long hair fell to her waist and her sparkling dress hugged every curve. We sat in the upper tier, and she was in the front row on the main floor. She really stood out. We couldn’t help but notice her. I figured she was the wife of a country music legend or a singer ready to make her debut. 

The mystery lady settled into a front row seat. It was host and country singer Vince Gill who gave it away when he announced Anna Nicole Smith was in the audience. So, that’s who it was. Can I get a yee-haw?

I watched her reality show a few times and noticed her son Daniel, assistant Kim and attorney Howard K. Stern with her. She even brought her dog. What surprised me most about Anna Nicole in person was that she wasn’t the dingbat on TV many of us came to know over the years. The Anna Nicole relaxing at the Grand Ole Opry Show was beautiful, friendly and approachable. 

When Vince Gill pointed her out, she stood up, turned around and waved to the crowd. She let person after person snap her picture during breaks in the televised show. She even signed an autograph for one young male fan who looked like he was in elementary school. 

    

          That is her in the middle of the photo. She is standing up. I know it's hard to see because the photo is from far away. 

It was a fun night, and the GUESS model was having a great time. She even sang along to Loretta Lynn’s “Coal Miner’s Daughter.” At one point, Anna Nicole became part of the show when she got on stage to two-step with one of the dance groups. It was a hoot. The female singer (I’m sorry I don’t remember her name) who performed that night after Anna Nicole jokingly said something like “I thought Dolly was a hard act to follow.” 

               Here is Anna Nicole and her entourage. She is in the middle. Sorry it is so blurry.

Country singer Joe Nichols (Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off) played that night as did Porter Wagoner. When Anna Nicole died in the winter of 2007, Nichols sang at her funeral. It was reported the two were friends.

                              Porter Wagoner a bit underdressed.

        We hit the town after the Grand Ole Opry Show and kept crossing paths with a limousine. We figured Anna Nicole was inside. 

Anna Nicole’s real name was Vickie Lynn Hogan. My mom paid attention to Anna Nicole every now and then when she was on TV. She got a kick out of her antics and that they shared the same first name: Anna. When I saw Anna Nicole in Nashville, I so wanted to tell my mom about it, but sadly, I couldn’t because my Anna died in 2002. Hopefully my mom was watching from above.

I felt terrible when Anna Nicole passed away in 2007. I know she wasn’t everybody’s cup of tea and she had her issues, but I hated the way people bashed her after her death. If they had only witnessed her demeanor that night in Nashville, maybe her passing would not have been such a joke.

        Her name comes up in the press every once in a while, and I wish her daughter the best. She was an original, and in my eyes will always be the blonde bombshell sitting in the front row. 

        In Harmony, Maria Allard

 

 “Here’s The Story”      

One of my favorite television sitcom characters of all time has got to be groovy Greg Brady of the 1969-74 television masterpiece, “The Brady Bunch.”

What a kool kat. He played guitar and sang, always finished his homework, made first string on the football team, fit the Johnny Bravo suit, could dance the Charleston, took on the Hawaiian Islands via surfboard and made a UFO appear out of nowhere. 

After being a fan for so long, well, “Something Suddenly Came Up.” All my years of watching “The Brady Bunch” and it’s reincarnations paid off when the opportunity to meet Barry “Greg Brady” Williams, albeit for a few minutes, erupted like Peter’s volcano. 

The actor was scheduled for a book signing to help promote his memoir “Growing Up Brady — I Was A Teenage Greg” at a local bookstore in May 2000. It was one of those dream assignments I get every now and then as a staff writer for C&G Newspapers in Warren, Michigan. I was going to meet Greg Brady. I was nervous, excited, happy. Granted, I was no Marcia, but I still got dressed up in my leopard print skirt and high heels. 

    Around 250 Brady Bunch devotees showed up to meet Mr. Williams. Neat-o. I talked to people standing in line who had various reasons for liking the show. It was great to connect with admirers who loved and appreciated “The Brady Bunch” as much as I did. 

    

    When he arrived, Williams immediately slapped hands with people in the crowd (this was pre-COVID) and lived up to his reputation as the Casanova of Clinton Way. Through a microphone, he took several questions and even broke into “It’s A Sunshine Day,” when someone asked him his favorite Brady Bunch song. It made me like him even more. 

                                                                                

(Photo by Edward Osinski, and used with permission from C&G Newspapers.) 

I wanted to interview Williams for a story, so store personnel sat me at a table behind him as he graciously signed autographs and posed for photos. I don’t know why they put me there; it was a bit awkward. I hadn’t had a chance to introduce myself, so I don’t know if he thought I worked at the store or was some kind of stalker. But I stuck around so I could meet him face-to-face. At one point, he turned to me and asked me for some paper towel. I guess he spilled a little water. What am I, Alice The Maid? Just kidding.

I guess it was a good place for me to be because I could see up close how he engaged with his fans. He was super, super nice to everyone. It was easy to see he loved meeting his fans and still had a soft spot for his co-stars. A “bunch” of us laughed when he signed an autograph for someone in the crowd named Marcia. 

When the meet-and-greet was over, I finally got my big chance to do a quick interview before he had to go. My moment with him seemed rushed, but unforgettable. 

    “I’m pleased and thrilled the show is re-discovered every few years,” Williams told me. “The show’s had a remarkable kind of history. It’s good, wholesome, family programming.” He said his favorite episodes included Johnny Bravo, the three-part Hawaii series and “when I turned Mike’s den into a super-groovy bachelor pad.” He auditioned for the role of Greg three times and was up against 1,000 other child actors for the part. Far out. 

    “For Maria, the most beautiful sound I ever heard, Barry Williams,” was how he autographed my “Growing Up Brady” copy, which the actor and Chris Kreski co-wrote. 

Sha-na-na-na-na-na-na-na!

        In Harmony, Maria Allard

   

 I changed the name *here* to respect the person’s privacy 

“Sebastian Bach For Dinner” 

“Can I have some more sauce, ‘har har?’”

That question easily rolled from singer Sebastian Bach’s heart-shaped lips as he munched on a fish dinner at a Toledo Big Boy Restaurant a couple hours before Skid Row took the stage. My friends and I laughed, knowing he was trying to be funny when he asked the waitress for more tartar sauce. 

It was June 1991, and Skid Row had been growing in popularity. The New Jersey band had become MTV darlings, their songs blared through the stereos of rockers living in suburbia, and posters of band members Bach, bassit Rachel Bolan, guitar player Scotti Hill, drummer Rob Affuso and guitarist Dave “The Snake” Sabo found their way to many bedroom walls.  

Skid Row was on tour with Guns N’ Roses, and a couple friends and I drove from metro Detroit to see the show at the Toledo Speedway in Ohio. Couldn’t figure out why the tour didn’t stop in Detroit. The outdoor show fell on a Sunday. Since it was a bit far from our neck in the woods in Michigan, we decided to stay the night at a local hotel. Before the show, we grabbed a bite to eat at Big Boy.

And what do ya know? We ran into Skid Row and its mini-entourage having some grub before the concert. The restaurant was empty, otherwise. For whatever reason, the host sat us in a booth very close to the band. We didn’t ask him to; he just did it.

The Skid Row crew — spread out across a couple of booths — looked defeated and worn. It was as if the word “exhaustion” was tattooed on everyone’s forehead, except for Bach’s. He had a ton of energy. We didn’t talk to the band, but we sure felt its presence.

Every girl at the mall had her favorite band member, and guitarist Scotti Hill was mine. I loved his long, rocker hair and his blue jeans. And there he was at one of American’s best-known eateries. 

When Skid Row got up to leave, we boldly called over Sebastian. All six-foot-plus feet of him, including his shiny hair, leaned over our table. To break the ice, we asked him if he ever watched “The Brady Bunch.”

“Every day,” he said.

So we asked him what was his favorite episode. He didn’t have to think about it.

“The one where Alice was in the f---ing dunk tank.” And then off he swaggered. The quick interaction made us howl with laughter.

Dinner at Big Boy marked my third encounter with Skid Row. The first time I came in contact with them (well, two members anyway) was during a work day at Harmony House at Macomb Mall in Roseville. I can’t remember the year, but Skid Row was on tour with Bon Jovi...I’m thinking ‘89 or ‘90.

One quiet afternoon two skinny, long-haired rockers in matching jeans strolled into the record store. A fellow employee swore they were from Skid Row, but at first I didn’t believe it. What would a couple of rock stars be doing at the mall?

But there they were: Rachel Bolan and his nose chain and Scotti Hill, wearing a red Atlantic Records baseball cap, checking out the CD section. They shopped for a little while. When they checked out, I rang them up on the cash register trying to be cool. Inside, my heart was doing somersaults. 

My co-workers and I made small talk with the musicians for a few minutes. Rachel mentioned the band was on tour opening for Bon Jovi, which of course, we knew. They were both very nice and took off with their purchases. 

I had my camera on me during my second Skid Row encounter in the winter of 1990 when the band came to town again. The diehard ‘80s rockers from the mall were ripping holes in their jeans and straightening out the fringe on their leather jackets while getting ready for the band’s upcoming show at my favorite rock sanctuary, the Ritz. This was the “Youth Gone Wild.” 

My friend *Kelly* and I were going to the show, but we wanted to try to meet the band if possible. So we made plans to drive around town the night before the concert and look for tour buses. I remember standing in my parent’s bedroom asking my mom where she thought the band members might be staying before I headed out for the night to find those Jersey rock ‘n’ rollers. 

I picked up Kelly in my 1979 two-tone blue Ford Fairmont and we hit Gratiot Avenue in Roseville. It was pretty cold out. Kelly let out a gasp when she spotted several tour buses parked at the Georgian Inn Hotel, located a few miles from the Ritz. Nobody else was in town that we knew of, so this had to be Skid Row’s digs for the night. 

But how could we be sure? We found a bellhop in the lobby that looked like one of the von Trapp boys in “The Sound Of Music.” Same haircut. He wasn’t supposed to, but he spilled the beans to confirm the band members were indeed guests there. 

We made our way to the restaurant where Sebastian was having dinner with what looked like a couple of businessmen. He talked a mile a minute. Gosh, does he ever stop? We wanted to go up to him, get a picture and leave but we didn’t want to bug him while he was eating. So we did what many rock fans do for the bands they cherish: we waited.

We finally caught up with him a little later in a cove in the hotel and got our pictures taken with him. It must be so cool to be a rock star I thought. 

We eventually met each band member one-by-one, and they each posed for pictures with us in that cove. Drummer Affuso asked if we had any gum. Dave was nice. When it was time for Rachel’s picture, I asked him if he remembered me from Harmony House. What a dumb thing to ask. Of course, he didn’t.

“I met about 50,000 people this year,” he stated as the camera clicked.

And I got a pic with my fave, Scotti Hill, who was pounding a few back at the bar. I can remember wearing these earrings that were so heavy they hurt my ears. Oh, the pain, and my photo with him is so dark (see below.) But it was so great to meet the band for those quick few minutes. I was so happy that night. The smile on my face lasted for days, and I’m glad I still have my snapshots. 

In harmony,

Maria Allard