Street Pajama

And now a word about Street Pajama. Those were some crazy times.

And now some back story. The band was founded by Gorgas "Limestone Teeth" Crowley - also known as the Fourth Wise Man, in the year 0.

"I was almost one of the Three Kings," he reportedly said. "I had the robe, the hat, the camel - the whole bit, but I was rejected because I didn't have a beard." He auditioned again, this time with a smoking jacket and a soul patch and was named as an alternate, and then - through a clerical error - he was assigned to be the bass player for Melchior and the Three Wise Guys. The band was a drag and when a mysterious light appeared in the west he ditched his gig and followed a star that led to a bath house in Tarsus. There he was wrapped in swaddling clothes and beaten by a shepherd.

"And when I woke up," he said, "I was writing songs for Street Pajama."

This is the proud beginning. By 1976 the Street Pajama torch was carried by two itinerate minstrels from Pittsburgh. Mike King and Merle Harmon were on the road in the Midwest where they were fired repeatedly for their paucity of country music and their apathetic version of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. But the music continued and they soldiered on bravely through what can only be described as a difficult minstrel cycle.

Later that year they left the Dakotas and came to sunny Tucson where they wrote and recorded three albums: I Get Peculiar, No Gold in Jersey, and Beast de Resistance - and although it is clearly obnoxious to point it out, two of the albums were number one sellers in Tucson, and one of the songs (Screwed Again) was number one on KRQ for three weeks while Beat It, by Michael Jackson, was number two. This is an actual fact. On a more sobering note, Screwed Again fell to number 67,876,402 the following week and the song's success served as little more than bragging rights as they spoke to other bands who were making far more money.

By the 1990's, bookings had dried up and friction in the band became a serious issue. Band members began attacking each other with blunted instruments, and then - with instruments that were sharpened to a point. Soon, the music could barely be heard over the sound of small-arms fire. And although this may have negatively impacted upon the internal harmony of the band, it is important to point out that their music became increasingly percussive.

Then, like King Tut, the band expired amidst a great wailing and gnashing of teeth. Or at least that's how it felt to this writer. And what would Yowza "Shout it Out" Crowley* - (yes, dear readers, of the same Crowley lineage as the founder) - say about that? Well, frankly, he would weep.

But that's showbiz.