03 Sep Jonathan & Kenny & Dolly & Toney
Ahhh, the 1980s! I remember them like it was only, oh, forty or so years ago! It was a transformative decade for Your Humble Narrator. In the last week of 1979 I gathered up my meager possessions and moved to Albuquerque, NM, looking to put some physical and psychic distance betwixt and between myself, my hometown of New Orleans, and my wayward adolescence. Forty-six years later I’m still here, so I guess things have more or less worked out. The passing of Dolly Parton last week brought to mind a distant episode of the Octies (I just made that word up)—a wondrous tale which has never before been publicly divulged. This singular event brought together, however briefly, the disparate group of notables pictured at the top of this page. Read on, Gentle Reader(s)…
As a newly arrived sophomore at the University of New Mexico I spent my first two semesters in the dorms—room 203 in Hokona Hall, to be precise. In search of gainful employment within walking distance of campus, I presented my non-existent credentials to the various vinyl emporia in the UNM area, which then included Budget Tapes & Records and Natural Sounds. I worked off and on at both of those establishments for several years, but one day in early-ish 1984 I got a hot tip from a friend that there was an über hip new record store opening up in a space across the street from Nob Hill Center. The entrepreneur behind the venture was recently arrived from LA and was stocking the store’s inventory with his own record collection. I was intrigued. The very next day I walked over to 103 Amherst SE and knocked. Andy Horwitz opened the door with a paint brush in one hand and I said something along the lines of ‘Hello. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, but I’m the guy you’re looking for.’ Andy gave me the once over twice and said ‘Can you paint?’ I said ‘I painted houses for a living in New Orleans.’ I was handed a brush and we got to work. Bow Wow Records opened a couple of weeks later and I was the first—and initially only—employee.
It was Andy’s vision that Bow Wow would be more than just a record store, and to that end we presented exhibitions by local artists of note (Rik Sloane and Teri Corbin, Ray Abeyta, Mark Woody, Darren Vigil Gray, Jamie Trujillo and Paul Arden among them) and soon got into the concert presenting business. On one fateful evening the landlord happened to pass by the store during a particularly raucous gig—either Red Kross or TSOL, I’m not sure which. This resulted in Bow Wow getting the boot, but ultimately it was all for the best. Andy found a much bigger space a few blocks away—one that fronted directly onto Central Avenue, and it had a large storage space in the back with an apartment above that. I moved into the apartment and lived behind the record store for the next three years.
We presented a lot of shows featuring bands from the SST roster, but one of the artists that we connected with early on was Jonathan Richman. Jonathan was in his mid-30s at the time and still very much the wide-eyed romantic of his Modern Lovers days. He was touring as a solo act with an acoustic guitar and a suitcase, traveling by bus. He played Bow Wow gigs at the Central Avenue store, at the KiMo Theater, and at the Subway Station in the basement of the University of New Mexico Student Union Building. He was an amazing performer and I have seen very few people with the ability to hold an audience in the palm of his hand in quite the way that Jonathan could do back then.
Jonathan’s Subway Station gig took place on Friday, January 25, 1985. After the show Jonathan and I were talking with some of the guys from the Popular Entertainment Committee—the student group that booked concerts for the university. Jonathan inquired about what other kinds of shows they put on and one of the PEC guys mentioned that the very next evening Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton were booked into the 15,000 seat basketball arena, popularly known as the Pit. Jonathan lit up and said ‘Hey, I’m still going to be here—is there any chance I can get a ticket?’ Two comps for Kenny and Dolly were arranged and I was conscripted as Jonathan’s chauffeur and plus-one.
Kenny and Dolly were both big stars in 1985 but somehow it was Dolly that served as the opening act for their Real Love tour, returning to sing several duets with Kenny at the denouement of the show. The stage was essentially a donut with the headliners working all 360 degrees of the venue and the musicians seated in the central hole. Jonathan and I were seated in the middle of a row close to the floor of the arena amongst other assorted guests and VIP types, one of whom was Toney Anaya, currently in office as the 26th governor of the state of New Mexico.
Dolly came out to huge applause and spun her signature blend of country songbird virtuosity, glitz and homespun humor. She somehow managed to play guitar and banjo with two-inch fingernails and cracked self-deprecating jokes such as ‘You wouldn’t believe how much money it takes to look this cheap!’ Craning her head back to look up at the nosebleed seats at the top of the steeply-pitched arena she said ‘I want to get a good look at ya’ll up there but I’m afraid my hair will fall off!’ Everyone loved it and Jonathan was in thrall.
At the intermission after Dolly’s set I suddenly had a moment of inspiration. ‘Hey Jonathan,’ I said, ‘How would you like to meet the governor?’ Anaya was in the row directly in front of ours. ‘Sure, why not,’ said Jonathan, so we made our way over to the governor and his posse. I tapped the diminutive Anaya on the shoulder and he immediately spun around with a smile and a hand outstretched. I shook his hand and gesturing to Jonathan just behind me I said, ‘Governor, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. Governor Toney Anaya, meet Jonathan Richman!’ ‘Hello, pleased to meet you!’ said the governor, shaking Jonathan’s hand enthusiastically. It was a vaguely surreal moment: The Chief Executive of the 47th state of the Union and the Modern Lover greeting one another with big smiles tempered with an unmistakable degree of mutual bafflement.
My good deed for the day complete, we returned to our seats. The lights went down again and Kenny emerged in a sort of powder blue leisure suit ensemble with sequins and spangles around the shoulders. The crowd went politely apeshit and we clapped dutifully as Kenny began to trot out his long string of hits. After two songs Jonathan leaned over and whispered, ‘Hey, I want to leave.’ ‘What, right now?’ I said. ‘Yeah, right now. I really wanna go.’
The joint was packed, we were in the middle of a completely full row, everyone appeared to be gobsmacked by Kenny and his sparkly leisure suit, and we would have to walk up several sections to the ground level to exit. Searching Jonathan’s face for any hint of hesitance or compromise, I found none. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it.’
Testing the forbearance of everyone in our row we whispered ‘Excuse me, pardon me, so sorry,’ over and over until we made it from our seats out to the aisle. As we climbed up the steps the head of just about everyone we passed snapped over to look at us with what I interpreted as vaguely hostile incomprehension: ‘You’re walking out… on Kenny?? What kind of commie faggots are you two??’ Well, that’s how it felt anyway.
It was around 9:30 PM when we emerged from the Pit and Jonathan’s Greyhound wasn’t leaving until some ungodly hour, like four in the morning. Neither one of us was hungry and I didn’t want to just dump Jonathan off at the downtown bus station, which was certainly one of the outer circles of Hell. I suggested that we go to the Nines, which was a gay bar on East Central that was popular with art school types from UNM and various of my musician friends. The Nines had gained a diverse following with its Thursday ‘New Wave Night’ dance parties and it seemed likely that folks I knew might be there on a Saturday evening. Jonathan was amenable.
Arriving at the Nines we found the place in an agreeably lively mode. Many regulars that I knew were there including my flamboyant friends Victor and Wolfie, and I introduced Jonathan to one and all. No one had any idea who he was, which was how Jonathan preferred it. I bought us beers and we hitched up at the bar to watch the crowd on the dance floor. After a while my friend Tammy showed up. Introductions were made and after a few pleasantries Jonathan asked asked Tammy if she’d like to dance. She would like.
Now, if you know anything at all about Jonathan, and especially if you’ve seen him in concert, you will know that the man loves to dance. I mean, REALLY loves. I’m tellin ya, the man is a dancing fool—in the best sense of the word. Tammy loved to dance too and she was a great partner for Jonathan. I can’t remember what sort of tuneage the DJ was laying down that night, but whatever it was it was hitting the spot. Jonathan danced and danced and danced. He had on a long-sleeved flannel shirt which, as he got warmed up, he unbuttoned and tossed to me. He danced on in his t-shirt, which he eventually stripped off as well and tossed to me. He was shimmying and shaking and skanking and eventually he dropped to the floor and started flopping around like a fish. The Nines crew was loving it and everybody was cheering Jonathan on as he tore the joint up. Wolfie said ‘Your friend is a maniac! I love it!’
All good things must some to an end, and eventually 2:00 was upon us. The house lights came up and we spilled out into the chilly parking lot of a mid-winter Albuquerque night, exhilarated and exhausted from the evening’s exertions. Except for the gas stations and a few 24-hour diners, Albuquerque was locked up tight. The late night borrachos staggered about in the alley next to the Blue Spruce liquor store across East Central and a few hardy hookers lurked in the dark recesses of the side streets.
I drove Jonathan downtown to the bus station and helped him unload his suitcase and guitar. The place was grim at the best of times and in the grizzled pre-dawn hours the atmosphere of pervasive menace seemed especially prevalent. I offered to wait with Jonathan, but he said he would be fine and discharged me from my duties. The next time I saw Jonathan, a few years later, he seemed not to recall who I was.
Jonathan is now 75 years old and lives in the Sacramento Valley in California. Toney Anaya is 85 and lives in Santa Fe—every now and then I see him at the grocery store. We lost Dolly last week at the age of 80 and Kenny passed away in 2020 at the age of 81. In 1996, Jonathan released a song on his ‘Surrender to Jonathan’ album titled I Was Dancing at the Lesbian Bar. That was 11 years after the events of our momentous night out in Albuquerque, but I can’t help but wonder if the song was inspired, at least in part, by that evening with Kenny and Dolly and Toney and the gang at the Nines. If I ever bump into Jonathan again and he remembers who I am I’ll have to ask him.
