This one goes out to Jake’s girlfriend. Err…hmm, that sounds like a taunt, but it’s helping a brother out, I swear.
The screen glowed at 3:30 am with an Instagram message. I squinted.
“Hey man, you got any photos of the Poodleman days?” (Musicians keep delightfully quirky hours.) I smiled - hadn’t heard from Jake in years.
Rummaging around, I came up empty.
This dude had been a dedicated guitar student years ago, and was trying to explain “the Poodleman Days” to his girlfriend.
“I’ll paint her a picture with words” I promised him. So, Jake’s girlfriend, pull up a chair.
I was 18 when I started teaching at Hot Licks Guitar Shop. In lieu of photos, picture Sasquatch’s kid brother who got his head stuck in some cobwebs. The guitar shop was a landscape of mythological characters gathered under one roof. Trolls, giants, werewolves, you name it. The walk from the front door to the lesson studios in the back was always a trick.
Jake learned this the hard way. I think he was 8 when he came in for his lesson one day, irked, sticking his lip out. “Why was everyone looking at me?” he asked from under his cat in the hat style topper. “‘Cause you’re wearing an awesome hat for the Silly Hat Contest!” his mom explained. I concurred. (We were honoring Stevie Ray Vaughan’s birthday.) “Yeah man, musicians are supposed to be the center of attention!” I encouraged. “Right on!” He looked only half convinced. We went on, and worked on some country tunes, blending some rock ‘n roll in for good measure, the cat in the hat headgear bobbing to the beat. He was a talented kid, and had the best laugh. He’d bounce around in his chair when he really got going.
But why were these called The Poodleman Days?
Like Jake, I wasn’t immune from the guys in the front, either. Quite to the contrary. One day I had a slightly unfortunate haircut. My Eddie Van Halen mop was trimmed back just a bit too much, and well, it was dangerous to walk through the sales floor like that. But, capitalism called, and bracing myself, I opened the door.
“Poodleman!” H yelled as soon as he saw me, looking up from a guitar he was polishing. Bugger. He had seen me from his corner. I could never decide if these guys were stand up comedians in the wrong line of work, or archetypical hecklers just waiting for poor saps like me. (Perhaps both.)
“Yeah yeah.” I couldn’t even argue. Each side of my hair looked like poodle ears. Time heals all, but man, I wished it would grow my hair a little faster.
Eric was shuffling boxes around in the warehouse later that afternoon. “Hmm, I need a website name” I mused to him. “Whatcha gonna call it? The Adventures of Poodleman?” These guys were like old ladies the way gossip traveled, and as merciless, too. But…
“…..YES!”
I went back up to H’s corner on the sales floor. I absolutely knew he was the guy I needed to talk to. He was polishing another guitar, and best approached from a distance. He moved quickly, and was unpredictable. He was as likely to throw something as lob an obscure crude joke towards my unsuspecting brain, where I had to decipher it before I looked too stupid. (I usually missed.) H was a favorite.
“Hey man, I was thinking of using the name Poodleman. Is there anything inappropriate or filthy about that?” “Why are you asking me?” “That’s your specialty.” H thought a moment, shook his head, mentioned an obscure contingency that was a stretch even for him, and thought I’d be alright.
I’ve been shorn, but sometimes have dreams of my Samson locks. (I swear my guitar chops got slower once those strands hit the floor.) Jake is a grown man, and a creative professional. I’m not sure where H is, but I’ve gotta send him a box of bees as a prank or something.
And Jake’s Girl - ask him to play Boot Scootin’ Boogie. Those were some good times, The Poodleman Days.
(Something slightly less poodle-y)