FYI: Bootsie Merango got its name by combining original guitarist Mark Iseman's first pet's name with the street he grew up on–a method the band claims is used to create porn star names.

Bootsie Merango's nasty break-up leads to the formation of a new band

BY GLEN STARKEY

It's hard to know exactly what tolled the death knell for Bootsie Merango.

Maybe it was the firing of guitarist Mark Iseman, who was replaced by Gary Gladson. Or it may have been when lead singer Michael "Lopaka" Jones felt excluded from a meeting with Marc Davison, a management company executive.

One thing is certain: When Bootsie's probationary manager Loren McDonnell allegedly smashed a 16 oz. beer mug into the head of Chris Evans, the band's official videographer, during the band's SLO Brew Mardi Gras show, all the acrimony, distrust, and dissatisfaction came to a head.

Bootsie Merango had played its last show, breaking up just a couple months before winning second-best band in the New Times Best of SLO County readers’ poll.

The night the music died

The story of Bootsie Merango is a common one. Bands form, play together for awhile, and disappear just as quickly as they appeared. SLO Town has seen dozens of popular bands come and go, from Al Milan & the United States Robots to the Trees of Mystery, to Rhythm Akimbo to Bottle.

Most defunct bands go quietly into that good night, but the story of Bootsie's breakup has all the drama of a daytime soap opera–deceit, backstabbing, vitriol. The sweeps-week event of the Bootsie show, however, had to be the altercation at SLO Brew.

"A close friend of mine, Chris End, was doing his job as our videographer for the evening, as he has done on hundreds of other occasions," explained Jones. "The only thing different about that night is Chris would need 45 stitches on his face due to a beer mug that was slammed into his head until it shattered–five blows."

The attacker, witnesses claim, was Loren McDonnell, who was working on a trial basis as Bootsie's band manager. McDonnell didn't return phone calls to give his side of the story, but police records confirm there was an altercation at SLO Brew that night, and End and McDonnell were involved. No charges have been filed, however.

Witnesses claim McDonnell was annoyed that End kept getting on stage to shoot footage. End was admittedly a bit sauced, and the more McDonnell rebuked him, the more End made fun of him. According to band members, McDonnell claims End had threatened to murder him, and that in a preemptive strike he took End out. Somehow it was End who wound up in handcuffs.

The next day the band met to discuss the altercation. At the meeting Jones said he was surprised to hear that the band wanted to keep McDonnell as manager.

"They sternly told me, 'We don't care about your friend or the fans [who] have supported us in SLO. We're above this place now and don't need these people anymore. If you don't like it then you're out of the band,'" said Jones. "They also stated that they would keep playing my songs and using the name Bootsie Merango without me. I sat in disbelief. All of the faces that I have seen light up at the mention of Bootsie, all of the fans that have kept us supported for the past two years–I couldn't believe my ears. I made up the name Bootsie Merango. I wrote the songs. I love all of our fans and think they should know what is going on."

Other members dispute these claims. According to bassist Dave Abbott, they never said they were "above this place or didn't care about the fans."

"That's lame," said Abbott, who has been a friend of Jones' since they were kids growing up in Morro Bay. "Why would we even say that? We don't like the fans? They were everything. I'm glad to say something about this, because if it was just Mike [Jones], it would be all lies."

It should also be noted that while Jones was the band's chief lyricist, the music was a collaborative effort, with most tunes penned by keyboardist Paul Knupp and some of the newer tunes by Gladson.

Jones has continued to level all kinds of charges against his former bandmates, especially drummer Gary Boullion, Bootsie's de facto business manager, whom Jones has accused of embezzlement and shady dealings.

Jones thinks Boullion pocketed money the band earned over their two-year existence, but Boullion has a different story to tell.

"We weren't backing [McDonnell]," claimed Boullion. "We didn't have the whole story. We wanted to watch the video [that End had taken] and hear both sides of story instead of just condemning the guy outright."

Boullion said Jones threatened to quit, as he had on other occasions. "He said, 'If you keep him, have fun without me, because I'll quit.' We said, "OK, if you don't like it, you're free to make your own decisions. A lot of this comes from him just being mad. So we were like, 'Are you in or out?'"

Boullion also said Jones and Gladson had been increasingly at odds with one another. Whether Jones quit or got fired, when Abbott insisted they were going to continue using the name Bootsie Merango without Jones, even though that's "not necessarily what we were going to do," according to Boullion, Jones blew up and the threats started flying. By all accounts, it wasn't pretty.

Jones was under the impression that Boullion had copyrighted the Bootsie name without anyone's knowledge, but Boullion says all he did was set up a fictitious business name with the county to make Bootsie Merango a legal business.

"I don't own any rights to anything, no copyrights or trademarks on the name or music," said Boullion. "What I did do was open a business. Essentially, I did most of management, so the accounts are in my name. But the band name isn't protected."

Boullion said he has told Jones to come look at the receipts but that Jones had never looked at the books.

"There is money for the members," said Boullion. "No one [in the band] has a problem with this except [Jones]. It's a real kick in the teeth. I put my heart and soul into band. Now that the end is near, everyone's going to think, 'What a bunch of babies. Take off your diapers.' I think mistakes were made on all ends."

"I know Mike [Jones] did a lot of work too," Boullion continued. "He was a tireless promoter and distributed a lot of flyers before each show. I did the booking and paperwork. It seems everyone in the band saw my value except [Jones]. I'm not really interested in playing right now. I'm taking a break. I've been playing drums for 17 years, so I will continue, but not now–not for awhile."

A long time coming

But even before the SLO Brew incident, trouble was brewing. It started when founding member Mark Iseman was fired.

"I was the only one against it," said Knupp. "It seemed ridiculous, and I felt we were opening ourselves for something bad to happen. And lo and behold.…"

At first Jones was happy with Gladson, who brought a heavier sound to the band, but as Abbott and Gladson began forming an alliance, Jones started to feel squeezed out. A couple months before the band broke up, Gladson arranged a meeting with Marc Davison, whose company, Davison Grauer Entertainment, manages such bigger acts as international guitarist Emilio Castillo, Karine Hannah, radio personality Mark Wilson, and the rock band Bully Pulpit.

Everyone in the band made it to the meeting except Jones.

"They said they thought everyone else had told me [about the meeting], but no one had told me," said Jones. "Everything changed after talking to that guy. They were like, 'Where were you, dude?' I was in bed. I was like, 'You asses. You guys are pulling some shit.' Then it got worse."

Davison told the band members straight: "The singer can't sing. He can't hold a note. He needs singing lessons."

But Jones claims Davison had listened to a bad recording.

"They were saying, 'This guy is heavy.' Well, that guy never even heard Bootsie perform! I think he listened to a tape of new stuff. We did a practice recording where I was trying to find the harmonies. I don't know what he heard. Even if he heard the first CD, I did all the harmonies, and I had to do them in one take because we didn't have the money [for more recording]."

"We didn't go behind Mike's [Jones'] back," said Knupp, Jones' most loyal supporter in the band. "He was supposed to be at that meeting."

In any case, Jones' distrust of Gladson, Abbott, and Boullion grew. When the SLO Brew fight happened it was simply the final act in a play that seemed ready to close anyway.

"I'm not really bitter," said Jones. "But I hear what people have to say about all this. People are really supportive. They say, 'Wherever you go, Jones, we're there. We didn't go [to Bootsie shows] to see them."

What seems to hurt Jones the most is the end of his long friendship with Abbott.

"He just throws out his friends and starts hanging out with this guy [Davison] thinking he's going to be on MTV or something," Jones said. "We were a tight-knit group and everyone's like, 'I can't believe it.'"

As for Abbott, he too, seems to feel there's no reconciliation in the future.

"He was fired and can't handle it, so he ran off and said he fired us," said Abbott. "It doesn't matter now anyway. I'm in a new band called Supercel. It's a bummer because I was friends with him. Now he's making up all these lies, saying we stole money. He's closing his eyes and running with it. By the time that thing at SLO Brew happened, we were over [Jones]. Those actions are retarded, but now Mike is slamming himself."

New beginnings

Like a lot of band stories, this one may still have a happy ending. Jones is considering reviving the name and reforming Bootsie with the original line-up sans Abbott. Boullion said he'd rather Jones didn't use the name but probably wouldn't do anything to challenge it.

Under Davison’s guidance, Abbott and Gladson have formed a new band, Supercel. Boullion who will act as Supercel's booking agent, and a new drummer, Brian Freeman, has been brought on board. To fill the singer spot, Davison found a young kid named Chris Sloan, who sang with the band called Side Down. Supercel is sort of a Frankenstein's monster of a band, pieced together with members of three different acts.

As for Davison's role in the demise of Bootsie, he has no regrets.

"It happens to a lot of bands," he said. "They go as far as they can go, then there's a wall and they're running into it.

"Band's form for a lot of reasons: to party, to get girls, to make a little money. But these guys [in Supercel] are in it for the music," said Davison. "They just want to write good songs. I didn't hear that in Bootsie. Bootsie sounded like a bar band. The singer couldn't hold a note. They might have been a good bar band, but as far as making records, I heard nothing there, no potential–it just wasn't there. But when I listened to their recording I did hear something in the guitarist and the bass player."

Davion, who as a young guitarist was signed by Polydor in 1980, said his instincts come from being a musician himself.

"I can tell when a band has 'the sound.' But to succeed a band needs more than that. They have to have chemistry and the mental drive to keep going. These guys know what's facing them, and they've all had enough experience to know how to take direction."

What's amazing about Supercel is after only two months together they've amassed eight solid songs, all of which have the potential to be radio hits according to Davison. And the band is committed, practicing three times a week for up to five hours a session.

"Bootsie was a good experience," said Gladson. "We got to do a lot of shows and play in front of a lot of people. We got hooked up with some good musicians. It's unfortunate that bands break up, but we're going to forge ahead with something new and different."

Why do bands break up? According to the Supercel boys, it's girlfriends, drugs, and money. But Davison has seen music columnists break up acts, too: "They'll write a bad review of a band and the members will start blaming each other."

It seems holding a band together is a tenuous achievement at best. So why does Supercel think it will fare better than Bootsie or Nowadaze or Side Down or any of the dozens of bands that have come and gone in SLO County?

"There's not as much ego," said Abbott.

"And everybody's into the same vision," added Gladson. "But who knows? Down the road Supercel may break-up. I might get hit by a train tomorrow. But we'd be idiots not to go for it."

"We're all serious about it," said Sloan. "Usually in a band a couple guys are committed and a couple are just along for the ride. But we're all into it."

Davison, who wrote the independent band bible, "All Area Access," said Supercel’s member have the ability to listen to one another.

"The singer takes direction from the guitarist and the guitarist listens to the drummer. It's synergy that makes this group work," he said.

Supercel seems to have what it takes: committed band members and an experienced manager who believes in them. Their in-the-works demo features wall-of-sound guitars, tight vocal harmonies, and a heavy backbeat. Gladson's guitar work can move from heavy to trippy to groovy–all in the same song. Sloan's voice is assured and compelling. Abbott and Freeman's rhythm section creates a heavy skeleton on which to hang the band's hooky, relentlessly pounding songs.

Supercel is rock'n'roll. But they don't shy away from the occasional ballad, and you can even hear some Marvin Gaye groove in a couple songs. The band is familiar-sounding enough to be immediately accessible and original enough to stand out from the crowd.

"In two months they've done so much," said Davison, amazed. "You know what it is? Talent."

But Davison's been in the business too long to be under any illusions. And he's smart enough to know how to nurture a band.

"I'm taking it very slowly," he said. "And I told the guys up front, there's no promise of a record deal. They just need to be the best band they can be. Then the walls that get thrown up in front of bands will melt away. Some won't melt away as quickly as others, like getting signed to a record deal. Record labels are deaf, and it's my job to turn on their hearing aids. The key is to not go too fast. You've got to pretend a band is like your 12-year-old daughter. She's only 12, but she's developing fast with fully formed breasts, but she's too young so the smart thing to do it keep her locked in her room."

So where will Supercel go from here? They have their first two local gigs coming up in June.

"My long-range plan isn't to make them into a touring band, since they're really seasoned performers already. They don't need all that time on the road," said Davison. "So for them it's not about their live show and touring, for them it's about writing. I can see them emerging as a great studio band. They need to keep writing and recording, and in six months I'll take them to New York. I have friends who are booking agents, so I'll get them some gigs opening up for bigger acts."

As for the band members–having been woodshedding for two months now, aren’t they getting anxious to play in from of an audience?

"We know the pitfalls of going off half-baked. We want to be tits [before we play]," said Gladson. "But, yeah, we're itching to get out there."

Bands break up, but the beat goes on. Æ

Glen Starkey doesn't so much play his guitar as humiliate it.