Slam Suzanne

Genres: rock, indie

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About Slam Suzanne

Songs that Time Forgot: Slam Suzanne by Rick Emerson: Once upon a time, I was just a mulleted, spotty teenager with stars in my eyes and metal on the brain. (Some things never change; some things change only slightly.) Following my own kind of Manifest Destiny, I secured a few radio gigs at any place/format that would have me, and while some of these have been discussed at great length *cough* Pet Patrol *cough*, others have been overlooked. Such a place was 88.1, the local high school station, which was centered squarely in the middle of the Tri-City Area Vocational Skills Center. Generally viewed as a place to dump wayward youths who might otherwise be out stripping cars (or merely stripping), the vocational center was a breeding ground for drug deals, knife fights, and bathroom-stall sex. Or so I'm told. For a certain segment of the student population, it was also dismal, irrefutable evidence that the school district viewed you as a lost cause...that you were thought incapable of overcoming your own history. That you would live and die in the same dry, dusty zip code. That you would have more children like yourself. Every day, teenage mothers and early meth-head prototypes competed for prime space in the smoking sections of the parking lot, and black-trenchcoat types huddled in alcoves, tossing multi-sided dice. The soundtrack to all of this was 88.1, which, due to its relatively strong signal (and the relative smallness of the town) was well-listened to, especially by people under 25 or so. (In a town with no real rock station, but, instead, a seemingly-endless number of country and oldies signals, any refuge was welcome.) Working at 88.1, like anywhere in the entertainment industry, big or small, allowed you to re-create your identity, at least for a few hours at a time. And thus, a gangly, bespectacled youth named Richard became...(drumroll, please): Ed Zeppelin. Either the worst or best on-air name of all time (I'm still not sure which), Ed Zeppelin was my alter-ego, the one who didn't spend his days failing math, English, and history, and who wasn't doomed to spend the rest of his life in a fucking dirt-hill town, wondering where he'd gone wrong. He also got stuff in the mail. You see, in the days before the internet, bands had no idea who was out there, or what audience might exist for their music. So, instead of using MySpace/Facebook/etc., they assembled cover letters and press kits, and sent off demo CDs by the dozens, often using woefully out-of-date address lists, and with only a vague idea of who was receiving their stuff. (Actually, in that way, it was exactly like the internet.) Enter a band called Slam Suzanne. One day, while preparing to play "Wild Side" for the nine-hundredth time (I've never, ever gotten sick of that song), I answered the request line in the 88.1 studio. "Rockline," I said, irony-free, "Whattya wanna hear?" "Hey," said a voice, "I'm looking for Ed Zeppelin." "That's me, dude," I said, full of rock-radio bravado, and trying to keep my voice from cracking. "Hey, I'm in a band called Slam Suzanne, and I wanted to send you a press kit and a copy of our CD. You're the Music Director, right?" "Er," I said, eyes glancing around furtively, "Sure. Yeah. Send it on over." "Thanks, man," he said, and hung up. Of course, I wasn't anything close to being the Music Director, but the real MD was off smoking weed in the ladies' bathroom half the time, so what the hell, right? At least I'd listen to it. Several days later, a large, black envelope arrived. With a return-address sticker that said "Slam Suzanne" in big letters, and with a Groening-esque bunny head for a logo, it looked a little otherworldly. I ripped it open, and surveyed the enclosed material. Press clippings, stickers, and a picture of the band. The drummer was a cute girl named "Tymber" -- this was definitely a plus. Also enclosed was a CD, which I gleefully put into the CD player. Free music! What a great scam this was! Radio rules! The songs that poured out were short, fast, and scary-cool...sort of like The Ramones meets Slayer. The band was also singing about something mystifying...something called a "double latte." What the hell was that? I didn't know, but it sounded like some incredible, all-powerful thing. (Which, of course, was not far from the truth.) A few days later, I snookered the band into doing an on-air interview with me over the phone (my second-ever band interview, the first being *ahem* Pretty Boy Floyd), and I promised to see them when they passed through town from Seattle. (Seattle! They were big-time rock stars, talking to ME!) Of course, by the time the show came around, I had fucked up somehow and been forbidden to leave the house. Not quite rock and roll enough to sneak out, I glumly stayed in my room, pondering the debauched fun I was, no doubt, missing. (Later, I heard that the band had asked where "Ed Zeppelin" was. I'm sure they'd had no clue I was a teenager; I wonder what their reactions were upon hearing that Ed was, in fact, grounded.) Time has passed, life has gone on, and Slam Suzanne seem to have faded away. There's precious little to prove they existed at all, but in my Big Box of Radio Stuff, I still have a dusty, crackling, black envelope...with a return address that promised excitement, and a band picture featuring a drummer who still seems unbelievably hot. Slam Suzanne, here's to you...wherever you are. Fondly, Ed

Taken from Last.fm

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