March 29 2001
"Why I Like the PK's (or 'my friend's band is better
than yours')"
Since I know ya wanna hear 'em, here I go with (in 500 words or less) "Why I Like The PK's."
by Nick.
I guess it started, for me, back in '92 - when I first called Len a dork for liking Dungeons and Dragons. And yes, 9 years later I still stick by my reasoning. He tolerated it and, because it was a middle school Plays and Things class, talking, being loud, and rolling down the aisles in the Roseville Jr. High auditorium were allowed and encouraged. Len introduced me to Milton direct and *BAM!* I was hooked. Right away I took a liking to the Bosstones, Specials, Toasters, and on and on and on. This "ska" music (and as I first described it when I first heard it - "kinda like the stuff they play on elevators") was just the right sort of thing at the right time. For me it mirrored what I (at least my perception of me) am - easygoing, fun-loving, energetic, and all sorts of wonderful. My first show was when they played the Masonic Temple. No, not the Detroit Masonic Temple which has hosted everything from Les Miserables to Pearl Jam, no I'm talking about the Roseville Masonic Temple who have had such acts as The Parka Kings and the band with that dumpy Eric kid and I think Shane and Bob. World renowned, eh? But I digress. I saw the PK's that night, and thankfully I had become well acquainted with such classics as Dish or Die, Women Seem to Rule the World (a Busters classic), and dare I say it?! The legendary Rasta Shoes. (For the lyrics, well, maybe I'll post them, 'cause I haven't heard the song in a good 4 years, but I still remember 'em.)
After that it all came in a blur. At the Grounds in Ann Arbor with The Skolars when Luke was invited by Jeff (i think!) to show everyone his ass. Driving somewhere in the grey Gray van. The PK's on *my* all-star radio show Rude Vibrations on WPHS 89.1 (from Sept. 96-May 97). Hanging out with Milt, Melissa, and Bim Skala Bim. The 404 Willis (a.k.a. Satan's Stank Rotten Asshole). Airborne skate park, Shelter, Sudsy Malone's, Magic Stick, Matt Van's basement once, St. Andy's. With G-Fun and Plug and Suicide Machines (but it never mattered who else was there because the PK's stole the show from whomever they wanted.) Late nights in the Gray basement and conversations of toothbrushes and assholes. Early mornings with Dad Gray and conversations of medieval torture devices and *my* dad's school life. Oaktree Chili and Oaktree Tomato Ketchup. Chicken fights in the pool way too early before Memorial Day.
Nights of hugs and gloved punches over galloons of beer and the famous Milton Martini. Too many racing games and backyard burgers to mention. Mark in the eternally worn Pearl Jam t-shirt. Mark in the eternally worn Grand Funk Railroad t-shirt. Mark in the eternally worn suit and tie. Dorky in the eternally worn birthday suit.
The moment of silence at National Coney Island when I commented on Doug's great social success with underage girls, and the resulting howls of laughter from Brett and Sobie and everyone else not named "Woolsey" at the table.
So, if you can, allow me to get a little cliche (<-- 23 Skidoo reference ;) and sappy. You don't have to keep reading if you don't want.
But to me The Parka Kings were more than the band before Mustard Plug. They were more than my favorite CD, and more than the best fucking show I've been lucky enough to see. For me The Parka Kings will *always* be about good friends, good tunes, good times. It'll be about growing up and throwing up. Losing friends, finding friends, friends losing me. It's about the 2 miles to the Gray house, 10 miles to Detroit, 150 miles to G.R., 2100 miles to Arizona.
No word-lyric-verse-song-album, no chord progression or tempo change alone or collectively is what I think of by "Parka Kings." Maybe they were the soundtrack to my adolescence. Many of my dearest memories were to a PK's song, or a cry to "play Rasta Shoes." I always felt welcome, I always belonged, I was always comfortable. And in that way, I'm glad they're done. Unlike an old fighter, they knew when to stop. It was time, and the chapter ended sweeetly.
I've met and talked to Tony and Hank and Missy and Matt. I knew Doug and Brett a little better, spoke a few times. But can say Milt's a hell of a good friend. One of my best. And if nothing else, that's what P and K stand for.
Best friends.
Cheap beer.
Laughing/crying.
Ticket stubs.
Flyers.
Singing in the car.
Singing in the shower.
Singing at work.
And that is why I like the PK's.