Dateline: April 23, 2004 Anacortes
I was standin' at the bar in the Rockfish Grill ya see. It was nearing high nine in the sleepy little fishin' town of Anacortes on the edge of the San Juan Islands. There was a nervous buzz from the boys knockin' back their draft IPAs being made in the back room. The word on the curb was that tonight the guitar slingers were ridin' into town. The boys were a little excited, maybe a little nervous too. It just took one wrong note, bent just the wrong way, and you would be liein' up on boat hill, pushin' up daisies. Some of the boys were thinking, maybe the rumor wasn't true. It was after 8PM already and the streets were quiet. But the boys who began to relax did so too soon.
At precisely 8:15 pm, in walked the man dressed in black. Ya, it was the Colonel. And he wasn't alone. A couple of other guys came in behind. They were schlepin' a van full of bags, boxes, amps and speakers.
The boys got sweat on the brow and Death Valley of the mouth. They started drinkin' them IPAs just a little bit faster. With a sneer on his lip, The Colonel began to set up the gear. Next through the doors were Rockin' Rod Cook and Terrible Tommy Boyle. A shiver went down the boy's backs as Cook and Boyle fought their way through the door, each wantin' to be first. Things got real quiet a few minutes later when Bodacious Billy Stapleton sauntered in, packin' more heat than two hands could carry. And one of the pieces was a Gibson. If he couldn't pulverize them with power, then he would sucker em' with sweetness. Awhile later, the last of the guitar slingers Fonzied in, shades so dark they woulda put out the sun. It was Horrible Henry Cooper. Was that a slide he was wearin already, or had that finger just growed into one?
They didn't set up a stage for the big showdown, and it was a good thing, too. All that wood up in smoke was the only possible outcome. A little before the show started, things began gettin' outta hand. Them guitar slingers was focusin' on each other, don't ya see, as they tuned up, wantin' at each other so bad that more strings broke than got tuned.
Just before civil war broke out, in sauntered Becki Sue Delk. It was just what the doctor ordered. Her jeans were huggin' her hips and she was flexin' her mike hand. That smirky smile and the glint in her eye forced those boys to mind their manners, at least for the time bein'.
At high nine, The Colonel set the bar with a searing set of electric blues, backed by the best electric bass and drums these parts have seen since the running of the salmon on Commercial Avenue. And on it went. Rockin Rod slipped in behind The Colonel, backing him for a piece, then took the stage on his own with flying fingers and sweet vocals. Next Terrible Tommy Boyle did the same to Rockin, Rod. Bout that time Becki Sue had had enough sittin' around. She pounced on the mike with raw, power vocals that made ya want a cigarette when she was done, even if you didn't smoke. Things just kept getting better with Horrible Henry Cooper and finally Bodacious Billy Stapleton.
They all showed us what they had, and they had plenty. The clock on the wall struck midnight. Suddenly all those guitar slingers were up front. All of ‘em! With the increase of power and tension from one set to the next, you knew something was gonna give before the night was over. The big showdown was at hand. Cook, Boyle, Cooper, Stapleton and The Colonel were ready to rock until just one was still standin'. On the day I was born, if I knew what lay ahead, that jam would have been on the bucket list. Every note was clean and every riff was from some deep place most of us can't get to. And in the end, there was no decision. Ya see, the guitar slingers were all still standin' when the inn keep announced last call. But the audience wasn't. All of the boys, and all of their ladies, were completely blown away.
Through time immemorial the unsolvable argument continues. Is that little saloon in a town called Anacortes the Rockfish Grill, or is it really the “ROCK” Fishgrill. Only the Guitar Slingers know for sure.