in a swing-shuffle feel but, without John’s great piano touch, it came off with a harder rock edge.
The other new song was titled, Mr Dirty and it was written for the old man who lived in our basement. He lived alone in the one room bedroom down there. He was personally filthy and his room was worse. You could smell him all over the house. He drove an ancient motorcycle of First World War vintage. He even wore a leather cap and goggles that made him look like a WWI flying ace. You could see into his hovel though the cracks in the boards that separated him from the rest of the basement. Geoff claimed the old man kept jars of semen on the shelves. It's not surprising that he inspired a song titled, Mr. Dirty.
We begged him to move out but he stubbornly refused. No matter what we did, we could not coerce him to leave. One night we placed our sound system speakers up to the vent that led downstairs and played real loud. That’s when we wrote the song. The music was mostly Lindsay and the lyrics mostly Geoff but Steve jumped in on both. It was a funky heavy-rock feel with a lot of back beat. The lyrics would never win a Pulitzer but they did have a certain charm just the same:
(Blood-curdling scream) - DIRTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mr. Dirty
Livin' in my basement suite
Mr. Dirty
Creeps every girl that he meets
Mr. Dirty
Eats every thing that he meets
Mr. Dirty
Dirty!
Mr. Dirty
Leave you in a cold, cold sweat
Mr. Dirty
Keeps everything he can get
Mr. Dirty
He’s a guy you’ll never forget
Mr. Dirty
Dirty!
Watch out for Mr. Dirty
If you’re walkin’ home from a show
He’ll offer a ride
But don’t step inside
‘Cause he always takes the long way home.
That’s him it’s Mr. Dirty
He’s hangin’ around your school
At recess time, he might give you a dime
He might give you a quarter next time.
Mr. Dirty
Always got his hand in my shorts
Mr. Dirty
Gonna end up in the courts
Mr. Dirty
For thinkin’ all those filthy thoughts
Mr. Dirty
Dirty!
Mr. Dirty
He’s in a cold, cold sweat
Mr. Dirty
Takes anything he can get
Mr. Dirty
He’s a man you’ll never forget
Mr. Dirty
Dirty
Mr. Dirty
Went away one morning and...
Never said goodbye to the band
None of us will ever cry
‘Cause we know he’s satisfied
‘Cause we know he’s satisfied.
Mr. Dirty - Oooooooo, La La la
Mr. Dirty - Oooooooo, La La la
Mr. Dirty - Oooooooo, La La la
Mr. Dirty - Oooooooo, La La la
The song tags along with Geoff scatting dirty lyrics until it breaks down into a quiet, funky, syncopated groove. Geoff would then proceed to tell an obscenely explicit pornographic story that involved a lot of, “dewy thighs”, “dewy flicking tongues” and “dewy donut holes” (he loved to say the word, “dewy“). He also used a lot of picturesque words like, “buttocks” and “stiffen” and phrases like “taut-to-the-touch”. After he had grossed everybody out he would begin to sing softly, “Mr. Dirty -Oooooooo, La La la” over and over building louder and louder until he signaled the band with a scream that made every gut-wrenching scream you have ever heard sound polite by comparison. Upon hearing this scream you would expect to see pieces of lung and larynx coughed up on the stage. Lindsay then sawed off a blistering solo until climax. Mr. Dirty became an instant Seeds of Time classic; a 'must-play' at every gig we ever played after this night.
Like John before her, Trisha did not approve of our use of heroin. It was becoming increasingly depressing at the house. After gigs the band would drive to a house near Fraser Street and Fifth Avenue and wait in the car while Jeff went in to score. I was not using at the time so the arrangement was that they would cop and I’d receive a bottle of Chivas Regal scotch. We would go home and Geoff, Lindsay and Steve would line up in the hallway outside the bathroom while Jeff main-lined them one by one.
It wasn't long before Donna joined the line. She was a lovely girl who followed her heart. All she wanted was to be with the man she loved, to experience what he was experiencing. It was heartbreaking to watch.
Her descent into heroin addiction was as rapid as it was absolute. When it was her turn, she'd kneel in front of Jeff, thrust her chest out and beg, “Please Jeffy, make it a good one.” She learned early on that she could get what she wanted from men by flaunting her assets.
Jeff, unable to resist her, would load her up. She was often lucky the dosage didn't kill her. This wasn't Jeff's fault; he was just trying to be nice. It was tragic to stand by and witness this beautiful girl, on her knees on the bathroom floor, slapping her bruised arm to get a vein up.
Trisha would hide in our room while this went on. I'd settle in the living room with my bottle of scotch and watch as they shuffled in one by one. Then we would argue about which was worse, smack or booze. Sometimes Trisha would join in the argument but it was a losing proposition either way.
After one such night, sometime in mid-morning, way too early for us to be up, we were driving to the Musician’s Union office. The Union had this ridiculous policy that the total fee from each gig had to be paid to the union then they would cut cheques to each of the 'sidemen' for scale and pay the balance to the 'leader' - after deducting dues, benefits, pension and, in our case, fines.
We had to wait in the coffee shop downstairs while they processed our cheques, then collect the cheques, endorse them over to The Seeds Of Time and deposit them in our band bank account so that we could pay all of our expenses. Eventually, we staged a protest by attending an Executive meeting where Geoff stood up on the table and burnt his Union card. They finally recognized that bands were a business and allowed us to simply write the Union a cheque for the dues, benefits and pension and, in our case, fines owing.
I was driving with Geoff riding shotgun, Steve behind him and Lindsay behind me. Elvis’s hit song, Suspicious Minds,was playing on the radio;
We’re caught in a trap
I can’t walk out
Because I love you too much baby
I heard a gurgling sound behind me. All Lindsay had time for was, “I’m gonna be ...” He threw up all over me. Although the heroin hangover seemed to produce buckets of vomit, this was the first (and only) time anyone had puked on me.
With November came the chill of winter. It was unfortunate that Bill chose this time to be forced into hiding. He just disappeared - one minute he was there and the next he was gone. As Bill paid most of the household expenses this proved to be a little troublesome for us. First