We Move to Houston
Poor as dirt, but with a "Record Deal!"
The Bubble Puppy House had no telephone, and Roy and Gene had been in Houston for a week. What were they doing? There was no easy way for the rest of the band to find out without a phone. But one day, we received a telegram from Roy, which changed my life. It was brief: “Record Deal! Pack the van! Move to Houston!”
After reading the telegram, Rod, Todd, and I spent the afternoon pondering the idea of moving. What should we do? We had a comfortable life at the band house and played enough around Austin to support ourselves. Therefore, moving would be a definite disruption. Complicating matters, we needed more information to help us decide whether to move to Houston. However, the telegram included the words “Record Deal!.” Those words motivated us to pack the van with our few worldly possessions, and after loading the drums, amps, and P.A., our van was full. We got in and drove to Houston.
Our first place in Houston was a two-bedroom upstairs apartment near the International Artists studio – the first of our four homes. The apartment was a tiny little crib for five guys. Todd and I shared a bedroom, and so did Roy and Rod. Gene slept on the couch. We were all great friends at this point, so no one minded the cramped quarters.
Now that we were living in Houston, money was tight, mainly because our financial backer in Austin was out of the picture. But when you’re young, you don’t feel poverty like you do when you’re older. One night, we walked to Burger King, picking up glass soda pop bottles along the side of the road. We cashed in the bottles, and by the time we arrived at the restaurant, we had enough money for dinner. Living on so little money is impressive to me now, but it was everyday life when I was seventeen and with The Bubble Puppy.
The Bubble Puppy’s producer, Ray Rush, secured our recording contract with International Artists. He was a good guy, a great producer, and the head of “Artists and Repertoire” (A&R) at International Artists (I.A.). Ray had previously worked with famous artists like Buddy Holly and Roy Orbison, and he was the only person at I.A. with whom the band became friends. Everyone else there struggled to run a business they knew nothing about. I will post a “deep dive” into I.A. later. Let's just say that Ray was the only person at I.A. who knew what he was doing.
As we walked in the door to sign our contract with I.A., the Thirteenth Floor Elevators were walking out. As we passed them, they told us, “Don’t sign with these guys!” meaning I.A. We didn’t know it then, but The Elevators had suffered dramatically from I.A.’s mishandling, so they were leaving. The Elevator’s warning did not affect us, however. We were cocky teenagers, after all! I remember us exclaiming, “It’s OK. We trust them. We just wanna make records!”
Years later, Ginger Valley, a young band from Corpus Christi, was signing up with I.A. By this time, we were fed up with I.A. and were leaving the company. History repeated itself as Ginger Valley entered the studio and walked past us. We said, “Don’t sign with these guys!” Ginger Valley said, “It’s OK, we trust them. We just wanna make records!”
The studio was named Gold Star Studios during our time at I.A. The recording room had a big “Gold Star” embedded in the floor, and the control room electronics looked much like the control room at Abbey Road Studios. The recording console was very primitive. Much of the equipment was handmade and hand-wired with big knobs and lots of sheet metal. But, primitive as it was, the studio sounded fantastic. The loud “Voice of the Theatre” playback speakers would blow your head off! After years of making hit records at Gold Star, the studio’s engineers had fine-tuned the recording and control rooms.
When recording, the band usually knew we had the perfect “take” of a song after only a few tries. The exception was our song “Elizabeth.” I remember Ray Rush saying, “Take twenty-seven,” then “Take twenty-eight!” I’m pretty sure the version of “Elizabeth” on our LP “A Gathering of Promises” is Take twenty-eight. Recording back then was an exhilarating, exciting adventure. For a laugh, Ray always said, “Rollin’ for Gold!” as he instructed the engineer to start the tape machine. We had a lot of freedom in the studio, and I think you can hear that freedom in our LP “A Gathering of Promises.”
I’ve written in a previous SubStack about our engineer Hank Poole. He worked for I.A. engineering our sessions. Hank had engineered many diverse bands during his career, including The Thirteenth Floor Elevators and Lester Flats. He was older, relaxed, and funny. His demeanor enabled The Bubble Puppy to enjoy ourselves in the studio. It was fun recording with Ray and Hank.
Hank once told me a funny but tragic story. A band he was recording finished a song and decided to break for lunch. Hank hit “rewind” on the tape recorder, and he and the band left the building. Unfortunately, someone had left a metal tape dispenser on the recorder in the exact spot that kept the machine from stopping when it finished rewinding. The machine kept rewinding the entire time Hank and the band were at lunch. On each revolution of the tape reel, the machine snipped off a little piece from the end of the tape, and when everyone returned, the entire tape was in a pile of one-inch fragments on the floor.
Eventually, the band grew tired of the apartment and found a place in the country north of Houston on East Mount Houston Road, off Highway 69. We jumped on it. Although the house was nothing special, it was secluded and on several acres of pine trees. We lived in the countryside in Austin and missed the freedom it offered. No one lived nearby, so we could practice anytime as loudly as we wished. After our first practice at the new place, I said, “I hope that wasn’t too loud for the neighbors.” Everyone ran to a window, and in unison, we began yelling, “F@#! The neighbors, F@#! The neighbors!” It was fun. There were no neighbors!
The East Mount Houston house had a stable with electricity and lights. On a day that the band had off, we dropped acid. I took my drums out to the stable and started to play. Then, an electrical storm began, and because of my psychedelic condition, I played along with the storm! It would thunder, I would answer on the toms. Lighting would flash in the darkened day, and I would play furiously to top the storm! I was having a fantastic time until I decided to turn on the lights in the stable. Unfortunately, the switch was not grounded, so I got a big electric shock when I flipped it! Getting shocked was never a good experience, but because I was high on acid, the effect was intense. I was fine physically but paralyzed mentally, so I stood there by the light switch for a long time without moving. No one knew my predicament because the rest of the band was tripping in the house. Fortunately, Todd wondered, “Where is Fuzzy?” Sensing I was in trouble, he ran to the stables and led me back to the house. Thanks, Todd.
In the next installment of “Bubble Puppy Bites,” our lives are forever changed by the recording and release of “Hot Smoke and Sassafras!”
Please consider upgrading to a paid subscription. Thank you!
Great stories!!
Enjoying this read Fuzzy!!