Poor old Brandon Higgins
has been Kicked In The Nuts
Higgins
Brandon Higgins slammed his wedding ring down on the Winedale Tavern bar and declared his marriage had reached an impenetrable impasse. “If you don’t leave with me now, then we’re finished,” he demanded, glaring at his wife of nearly six months through dead, drunken eyes.
Alysen, skinny, tattooed, pierced and pretty, returned her husband’s gaze with a satisfied grin. “I think you need to get back to the motel and go to sleep,” she told Brandon. “I’m not quite ready to leave yet.”
A marriage dissolves; a song is born
Once again, I was caught in the middle of a domestic dispute. That’s what happens when you’re still single and hanging out with married people. This time, I watched a breakup play out in public as almost-newlyweds Brandon and Alysen dissolved their marriage during what was meant to be a recreational, intoxicated jaunt from their heavily mortgaged new home in Waco to their favorite old beer joint in Dallas.
A few weeks later, a lawyered-up Brandon drove back to Dallas alone, ADAT stashed in the back of his pickup, and recorded my harmonica part for his autobiographical new song, Kicked In The Nuts. You can find the song in the music player at right. Please listen, and post a comment below.
In hindsight, Brandon said, “I realize now that people just don’t change. People just do not change,” thus revealing a fact that is new to him but widely known by the rest of the world.
This ain’t the same bet I thought I had made
Kicked In The Nuts is a drinkin’ song. Brandon likes to drink, and as a songwriter, he follows the reliable maxim, Write what you know:
I have been drinkin’ now for so long
Supposed to keep me from thinkin’ ’bout her bein’ gone
Well, it must not be workin, ’cause I have this here song
Hell, I love her more now with the soberness gone
I’ve been kicked in the nuts by a cop on the take
Got rolled by a barmaid that I tried to make
Got soiled by a wino that crapped in my face
This ain’t the same bet I thought I had made
Kicked in the nuts (0:55).
About a year ago, Brandon and I enjoyed a profitable run as a two-man band called Texaco Lunchbox, with me on guitar and harmonica and Brandon on drums. We were mostly horrible, but briefly found a champion in a drunken bar manager/unemployed former L.A. actor named Ruben Randall, who resembled a tall Dana Carvey made up in eye shadow and stocking cap.
Texaco Lunchbox rocks the Looneybin
Ruben ran a cavernous place on Greenville Avenue called PK Living Room, advertised as a “bohemian art bar” but, thanks to the aged, funereal Eastern European couple who owned the place, actually a hangout for street characters, troubled military veterans and musicians who’d worn out their welcome everywhere else. “Psycho Killer Looney Bin,” Brandon nicknamed the place.
“You have a writing style that is both dry and wet at the same time, and you have a deadpan vocal style that reminds me of blah-blah and so-and-so,” Ruben told me as Brandon and I happily soaked up the flattery along with free bottled Budweiser. “And you’re so humble about it.” (“That’s not humility,” I answered, but not out loud. “It’s poor self-esteem.”)
We gigged steadily at the Looney Bin for a couple of months, until the place abruptly closed following the annual St. Patrick’s Day blowout. The club owners blocked off the street and passed out fistfuls of green bead necklaces. Texaco Lunchbox played the outdoor stage, tossing green army men, pot scrubbers, chewing gum and other cheap crap to an unwilling crowd. “You ready to party? You ready to rock and roll?” we shouted. “Then what the hell are you doing at our show?”
Brandon left at mid-set to spew a gutload of Budweiser foam onto the sidewalk. “Dude! Now I have room for more beer!” he said. I introduced Brandon as the city’s most accomplished beer bulimic.
‘We’re basically self-defeating creatures’
Brandon still lives in Waco, where he works as a plumber, and is planning a move to Austin. He claims he’s almost finished with his Kerouac-ian first novel, If I Could Just Walk, titled after a song by New Orleans band Flatware and emulating the style of Brandon’s favorite alcoholic author.
“We’re basically self-defeating creatures. Some of us recognize that and run with it; others don’t have a clue,” Brandon said.
And another thing Brandon said:
“The music industry is like a hot girl. You’re all fired up as long as she shows some interest. But as soon she’s done with you, you don’t know what to do with yourself.”
And another:
“We just can’t function in the normal world. We’re doing the best we can, but it’s agony every day. I would suggest nobody experience what makes them truly happy. ‘Cause once they realize they can’t do it all the time, they can hardly stand to live.
“It’s a crappy world! What the fuck do you do?”
Posted in: at 7:08 pm Wed, Nov 29, 2006.
3 comments
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Drinking For England and The Homicidal Maniac's Song © 2006 and You Suck Bad © 2007 Small Pudding/ASCAP. Kicked In The Nuts © 2006 Brandon Higgins.
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This guy sounds like an asshole.
I have had the good fortune of getting to know Brandon and I have to say he is a memorable character. He is surprisingly an incredibly nice guy (if he reads this sorry for the surprisingly part). The man is a jack of all trades. He sings, plays the drums, can unclog a pipe and is amazingly fun to drink with.
Brandon’s a great pal. Thanks for your comment, Jennifer!