This article first appeared in the St. Louis Beacon, April 4, 2013 - As the group’s drummer, Mike “Shorty” Long bears a central, crucial responsibility in bringing to life the music of Liquid Gold. He’s right in the middle of the group when it plays its every-other-weekend gig at The Shanti in Soulard. Standing eight members across, the band takes up an entire wall. Playing a relatively compact kit of bass drum, rack tom and snare, Long’s playing is efficient, too, with the kind of assurance and steadiness that only comes from of decades of play.
But if his set-up’s pretty spare, it has a lot of color and charm. A longtime commercial artist, Long decorated the front of his bass drum with the group’s name and logo, painted atop wild colors and swirling stripes. The “U” in Liquid’s a perfectly flipped Gateway Arch; both “L” and “G” bear crowns. Inside of the drum, he gas a motion-sensor that triggers lights; the louder and more-actively he plays, the more it flashes.
Art of the band
“I’ve been an artist pretty much all my life,” Long says. “I’ve been working in commercial art for the biggest part of that, reluctantly, but I’ve had to make a living. I draw and paint, but not as much, anymore.”
One job brought some life-changing consequences. Working on what he figured was the last billboard he’d hang, a gust of wind caught the sheet he was working with. According to Liquid Gold pedal steel player John Higgins, the sheet became “like a sail. It was a 40-foot drop. He landed on his feet and crushed his ankles, did very serious damage. He’s had something like six or eight surgeries on them and he’s still dealing with that. But he’s hung with it.”
As washboard player Robert “Ferd” Frank adds, “He was back at it as soon as he could be.”
Higgins adds, “There were all kinds of permutations that he made to that kit to allow him to play.”
That bit of ingenuity in reconfiguring his kit could be chalked up, at least in part, to his creative spirit -- something that runs through the entire group, without exception.
When all members are present and accounted for at the Shanti shows (which was not the case in the picture at top), they look a bit like this, from the viewer’s left to right.
- On mandolin is Mole Reeves, a motorcyclist with a Vietnam Vet’s MC and a former art teacher.
- Next is Roy Gokenbach, a barber who plays guitar and has acted in a handful of improv-driven shorts.
- Miles Long is on banjo; he’s Mike Long’s son, plays in nearly a half-dozen acts and has been busy with glass etchings of late.
- Mike Long, we’ve met, though we should also point out his fabulous, tall cowboy hats and handlebar mustache.
- Wren Coleman, too, is on guitar and sings lot of lead, a task he shares with most everyone in the group; he’s a longtime tattoo artist at Trader Bob’s and now spends time in both St. Louis and Florida.
- Frank plays a custom-made washboard that has to be seen to be believed; in off-hours, he spends countless time during the week on digital photography, mostly candids and portraiture.
- Bassist Jackie Niebylski possesses an MFA in painting and also plays in side projects with some of her Liquid Gold compatriots; as both a nurse and the wife of Mike Long, she’s credited by other members of the group as a key in quickening his rehab.
- And pinned next to the men’s room door is John Higgins, a longtime Soulard musician who’s also a luthier or guitar builder (only recently have his bandmates coaxed him into singing some leads, which he does with aplomb).
It’s quite a band. Or, to put it another way: it’s a quite a group of people.
Custom blend
To look at this assemblage, one might think, “I can see those two in a band together, or those three. But not all eight of them together.” And truly, it’s interesting enough to just think of this posse as a collection of friends, let alone musical collaborators. As Niebylski explains it, though, the genesis of the group is deceptively simple and straightforward.
“It’s a blend of two bands,” she says. “Liquid Prairie was around for years and Ferd, John, Wren, Roy and I all took part at one time, or another. Mike and Mole were in Red Ass Jones and the Gold Bondsmen. When that group went defunct, we took the ‘Gold’ from them and the ‘Liquid’ from Liquid Prairie.” And they also picked up their standing gig at The Shanti, which stretches back eight years, as Red Ass Jones had it the first half-decade.
In the new configuration, they mixed in Miles Long, as well, a multi-instrumentalist, vocalist, KDHX volunteer and co-host of the Venice Cafe’s long-running open mic night. Crunching through tunes, they began building a catalog of material that Coleman figures is “at least 100 songs. Probably about 130.”
In addition to its every-other-Saturday slot at The Shanti, the group plays such places as Fenton’s old tavern, Joe Clark’s, which seems to be Frank’s home-away-from-home.
As Mike Long cracks, “We play both kinds of music. Country.” Pause. “And western.” But one thing they don’t do is practice.
The setlist comes from a wide swath of American music, mostly AM radio music from the 1950s-’70s, though that’s a bit too limiting. Their classic honky-tonk singalongs have audience members humming-to-roaring along. Tracks by Buck Owens, Hank Williams, the Statler Brothers and a passel of one-hit wonders are among their staples, (as are drinkin’ songs). And with every member of the band (even young Miles Long) having decades of live experience, it can essentially play live only – a rare trick.
Club in harmony
While Liquid Gold will play gigs wherever there’s a valid payday, a sympathetic thing’s going on when the band plays at The Shanti, which draws on both regulars and first-time visitors for each gig. That can bring some interesting encounters.
“There was one guy, he was pretty cool,” Coleman remembers. “He was from Denmark, or somewhere in Europe. He asked if we played anywhere else but here, if he could see us in a main venue. When we told him we didn’t, he said that was perfect. That was his goal. To travel America and find little bars, hear music where you wouldn’t hear it, unless you knew about, or found, that little bar.”
The group loves having a built-in audience, but a slight bit of zaniness comes from the venue, itself. Reeves basically stands in the front door; people both pass by him and crowd around him, happy to have elbow room for themselves, even as they squash his own. Those in the center of the bandstand are constantly chatted to by the audience, which can be great but a little distressing, too; as Miles Long says, “it can make it tough to be a professional,” especially when people are shouting insistent requests, kicking over bottles of beer and getting into the players’ space.
When asked about that dynamic, Higgins says, “My stock answer is that this is far-and-away the most fun band I’ve ever played in. Everybody enjoys each other’s company and brings something diverse to the table. I’ve been playing in Soulard for probably 30 years. And here, you see a lot of the same folks from back then. There’s a certain camaraderie. It’s interesting. You walk in for the first time and everything’s going full bore. You’d think it’s all about a party. But when you talk to a lot of the people, they know music. There’re a lot of very friendly and accommodating people here that appreciate what we do, and we appreciate that.”
Higgins recounts “one of the most-joyous days, though. It was gay pride weekend two years ago. There were a lot of people here, a super-diverse group and everybody was in a great (emotional) place. We began playing this old country tune called ‘Truck Driving Man,’ and started a spontaneous conga line, with people snaking through the bar. The guy in front had a barstool that he was swerving, like he was using a steering wheel. That’ll always be my favorite memory of The Shanti.”
And while that scene might not be an every-other-weekly occurrence, Saturday’s with Liquid Gold at The Shanti do have an interesting vibe. The group cracks endless jokes. Dancers pack the narrow gangway between the band and the seated, closest-in audience members. Regulars jam the bar, with little room between them. Bartenders Ginger and Piglet walk/stalk their long bar, just able to keep up with demand.
It all starts, of course, with the eight, creative, artistic people playing the songs.
“There’s a high-talent level; and we’ve got an easy-to-get-along-with level, too,” Gokenbach says. “We're all friends. It's rare, but it's a wonderful combination. If this band got together and practiced and acted like a band, it would change the dynamic. It's developed on its own, organically. I got my singing back with this band. It’s like rehab.”
Or as Miles Long states, simply, “It’s like family.”
Thomas Crone is a freelance writer.