In which stealing
music directly affects the artist.




One time, I was playing a show in Dallas, at the Cavern (R.I.P). Before the
show, after I loaded in my gear, I asked the door guy where there was a good
place to park. He told me to park in the lot behind the club, because it was
free and safe. So I went and parked in the lot underneath a streetlight,
because I thought that would ensure safety for my things. I went inside and
played the show. It was a poorly attended affair (like most of my shows in Dallas have been). We
waited around after we’d finished playing and when it was time to load out, I
went out into the parking lot to retrieve my car. This is around the point where
things got interesting.


I got about halfway between the club and my car, and all of
a sudden the passenger door opens. Out steps a huge dude. And by huge, I mean a guy the size of William
“Refrigerator” Perry. He turned, and stopped, then looked at me. I was stuck
standing in the parking lot, by myself, frozen.


All I could seem to muster to say to him was “Wha…wha…what
are you doing?” but not in an accusatory fashion. More like, “I don’t know
where I’m at; is this my car? Where am I? What are you doing?” type of thing.
This guy looked at me, sized me up, then realized it’s my car that he’d just
been rifling through. He reached into his pants, the front of his pants, and pulled out this giant knife. It must have
been around nine inches long.


He pointed the knife at me and screamed, “Turn around, motherfucker! Turn around!”
I couldn’t do anything at that point. I just stood there frozen in disbelief. “Turn around, motherfucker!” I was still
stuck, standing there with a confused look on my face. “Run, motherfucker, run!” And with that he turned to his left, and
took off running down the side street by the alley. He was pretty fast,
especially for a dude who looked like he could be a linebacker.


I continued to stand there, dumbfounded. After I saw that he
was gone, I ran back into the club to get my friend. He was at the bar and I
ran up to him and said, 
“Someonejustbrokeintomycarandpulledaknifeonmeandranaway.” Without
hesitation, he slammed his drink down and yelled to the rest of the bar “Let’s
go get that motherfucker!” No one else wanted anything to do with us, so we
both ran outside to the parking lot, to survey the situation.


No one was around. I ran over to the passenger door and
looked inside. Nothing was missing. The only thing that was moved was a case of
old CDs from when I was 17 that I stuffed below the passenger seat. I was very
relieved, but at that point I turned around and saw my guitar and amp sitting
in the very back of my Jeep. If the guy would have turned around, he would have
seen about $800 dollars worth of gear that he could have stolen. Instead, he
only looked through a stack of bad punk CDs that were too scratched to sell. He
didn’t take anything, or ruin anything. Just jumped into my car and gave me a
story to tell.


Let it be known that I’ve been all over the country, to the
most crime-ridden and dangerous parts. Detroit, Compton, New
Orleans. Nothing has ever happened to me in any of
these places.


Only in Texas. 



Daniel Fried pulls
double-duty: Mind Spiders’ latest album
Meltdown is out now on Dirtnap Records. Bad Sports’ latest album Kings of the Weekend
is out now on the same label. More info: &








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