The Very, Very Long Bio & Timeline
This is where the very long, very detailed, probably mostly-irrelevant bio can be found. Only read this if you are a hard-core fan; or perhaps an old friend; an insomniac; a stalker; or simply so bored out of your skull that you are looking for something - anything - to occupy your time. Most of it really has little-or-nothing to do with what's happening today in the world of Clark, but if you really feel the urge to know some of the history, here it is.
The webmaster got Clark to tell it in his own words, and it is presented here with this disclaimer:
This timeline and historical recollection is not meant to be an exclusive or comprehensive manuscript. Names, dates, specific events and other details are all offered with the admission that they are possibly inaccurate. Due to the foggy nature of human memory in general, and Clark's in particular, events may be out of sequence, names forgotten, and details omitted. Tough. Get over it, for crying out loud. The dude has way more important things on his plate than recalling every little detail of his life for your amusement. Like writing and recording cool music for you to enjoy, and setting up cool concerts with his band for you to attend. So please don't have a cow if you were around back in "the day" and remember things differently.
Without further ado, telling it the way he remembers it (at least the way he remembers it today), here's Clark:
I was born during a blizzard, less than a hundred years ago, in the mid-sized city of Rockford, Illinois. My parents were working class, midwestern examples of what made America great, once-upon-a-time. My early childhood was probably typical of that time period: I have no traumatic memories from then, and mostly life was good - sort of like "Father Knows Best" crossed with "The Andy Griffith Show" with the occasional moments of "Leave It to Beaver" thrown in. (Only it was in color, not black & white.) I liked comic books, TV, and being outside when I was little. As I got older I liked books, movies, electronics, power tools, and being outside. When I entered my teens, things began to change. For example...
Christmas, many decades ago
My parents gave me an inexpensive AM radio (with a clock & loud, loud alarm) for Christmas that year. It was not the main gift, and I really don't remember what it was that I had hoped to find under the tree. I do remember that the radio had probably the most profound impact on my life of any gift I ever received. I would listen to WLS from Chicago at night as I was supposed to be going to sleep. I would hear these magnificent sounds that were totally new to me (okay, so my life was a bit sheltered in certain areas!), these awesome guitar driven songs by Dick Dale, Duane Eddy, the Yardbirds, the Beatles, the Ventures, and the Rolling Stones. Within a week I knew that somehow, someday, I was going to play guitar. My parents, on the other hand, were quite certain that I should not become a guitarist, and this is illustrated by what happened the following Christmas.
Christmas, one year later
After nearly a solid year of talking about playing guitar, I was sure I would get some kind of guitar for a gift. My parents had alluded to "music" being part of the holiday, and would wink at one another whenever I began my daily tirade. Christmas morning came, and the musical gift turned out to be a rather bizarre little "chord organ." As an adult, I can now appreciate the gesture; I'm sure the cost of that thing put a strain on their very limited budget. But back then, I reacted in true teenager fashion: a graceless, ungrateful display of whining and moaning peppered with pouting and anger. On the "up" side, I did begin learning to play keyboards with it, as well as starting to learn to read music. It also increased my determination to be a guitarist at least tenfold. So for the next 6 months I saved what I could from my allowance, I shoveled snow from neighbors' walks, and I even took a paper route which required me to get up at (gasp!) 5:00 A.M., so that I could buy myself a guitar.
The Following Summer
At least it looked like a guitar... I'm not really sure that the thing I bought deserved to be called a guitar. This thing was a huge, crude acoustic, and I paid about $25 for it, new. It was poorly spray painted red, with a "simulated" pickguard that was painted on with black spray paint. The frets were the size of wooden matchsticks (in other words, huge), and the high E string was .020 gauge. (For you non-guitarists, that is really fat, too fat for any normal human to play!) You could not play a fretted note without discomfort. Up to the 3rd fret the discomfort was minor, at the 4th fret it was significant. Only a burly masochist could actually finger a note at the 5th fret. By the 10th or 11th fret you could literally drop a pencil between the strings and the neck! (I am not exaggerating... this is true!) It was quickly dubbed The Beast. But it was mine, and I began to learn. Within a few weeks I realized that I could not go on with The Beast for long. So I scrimped, continued the paper route, scrounged for "deposit" pop bottles, did whatever I could until I accumulated another $25. This fortune was used to buy a red sparkle electric, with 3 pick-ups, 3 rocker switches, and 4 knobs! Wow. But this one was playable up to about the 15th fret, and I began formal lessons using this marvel of modern technology. By now Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Iron Butterfly, Blue Cheer, and Jefferson Airplane were part of my musical diet, and I could actually imitate a few notes from their songs here and there, thanks to the playability of the red glitter guitar. I knew I was meant to go on…
That Autumn
I began to jam with some of the other neighborhood "musicians" and started dreaming of actually being a band. We were all beginners, and mostly wanted to just have fun trying to play the songs we liked. Several things happened within a few weeks during that fall that would cement my fate. I began formal lessons (as mentioned); I spotted yet another guitar that I wanted, and my parents accepted my determination to be a guitarist. The lessons were focused on every kind of guitar music except that which consumed me, and yet they helped all the musical "pieces" fall into place. Realizing the significance of this, I began to listen to everything. I analyzed song structures, melodies, relationships between the instruments, and even the production on everything I could lay my hands on: classical, soul, blues, every genre of rock, pop, even some country tunes. And an amazing thing began to happen: I was becoming a real guitarist.
Christmas, that year
It was clear that my parents had embraced my status as a guitarist when the latest guitar that I was longing to own appeared under the Christmas tree. It was a Japanese copy of a Gibson ES series hollow-body. Only two pick-ups, one toggle switch, and a tone and volume knob for each pick-up. In other words, a normal electric guitar. It was a dark green sunburst finish, and it played like a dream. Every fret was a feather touch to play. My parents had also arranged for me to trade The Beast and the red glitter electric in on a Fender amplifier. I was now ready for anything. I could start to rock! The new equipment, and the improvements in my playing that resulted because of this new, decent gear seemed to affect how the guys I was jamming with thought of me, and a kid down the street actually suggested we start a band! We called ourselves...
The Haskell Avenue Boys
This "band" was an ever changing line-up of bassists, rhythm guitarists, and would-be singers, but the drummer and I were always the core. We both lived on Haskell Avenue, as did some of the other sometime members. We formed in early spring 1969, the first band for all of us, and managed to aggravate my parents for several months. We were actually somewhat notorious in our neighborhood (even though we never played outside my parents' home) due to the fact that we were playing songs some of the "real" bands found intimidating: Fire and The Wind Cries Mary by Jimi Hendrix, Inna Gadda Da Vida (without keyboards!) by Iron Butterfly, and I'm So Glad by the Cream. We played them poorly, but they were recognizable. The most important thing that came from this "band" was discovering the thrill of playing with other musicians and for an audience (even if the audience was just a few kids watching us in the basement). I was hooked. My next band came not long after.
Pride
This band will always be special to me. My first paying gig, first songwriting, first promo photos, and first deep musical relationships all occurred within this band. Like some old song says, it was the summer of '69. During the last few weeks of school I was asked to form a band with some of the "coolest dudes" at my school. I was thrilled, and honored, and surprised, and…. Well, you get the picture. The guy who led the band was Charlie Houck, a bassist & singer. Although we started by learning a couple cover tunes, Charlie wanted to play mostly originals. I had never even considered writing my own songs, but once I heard Charlie's material I felt that perhaps I could contribute a little something as well. Our keyboard player was totally non-musical, but owned some cool gear so he was in. I've been told that at one point we had a lead singer, named Steve, I think, but in my mind that was more of a proposal than an actual version of the band. And oddly enough, Curt Johnsen, who is an amazing keyboard player, was our drummer. (Curt has gone on to become an award-winning solo artist, recording several albums of his own material. Check him out here…) We lasted only a few practices as a four-piece, then Chris (the keys player) left. We carried on as a power trio, and gained a reputation, mostly good. I do not remember why we broke up; I will always remember the band for the fun and growth that were the result.
Triskelion, Burnt Umber, & Vin Zeedle (aka "The Attic Bands")
After Pride disbanded I began a year-and-a-half long struggle to start another band that would be focused on original material and long-term success. The attic bands were made up of guys who primarily wanted to party, play cover songs and "get chicks." Generally the bands would start with high hopes, but would quickly deteriorate into just another cover band hoping to get laid. Beginning with a short-lived power trio, band names and members changed rapidly, with only one or two paying gigs per line-up. To me, the odd names are what make this period somewhat memorable.
Tugboat Annie
The last "attic band" I formed was without a name when we were booked for our first gig. (Don't ask how the devil that happened… no name, no promotional materials, but we got booked…?!?) The club manager called me and asked what name to put on the calendar. Out of desperation I used a name I had seen on an old movie poster at an antique store: Tugboat Annie. The band hated it, but it stuck.
We were a 5 piece: drums, bass, guitar, guitar & keyboards, and a vocalist. We didn't really use the term back then, but we were a progressive hard-rock band. It was in this band that I discovered unusual time signatures, non-standard song structures, tempo changes, and other characteristics typical in progressive music. We played tunes from Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Uriah Heep, Pink Floyd, Aorta, Johnny Winters, the Stones, Ten Years After, Blind Faith, and who knows who else.
Our singer left after a few gigs and we replaced him with Gary Schuder. Long before Cheap Trick existed, Rick Nielsen had a band called The Grim Reapers. Gary had been the singer, but left when he got drafted. When he returned from 'Nam he joined Tugboat Annie. He was an extremely talented vocalist, had good stage presence and charisma, but 'Nam had damaged him in irreparable ways. For a short while we burned brightly, moving from covers to originals, surviving a drummer change or two, but Gary could not beat his demons. He ended up in a military hospital, and we finished out our bookings with the rest of the band trying to sing. (Bad idea. We should've just canceled the gigs.) Ultimately 'Nam killed Gary Schuder, decades after he came home. Rest in peace Gary. To me you were a star.
Mad Dog
The months slipped away, & I tried my hand at being a "hired gun" for a couple of local bands that played old "standards" and AM radio pop nonsense. It was decent money, but I dreaded playing 95% of the material. This period must have been somewhat traumatic, since I truly do not remember the names of any of these bands that I worked with.
After one particularly frustrating round in a house-band it was time to be myself again. I put together a "new" Tugboat Annie, with bassist Larry Samuelson and drummer Jon Dever. Another power trio, with Larry and I trying to sing. (Bad idea.) We played a couple of gigs, then changed our name to Mad Dog. Around this time I was listening to a band named Captain Beyond a lot. Very progressive - guitar/bass/drums plus a vocalist - full of energy, fierce guitar work, wild use of time signatures, and they influenced my writing a lot, as did a band called Ursa Major. I started writing new material like crazy. We continued to gig, and I saved up a bunch of cash to pay for some studio time. We felt that the original material was strong enough perhaps generate interest from a label. Our 3 song demo garnered some interest from heavy metal fans, but the record companies politely declined. The gigs remained in crappy roadhouses, and the move to the better venues eluded us. We couldn't secure any decent representation, either, and the band essentially was falling apart. It was time to find a singer. (One of my best memories from this band, by the way, is from our early days of practicing in a dairy barn, & watching the cows watch us. Weird.)
BlackJack
So one day I'm talking to a guitarist that I only slightly know, who tells me he knows a really good singer. I ask for the singers name & number, 'cuz if I had a singer the guys from Mad Dog would come back together. This guitarist says he won't give up the name unless we agree to bring him into the band, too. I had seen him around town for a while, and we knew some of the same people, and over all I thought we could probably do some cool dual-guitar stuff together. So I say "Okay." Don (the guitarist) then introduces me to Jim Lawrence, a guy from near Boston, who can actually sing. The Mad Dog crew returns to the fold, and we decide the new line-up deserves a new name: BlackJack. We were playing really cool music from bands that were unknown to most people: Hydra, Ursa Major, Neil Merryweather's Space Rangers, The Move. At that time Thin Lizzy, Queen, and Nazareth were considered to underground bands as well - none of them had any radio play at all - and we covered some of their material, too. We tackled song that other local bands were afraid of, such as Heartbreaker by Led Zeppelin. And we sounded really, really good.
A fair amount of local buzz begins, and so does a long Behind The Music style relationship with Jim, and the rest of the band. You no doubt know the story: women, egos, artistic differences, commitment issues, money issues, more women, and on & on it went. No substance-abuse issues, though. Anyway, we fire Don after a particulary ugly incident, and forge ahead as a four piece, with Jim handling the second-guitar duties when they were needed. Eventually the band is killed by the afore-mentioned issues and a situation with a hot chick and 2 of the guys. We'll leave it at that. Before we split we re-record the Mad Dog demo songs with new vocals and shoot for the recording contract again. More polite refusals from the labels, but this time the doors are left open with a couple of them. When Blackjack does finally break up I decide I would rather work in a factory than try to start another band. At least for a little while.
Cheater
This band may be my best known group from the old days, and I ended up in this band pretty much by accident, and somewhat against my will. I had found a job in a factory, and had put my music gear in storage. All I was really interested in was riding my Harley, keeping the bills paid, & being with my girlfriend. At the factory we took a break at 9:30 every morning. At that time one of those "lunch wagons" (aka a "roach coach") would come by to sell us donuts, coffee, & the like. The driver was a guy named Steve, and we would always talk about music. After months of daily conversations he asks my name. When I said "Clark" he gave me a strange look, then asked if I was a guitarist. It turned out that Steve was in a band with a guy who was the next-door-neighbor to my bass player from Pride. It seems the neighbor had been a huge fan of my band. Apparently, I had quite a reputation in the old neighborhood. I found this, and still find it, amazing & somewhat amusing.
Within a few weeks Steve invited me to "jam" with them. I really didn't want to, but I also didn't want to be jerk, so I agreed. The band was called Cheater. Well, that's how it started... As I have time I will add the rest of the story. As they say, To be continued...