Luke Warm with Brian Goodman and Connie

Turn Me Up-T-Rex

The first time I met Luke I was at Scorgies about to take the stage in a band named The Party Dogs. He was working as a dj or something but all I knew was that he was bugging us, asking a lot of questions and hangin around. I didn’t know at the time he would prove to be our only fan that night and a much needed confident. The Party Dogs were not for the weak of heart or for the weak of mind. We were not a local band playing dress up on the weekends, or like most bands able to run back to the suburbs at the end of the night to the comfort of their Blondie posters, and rice cakes. As we hit the stage the sparse crowd of local snobs moved away like scared rabbits. Even the owner the big bad Scorgie himself took refuge among his constituents. Only Luke stood alone in the middle of the room screaming at the top of his lungs as we ended ” I Politician,” with kwami Joseph slamming down on his talking drums and R.U. Sirius screaming; “fuck off,” to the posers in the back. That was my first introduction to the man that would later lift me off the back of my drum seat with a guitar style that both destroyed and created its own universe. He was the Zen madman Ginsberg wrote about and ” The Tyger” Blake burned onto the page. That was 1980, our paths would meet again off and on through the next decade.

I never knew Luke’s real name. I had heard people refer to him as obnoxious Andy, but to me he was always Luke. Luke loved old blues guitarists like John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters, and Howlin’ Wolf. He also loved Marc Bolan and could easily bridge the gap between these different artists. It was in the showmanship and the bravado they had in common. For a little over three years Luke stayed in his room and practiced guitar and in his own way conjured up a synthesis of styles based on what I call the primordial howl, or as I have written about before-The Big Fuck. Most of us fear the big fuck. We prefer the safer small fuck. Hendrix embraced this feeling, as did Cobain and a few others.

In 1990 or soon after, Luke and Chuck Irving had an idea for a band. They needed a drummer to fill out the roster of Chuck on bass, Luke on guitar, and Mark Marianetti (aka Thing) on vocals. My first response was your kidding, funny idea guys but no thanks. I was forty years old, fat, bloated and out of shape and had been through the local rock band thing too many times already, plus I was suffering from alcoholism and a huge drug problem. I wasn’t worried about Chuck I knew he could play and Thing was already a local legend but the last time I had seen Luke play he was terrible. But fate has a mind of her own and eventually Luke’s relentless persistence paid off.

I would acquiesce for the time being. I would show these guys what punk rock was all about and get a laugh-throw down some beers and a few lines and that would be it. We were in Pat Moschiano’s basement and at first it was terrible. I explained to them that I was a songwriter and an artist and maybe we should try and play a song. Luke was like a caged animal. He was sober at the time and had been sober for three years. Man he was pacing around chain smoking and fiddling with his guitar. He was also mumbling to himself and the whole time his guitar was making this hellish racket. I was listening to Chuck tell me how the song went and then I counted it off. From that opening beat I was in trouble. Luke’s guitar coiled around my neck and was choking me, while Chuck’s bass line was mocking me to play harder while throbbing this current of Hades through my skull. Thing was singing through an amp, but was so loud he sounded as if he was channeling God into the room. Later I would find out he was channeling God. My heart was going to blow I knew it. This was it I thought; these fucks are going to kill me. I kept pounding and Luke’s guitar kept climbing higher and higher and when he began playing the lead to The Hunger everything faded out. I was then suspended above my set, above the laws of earth. I was free! When the song ended I slumped over and grabbed my chest. Luke was so concerned and kind to this beat up old fuck and I was grateful. He looked at me with those huge eyes covered in sweat and mascara and said, ” Pat are you OK, do you need anything, man you look terrible.” And that was the genesis of SLT.

Fourteen years after the band broke up there is a new cd in the works. The cd is being produced at Saxon Recordings and is nearing completion. The songs have been selected from various recording sessions. This will be the first time people will be able to listen and experience the explosive nature of this definitive punk band at the height of their powers. There is also a new CD of songs in the works that will follow. Yes folks SLT lives! Luke can be one persistent spirit. Take a listen and judge for yourself the strange plane his guitar playing was framed from.

I never knew Andy Ogrodowski. Andy died on St Patrick’s Day 1995. Most people didn’t know him. They only thought they had seen him, or had a conversation with him, but I know that isn’t true. I know that isn’t true because most people are small fucks and it isn’t anyone’s fault. There is no one to blame, there never is. Big Fucks, Tygers, Lost Boys, White Niggers, Shadows-the name doesn’t matter, they all seek the high wire. Their love is not easy, so let it go…you never knew Luke. The only thing I do know is when he played we laughed like we were getting away with murder, cause we were. He would look at me lift up his guitar and say, “Ready!”