The sign at Casanova Historic Liquors says, “Let’s never speak of 2014 again.”
Well, maybe this one time, because that makes it ten years since the first occurrence of one of the most significant concert series in Hudson history.
The other day I was rummaging through my collection of T-shirts — you get a lot of them when you are the newspaper photographer at a lot of charity events — when I came across this old gem: River Rock 2004, to benefit Kevin Smith. He is the longtime owner of the Sports Club steakhouse and bar, which has since become the Smilin’ Moose lodge, and had suffered a stroke and could no longer work. The series of summer rock shows became an annual event for a few years running, and would later aid the fight against Cystic Fibrosis, specifically the family of Tracy Frye and her daughter Nicole.
The concerts were sponsored by the late Jeff Johnson, a local musician who had hits that played on MTV and that made the top 20 adult contemporary charts, and later became a stage manager for some of his contemporaries. Through these touring affiliations, he was able to bring acts such as The Knack, The Smithereens, The Romantics, and most notably his friend Tommy Tutone, to play at the Lakefront Park bandshell. He was also in the process of having The Fixx appear, but that was cut short by some legal problems.
But along the way, there were plenty of interesting happenings.
— Johnson’s friend, Tutone, whose “Jenny” song went viral before going viral was all in vogue, had ailing parents in the Twin Cities and wanted to move to Hudson to be closer to them. Johnson aided his search, while at the same time founding the Twisted Grille, which later became the Agave Kitchen. I remember several things from those days, including one night around 2 a.m. when Johnson was closing down the place as I interviewed him for an entertainment story, and Tutone called and my interview was cut short. The two buds spent ten minutes in the wee hours talking about a property that appeared promising. In those days, there was a night or two a week when Twisted offered a musician’s open stage, and I vaguely recall doing a duet with Tutone. He became known to show up late at places like the former Dibbo’s, guitar slung to his back, and have the rock act of young guns on for the night gladly cede the stage to “Mr. Tutone.” I wrote all about these things back in the day, and even got a friend of mine named Jenny to pose for a photo with a shirt patterned after that song — which she owned from before the time Tutone became a Hudson fixture — and it became an occasional topic of conversation between us for a couple of years.
— A performance by the Smithereens was cut short by heavy rain, but word got to Dibbo’s manager Chuck McGee, and he agreed to have they and their crew carry their equipment quickly through the downpour for two blocks and do an entire performance on the Dibbo’s stage. With apologies to the heavy metal band Slayer, was that wet summer trek Seasons in the Abyss? The band that night, although not Slayer, again ceded the stage, this time for a couple of hours. An aside is that some of the regional papers for which I write did not consider this worthy of a news article, citing budget constraints, so you heard it hear first.
— It became clear that The Knack, and other of the acts too, had much more musicianship than just the hit song My Sharona. A highlight was whipping through a tune by the Doors without missing a beat. Just wish the lead singer of The Knack would have ventured out of his trailer prior to hitting the bandshell, for a scheduled meet and greet.
— A lowlight was a Hudson City Council member, who lives a few blocks away, throwing his weight around during one of the concerts and calling the police with orders to shut the show down because of alleged noise. (Having parked near Second Street, I can attest that the volume wasn’t any greater than at many other such concerts). That and the fact that the clock had not reached the time on the permit that was given.
— All this became possible when Johnson followed up his success with a couple of songs on MTV during the 1980s, and scored a national hit with his new outfit Super Cell. The CD release party was at the Fine Line Cafe in Minneapolis, and I took photos, one of which ended up in the in-flight magazine of Northwest Airlines. I also remember an interview with Johnson, who considered himself a barroom brawler type, in downtown Hudson, during which I had my arm “twisted” and questions were asked over a drink at every bar along the way to his studio just east of what’s now the local library and police station.
— But a lot of good came from those concerts, especially for charity. Nicole’s situation took a more pronounced course a few years after River Rock, when the local woman, who has the Cystic Fibrosis disorder that often becomes worse with age, became pregnant. That’s a circumstance that can be very difficult for people with CF, although that aspect of what hampers its victims hasn’t gotten a lot of press. Because of things such as potential difficulty with the birth process and lack-of-mobility issues when the child arrives, houses must be specially equipped, which can be expensive, and rules for what little aid does exist regulate questions such as remodeling vs. adding on, the family says. Nicole has lived for a quite a while with her mother, Tracey, who does day care that makes housing issues such as space for people even more difficult. And the fact that CF often requires medical treatment that is costly, even with things such as repairing teeth, means that obtaining another residence really isn’t an option. Officials at a foundation that deals with CF have not returned calls to contribute to stories on the plight of mothers who have the disorder, apparently not wanting to make them appear unlike other people who have children. If you wish to help, call the Fryes at (715) 381-5965.

It was five years ago that a fashion designer from New Richmond and tattoo artist from Hudson collaborated for a modeling show that at the time was unlike anything ever seen in a two-state region.
Both Laura Fulk, then 26, and Jay Langer, then 35, had won multiple awards, been widely published in trade magazines and featured at conventions. Even Michelle Obama, through a design competition, had expressed interest in one of Falk’s dresses. Others were purchased by the Minnesota Historical Center.
The event was unusual for even the Twin Cities, since it was a solo show with a full runway format and Fulk’s dresses were the only ones being displayed. As part of MNFashion Week, theirs was a rare collaboration of two artists who merged diverse forms of fashion, Fulk said. Langer’s tattoo art was scanned onto a computer and digitally transferred onto dress fabric, rather than the usual use of screen printing, she said.
Such collaborations and use of technology were hardly seen outside of the east coast in 2009, although incorporation of tattoo art was catching on, Fulk said.
This was Fulk’s second runway show in the Cities, and Langer’s tree-themed art will be used as a backdrop for her avant garde dress designs, many of which have a brightly colored sci-fi look. “I’ll be printing those branches on the models faces,” Langer said.
In earlier days, Fulk had made clothing for tattoo artists in exchange for receiving body art. The two discussed doing their own fashion line after meeting in 2007. “We started rattling off raw ideas,” Langer said. Then Fulk designed his jacket for a formal ball in Hudson. “Then at Halloween she did my Jimi Hendrix costume,” Langer said.
The event was at the Lab Theater, 700 First St. in Minneapolis. Langer’s studio has been in downtown Hudson, just south of Ellie’s on Main.

Of rockers and wannabe rockers:
— Bon Jovi rocked the Twin Cities as spring approached, and it made me recall the tale a young women told me at Dick’s Bar and Grill. Her brother was in a band that had won a contest and got to open for the veteran rockers. The woman continued to say that she would catch a red-eye flight whenever she could to go see them, even when they were many states away, and then be back by morning. I hope for all her trouble, the guy at least got her backstage passes, but you know how brothers can treat their older sisters!
— Hinder also was in the Cities a few months back, and would you know that on an earlier tour Hudson almost got them to come hither. A few years back, a night owl store clerk I talk to said that he knew members of the band, and that they were looking for a nightclub to play and fill a gap in their schedule while traveling between Minneapolis and Milwaukee. I asked Dibbo’s manager Chuck McGee about that, and he said that scenario had played out with a name band before in his tenure, sometimes if only to have a place to rehearse. However, the money they’d have to pay to have a group like Hinder actually take the stage for patrons would probably be prohibitively expensive.
— When the winter weather was still upon us, and somewhat warmer dress the rule, a man dressed like an Amish farmer, complete with suspenders and floppy hat, was dancing the night away at Dick’s and mugging in the window at dancers with a camera at Ellie’s on Main. Seems a peculiar set of vocations.
— Around that same time, Saturday Night Live was starting its run in the news for its anniversary of being on the air. And of course there was plenty of Tina Fey as Sarah Palin to be seen. Reminds me of the day right after her surprise nomination for vice president, when she was not anything of a household name, that a bartender at Pudge’s said he had met her while she was stumping in her native Alaska. The guy said he could tell that she wasn’t listening to anything he was saying, just vacuously nodding her head.
— What would this column be without a One Man Band reference. After one of his Name That Tune questions, Jeff Loven started strumming the intro chords to Black Dog by Led Zeppelin, and I started singing along, wanting to complete the song. Jeff said that he wouldn’t allow it without the song being wailed in its correct high key, ala Robert Plant. I assured him I could do just that, but it didn’t go very far.
But one other time on the same stage, prior to Loven’s long run on Sunday nights at Dick’s, it did. This was in the days of Open Mike Night, and during a break bassist Jason was laying down the opening track for Fairies Wear Boots by Black Sabbath. I ran onstage, grabbed the mike and started singing. Than one by one, ad lib, the guitarists and drummer joined me and we completed the entire song.
Not to bore you, but one other Sabbath reference follows. I was singing some Dio at Ellie’s karaoke night, and a group of four pool players stopped their game, got in front of the table and started a very high-kicking chorus line. Their feet got almost as elevated as the top of 5-foot-4 Dio’s head.
— During the previous year’s dart league, a man played a trick at Guv’s Place in Houlton by saying that he could hit score well with his back turned. Someone took him up on the bet. The catch? The thrower said he didn’t specify where the shooting line would be, then backed his way to within inches of the board before tossing and was able to win the loot.

Hundreds celebrate the day the music died.
When the soon-to-be closed Dibbo’s nightclub held their final band night on Saturday, March 23, more than three times as many people as expected showed up to say farewell.
Manager Chuck McGee said earlier that week that he anticipated a crowd of about 200 partiers, maybe 300, to his venue that as radio advertisements have said for years was “rock solid in downtown Hudson.”
The number he got was at least 1,000.
The spacious back concert hall was shoulder to shoulder prior to the guest band for the evening, the original members of southern rock group Austin Healy, getting ready to take the stage. Patrons were lined up five deep all the way around the circular bar area, waving money to grab the attention of bartenders — whose numbers were bolstered when guests for the evening who used to serve at Dibbo’s were pulled in to help. The talk throughout the night by both attendees and people elsewhere in Hudson’s downtown, as word got around, was surprise at the sheer number of people who showed up. The cops took notice, too, and did at last one walk through, as the maximum number of people allowed in the bar at one time was being pushed.
In large part because of the frenetic activity, Austin Healy didn’t get onto the stage right away, and its members were seen trekking back and forth and socializing in the long hall between the equally packed front bar area and the concert section. A solo performer on acoustic guitar kept the crowd engaged.
There were rumors that other longtime bands that had often graced Dibbo’s stage would make cameo appearances, but they didn’t materialize. In particular was a much anticipated showing by the Wetspots, and a few years back the word on the street and in the concert hall was that if there were to be a reunion of the band, it would be at Dibbo’s.
After Austin Healy did go on, and after its first set, the number of patrons thinned somewhat — and in what was a boon that kept other downtown bars quite busy all night, the revelers roamed around to other establishments. However, new people kept coming in the door to pay their respects to Dibbo’s and Austin Healy, who after scores of engagements was playing Dibbo’s for the final time. The concert hall is being sold to be remade into a cafe in front, a banquet hall in back where bands have played for so many years, and office space upstairs where there currently are apartments.
Austin Healy started with spot-on instrumental, especially in the rhythm section, and only got stronger as the night went on. After they closed with Free Bird, which McGee had said was the perfectly fitting finale, the band members thanked McGee and Dibbo’s for giving them a chance back when they were still another fairly unknown country band. A longtime employee then came on stage to toast McGee and other longtime employees, some of whom came back into employment at Dibbo’s time and again.
A lot of people brought in their own beer, and even asked to be photographed with it, and this in the long run worked out just fine, as with the huge crowd the rations at Dibbo’s started running really low.
After a massive cleanup to this massive party in back, the current front bartenders have found things much slower as the days wind down to that final entrance-room step in the Dibbo’s closure process. First the beer taps had been shut down and removed, then most of the liquor bottles and glassware stowed away elsewhere, as in just a few days after the big party all of Dibbo’s would be just a memory.
Lana was back working behind the bar on those last days, with official closure taking place at the end of the month, and reprised her role of mixing art with advertising by using lots of multi-colored chalk on the sidewalk in front. Some of the messages, which have included quotes from the likes of Bob Marley, have covered 100 square feet.
Downtown Hudson had not seen the likes of this since over a decade ago, when a street artist placed well-drawn cartoon characters on the dike road in the dead of night. The big chalk figures drew the ire of some city officials, so considered them unwanted graffiti, but I thought they were pretty cool and profiled them in the local paper.

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign, if you read down far enough:
— With a new pope selected, one recalls the movie Eurotrip, where a bunch of U.S. blundering travelers fall in with a
bunch of soccer hooligans, one of whom saves the leading man of sorts when he’s accidentally named a new pope by setting
Vatican curtains on fire and producing white smoke. The lead hooligan in the movie looks just like a guy who sings
karaoke downtown — heavy metal rather than the soccer club’s theme song, “My Baby Takes the Morning Train.” So, as
Agave’s sign has said recently, “Long Live the Pope,” fictional or real.
— On the sign at Kozy Korner in North Hudson: “Nineteen Letter Day is exactly 19 letters.” That would make it, indeed,
a Red Letter Day. And inside Kozy, a sign way in the back Korner that is even more my favorite — it says “obstructed
view.” That couldn’t refer to Target Field now, could it?
— A St. Patrick’s Day style made “somewhat” famous by Andy the tatoo artist while in the checkout line: A North Stars
baseball hat and a T-shirt dripping on all sides with imagery of the ultimate Irish punk band, Dropkick Murphy’s.
— Across the road at the Village Inn a while back, when the trio Saving Starz was playing one of their many gigs there,
someone who had imbibed was seeing differently than merely seeing double when he insisted there was only one musician
playing. At least if he’d said two musicians, it could have been explained by, again, seeing double. Do you think we
really could handle two of Geno? Or maybe he just puts out that much sound.

Connections with fame, and sometimes it doesn’t hurt to be a bit Fat:
— With the Grammies just being held, it brings to mind the connection two local people have had to the awards show. A Stillwater woman who comes out in Hudson has been one of those notoriously secret judges who decides who wins and loses. She said that she isn’t bashful about using her Grammy credentials to get into shows and other such things for free. And what does she cast her vote concerning? It’s just all things polka.
The other connection is a Roberts man with a day job who also works parttime as a music producer. He has been nominated for the Grammies, but hasn’t won. Still, that gives him enough credentials to talk about the state of the industry, and to paraphrase the Beatles, one of the things he can tell you is you got to be free. In this sense: He’s really frustrated that people in his end of the business work hard to produce great sound quality, and all their effort goes down the tubes when listeners opt for technology such as iPods.
— The Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition is out again, and it’s without supermodel Heidi Rayder of River Falls, who was prominently pictured for two years in a row earlier in the millennium. Rayder said in her bio that she used to love taking in baseball games at Emma’s Bar to spar with the locals while rooting for the Red Sox and — can you believe this — just be one of the guys. A River Falls friend of mind who is a percussionist in a band had long ago drummed up a strong friendship with her, and recalls being introduced while in the downtown to James King, a female actress who about that time appeared in Maxim and was dating Kid Rock.
— Where has Fat Tuesday gone? Since a bar or two in the Mall of America got penalized a few years back when people got too many beads and flashed (you think that doesn’t go on in other places as well?), the holiday just hasn’t been the same as far as turnout (could there be a connection?) On this Fat Tuesday, it was more of the same, sort of, as my very unscientific survey showed that many places had a fair amount of business early, but it died off fast. In some cases, that meant as soon as 11 p.m., before technically, an hour prior to Ash Wednesday arriving.
— Now my favorite Fat Tuesday story. At the Village Inn in North Hudson, a guy won $875 but really lamented that it was done right at bar time, so he couldn’t fully celebrate, if you know what I mean. He did buy a quick drink, in token form, for the handful of people who were still there closing down Fat Tuesday, and tipped the bartender handily. With it being past last call, he schemed about what he could do with the rest of the cash. Let’s just say his truck is getting a big upgrade.

Of things in the past that remind us, joyfully, of things in the present …

— Michele, a bartender at Dick’s, took a brief vacation to travel to California with her boyfriend to see his favorite band, Social Distortion, and also have some other fun. They decided to go on a Badly Dressed Santa theme of a pub crawl, and soon noticed that something was amiss. It turned out that they had the wrong weekend! Still, they made the best of this potential social blunder and had a good “ho, ho, ho” time. All this harkens back to the Zombie pub crawl done in the Twin Cities around Halloween time, and the over-the-top, totally made-up pasty faces of longtime karaoke-meister Opal and her friends as they often participated. But to get back to the point, Social Distortion bandmembers grew up in the same neighborhood as Dick’s regular Duke, who hails from the Jersey shores and sometimes plays them on the jukebox.
— When Brett Favre first won the Super Bowl, it was time for numerous Ice Bowl parties — held outdoors — around the area. Of particular note was one on that historic Sunday where the backyard snow was plowed into the shape of a Lambeau Field, a full one-third as big as the original, with green and gold food coloring used to show yard lines. But perhaps more out-there, literally, was the hot tub a short distance away where a crew of fans spent virtually the entire game. There was too much steam rising from the water for a news photographer to get a good shot.
— I saw a couple I’d known for the first time in years at the Green Mill, and it brought back a memory. They and their cronies had gone on a themed pub crawl in the downtown, rather than on the hill, and they were well on their way to a win when they saw me and fulfilled a requirement — find Joe Winter and say hello.

What has happened in the past in these seasons:
— Back a couple of years, when Brett Favre jumped ship and became a Viking, I drew the reporting assignment of finding something new to say about the off-again, on-again retiree. So what to do? Go to Pudge’s. While there, I was amazed to run into the NFL beat writer for the Los Angeles Times, who was on a similar quest and wanted to see what Cheeseheads thought about the whole thing. Where do I go for my Border Battle story, he asked. So I showed him around the local sports bars and became part of the story. Recently, as I told the bartender at Hefty’s Roadhouse in Bayport my tale, I specified that the writer only stumbled into Pudge’s by accident, because its the first place across the St. Croix River, and was originally going to base his search in Prescott, of all places. The bartender huffed and rolled his eyes about that idea. The writer ended up spending two days in Hudson and filing a story that was the lead on the sports page the day after he got back.
— The annual New Years’s Eve performance at the Phipps Center for the Arts, “Sirens of the 60s,” featured renowned singer Colleen Raye and two family members, and they delved into songs by such female vocalists as Carole King, Dionne Warwick, Cass Elliot, Marilyn McCoo, Lesley Gore, Barbara Streisand, Tammy Wynette, Dusty Springfield and Brenda Lee. The guitarist who backed the trio was Billy McLaughlin, who is well known for public televison gigs, although he has not cut his long hair. Awhile back in the Twin Cities, a talkative friend of mine actually ended up seated next to McLaughlin and engaged him in conversation, at a comedy show featuring Scott Novotny, as the two artists know each other.

It was time to party, either with your new spouse or an old special friend:
— Like many others at the time, a couple named Joe and Jeralyn celebrated New year’s Eve at the turn of the Millenium by getting married, in the back of the cafe area of Dibbo’s, no less. They then had their romantic dances on the adjacent dance floor that was overflowing with other couples, while the rock band that was on for the evening toned it down for a few ballads. Soon after, confetti and other paper flew, and by the end of the night/morning there was so much party-prompted stuff around the cocktail tables that you could barely find the dance floor.
— In a touching tribute, an elderly women came out by herself that night to the chaos that was Dibbo’s to see a decades-younger friend in the band, which was from the Minneapolis area. For years, she had traveled a long distance to Hudson whenever that band played here so they could hook up between sets, and would never miss such a gig for any reason, although never taking in bands other than the one with her companion. She stuck to herself at a table next to the sound booth, listening quietly, and even broke from her normal schedule and stayed out until the sun came up.
— That turn of the Millenium was the first time I’d ever stayed out all night for New Year’s, since my newspaper editors decided that if the world did indeed end, they wanted it documented, although I don’t know who would be around to read about it. So I drew the reporting assignment of staying out until morning, basically on the clock, to see what I could see. Not a bad gig to have, even though I didn’t get to have my first beer until 4 a.m. So what did I find? The most interesting it got, from a doomsday perspective, was that lots of people out in the townships were shooting off lots of quasi-illegal, high-powered fireworks.
— That night also marked the first time I had photographed my friend and occasional Calvin Klein model Debbie, posing in her little black dress with my practicing psychic buddy Joe, on the back landing of Dibbo’s, (I hope their spouses didn’t mind). I needed one last shot to fill out my photo feature, and I got it with the help of then-21-year-old Evea, and that sprouted a friendship that has lasted until now, when in her thirties, like Debbie was, she also is pursuing
some modeling jobs.

It’s the season to resurrect all kinds of interesting crap:
— Santa sightings during the previous holiday season included one as Ellie’s on Main was closing who was a woman, true to the large size of the Santa suit, but still decidedly female, and a Plaid Santa that could rival Billy Bob Thorton’s Bad Santa movie character (and there is a look-alike of the actor around the Hudson downtown).
— One other holiday sighting that went way too far: The Village Inn in North Hudson for a long time had a two-foot-high ceramic version of Brett Favre standing next to its door, but (an apparently disgruntled Viking fan) lopped off the head and took it along home, leaving a headless Favre for a while around the time of last year’s Halloween. I guess that’s not as bad, though, as the guy who busted up a local bar’s washroom and mirrors a few seasons back when watching his Vikings lose a lead.
— This year’s Burger Battle will soon be in the books for naming the establishment with the best hamburger on the menu, and the Agave Kitchen points out on its omnipresent sign that it is the title contender. I wonder if that made bartender Andrea dance again heartily with the WWF belt loaded down with a huge metal buckle. It hangs on the wall upstairs in the Bullpen Cantina, and she’d have to get up on a chair and get it down.
— The Bullpen Cantina is where a guy had a little too much encouragement and decided to have some further fun. He spontaneously did a headstand in the relatively narrow aisle between tables, and was even able to hold it successfully for a few seconds before asked to take a more reasonable stance.
— Last year after a road trip to Lambeau, a woman said her buddies were leaving the stands to go elsewhere, but that she was REALLY thirsty and needed something before they departed. Buying a $5 water wasn’t the ticket, but a bystander heard of her plight, waved her down and said she could buy his “coke” for the same rate. This made three other bystanders suspicious and wonder if they should call the cops. I wonder if Dr. Pepper has this problem? (Or Dr. Feelgood). Ask Jess and Missy of Guv’s Place, who were near the front of a Motley Crue concert, just prior to football season, and were sprayed by water by none other than Nikki Sixx, who they said was outstanding. But then there was the singer for the other oldster rock band of the night, KISS, who they said just drooled.
— Last year right before Rich of Raley’s Pizza fame shut down his indoor-outdoor stand at Dick’s Bar for the winter season, two guys from Norway blew off his food, then apologized profusely and later hugged him. Then they planned to go off to Ellie’s to look for some women they’d seen, and were told “In America, it’s not all right to follow girls.” More apologies and hugs followed. Then before they left completely, they noted, “You know listening to OUR national anthem never gets old.”