Requiem for the Late (almost) Great Taoist Cowboys
Metropulse Dec. 4-Dec. 17, 1992

It doesn't seem like too many years ago that the Taoist Cowboys were defining the concept of Show.

Who can forget the famous bottle-in-the-head-of-Scott incident, or the Flaming Hand of Death demonstration? The spandex, the cucumbers, the falling ceiling at Gryphon's…If you witnessed any of these events, you'll know what I mean when I say that - great songs aside - a Cowboys show was something to see.

Sadly, those grand spectacles are no more. The seemingly ever- youthful Taoist Cowboys - one of Knoxville's original practitioners of sloppy garage pop with heart - disbanded months ago, a lone sequoia finally felled by the ravages of time.

But thanks to the magic of magnetic tape, the Cowboys have recently bequeathed us with their final gift: Punt, thirteen songs worth the mixture of raw sensitivity and four-letter truths for which the 'Boys were so righteously acclaimed.

When asked, some of the members described the tape as being "clear, with white letters," but that doesn't quite capture the feeling of this bravura performance. Punt not only includes the usual "rock," but generous portions of e-z listening strings, head-in-a-jug penny-whistling, and one operatic diva. It is a fine document of what was truly a great Knoxville band. So what are these creative visionaries up to now? I found them at their Fort Sanders enclave. Armed with a six-pack and a fresh ToneMaster 90 cassette tape, I proceeded to attempt the impossible: to interview them.

First I am greeted by guitarist and singer Bob McCluskey, who welcomes me with the winning words, "Well, it's about damn time." Soon after, guitarist and Assistant Public Defender Scott Carpenter appears wearing a summery straw hat (I mention this because "wearing many hats" is a constant theme of Cowboy criticism, and because they do wear many hats - literally. At one point, Bob wears a toboggan and a fedora simultaneously).

We are discussing the title of the new tape, and the reasons behind its choice (Bob: "I like titles that are short."), when funky drummer Jeff Bills telephones. When told of the interview, he immediately refuses to come over. Scott puts the phone up to the mike, but Jeff just clams up. I lure him into a conversation about Madonna's book, but only my part is recorded. I hang up in journalistic failure.

Ten minutes of ToneMaster, one quote.

Undaunted, I try to loosen the boys up by asking them about their favorite shows. Now things get rolling. The Cowboys were the first and only band to play at the reopened Longbranch Saloon, at a Fourth of July Frisbee party that threatened to collapse the upper floor.

"There's an interesting irony in that," remarks Scot. "I've never seen so many bare midriffs at a show."

"Hey, there's another irony," Bob interjects. "That's the only show where two girls tried to pick me up."

Wait - that's supposed to be ironic? But the Longbranch show is worth noting because it revealed the true strength of the Taoist Cowboys: they had no shame. They allowed themselves to be influenced by George Benson. They did not fear character assassination by malicious gossip - mongers ("What was the familiar-looking rock 'n' roller doing with lit birthday candles in his nostrils?"). And they sang about (this chokes me up) love, and, you know, stuff like that, which we won't dwell on.

At that Longbranch show, some Frisbee-throwing women told Jeff - Old Man Jeff, with his stomach complaints and cardigans - to take the pretty lady off of his bass drum "or we'll take it off for you." He refused. They danced anyway. Simultaneously sensitive and crude, the Cowboys understood that the world is big enough for the concepts "passionate kisses" and "lipstick on my dipstick" to coexist. This kind of schizophrenic refusal to be pinned down gave some stodgy types a hot rash, but for those not hamstrung by an abstract sense of propriety, it made for an interesting show.

But why the break-up?

No drug addictions, no creative differences here; only the mundane responsibilities of life. Bassist Brad Deaton, now married and father of two, got a job on the night shift and had to bow out after four years of performing "Debutantes in Economy Cars" and other bizarre stunts. The other Cowboys decided not to replace him.

Bob becomes thoughtful. Scott goes to the refrigerator for more supplies. "My opinion was to call it quits," says Bob. "One reason was, I don't feel Brad was replaceable."

"Did you see that?!" Scott exclaims. Beer has sprayed all over his lap. "I've never seen such a visual spectacle. My beer just (spilled)!"

"Looks like you just (spilled)," Bob observes.

As far as the future of the band is concerned, a tape release show may be in the works, but Cowboys are for the most part making separate musical plans. Scott says he's hiring out as a sideman. Bob may be moving. Jeff's going to his secret ranch in Venezuela. And according to the Knoxville Music Directory, Brad's playing with Joy Buzzered.

I try to express the tragic loss I feel at the impending end of the Taoist Cowboy era; Scott asks if I saw the last Simpsons episode. All right, change the subject. I read from the super-sharp lyric sheet: "My head is singing in the soft summer wind." What does that mean? "It means you're an airhead," Bob replies.

"Well, that's the thing about the Taoist Cowboys," Scott remarks. "Brad could wear a codpiece, and Bob could sing a lyric like that."

"Another reason why Brad is irreplaceable," notes Bob. One more reason the Taoist Cowboys are (or were cool) is that they refused to play the publicity game. No proper photo shoots, no "management," no rumors of label deals. Just tons of goofy-ass flyers, the Bono Lisa being only one example. They went from playing the big caverns to the little taverns on purpose.

"There's always this whiny attitude that 'The club scene is hurtin', no one comes out to these shows,' Bob comments. "But that's because they don't know where to look. There is a scene that's alive, and it's doing well. Just because we don't have any labels in town doesn't mean it's not legitimate."

"You just need 30 people and a band," says Scott. "A band playing and people listening. That's success."

You will need to budget $8 for your copy of Punt, available at Raven Records, Cat's, Disc Exchange, and Record Bar.

"It might have been cheaper," Scott yells at the mysteriously Squealing tape recorder, "if we had used ToneMasters."

David Rhoden