Bocephus Junior

In the 1970s and 80s, there was, of course, no such thing as ‘Americana.’ There was, however, ‘Southern Fried Rock’. Pretty much any small town south or west of Massachusetts was host to six or more pedestrian bar bands specializing in humorless, unswinging Lynyrd Skynyrd/Marshall Tucker Band/Allman Brothers covers, which, if an audience was drunk enough, didn’t sound enough not like the originals to pass. Bocephus Junior was one such group.

Formed in part for the purpose of hanging out and pounding brewskis in guitarist Jody Stout’s basement while nominally rehearsing, these high-school seniors at least partially made up for a lack of imagination and chops with a winning lack of pretence and sense of fun; their parents and girlfriends were supportive and all was good.

Typical of most other high-school bands, expressions of hitting the big time, the designing of band logos, and the naming future albums featured as prominently during their rehearsals as did the actual playing of music. Per the fashion at the time, all four members wore longish hair parted down the middle, which they covered with baseball caps adorned with sports teams or the trademarks of local businesses, worn unironically. Don and Jody could even lay claim to moustaches, however wispy. Eric sometimes sported a blue F.F.A (Future Farmers of America) jacket with its distinctive gold stitched emblem on the back. (His friends would make fun of this look, calling Eric a ‘Future Fuckhead of America’.) Boot cut or flared Levis, black t-shirts obtained like trophies of war at deafening concerts in Columbus and Cleveland emblazoned with the iconography of various hard rock bands, and tennis shoes of different shades completed the outfit.

They’d been playing for several months and even notched a few afternoon gigs under their belts at indulgent downtown Monticello, Ohio bars when an opportunity arose to play at the band’s high-school talent show. It was a high-profile show locally: the high school administration and staff, the school board, and other Monticello grandees would be present, not to mention all of their high-school buddies. So the band was especially conscious that putting on a good show would be important. Agreeing that Lynyrd Skynyd’s anthem ‘Free Bird’ was exactly the showpiece with which they could regale a 900-strong Ludlowe Theater audience, Bocephus Junior woodshedded harder than they’d ever done. They were proud of the results, which were, to be fair, at least credible.

The band would be one of the last acts to perform, so it was going to be a long night. Backstage jitters were calmed with a large bottle of MD 20/20 White Label (gulped surreptitiously in the alleyway behind the Ludlowe) and general joshing around. Among a variety show-style bill, Bocephus Junior was the only band to play that night and an air of aloof cool, along with the Mad Dog, coursed through their bodies.

Then came the unexpected, potentially catastrophic news that the three-hour show was running late.

An entertainment licence lasting till only 10pm broached the very real possibility that the band’s very spot on the bill was in jeopardy. This was a fate they’d never even considered. Shortly, performers were being asked to truncate their acts. Bocephus Junior was told they’d have to edit out the entire extended jam section of ‘Free Bird’.

“That’s total bullcrap, man,” Mannfred said angrily to Mrs. Potts, the MHS science teacher and stage manager for the evening.

“Any more talk like that,” replied Potts firmly, “and you’ll be out of the show altogether.”

The band was not happy. Two months of honing their performance to perfection down the toilet because of some half-assed magician, a Benny Hill impersonator, and whoever the hell else it was in the first act that couldn’t watch a clock.

Drastic measures were called for. A quick huddle led to a significant change of plans and fifteen minutes later, with the courage that comes with shooting a bottle of fruity 18% ABV fortified wine, Bocephus Junior hit the stage like they were expecting to be hit back.

“ARE YOU READY FOR A BJ?” yelled Stout into his mic, then pausing for dramatic effect. “BOCEPHUS JUNIOR, GEDDIT?”

The crowd gasped. Educators shifted nervously in their seats, while the teenagers, mouths agape, laughed and whooped.

“We gonna do an old song for y’all!” Stout carried on, only slightly less shouty. “It goes a lil’ somethin’ like this!”

And with that, he and Weissman launched into a scatological version of Dan Emmett’s ‘Ol’ Dan Tucker’ that they’d composed together in grade school when Weissman played the author of ‘Dixie’ in a school play called ‘Dan Emmett As a Boy’. 

As the song concluded, Mannfred and Mount kicked over the drum kit for good measure.

Pandemonium ensued.

The younger half of the crowd was literally going wild, racing up and down the aisles shrieking, while teachers and parents chased after them in vain. Mount boomed, “ROCK AND ROLL!” into the microphone as the band strode off the stage, heedless to the mayhem they’d caused.

Obviously, a price would have to be paid for their recklessness and sure enough, all four members of Bocephus Junior were suspended from school for three weeks and told they were lucky not to be expelled. In addition, rock groups were forever banned from the school’s talent show. It was just the kind of outlaw comeuppance upon which legends are based.

Despite the publicity, Bocephus Junior really weren’t good or interesting enough at that stage to parlay the notoriety into any kind of meaningful career momentum and broke up without fanfare shortly after graduation. Later, Mannfred, Stout, and Weissman formed a regionally popular hardcore punk band called StröhBraü while attending the Ohio State University, releasing a 4-song ep on Whatever Records called Last Train to Shitsville (1986).