I got a text from my sister with a link to a farewell announcement from Brian Henneman, the driving force behind the local band the Bottle Rockets. I was sad to see them decide to hang it up, but the letter was so sweet, and I totally understood Brian’s reasons for stepping away from the J.O.B. aspects of life after an extremely successful career as a recording and touring musician.
That text from my sis was a complete circle of sorts.
See, she turned me on to the Bottle Rockets—well, actually Chicken Truck, a precursor to the Bottle Rockets—many years ago. She gave me (or perhaps I stole?) two Chicken Truck cassette tapes: one yellow, one red. The tapes are buried somewhere now, or maybe they were lost when our house flooded a few years ago. Either way, it was my sister who opened my ears to Brian Henneman’s music, and relayed the band was hanging it up. Full circle, like a familiar lap around the walking path in Carondelet Park.
This band has been extremely influential in my life. Yes, life. Music does that to me. Had I not learned through my sister and others at the time, that small, non-radio, non-MTV bands on small labels were as, or even more, exciting than the big bands I heard on KSHE, I may never have had the joys that my record collection brings me to this day.
When I first saw the Bottle Rockets live, I was all in…blown away. This was a raucous, loud sound that struck me to the bone when I heard them in my 20s. They were SO GOOD. The playing, writing and live show were among the best I remember from the early 1990s. They were my Neil Young and Crazy Horse. They could slow it down with acoustic songs, and amp it up to 11, both with the sincerity and delivery to sink in deep.
When the Bottle Rockets’ first record came out, I took it to college and played them and Uncle Tupelo records for anyone and everyone and said, “This is what St. Louis bands sound like.” (I’m well aware these bands are from Festus and Belleville, but they found their way to St. Louis by this time). A lot of Chicago people went to Southern Illinois University - Carbondale where I was in the mid 90s, and I had to fight back against their revered bands at the time and let them hear how St. Louis was sounding vs. the Smashing Pumpkins.
My wife loves them, too. The songs hold up extremely well and don’t sound dated like some from that era. I loved them in my alcohol-fueled, shit-kicking days; and I love them now in my calmer, seasoned age. The Bottle Rockets’ songs have aged well enough to keep me a fan for decades.
Better yet, their songs have given me the gift of sharing some incredible father-son moments. One of my kids got hooked by the music I constantly play in our house and our car. He still plays “Welfare Music,” “Wave That Flag,” and “Indianapolis”—the latter blasting with the windows rolled down.
I have seen this band many times, but one show stands out (probably because I was finally sober enough to properly form a lasting memory). I took my son to an all-ages show at Off Broadway, one of the best places to see a band up-close and personal.
The show the Bottle Rockets put on was incredible. They played the entire South Broadway Athletic Club record, which was new then. I was a little sad my teenager wouldn’t get to hear the earlier songs he’d listened to a million times, but not to fear. After the band drew us in with the new material, they stormed into a set of the classics, including originals like Indianapolis, and covers of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers and Neil Young (if my memory serves me). The show left us standing there amazed and in love with art at the exact same time for the exact same reason.
The night my son and I went to that show, he insisted we buy a copy of the LP at the merch table. It’s hanging on my home office wall.
The Bottle Rockets lyrics could be intensely local. The stories and characters in many of those songs felt like people, places, and feelings I knew. In some weird way, they make me feel unashamed for having the bumper of my Nissan Versa affixed with duct tape as a grown ass man.
To say the least, this band is dear to me and mine. I am so proud of them, for what they were able to accomplish and the quality of output and craftsmanship and playing through several iterations of the band.
The lyrics could mix everyday life with humor, adept observations, empathy and at times scathing criticisms of the wrongs in life.
But they always stayed true to being a local band even as they saw success and played all over the world. Heck, they have an album called Zoysia. How South City is that?
Rockville Records - 1993 - Recorded at Music Master, the Hill, St. Louis
I have a 45 version of “Indianapolis” that was recorded on the Hill near the bocce club.
Every album is worth buying and playing.
Every dang one.
Henneman ended his farewell announcement on the Bottle Rockets website by saying:
“With a year off, and nothing on the books, this was the perfect intersection of time and timing. There would never be a time when leaving would disrupt less. That’s why I did it now. Didn’t wanna make a big deal outta my big deal. Wanted it to be as painless as possible.
So this is where the cowboy rides away. Goodnight now ladies and gentlemen. It’s the end of the show, now it’s time to go.
Maybe I’ll see ya at Home Depot or somethin’…”
So sweet, so kind, and I’m so lucky to have experienced the beginning and the end; lucky to have been alive and aware of them…they are embedded in the soundtrack of my Belleville and St. Louis existence.
Thanks, Bottle Rockets for the memories and making St. Louis a fun place to live.
