Mike Hall
The author salutes the band at the final performance.
About 10 years ago, when I was driving for Union Cab, I picked up a passenger near State Street. He had a self-confident demeanor that grabbed my attention. During the ride, “Danny” let on that he was going to sing with his band that night. Having played music for three decades, I had to ask: “What band do you play with?” Without hesitation, he said he was the vocalist for the Gomers. What Danny didn’t know was that I, too,was headed to the High Noon later — and that I’d been belting it out there for the last several Tuesdays. I was pretty sure he was not, in fact, a member of the Gomers.
But that sense of belonging is exactly what the band was after when they created Rockstar Gomeroke in 2004.
On July 29, the Gomers played a marathon “Goodbye for Now” Gomeroke that marked the beginning of an indefinite hiatus for the band. From 5 p.m. until bartime, the merry pranksters played five sets of live-band karaoke to a sold-out crowd. Highlights from the night: keyboardist Dave Adler’s spirited version of “Jewish Rapper,” a singing polar bear and shark duo, and a patron requiring CPR during Michael Massey’s rendition of “Rocket Man.” It was Massey’s wife, Robin, who saved the stricken patron’s life.
Stepping onstage at Rockstar Gomeroke for the first time was like your best friend throwing you the keys to his tricked-out Chevelle SS as he climbed into the passenger seat. If you were judicious on that throttle, you might emerge from the experience alive. If you were ill prepared, you might end up in a ditch. The Gomers were the guard rails, bouncing you back onto the road. With applause in your ears, that powerful V-8 was still glug-glug-glugging and ready for more. Your friend patted you on the back with a smile and invited the next lucky partygoer to step behind the wheel. You survived and stumbled back into the party with adrenaline-dilated eyes, ready for a shot of bourbon.
The singers were an eclectic assemblage of oddballs. You could usually pick out the first-timers; they tended to hold the lyrics sheets in front of their faces, the paper often shaking. The most experienced Gomeroketeers didn’t need lyrics, and strutted around the stage impersonating the rock stars they were channeling. A number of singers came in as shy amateurs and developed into fearless howlers. A choice few even gained nicknames. Adler dubbed me “Sir Tom” and welcomed me on stage with horn lines worthy of royalty. I had been knighted.
The Gomers’ lineup was fluid. Some nights the stage was teeming with Gomers, other nights singers fronted a power trio. Founding member bassist Gordon Ranney rarely missed a Gomers show, but tragically left us for that great gig in the sky on Feb. 28 after a two-year battle with lung cancer. His departure likely brought about the end of Gomeroke.
Bandmates are going in their own directions, to other musical endeavors and their families. On Friday, there were tears and hugs, and a tight-knit community of fans is left wondering how to fill the gaping hole in our lives. Thank you, Gomers, past and present, who allowed so many people to get their five minutes of fame.
