Grundy Va....a depressed small town on the West Virginia line....think Mayberry in a parallel universe where everything is black, covered in coal dust, uneducated, and hopeless and you pretty much have it.
When me and my band rolled into Grundy, we were actually booked in a club 10 miles up the mountain in West Va. in the middle of nowhere literally, where the county sheriff lived behind the club, kept illegal aliens to work it, and wrote speeding tickets for spending money no ****.
To make matters even more comical, an agent named Ken canupp, who we called FuckUp Canupp booked us there coming directly from the Wagon Wheel in Grand Forks North Dakota, a little routing gig we always took on our way home from Winnipeg. We had two days to get there.
I don't know what ever became of Ken Canupp, but I made sure I screwed around with his wife and snorted enough of his cocaine to have my revenge.
Remember this was in the late seventies.
