Whatever happened to The Stinson Brotherz? More accurately, what hasn’t happened?
To clarify, we’re not talking about the alt-rock pair from The Replacements or the original pop/country/rocker Stinson Brothers from Rochester, Minneapolis—Robert Jo, Ronnie, Sammy and Ray—who released four albums between 1959 and 1962, including The Stinson Brothers in Las Vegas. It’s RJ’s sons, Bob Jr. and Rick, 30-something (Bob’s a year and a half older) guitarist/vocalists who are perhaps best-known locally for the TV show Las Vegas Connection Starring the Stinson Brotherz. It aired live from the Plaza October 2004 through December 2006 on Warner Brothers Cable Network’s MyLVTV, included interviews with everyone from Oscar Goodman and Dick Clark to Rusty Wallace and Doug Stanhope and reached more than 100 million viewers worldwide via the International Programming Network. “It went from theme to theme to theme: They would do different skits, they would play different places in town,” recalls Donna Rocker, wife of Tommy Rocker, with whom the brothers frequently share a stage. “It was such a mish-mash, but it was hugely popular in China and Japan.”
It’s also Bob and Rick who now employ RJ Stinson as their personal manager, who live together in a two-bedroom, two-bath near Gibson and the 215 in Henderson, and who, more than most in the entertainment-business wringer, personify Hesiod’s thoughts on success: “Right timing is in all things the most important factor.”
“Tequila Shooterz” and “Down in Mexico,” the country demos on myspace.com/stinsonbrotherz, reference warm breezes, happy hours, financial freedom and generally reveling in the Good Life. It’s just that Bob and Rick happen to have had the worst professional timing imaginable, and thus far the Good Life has done its best to elude them.
•••••
Rick: We’ve been going for about 20 years.
Bob: We grew up in Denver, graduated from Columbine and went to LA. We’d signed with Capitol Records. We were more pop-rock then, like Duran Duran, Wham!
Rick: Bob was in Denver, I was at Mankato State University. I was playing hockey, and I messed up my ankle. I talked to Bob, and we both decided it was time to go party at Arizona State University. We were going to Arizona State when we signed to Capitol. We left school in December of ’89.
We were on Capitol, and then Capitol absorbed into Enigma. They bought us out, then we were on Priority, which was mainly a rap label. They were trying to spread their wings a little bit. We were more rock ’n’ roll at that point, a little heavier.
Bob: Then, after the Priority thing—for one reason or another that fell apart—that’s about the time the grunge scene came around, and that wasn’t really us. We didn’t want to fake it, so we moved to Nashville and signed to A&M Records. Not long after, we opened Variety and it said that A&M was pulling out of Nashville. I had the gun to my head, but Rick stopped me, luckily. Not literally. I mean, it crossed our minds, for sure. It’s always been one thing or another. It’s like, “How much bad luck can you have?”
•••••
Bob, Rick, keyboardist Kirk and showgirl/dancers Sara and Joanna convene at conga player Joe’s house on this Wednesday afternoon to finalize the set list and costume-change cues for their next gig, playing the Henderson Events Plaza Amphitheatre two nights from now as part of the city’s free summer-concert series. Between discussions involving “Margaritaville,” “Friends in Low Places” and “Baby Got Back,” the brothers rehash their recent exploits. During a six-week cruise down the Mexican Riviera, they were unable to locate a bullfight in Acapulco, so they sought out a cockfight instead. Yesterday they talked hockey on Fox Sports Radio. Saturday ... well, they’re still in recovery from Saturday. “You’ve heard, ‘What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas’?” Bob asks, gray-flecked locks tucked under a baseball cap, giving him the appearance of a less-perturbed Tim Robbins. “Well what happens in the Stinson Brotherz dressing room ends up on the Internet.”
They’ve got the mind-set of rock stars, if not the bankrolls. Their dialogue conjures up images of coked-out, flat-ironed girly-boys lounging in the back of their tour bus between groupies, not four middle-aged guys in T-shirts, khakis and sneakers sipping Diet Pepsi and eating Chex mix in a living room festooned with baby paraphernalia.
“By the way,” Joe suddenly remembers, “I’ve still got the boxers you left out at the hot tub last time.”
•••••
Rick: After that we moved to Miami and Orlando, then more time in Arizona, back to Colorado ...
Bob: I came out here and did a production show called Hot Rockin’ Country at the
Plaza. Lots of drinking and drugs. That whole period’s a little fuzzy.
Rick: That whole period—he means the last 20 years.
Bob: The first two times I lived out here I was singing in shows, and both times I think I was here three or four months. Now we’ve been here about five or six years. Normal things get boring really fast. There’s so much weird stuff, and there’s always something going on in Vegas. For example, Saturday night we went to the Stray Cats concert. We were late ’cause someone told us the wrong time, so all we were able to see was ZZ Top. We snuck up into the VIP booths, drinking for free, then we go over to Tommy Rocker’s, which is now a strip bar. We got asked if we wanted to go to a party at some gigantic house, and it turned out to be a swingers party. Beds in every room, people in the pool, Jacuzzi, just freaky stuff. And for some reason stuff like that interests us.
•••••
Vegas averages over 300 days of sun a year. Today is not one of those days.
As wind sends cars swerving down the 215 and lighting flashes on the horizon, the band arrives at the big concrete shell overlooking nine tiered, semi-circled rows of white plastic folding chairs atop ever-moistening Astroturf.
“Is it too late to cancel?” Rick asks, running a hand through his product-fortified blond curls. He greets the band’s new drummer, also named Bob, whom the Stinsons met on the Mexican cruise.
They dump their gear in the backstage area, a tan, tidy setup with a bathroom, dressing area and equipment room. The fridge in the sitting area contains only an old thermos and two miniature bottles of ketchup. One table holds coffee, tea, water, soda, juice and Sunny Delight. A second soon holds platters of fruit and assorted meats and cheeses. No alcohol. No drugs. No girls.
“I can’t believe we’re on time,” Rick marvels, his piercing baby blues wide with surprise. Actually, they’re 10 minutes early for the soundcheck. “We could go across the street, get drunk and show up an hour late,” offers Kirk.
After setting up and draping their mic stands with leis, they tune and frown at the sky. Two and a half hours until showtime, and it’s pouring. As the congas and beach balls arrive from the parking lot, Kirk fires up the iPod and the five launch into an upbeat rendition of “I Melt with You.” Perfectly coinciding with the “I saw the world crashing all around your face,” line, a huge bolt crackles in the distance.
•••••
Bob: We played with Jimmy Buffett’s band a couple of times and opened for a lot of big acts over the years. We opened for Foghat at a club here in Vegas called the Mets Club. It was straight out of Spinal Tap.
Rick: We’ve had our own show at Boulder Station, the Aladdin, the Sahara, the old Showboat, Castaways ...
Bob: And we travel around a lot. We do the cruise-ship thing occasionally. We’re going to be in a showroom here with a full-blown production show, I would guess before the end of the year.
Rick: We’re talking to the Sahara, the Light Group at the Bellagio—I don’t know if that would be in the showroom or if that would be in Light in the afternoons—and the Flamingo.
Bob: We’d have anywhere from six to 10 people [onstage], depending on stuff like tracks versus live drums. And it depends on the budget ... We like to play anywhere. Our egos are not so big that we’ll only take certain shows. We just want to be there with the crowds. There are some great singers out here, but we’ve always felt like we’ve got a lot to offer. You’ll see the rapport we have with the crowd, and that’s what it’s all about, just getting people to forget about their problems for a while and get people partying.
•••••
The band crosses the parking lot to the Eldorado Casino and heads for the bar, passing by the miniscule corner stage the duo used to frequent. The bartender recognizes them instantly. “Just standing here I think I got cancer,” Joe quips, gazing around.
One round in, they wonder if even their die-hards, the ladies who seem to gravitate toward their accessibility, showbiz stories and well-kept physiques, will make it out tonight. There’s Crazy Jennifer, who carries around a dead dog. There’s Lactating Lucy, who has a foot-odor problem. And glandular issues, hence her nickname. There are the teenage girls Joe knows back from when he ran Moose’s. Bob tops him: Once, when he was at the Plaza with Rick, two 12-year-olds approached, one informing him that her girlfriend wanted to marry Rick, but she just wanted to be friends with benefits with Bob.
Another round and they head back to the venue to change, stretch, fix their hair (Rick) and drop a Percocet (Bob). It’s for his back pain, the bulging disks that are making his arm weak. In fact, he’s glad the weather’s officially cut the set from an hour and a half to 45 minutes, because it means he won’t have to strain himself as long. “Plus,” he adds, “it means I’ll get to drink sooner.”
•••••
RJ: Me and my brothers, we did the old Steve Allen show, we did Smothers Brothers and Glenn Campbell’s show. Played with Milton Berle. We were always touring, and the Nevada circuit was a big one to us. I don’t know that I’m really qualified as a manager. I just do what I can to help the guys. They’re very talented, and their talent speaks for itself. They’ll really go over the top at some point.
Bob: It’s hard to separate the business from the family part of it.
RJ: When it comes to negotiating things, they really want to do it themselves, and they’re very capable. They both have degrees in management, marketing, those kinds of things. They know specifically how they want things. I’m not in it for the money, I’m in it to open any doors I can and point out the pitfalls that might arise.
Bob: It kind of sucks because he’s your dad, but we still yell at him a lot for not getting stuff done. I’ll probably be going straight to hell when it’s all said and done, but ...
Rick: Yeah, that’s the reason you’re going to hell.
•••••
Drummer Bob’s elderly mother is in the crowd. It looks like a lot of folks’ elderly parents are. The brothers’ dentist. A couple of families. A cluster of homeless. The rain seems to have finally passed, but the damage is done, and about 50 pepper an area that holds at least 350.
Bob and Rick, for their part, have traded out their khakis and sneakers. Bob’s ditched the ball cap for a more golden, flowing ’do. In tight jeans and vintage tees, they look like honest-to-God professional entertainers. They could have a Strip variety show. They could pull off an authentic Caribbean-influenced Brooks and Dunn-type act. At the moment they’re assuming the role of cover band playing to prerecorded tracks, but under the spotlights, they almost look like a gleaming something you might see on the Hollywood Strip, or on Music Row in Nashville, or on local cable television.
After kicking off with “I Smell T-R-O-U-B-L-E,” they bring out Sara and Joanna, who reappear throughout the show in white wife-beaters, cowboy hats, high heels, short shorts, bikini tops, sarongs, schoolgirl skirts and hard-hats. Bob and Rick trade lead vocals frequently (the former’s voice is a little more rock-oriented, the latter’s country), and even break out a bit of PG-13 banter. “You won’t believe the dancing they’re going to be doing after this,” Rick insinuates of the girls, later complaining in jest that the brothers sometimes have to act as father figures as well as suppliers.
The iPod keys up an assortment, including “Brown-Eyed Girl,” “I Wanna Be Sedated,” “It’s 5 O’Clock Somewhere” and “Gimme Three Steps.” Even though they were upped back to an hour and a half midway through the show, Bob doesn’t appear to be having back/arm issues; he moves fluidly, leaps atop the drum riser a few times and emerges once for an Elvis medley in a wig, sideburns, sunglasses and torso-baring, silver-and-purple-spangled jacket.
“You know, we used to play a lot of the same clubs as Poison when we were in Hollywood for those five or six years,” Bob mentions before “Talk Dirty to Me.” “You know, we’ve won the Best Country Act in Las Vegas award,” he says before “Boot Scootin’ Boogie.” During “I Melt with You,” a round, middle-aged woman whips her blond hair and dances down the middle aisle. “Why’re you guys in your seats?” she shouts, remaining standing and clapping in front of the sedate audience. “These guys are rocking!”
They close with “Hard Workin’ Man” and head backstage. “Whoo!” Rick exhales. “That. Was not. Our best show.”
•••••
RJ: They’ve achieved some pretty good success over the years, but in entertainment your success is only as good as your last performance. ... Most people just see all the good times, but they don’t see all the hard work and all the pitfalls that can happen. I don’t think you ever get accustomed to the letdowns. In some ways it’s good because it makes a person tough. They kind of take the success that’s happening to them now, and they’re nonchalant about it.
Bob: One thing we’re trying to put together with Roland Instruments is a world tour, which if it works out would be at the start of the year. ... We’re talking about doing some things in September out at Primm, Buffalo Bill’s and Whiskey Pete’s. We’ve got a lot of stuff in the works. We’ve got this TV thing, and we’re talking about Jay Leno getting involved. That would be huge.
Rick: You know how there are shows about discovering everything like the best beaches, best hotels, Anthony Bourdain does food all over the world, one guy does drinks from everywhere in the world? They even have one that’s the world’s best bathrooms, but there is not a show around that focuses on entertainment. It’s a unique idea. We have interest from a couple companies: one local, one in Canada called Kaleidoscope and also a distributor in LA. This thing I think is going to happen, it’s just a matter of time.
•••••
The Stinson Brotherz band looks over their set list
before the start of their show at the Henderson
Events Plaza Amphitheatre.
As Sara and Joanna report first, then RJ confirms later, Sally Ahlstedt, programming specialist for Henderson’s Cultural Arts & Tourism program, took issue with Kirk’s sunglasses-and-gold-chain-bedecked rendition of “Baby Got Back,” the maturity factor of “Talk Dirty to Me” and a few instances of ribald banter.
“It was a good show, high-energy,” she offers nonetheless. What was it about the band that prompted her to book them? “We had a cancellation. I wanted to fill it with something local that had crowd appeal. They had contacted me earlier, and the timing seemed to work best for everyone.”
RJ has brought a new pack of markers with which the Brotherz can sign the Green Room wall. Nearer to The Nelson Brothers than Lance Burton, Bob presses down with the blue marker, leaving a trail of blue dripping down the tan surface. He tries to rub it clean and ends up with a big blue smear. “We love you Henderson!” he scrawls over it in black. “Let’s get weird!”
The afterparty begins back at the Eldorado. Two rounds, another Percocet, and Bob describes nearly suffering a nervous breakdown after the Stinsons’ first record deal collapsed. Drummer Bob’s already taken his leave, and the remaining four decide to meet up with a pair of sisters they know over at Green Valley Ranch’s Drop Bar. Another round and they move to Quinn’s at midnight, where they poke fun at house cover band Darby O’Gill and the Little People and down glass after glass of Murphy’s Stout. Bob drops his third Percocet of the night to an Irish-tinged Neil Diamond number. “Sweet Caroline,” he croons. “Percocet falls like rain!”
The bulging disks, he eventually confides, are a byproduct of a group of “gangbangers” who jumped him and Rick in the restroom of a prominent casino (a lawsuit is in the works). Rick was knocked unconscious; both received dozens of stitches around their eyes and cheeks. Neither has health insurance.
But right now they have their Murphy’s, and they have the camaraderie of their two bandmates. They have Bob’s girlfriend, Aneyila, the two sisters, and finally even Crazy Jennifer, who last week had sex with Joe and is currently flirting with Kirk, scowling at Bob and Aneyila and pinkie-swearing her eternal animosity toward Rick. If there are any ticking clocks out there, the brothers aren’t hearing them.
Bob and Aneyila head out at 2 a.m., Crazy Jennifer and the two sisters soon after, and the rest, somewhat disappointed, follow suit at 2:30. It’s been an odd night. The weather and show were one thing, but for events to peter out so tamely, well, that’s just not how the Stinsons prefer to roll.
•••••
Bob: I was married once, about three years.
Rick: I just went back to my class reunion, and I won bachelor of the decade. I sing out in Vegas and on cruise ships, I’ve never been married, and I have no interest in that kind of nonsense.
Bob: Someone read a quote about us somewhere: “The Stinson Brotherz are womanizers that party like college boys.” I think they thought that was a bad thing to say. We high-fived each other. We don’t take too many things seriously. We probably should.
Rick: The 9-to-5 grind in the cubicle isn’t for us.
Bob: Adventure and exploring and having a good time is what it’s all about. And that’s what Rick and I and our friends are all about. You only get that one chance at life. Most people won’t go for it. But we do. We’re going all the way.
****
See the Stinson Brotherz
September 7, 10 p.m., free with dinner purchase. Bootlegger Bistro, 736-4939.
September 14, time TBA. Republican Party Convention hosts at Four Queens’ Canyon Club, 818-879-5016.
September 20, 8 p.m., free. Diablo’s at the Monte Carlo resort , 730-7777.