In the summer of 2018 Failure Machine had a show booked in Red Bluff along with a lot of our friends (The Brankas, Van Goat, Joan & The Rivers, Shotgun Sawyer, Eugene Ugly, The Happy Trails, and BOTO… maybe the Roughies were there too?) and California was burning. It was even worse than their regular yearly catastrophe. The smoke was so dense everything looked apocalyptic and the state had warned everyone who wasn’t being evacuated to stay in their homes as the conditions outside were hazardous. My memory escapes me but I think it was just a couple towns over from RB. And it was like this before any of us traveled to Red Bluff but I don’t remember it even being a conversation of “hey, should we cancel?”.

We knew the air quality was going to be horrendous and that no one was going to show up besides the musicians but Brad DuFour had helped build this really tight-knit community of bands that just liked playing together and drinking beer.

I don’t remember a lot from that trip but when I think of Red Bluff, I think of the community of folks who welcome bands and make that place worth playing - I think of Thomas and Holly, Cisco, Shane, Sam, Mike, and I think of Earl most of all of them.

Earl was such a magnanimous figure for these 20-somethings in the bands. He showed up, bought merch, put their beers on his tab, and offered up a safe place for them to park their vans and crash for however long. He knew the songs and recognized idiosyncrasies of different singers and guitar players and, not being a musician himself, used all the information he gathered as a way to further understand his boys and what they were trying to accomplish with Bandmaster Ruckus and later Brothers Of The Oven.

The unwavering support Earl provided for Brad and Greg and Seth would sound unrealistic and almost comical to someone who hadn’t met him. When Brad was nearing graduation at Chico State, I remember Earl saying multiple times “I’m just ready for him to get done with school so he can buckle down and focus on music.” And he meant it. At a time where most of our other parents probably wish we were looking for better jobs and hobbies that didn’t take us to so many bars, Earl was thrilled to see what was next for his boys.

Late one night after a show at The Round Up, Earl took me aside, gave me his number and said “you ever run into any trouble on the road, you give me a call and we’ll come get you, I don’t care what time it is, if the car breaks down or something you just give me a call.” Luckily we never had to call him to come scoop us off 80 at 3 AM but he always seemed to be helping. He gave us rolls of carpet when our basement/rehearsal room flooded and he brought sound gear to house shows when we didn’t have a very good PA, he slipped us gas money on our way out of town, and surprised us at shows in SF or Sacramento.

Playing in little rock bands can feel like failure so often that it’s easy to develop a self deprecating shell, it can cause you to downplay the very thing that eats up most of your time, money, effort, mental fortitude. But to have someone undoubtedly and unshakeably in your corner is more than valuable; it’s life-saving as a musician. Seeing Earl felt like a win, and it always seemed to be when we needed one most.

So when I think of Red Bluff and when the world’s on fire, and when I don’t sound too good and the band feels disjointed, I think of Earl and I feel grateful for having experienced his kindness, generosity, and enthusiasm for rock and roll music. Earl Jam, the fuckin man.