About five minutes after Country Dick Montana assembled the group, and maybe two years before the release of their acclaimed 1985 debut album, Tales Of The New West, the Beat Farmers started a regular gig at a tiny bar called the Spring Valley Inn, in the San Diego rural community of the same name. It was in this primitive, unforgiving room that the quartet -- Jerry Raney (vocals/guitar/drums), Buddy Blue (vocals/guitar), Rolle Love (bass), and Montana (vocals/drums) -- first meshed together several classic forms -- blues, country, rockabilly, rock 'n' roll, old-timey music -- into a highly-informed, alcohol-powered explosion of roots music.

From the get-go, the group displayed a knack for genre-defying originals and an ability to put its own stamp of the songs of others -- the classic country shuffle "Dim Lights, Thick Smoke, And Loud, Loud Music" was turned into a rollicking, runaway train, Johnny Cash's "I Still Miss Someone" a boozy stomp, and Bruce Springsteen's stark "Reason To Believe" an instant, heartland rock classic. And then there was what would become, for better or worse, the band's most marketable aspect: the insane, inane ditties propagated by the towering, baritone'd, beer swilling/spilling Montana, presented in two-song flurries must furiously from the frontman's spot and, sometimes, from the top of a patron's table.

The new Live At The Spring Valley Inn, 1983, was meant to be nothing more than a calling card for gigs way back when. It soon got the band signed. It arrives today after two decades MIA, dusted off and as something more than a footnote. For a band known for its live prowess, the Beat Farmers' commercial output until now only featured one concert album, 1990's Loud Plowed And…Live!, a label-dictated effort that, while occasionally entertaining, documents a band past its peak. Live At The Spring Valley Inn, 1983 is a considerably more charming moment in time that brings to the fore the reasons why so many people were excited about them way back when.

Things changed soon after this tape was made. In the blink of an eye, the Farmers would graduate to the bigger, kinder Bodie's. In a second blink, the band teamed with Rhino Records and released Tales… and moved again to the larger Bacchanal, where it was drawing some 800 people three times a week, according to Blue. And, by this time the group was dubbed "cow-punk" along with other American bands like Rank & File, the Blasters, Lone Justice, Blood On The Saddle, and the Knitters. It was time to look beyond San Diego.

It was never the same again. When the Farmers joined country label Curb Records to make what would become its second album, 1986's Van Go, it also marked the beginning of the end Blue's role in the band, and, thus, the earliest, greatest version of perhaps San Diego's most beloved group. The band (or label, or both) turned an eye toward the rock mainstream in search of a hit that was never really found. Meanwhile, Dick emerged as a larger-than-life personality among both the wacky and the fraternal due to his rambunctious on-stage trip. He remained a minor legend until his death onstage in Whistler, British Columbia in 1995, a moment that also marked the end of the band.

By that time, Blue was long-gone from the flock, having formed the more blues-minded Buddy Blue Band and embarked on a career in music journalism. More recently, he teamed with his former co-frontman in Raney Blue and, more recently, as the Flying Putos. But Blue still recognizes the profound good fortune of a time when Montana and Raney stole both Love and him from a local rockabilly band, formed the Beat Farmers, and plugged in at the Spring Valley Inn. A misty-eyed MoMZine editor Neal Weiss facilitates a look back.

MoMZine: What do you remember from the Spring Valley Inn?

Blue: The Spring Valley Inn was a tiny place. I'd say the legal limit couldn't have been much more than 30 or 40 people. And when this was recorded, there wasn't much more than that, if there were that many people that night. This was recorded very early, before anybody really much knew about us, which you can hear in there. There's just not a lot of people there. And the patrons of the Spring Valley Inn were basically a motley assemblage of bikers, toothless old cowboys, local Otis The Drunk types, and then our following was basically sort of like spiffy college kids in bolo ties and brand new cowboy boots. It was a very interesting culture clash that worked out for some reason.

MoMZine: Are your memories of that place fond?

Blue: Yes and no. We played great shows, it was fun, we were young guys, except for Jerry, he was already old [laughs], and we had the initial enthusiasm and energy that one has when you have a new band that your suspect might turn out to be great. But on the other hand it, in a way it was a relief to get to a place [Bodie's] that wasn't quite so hot and crowded and had an actual sound system going. I probably, actually might have preferred Bodie's, but there was great energy was going on at those early Spring Valley Inn days, especially for me and Rolle, who had just come out of the Rockin' Roulettes and were just thrilled to be playing in this band with these guys who were a lot better known than us.

MoMZine: You suggested that the Farmers were a band that you felt "might turn out to be great." What was it that was so special?

Blue: It was a chemistry and a charisma going on that I had never experienced before. Everybody had something very different and very profound to offer. I know this is all gonna sound immodest, but I can't help it because that was the way I felt about the band. I felt like, "Holy shit, something magic is clicking here. Something good is gonna happen." Now, interestingly enough, I was only thinking about it in musical terms and terms of commercial goals all I wanted to be able to do was quit my job as a clerk at Warehouse Records, which happened immediately, as it turned out. But I had no idea that within a year we'd have a record out and we'd be touring all over the place and soon enough Spin and Rolling Stone would be writing about us. I wasn't prepared for that. My goals and expectations were a lot more modest. I just wanted to be kings of San Diego [laughs]. I just didn't even have the vision to look beyond that, like Dick did.

MoMZine: Talk about the distinct personalities in the band.

Blue: Dick, he had just incredible charisma. It's funny, today a lot of the bullshit so-called outlaw alt-country type bands cite him as an inspiration as they're up there pretending to be bad asses. I think Dick's thing has been misconstrued in that way. Dick's whole stage persona was not about being a bad ass or a tough cowboy. He was a big softy, he was full of love, fun, humor, and this is why people related to him so much. Not because he was presenting himself as "I'm a rough tough man and I'll kick your ass! And I've been to hell and back!" No, he was a big teddy bear. The fact that this big teddy bear happened to be 6'4" and weighed 250 lbs. and jumped up on your table and spilled beer all over the place made it all the more funny. But he was not from the Mike Ness kind of school, he was a loveable character.

Jerry was the same way. He was goofy, he still is, we're talking about a guy that's 55 years old now and he still acts like a 15 year old. He's a tremendous amount of fun to play with and I think that his contributions in terms of the showmanship aspect of the Beat Farmers has been vastly underrated. He said very funny things on stage and in the middle of a song he'd break into a ridiculous monologue, spur of the moment, that would be hysterical. This is on top of that fact that he was clearly the best musician in the band. He was so much more advanced musically than the rest of us, particularly at this juncture, that without him the Beat Farmers no way would have been this successful. He was already this 10-15 year veteran and widely known in local circles as the best guitar player in San Diego. So add that musicianship to his goofy, endearing stage presence and you had a pretty formidable performer there.

Rolle, on the other hand, he was the teen appeal. He was young and really good looking and really fresh faced and enthusiastic, and he too was goofy. And he was getting laid certainly more than any other band member [laughs]. We used to have a thing, we'd go to a gig and the rest of the Beat Farmers would look around the room and we'd look for the girl who most resembled Stiv Bators, and we'd say, "That's the one he's gonna go with." And sure enough it would always happen.

MoMZine: And how did you fit?

Blue: Well, it's hard for me to say, I'm a little close to it. But I think I was probably the most serious-minded of the guys, the least goofy, didn't say a lot on stage. But I brought sort of the heavier blues element. If it was nothing but goof you've got nothing but a novelty band. I guess if I contributed something it was more of a grounding.

MoMZine: The band's range of covers was impressive, including Springsteen, Johnny Cash, Willie Dixon, Elvis Presley, the Lovin' Spoonful, and Harry McClintock's "Big Rock Candy Mountain." And that was just in the beginning. Soon you were also covering John Prine, the Velvet Underground, Neil Young, and Rod McKuen. How did you select covers?

Blue: Well, we all had different influences. Dick probably brought most of the covers to the table that me and Jerry did as well. Dick was responsible for the weirder shit, like doing the Velvets or Springsteen, which wouldn't seen to fit into the Beat Farmers' songbook. But we'd change the arrangements around enough that it would work. I probably brought more predictable stuff to the table, some blues shit and some rockabilly shit. Jerry was always into doing Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry and Elvis covers. And all this shit just kinda collided.

MoMZine: Was there a punk influence or was that just a label added by the media because of the time?

Blue: There was, but it wasn't deliberate. I, back then and to this day, do not like punk rock. I think it's a cancer on pop music. I think the punk ethic of "anyone can do it" has destroyed the evolution of rock 'n' roll to the point that if you're a good musician it's viewed as an albatross. I always resented the insinuation that there was a punk influence but I listen to this stuff now and I realize that there was. But it was natural and it's because three of the four band members couldn't play very well but were very enthusiastic and hopped up on various substances.

MoMZine: How much of a local scene was there?

Blue: Huge. Huge scene going on those days. People forget, their memories are so short that everybody talks about there being this sort of renaissance in the San Diego music scene these days. What a bunch of crap. The Penetrators, the band that Dick came from, had sold out Golden Hall three times, which was a fucking theater. We had DFX2, who had been signed to MCA and had a hit with "Emotion." There was the Paladins, who didn't have a record deal yet but were packing them in. Mojo Nixon was just getting started out. I could go on and on about how many great bands there were and how there was a real kinship between us all and how we all were sort of coming from the same place. San Diego was very much this roots-rock town. There were a million Beat Farmer imitation bands of varying quality and people were just going out to clubs in those days. There was a really cool spirit in the air.

MoMZine: What did you think of the cow-punk label?

Blue: I'd either roll my eyes or I'd giggle. We all did. I remember we played a show with the Blasters at the Palladium in L.A., and Chip Kinman of Rank & File was there. They were the first ones to kinda start doing the country-rock thing in the '80s. And he came up to me and held out his hands as if holding an imaginary crown and said, "This is the moo-wave crown. Take this crown. I place it atop your head, I don't want it anymore. You are now officially the kings of the crest of the moo-wave." I think all us that were playing what people called cow-punk or moo-wave, we were kind of disgusted with being labeled and apprehensive about it because we all recognized that once people start putting a label on something and calling it out as a trend or fashion of the day, the end is right around the corner. I think we all recognized that and were not particularly pleased by it. We just considered ourselves a band, you know?

MoMZine: Did it feel like there was some real potential there for mainstream success? What was the reality of it all?

Blue: The reality of it all was the reality for just about any band that's not selling millions of records. We're driving all around the country not getting any sleep, getting pissed off at each other because we're farting in van with closed up windows, we're eating bad food every night, staying at sleazy hotels and it wasn't particularly glamorous. It's all redeemed by the good gig that you have, where there's a really large, enthusiastic crowd and for a period of 90 minutes you're in the midst of rapture. And that's why you keep doing it. But it wasn't glamorous in the tiniest little bit.

MoMZine: When did the Beat Farmers peak as a band?

Blue: I think we were peaking musically in the Bodie's days, we were peaking commercially around '85. They may have gotten even more popular after I left. But we were under tremendous amounts of pressure from Curb Records, who I never wanted to sign with, to deliver, I remember them pointedly saying, "We want to make you into the next ZZ Top or Dire Straits." That's not what I wanted to do. I didn't want to be the next ZZ Top or Dire Straits and it was heading in that direction. When I left everybody including my own mother were telling me "You're crazy, you're throwing away the best opportunity you've ever had." I realized that might have been the case but I didn't give a shit. All my material was being rejected as being too country or too blues and it was no longer what I wanted to be doing.

MoMZine: Did you ever feel that Dick's live shtick sometimes overshadowed a great band?

Blue: That was something that was a problem. I understood it, I knew what it was happening, I knew that he was a great performer, I respected what he did and people just loved it. They ate it up. From my vantage point I'm stuck on stage 15 minutes at a time playing an open-G chord while he's out there entertaining people and that wasn't a lot of fun for me.

MoMZine: It's telling that the band's first real commercial airplay was on Doctor Demento.

Blue: And still is to this day. Any time I tell somebody I was in the Beat Farmers, they're like, "Oh, 'Happy Boy!'" That's the one everyone remembers. Which is great. It's a funny song, he sang it great, it's an amusing thing, it's just that the Beat Farmers have more depth than that.

MoMZine: Where were you when Dick died?

Blue: I was sitting at home and Jerry's wife called and told me. I just sat there a fucking balled for about two days, even though I saw it coming. The man had been in shaky health for a long time and he'd continued to abuse himself. I understood why. Here's a guy that was told when he was a very young man that he probably didn't have long to live because of his cancer and he exceeded all his doctor's expectations over that. And we had only reconciled recently in the last couple years. We were pretty bitter towards one another after I split and we didn't speak for a number of years. So I was really enjoying hanging out with him again. We had been really close, we lived next store to each other in these horrible studio apartments. And when the Beat Farmers first started we did everything together. We were really tight. I was really enjoying my friendship with him again. I just felt this horrible sense of grief and loss and regret over all the years we'd wasted being angry at one another. Now all the sudden he's gone. I couldn't believe that I'd never see him again. You always expected him to walk through a door and go "Ha! Pig!" and that wasn't gonna happen anymore.

MoMZine: You've done a few reunion gigs, including one in August to mark the release of the new album. Is it hard to take the stage as the Farmers without Dick?

Blue: I feel the loss of Dick so much. I don't want to add to the naysayers [who think it's not the Beat Farmers without Montana], and give them fodder, because four out of five Beat Farmers are still alive [counting Blue's replacement Joey Harris] and I believe we have every right in the world to go out there and play if we want to. But there's something woefully missing. Without Dick, as much as I used to get bummed out with having to be up on stage playing an open-G chord for 10 minutes at a time, you can't replace this guy. So it's a different Beat Farmers.

MoMZine: Are your goals different these days?

Blue: They're probably more the same now as they were when I was young. After the Farmers I felt some vain, glorious need to redeem myself, like, "OK, I'm not gonna be in the Beat Farmers but God damn it I'm going to succeed on my own terms. Everybody's gonna know my name and they're not even gonna give a shit that I was in the Beat Farmers." It was a petty, vindictive outlook. But now, and for several years now, I have no delusions whatsoever about being famous or rich, or do I give a shit about it. My goal now is just to make music the best I possibly can, have as good a time as I possibly can doing it. I feel fortunate to be able to do what I do. I get pretty good crowds out when I play and I have a great time. I consider myself blessed to have the career that I do have.

MoMZine: What's your feeling on what's now known as alt-country compared to what was going on in the mid-'80s?

Blue: It has none of the originality, uniqueness, sense of fun. There's some guys out there that I really do like. I love Dale Watson, Junior Brown, he's the fucking hottest thing on two wheels. But there's a lot of stuff out there that just seems pious, like they're slavish in trying to adhere to a certain sound rather than creating a sound of their own based on the stuff that they love. And there also seems to be this bad-ass attitude about it. I think the Beat Farmers were much more in spirit of bands like Commander Cody and New Riders Of The Purple Sage. We were playing this music but we were doing it in our own way. We weren't worried that people were gonna say, "Well that doesn't sound like it was recorded in 1958." You can take these guys, I won't even get into names, but there's one guy out there that just tries so hard to sound like Hank Williams that it's ridiculous. There's a couple bands out there that try to sound so much like Buck Owens and the Buckaroos that it's ridiculous. There's already been a Hank Williams and there's already been a Buck Owens and nobody's ever gonna do Hank Williams or Buck Owens better than Hank Williams or Buck Owens did. So what the fuck's the point?

-- Neal Weiss, August 21, 2003