In 1966 I tried my best to put together a real rhythm and blues band. I wanted horns, keyboards, girls in short dresses and somebody who could do a split at the crash of a cymbal. First a piano player would quit then none of the girls would show up. I finally ended up with three drummers and me, a bass player. Fortunately one of the drummers could play guitar and he taught another one a little bit. Voila, a band. Obviously we couldn't play the r&b that I had hoped for so we began to write hillbilly songs. I mean, let's face it, I had always been writing hillbilly songs.
We named that band Your Local Bear and one of our first shows was on a bill with Jimi Hendrix. Timing is everything in the music business and I'm something of a wizard at it. The Byrds were yet to record Sweetheart Of The Rodeo and the Eagles weren't even a grain of cocaine on the counter top.
That band failed spectacularly but I loved it. The smoking remains morphed into something that we called Duckbutter. It was full of magic and sweetness and bad taste. Folks around here still have their favorite Duckbutter stories. The myth out shadows the band here. So what? Here's some of that stuff with some of the Wally Watson Band onboard.