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Tag Archives: Southern Rock

I have something of a love/hate relationship with Southern Rock. For the longest time it was only hate that boiled within whenever “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” came on the radio. This happened a lot because Southern Rock is big business in Cincinnati. Well, it was during the 90′s before the Butt Rock wave of Linkin Parks and Nickelbacks washed its poisonous spray across the United States.

When I moved here in the 1991 “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” was everywhere…I mean everywhere. Put it on STAR 93.3 Christian Contemporary and “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” would be wedged in between repeats of Michael W. Smith’s “Awesome God”.  If the rain started coming down in sheets “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” would start blaring over the emergency sirens. Call any Pizza Hut in the 513 area code and you’d get “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” as you waited to order a Stuffed Crust pizza.

But the main advocate of Georgia Satellites was definitely Wildman Walker, sports guru for Cincy’s WEBN, even back when WEBN was a legitimate broadcaster of music. For as long as I can remember Wildman’s been the voice of the Cincinnati Cyclones. He’s been there to jubilantly announce each and every power play whether the Clones are playing at Cincy Gardens or The Crown/U.S. Bank Arena (site of the tragic stampeding deaths of 12 people at The Who Concert in 1979) .

Wildman rocking with Georgia Satellites’ roadie Todd “Frog Sack” Squiggins.

During the early 90s “Keep Your Hands To Yourself” was constantly echoing through the bomb-shelter-like confines of Cincinnati hockey arenas. In between face-offs the words “I GOT SOME MONEY IN MY POCKET, IT GOES JING-A-LING-A-LING” would bounce off the scoreboard, to the ice, and then smack your face like a cold-hearted slapshot. And to make it much worse, the song would unleash some sort of primal urge hidden deep within every Cyclone fan. It was to the point of  religious ritual. Each time the song started the beautiful people of Cincinnati would rise up, raise their Bug Lights, and rhythmically flail around. Beer would spill, the aroma of loose-hold gel would waft, and the floor would slick with north-meets-south sweat. It was ugly.

Twister presents one lucky fan with the Pure Romance erotic toy gift bag of the game!

For the longest time I simply couldn’t listen to Georgia Satellites. It made me feel like a dirty, dirty redneck and drove me to cover my head with a down pillow in the relative safety of my suburban home. I just kept seeing those Cyclones fans in slow motion, with their teeth jing-a-linging.

But then a curious thing happened. I turned 21 and started visiting bars around the city. At first I drank the typical bar-newbie pussy drinks. Sex on the beach, buttery nipples, banana slammers, Bud Select….I drank the weakest of the weak. But eventually, after a steep learning curve, I graduated to Bourbon. Not whiskey, not that Jack Daniels crap, but real Kentucky Straight Bourbon. Heaven Hill, Wild Turkey, Ancient Age, Booker’s, Bulleit, Maker’s Mark, Knob Creek, Ezra Brooks, Jim Beam, Johnny Drum, J.T.S. Brown, Old Grand Dad, Old Crow, Old Fitzgerald, Very Old Barton, Kentucky Tavern, Kentucky Gentleman.

They were, and still are, all my friends. And after spending a good amount of time in their warm company I’ve learned a few important things. We’ll call these “The Way of the Bourbon”.

First, ditch the New Balances for a pair of cowboy boots. A real pair, complete with full wooden heel and toe pointy enough to ease access into a terrorist’s ass.

For advanced buckaroos only.

Second, get yourself a big ol’ belt buckle. Pick a buckle with a theme with which you can identify. If you drive a Chevy get a “Heartbeat Of America” buckle. If you like horses then by all means get a stallion; just make sure you don’t accidentally get a Shetland. Most importantly don’t get something which would compromise your manliness. Here are examples of acceptable and unacceptable buckles.

Strong theme, clean design, good proportions. Acceptable.

Seriously? No. Get to steppin’, Mr. Caruso.

Third, acquire a loud set of speakers. Minimum requirements for this are a 3-way system with a subwoofer of no less than 12″ and power handling of over 100 watts at 8 ohm. Get a copy of Georgia Satellites self-titled LP. A digital copy will do in tight pinches. Especially one from Rebuilt Tranny’s Rat Rod Record Exchange. That site always seems to have quality rips. Turn the volume up to 11. Stand in front of the speakers, dig in your heels, and absorb the sound into your belt buckle. It will vibrate quite nicely.

Finally, accept your inner hillbilly. Allow him to permeate all areas of your life. Invite him to family dinners. Let him tell a dirty joke or two. If he feels the need to laugh loudly, or comment positively on abundant cleavage, afford him the liberty. But most importantly, let him enjoy intermissions at the Cyclones games. Once you do that you’ll stop asking, “Who in the hell are the Wheeling Nailers?” and just enjoy a good roughing penalty in the decaying metropolis of the Queen City.

Correct excecution of “The Way of the Bourbon”. Note how the female fawns over the male’s wild nature.



A1 Keep Your Hands To Yourself 3:26
Performer [Additional Musician] – Dave Hewitt (3) , Randy Delay
A2 Railroad Steel 4:12
A3 Battleship Chains 2:58
Written-By – Terry Anderson (2)
A4 Red Light 2:48
Written-By – Neill Bogan
A5 The Myth Of Love 4:12
B1 Can’t Stand The Pain 3:44
Written-By – Rick Richards
B2 Golden Light 3:42
B3 Over And Over 3:37
B4 Nights Of Mystery 4:44
B5 Every Picture Tells A Story 5:22
Written-By – Rod Stewart , Ron Wood