What are we gonna do now?
I’m sitting at home tonight, enjoying a good Cuban cigar, a rum and coke made with genuine Cuban rum. I’m listening to “Guerilla Tactics”, a new Alarm cd, (given to me by Mr. Mike Peters), in rotation with “Rat Patrol From Ft. Bragg”, the new Mark Ronson album, and a selection of tunes put together by Mr. Andy Boo. I’m wearing my Strummerville Sweatshirt, and taking it all in. These are the fruits of my labors:
In Montreal, I was offered $100 for my Strummerville shirt. That amount of money would have been more than I’d see at one time during the whole week.
I could be drinking Bacardi, (and I’m not really smoking a cigar), but I like the fact that I’m drinking something that my government has forbidden to me and my countrymen.
I could buy just about any cd I choose, but I couldn’t get it autographed by the guy who created it.
And “Rat Patrol” is sort of a legendary bootleg version of “Combat Rock”, which only a very select group of people will ever hear.
So I feel pretty good about it all, looking back now.
But I’ll tell you what’s really important, and I’ll try not to make it overly sentimental: Every night, at the end of the show, Ray Gange played a recording of Joe, and he was saying words like “humanity”, and, “People are important; Without people, you’re nothing”. It was very stirring, (even if some cunt was back at the bar talking nonsense with someone else, oblivious of the moment), and he was right. The most important thing I’ll have from that week that was, is the friendship, and the shared memories of that time. Whenever, IF ever, I see anyone of those blokes again, we’ll smile at each other and we’ll share some insignificant memory of the week that Los Mondo Bongos toured Canada.
And that’s my spiel…
I’m so bored with the U. S. A. !
I had a dream last night. It went like this: I was in the Halls of Congress, of all places, and I was trying to get to a Mescaleros/Mondo Bongos gig, but I had to get past a giant Anaconda snake! This thing was huge! I think it ate a beer barrel! It certainly ate my flashlight.
I was trying to find a way around it, but the dream ended before I could get past it.
Weird, huh?
One of the things about traveling is that it takes you out of your everyday routine. It allows you to pick your head up “out of your little mouse trail”, and look around. It also forces you to give up your safe routine, give up listening to the radio, the news, (it’s all the same, anyway), and you forget what day it is, you just know what you’ve got to do TODAY.
Much as I was looking forward to a break in the action, to sleeping in my own bed, again, I now find myself bored, and stale, and striving to find something to keep myself engaged. Thankfully, I do have some video tape that I will be editing into something, which I hope to post online, soon.
Meanwhile, here’s a partial list of things I learned:
1) Canadian Indians make Rock Art.
2) A traveling Rock and Roll Band is like a football, (Soccer), Team; Everybody has to play their position, or you won’t score.
3) Clean sheets and a soft bed can make a grown man giggle.
4) It is a good idea to get one’s per diem in Advance.
5) Chaos may reign on the dance floor, but for getting from Point A to Point B, there’s nothing like organization.
6) Smiley’s Rule: Never play more than 4 gigs straight, without a day off.
7)
The Road to Rock and Roll…
“It will be over before you know it”. That’s what I told Stephen Rioux on the first day that I met him, one week ago, in the lobby of the Econo-Lodge in Montreal. And now it is. The tour is over, but we all still have to get back home!
The divvying up of equipment and personal effects has been left to the last possible moment, and lack of sleep makes this an error-prone process.
I have to drive back to Montreal to unload the rental equipment, and from there I have to drive back to my home in Connecticut. More Cruel Irony: London, Ontario is actually closer to my home than Montreal. I have to drive 6-8 hours in the wrong direction! But before I do that, I have to drive to Toronto Airport with Internet Anthony. Which is good, because of all the people associated with this week’s adventure, he is the one whom I am closest with, and whom I’ve spent almost no time with up until now. I look forward to his company.
Hugs and handshakes are exchanged at the hotel parking lot. Any inconveniences or disagreements of the past week are forgotten, at least for this moment. And then we are away.
Sadly, due to driver error, (me), I make at least three wrong turns before we even lose sight of the hotel. When we finally get on the highway, we settle in for the ride. Ant and I exchange comments and observations about the tour. The poor man is really worn out, but he himself, says “I always look back on things fondly, but while I’m in it, I’m quite unhappy. It’s just the way I am.” He’s a gem, that one. For me a symbol of everything I admire and love about the English people. Outwardly, he seems unenthusiastic, but he is truly capable of passionate dedication to his cause, and he has the quiet determination to bring it off, against all common sense!
After an hour or so, he drifts off for a few moments. It is now, when I have my thoughts to myself that I make a chilling discovery! I have preset my GPS navigation device for my trip back to Montreal, not to the Toronto Airport! This is a major blunder! Thankfully, I pull off the road, reset the device, and find that the Toronto Airport is ON THE WAY to Montreal, and so, I havn’t really gone wrong, I just thought I had!
We arrive at the airport just as the other van is unloading passengers and luggage. There is time for a few more photographs, and I bid goodbye to Rasta, (He’d been sleeping when I left the hotel parking lot). It is about noon when I leave my new friends at the airport. It will be after 8pm when I finally arrive in Montreal at the Boite a’ Musique, to drop off the gear. Thankfully, there are two lads smoking a spliff at the loading dock, when I arrive. They help me unload, and I give them some residual “gear”, as a tip. One of the band members had given me his extra “gear” at the hotel, because he didn’t want to try to smuggle it back to the UK.
It is here that I receive some more unpleasant news. The lads have a message for me, from Stephen Rioux, that I am in possession of Steve Harris’s pedal board, an item that should have been dropped off with him at the airport! “Ballocks!”
Now I face a decision: Should I try to drive straight back home now, or do as Stephen has suggested, which is to take a room at the hotel, get some rest, and drive home the following day. In truth I am over-tired, and I can’t bear to face the long drive home now. I also can’t bear to part with the extra money he gave me for the hotel room! My solution is to get a bite to eat in Chinatown, then find a quite side street to park, and get some “kip” in the back of the van.
I got to sleep at about 9:30 or 10, and slept well until about 4 am. Then I woke, and while it was still quite dark, I began my drive home. In the dark, I got a little bit lost on the highway, and I missed an exit. I ended up going a little bit further east than I wanted to, and I ended up returning to the States through Vermont, rather than crossing at New York, as I had done a week earlier.
The U.S. crossing guard was not a welcoming man. The Quebecouis crossing guards were thourough, when I came into Canada, but polite. Just businesslike, with no un-necessary attitude. Whether it was because of my pre-dawn arrival, the appearance of the van, or something else, I don’t know, but Officer Douchebag, of the U.S. Customs and Immigration department was definitely trying to play mind games with me.
After the usual routine questions, he of course asked to look inside the van. I wonder now, if I had the right to refuse, but I complied as a matter of course. He opened the back of the van. He saw my guitar case, and asked me what kind of guitar I had. “It’s an Ovation Balladeer”, I told him. “Nice”. Then he asked me what was my favorite Grateful Dead album! This was a unexpected. I told him “Working Man’s Dead”, and “Wake of The Flood”, and I also liked “Mars Hotel”. Then he closed the back doors, went back to his little toll booth, and as he was handing me back my keys, he said, “Who’s taking care of your pets while you’re away?” Another surprise! I told him that my room-mate was looking after my cat, and “How did you know I had a pet?” “It’s on your key ring”, he said, “Petco”. Ah, yes. I had a Petco frequent shoppers card on my key ring. I smiled and saluted him, and he, unsmiling, and with that hard game face of a man who would just as soon arrest me as give me the time of day, bid me “Have a nice day”. Well, the joke’s on you, Officer Dick Douchebag, because you didn’t look inside my hubcaps!
On I rolled into the darkness. It seemed as if the day would never dawn. Eventually, of course, it did, and I stopped for fuel, and breakfast in Ascutney, VT. I was already feeling the lack of my familiar friends and traveling companions, as I breakfasted alone in that small empty diner.
I finally got home by about 10:30 am. Six hours after leaving Montreal, but it seemed worlds away, now. Now, I had no plans for tomorrow, and nothing to look forward to.
London Blogging
The last gig, in London, Ontario. We had a decent hotel, and the venue was a good one: “Call The Office”. A few things about this one stand out in my mind.
This was our first and only gig without Lily, our Merch Girl. Internet Antony would be filling in for her, but I must say, standing there surrounded by T-shirts, magazines and books, he didn’t look very approachable. He’d had a pretty rough week. When he arrived, he immediately had to find a dentist, because his front teeth had fallen out. As the main mutant, and the brains behind the organization, the pressure was certainly on him, and maybe the missing teeth were a very visible sign of what the shows in England were like, and what he could expect to see here in The Great White North.
He’d also been sick, along with several others on the van, Derek, Pablo, and Lily. The day before, in Hamilton, I walked him to a pharmacy where he purchased some cough syrup, and the pharmacist advised him to see a doctor. His symptoms indicated that he had an upper respiratory infection. No time for that, though, just a swig of the medicine and a bottle of water to keep him hydrated. Later on, Pablo nicked the bottle of cough syrup. I saw him reclining on the banquet at the Casbah, and he went on stage with his throat swathed in hotel towels. The schedule was taking it’s toll, and everybody was operating at maximum capacity to keep the train on the tracks.
Because London was so close to Hamilton, we had a little more time to relax between check out, and check in, and between load-in and doors opening. Andy and I had lunch in another caribbean restaurant in Hamilton, this time a Trinidadian establishment. When we got to London, it being St. Patrick’s Day, Andy and Steve Kirk had time to go out and find some Guiness, while I went up the road for something from the Shwarma Shack.
I brought Ant a hamburger, which he had trouble eating on account of his teeth. We finally had some time to hang out together, and it was good just to relax and shoot the breeze with him. I think we all felt a sense of impending RELEASE, now that the last night was upon us.
The crowd filed in at around eight o’clock, and the support band, “The Cool Mothers”, put on a good set. I had met some rabid fans outside in the parking lot before the show, where they were admiring the band. I saw them again, inside. They had a lot of questions, maybe too many questions. I just wanted to watch the show, and one of them kept pestering me about the tour. I told them that I was just the driver, the low man on the totem pole, which was true, but they were so thrilled to see the band that they wouldn’t leave me alone. I think they may have been on drugs.
I think the crowd that night was the most boisterous of the entire tour. People were actually hanging from the ceiling, and attempting to surf the crowd! It reminded me of the show I saw in Worchester, MA, in 2001. Joe had made a point of making the venue remove the crowd barriers from in front of the stage, and people really WERE crowd surfing, some of them right up onto the stage! It was the wildest Rock and Roll show I’ve ever seen, and this one, except for the smaller crowd and venue, were similar in energy. There were a few moments when I saw Steve Kirk and Rasta take up “defensive positions” at the sides of the stage, just in case the crowd forgot themselves.
I also saw a vaguely familiar female form in the crowd. It was a woman who was also at the Toronto gig, and she had come down to see the show. I’d been in the bar at the Horse Shoe, drinking pints with Andy. when we first became aware of her. We both instinctively had the same notion: That in spite of her physical attractiveness, she was someone to be avoided. I approached her before the show, saying that I had seen her in Toronto, and she immediately struck me as weird, but I wanted desperately to get the full “Rock Band On Tour” experience. I should have listened to my inner voice.
I caught up with her after the show, and asked her if she wanted to meet the band, etc. Of course she did. It turns out that she was a rabid “Alarm” fan. Mike Peters said he remembered her from so many years ago. The band came out and greeted the fans that remained, “Angie” being one of them. After we were done packing up, I asked Smiley if he thought she could come back to the hotel. Smiley, God bless him, said it was alright with him. “She’s bonkers, you know. Mad as a box of frogs, but go ahead and ask her if you want”. I should have listened to my old Uncle Smiley.
We gathered by the fireplace in the hotel lobby for what should have been some good “craik”, talking and exchanging stories after a roller coaster week. Instead, we were making small talk. The interloper skewed the whole mood. I blame myself. She was obviously a tremendous tease, sexually very provocative, but at the same time boring as Hell! I tried to engage her in conversation, but it went nowhere. As Steve Harris adroitly put it, she was “Tangental”.
I found myself seated next to Mike Peters, whom I’d barely said two words to throughout the whole week. He’d been trying not to ruin his voice, and I didn’t really know him at all, and now we had a chance to make a connection, and I couldn’t concentrate because of the presence of this outsider.
Despite the plentiful food and drink, people weren’t really enjoying themselves. One by one they drifted away and back to their rooms. I helped Nyle clean up some debris, and at about 5 am I left the lobby.
Checkout was scheduled for noon, the next day. There were still many details to be sorted out, and because of the late night we never got around to it. This would come back to bite us on the bum when we made our departure.
Hamilton, Ont. Monday, March 16th. The Casbah Club
Rasta and I have lunch at the Akee Tree, a caribean restaurant in Toronto, before leaving for Hamilton. The drive from Toronto to Hamilton is not long, and the band have elected to go to Niagra Falls for a quick view of the scenery. This leaves me and Rasta somewhat stranded at the Days Inn. We find that although the desk clerk can confirm that there is a large party of us staying here this night, because he doesn’t have a list of the names of the entourage, he refuses to give us a room. This is the kind of small detail that when overlooked, can really derail your day.
Eventually, he is convinced. We go to the room, only to find that the wireless internet connection is balky, and the remote control is missing. The desk clerk, a follower of the Aga Khan, is helpless when asked to deal with the computer question, but he does produce a remote control for us. Apparently, all the television controllers are kept under lock and key at the front desk. Next time, I’ll just bring my own…
The aptly named Casbah Club, is about a mile and a half from the hotel. Rasta and I load in on our own, as the rest are all late arriving from their trip to the falls.
After sound check, and before the doors open, Ray and I have some cross words. It is a simple misunderstanding, but I believe he over-reacted. Was he a bit techy over having lost his passport? This caused him to have to shell out some hundreds of dollars, and miss the trip to Niagra Falls. Perhaps he’s just not accustomed to the traveling schedule, and the close quarters. Maybe I spoke out of turn. Whatever. As much as I’d like to tell him to Fuck Off, in the interest of getting on with it, I make peace.
The show goes on a bit later than usual, due to the lack of organization by the local promoter. During the initial booking phase, the promoter, Brody, was incommunicado, and the gig was actually cancelled due to lack of response on his part. This drastic measure stimulated him into action, but the general feeling is still one of half-assedness.
The lighting rig here is poorly thought out, as well. They have a computer control board, but barely any lights. What they have are not properly focused. Halfway through the show, I quit trying to compliment the songs as they are played, and just try to make sure that the stage is well lit.
After the show, there’s a bit of a “knees-up” back at the hotel. Lily, who has traveled from New Jersey to be with us, is returning home in the morning, and we are giving her a send-off. She has been our merchandise girl, and it’s sad that she can’t stay for the last show, tomorrow night in London. Apparently, she is President of the North American Alarm Fan Club, or something. Mike Peters brings his computer and some speakers down to the lobby for some music, and we all make merry for a little while.
I drift away early, and to bed.
The Horse Shoe Tavern, Toronto, 3/15/’09
Andy Boo poses by the Rock Pile
We finally arrived at the Courtyard Marriot in downtown Toronto. Despite our unintended detour, we arrived as the band van was unloading, and we joined the others in the lobby, while Stephen Rioux checked us in. It was worth the wait.
The rooms were large, and well appointed. The beds were soft and had about seven pillows each, AND we each had vouchers for a HOT BREAKFAST! No more cold croissant and coffee here! There was time for well needed forty winks and then off to the Horseshoe Tavern to load in the gear.
It was Sunday and I believe it was the culmination of Canadian Music Week. This would have consequences, later on, both good and bad.
We parked in back of the venue, and it was an easy load in; not much remarkable about it, except that the house sound man, Mark, seemed a little bit out of it. When he was asked to set up the turntables for the DJ, he said he didn’t know how, and buggered off! Ray didn’t know how to set up the gear, either, so it fell to Rasta. Of course he could do it, but that not the point. If someone asks me to set up their DJ equipment for them, I’m going to ask them if I should just go ahead and play the music, as well!
The venue has a decent lighting rig, but no one to operate it. Pablo Cook, who’s been decorating the set all along the way, with flags of all nations, and novelty lights, has asked me to operate the lights during the show. I’m always happy to have something to occupy me, so I spent some time during sound check, getting familiar with the light board. This took me up until the opening of doors, but it was good, because I got to see the opening band, The Screwed. They were all older, accomplished musicians, in their own right, and their set consisted of Punk Rock covers. They played Sex Pistols, The Damned, and The Ramones, and it’s the first time I’d ever heard a band do a live cover of “In The City”, by the Jam. I was feeling good.
Attendance had been growing since the first gig in Montreal, and tonight was no exception. The band was up to snuff, even after the long drive, no doubt feeling good about the acomodations at hotel. They were asked to do an interview in the Hotel, and I think that made them feel like they were getting some attention, which is good for moral.
The opening of the show starts with a sound clip of Joe Strummer, talking over the theme from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly”. For proper effect, the stage lights go down during this. Then there’s a recording of Joe introducing Smiley and Pablo, and the lights come up and everyone makes their entrance. This was the first time it was done right and it’s very effective. The crowd reaction gets the band into gear right away, and then were off and running.
I was paying attention to the lighting consol, which is right next to the sound board, so I was only vaguely aware that the sound man was, shall we say, inattentive? I knew he was fucking things up, but it was only when James Newall came and told me that he had been FALLING ASLEEP, that I was fully aware that something was really wrong. After that, I had to watch him, and sure enough, he would slowly begin to nod off at the controls. I had to poke him, and he would sit forward and twiddle some knobs for a minute, before slumping back and his head would start to droop. I would yell at him again, and he actually said something like, “What’s the matter? It sounds okay, doesn’t it?”, at which point I just had to say, “Try and stay awake, for God’s sake, there’s a show going on!”
Despite this, it was a good show. I’ve come to learn that at this level, the “toilet circuit” of bars and clubs, where the stage is never cleaned up after the previous night’s show, and the dressing room is more of a closet, or storage room with some some chairs and a broken down filthy couch, that a good performance is more about overcoming obstacles than it is about projecting any sort of nuanced performance, and that is where a real professional shines through. That applies to the men on stage, as well as the crew.
Afterwards, I was quite “chuffed” when the band went on about how good the light show was. Rasta and I, and Nyle and James felt good enough about the show to stay and have a few pints. Stephen Rioux’s wife and some friends had come to see the show, and so he was off with them. The Sudbury Soul Sister’s were there and the band was chatting them up quite nicely. There was another presence at the bar, Madame X, and she would make another appearance in two days time at the last gig in London.
Now, at last, it was time for bed. I was again sharing a room with Stephen Rioux, and I think we both giggled a little bit when we sank into the soft luxury of our beds at the hotel. I drifted off quickly with the vision of a hot breakfast in the morning, flavoring my dreams with the scent of maple syrup…
Raggedy Man
Lack of internet connection in Hamilton, and London, Ont. have precluded me from making reports on final two shows. As I write this, I am trying to get guitarist Steve Harris’s effects pedal board overnighted to him. We were so worried about everything getting delivered back to the back line rental place, and all the personals effects getting to the airport, and we still didn’t get the poor man’s pedal board in the right pile.
Some of us were up all night after the gig on St. Patrick’s Day, in London, Ont., (ironic, ain’t it?), in a bar that didn’t serve Guiness, (cruel irony, that). I got to bed at 5 am., then up at 10:30. Drive to Toronto airport, then back to Montreal to return the rental gear. About 450 miles. I got there at about 8:30 pm, dropped off the gear, had some chinese food, and slept in the van until about 4:30 am, when I got up to drive another 350 miles back home to CT. Now I’m trying to arrange shipping for the pedal board. More later…
Recap of the first three shows
I have the luxury of a little extra time this morning. The show last night at The Horse Shoe Tavern in Toronto ended at a reasonable hour, although I’m not sure exactly when, and I felt relaxed enough to have a few pints with the band and crew, and some very lovely ladies from Sudbury. More on them later…
Looking back over the last few blog entries, I realise that I haven’t faithfully reported on all of the shows, so I’ll take a moment to recap:
Montreal was underwhelming, both the city, which was dirty and full of sketchy carachters, and the show, which had a weak turnout. I must say that it was a good show, all of the performances have been excellent. Everybody that came had a great evening, and anybody that stayed home, well, they stayed home, didn’t they. I’ve been seeing some very positive fan responses on strummernews.com.
Ottawa is a blur, frankly. Oh, yes, we stayed at a rundown EconoLodge, and Andy Boo fell off the stage. The show was a good one, and although the turnout was less than expected, there were about 100 more people than the previous night. A smaller dirtier stage there, Zaphod Beeblebrox, than Les Saints, in Montreal, but I realise now that that is normal.
Then the drive to Sudbury. “Distance No Object, Rasta!” I should have that tattooed on my forehead. 450 miles, approximately, then the late show at the Townhouse, a real Dive with a capitol “D”. The crowd in the hardscrable mining town was certainly appreciative. Hot and Sweaty, Nice and Sleazy, does it every time. There was a disagreement with the promoter over the terms, (meals provided vs. pay for support band comes out of our half), but it was straightened out eventually. The four Mondo Bongo Money Men, (Davies, Rioux, Shepard, and Knewal), had the shitty end of the stick when the room assignments came out. There were some rooms at the venue, which didn’t cost them anything, but they were such dirty rooms, in the basement of the building, with brokendown furniture, no showers and no breakfast, that the saying, “You get what you pay for” should have been a warning. I give them due credit for not asking any of the rest of us to stay there.
I’ve already written about the late night and the long drive, (“Tragically, The Hip”). What must be said is that there was an “up side” to Sudbury. There were three sisters at the show, with an unpronouncable Finnish last name, three beauties that one would never expect to see in such dismal surroundings. It must have been their Finnish heritage. Two Blondes, Miranda and Amy, and their redheaded sister, El, or maybe it was Elf. Through circumstance, (thank you, Joe), they were able, and willing!, to come to the show last night in Toronto. Heart-stoppingly beautiful, and yet, perhaps because they aren’t big city girls, very sweet and friendly, they stayed after the show, and were a welcome break in the apparently relentless cycle of Drive, Set Up, Break Down, and Drive. We’ll all miss them, the three Sisters from Sudbury.
It’s a warm spring day, today. 2 degrees! Yesterday, I was amazed to see at least two dozen motorcyclists out on the roads. The sun is shining, so I’m going out for a walk. Check out at noon.
“Tragically, The Hip”, and “Scratchy Hotel Towels”
I should be sleeping but I’m blogging.
There just isn’t enough time to give a good description of what touring with a punk rock band is really like. This will, perforce, be a simple chronicle of our day to day activities, and I’ll try to come back after the tour and write a more full accounting.
Today, I drove about 400 miles and loaded in the band. Yesterday, I drove about 450 miles and loaded in the band. Between then and now, I got less than an hours fitful sleep. And tonight they want me to fill in on the light board.
Andy Boo is more or less recovered from his tumble on Friday(?) night. That was in What city? Ottawa.
Yesterday we were in Sudbury, a mining tawn in the middle of what would be nowhere if there wasn’t a mining town there. The show started at midnight. I got in bed by 3:30 am, and didn’t sleep a wink, due to an extremely painful inflammation of my hip joint.
When we got into Toronto at about 4 pm, I was snarling. I’m sure I owe somebody an apology. I clicked off for about ten minutes and then had to get up and get to the venue.
It’s 9:15, now, and I have to get back before the show at 10:15.
A sell out, and a slip up.
]Apparently, I’m not the only one who brought too much stuff. I’ve got a full drum kit, a percussion ensemble, three amplifiers, six guitars, and all the rest of the assorted crap that you need to put on a rock and roll show, these days! That’s a lot of gear, and the van is crammed from stem to stern and right up to the rafters. In addition, the passenger van, which was supposed to be a 12 passenger van, only seats 11. This wouldn’t be a problem, but another American joined us in Montreal: Lily is president of the “Alarm Fan Club”, or something like that, and she’s added herself to the entourage. She’s being put to work selling merchandise, but that’s still an extra bum for a seat we’ve got none.
Les Saints, the venue in Montreal, was palatial compared to Zaphod Beeblebrox, in Ottawa. We did sell out here, but as the venue is smaller, it doesn’t take as many. Bottom line is that we sold a little more than 125 in Montreal, and 225+ here. It seems that there is an ordinance in Canada, that requires that every music venue be situated next door to a sex boutique, (The one in Montreal was “Le Boutique Romantique), or a strip club. In Ottawa Zaphod Beeblebrox is on the ground floor, while “Bare Essentials” occupies the top two floors! I’m not complaining, but I don’t want people to get the wrong idea about a traveling Rock and Roll group.
But here’s where it all gets nasty. We had a stange schedule for the load-in. We arrived a 6pm, and show time was scheduled for 9, so we were a bit more rushed than we’d like. We managed well enough, but after the show, we had to get off the stage in a hurry, because the place becomes a dance club at midnight! Now you can look at this a merely a six hour shift, but where’s the time for dinner in that timeline?
The reality was much worse than it should have been. The club itself was crap. The stage was tiny, and the dressing room was a closet in the basement. I was “knackered” from the time the show started, to the time it ended, so I didn’t do any videotaping. The club crowd came in right on the heels of the show, and we had to make our way through the press whenever we needed to get from the stage to the door and back. When Boo, the lead roadie, and I came on stage to begin the load out, we had no work light, and we had to shout over the disco music. The stage, which was about two feet above the dance floor didn’t have any steps leading up to it, so the band used a wobbly speaker cabinet as a step. About halfway through the load-out, I was standing in front of the stage, while Boo handed me guitars and I put them in the cases. I was turned away from him, when I felt a thump, and I turned back to see him smashed on the floor, head against the edge of the stage! He’d apparently jumped down off the stage, with Mike’s guitar, slipped on a spilled drink, (there was broken glass and spilled drinks all over the dance floor), and landed with his back on the floor, and his head aginst the edge of the stage. True to the Roadie’s Creed, he protected the guitar, and was still holding up off the floor out of harm’s way.
Mr. Andy Boo tunes up for the show.
So amidst the thumping music, the flashing lights and dancing bodies, I helped him to his feet. He sat down on a road case for a few minutes to collect himself. I could see that he was in a lot of pain, but there wasn’t much I could do. I let him sit there for a few minutes, and I told someone to get some ice wrapped in a towel, from the bar. We were mostly done with the packing, still had some guitars to pack and some cables to coil, but we were almost cleared off the stage. I got the rest of the crew, Nyle Shepard, Anthony, Steve Kirk, and James Newall to help getting the gear out into the hall and out to the door. I lost track of Boo at somepoint, as my attention was fixed on getting the van loaded so we could get out of there an tend to our injured comrade.
Eventually, we got the van loaded, and while we were waiting for the passenger van to pull up, I started to look for Boo. Nowhere to be found! I ran down to look for him in the dressing room, but there was nobody there but the band and they kept asking me for more drink tickets! Internet Anthony and I stood out in the cold for a while, hoping he would materialise. Eventually, after much speculation, I told Ant to make a thorough search of not just the rooms and the hallways, but to look in the bar, as well. Lo and behold, that’s where he was! He was sitting at the bar, being plied with drinks by the owner.
Eugene, the owner, was very nice to us, and obviously a fan of the band and the music, but when he got wind of Andy’s fall, his shrewd promoters business instincts kicked into gear. It’s only speculation on my part, but I believe that he was hoping to get a few drinks into the Rasta, so that if he had to go to hospital later, (entirely possible), he might have enough alcohol in his system to let the bar owner off the hook! Luckily, Andy Boo doesn’t really like cocktails so much as a pint of stout, and I think he also had the presence of mind to refuse the drinks out of common sense, anyway.
We left and he and I went back to the Econo-lodge, (the name says it all, doesn’t it?), and I helped him back up to his room. He was obviously hurting. His 43rd birthday was a week ago, and on the way back to the hotel, we talked about how, in this business, which is so demanding physically, you get to a certain age and you start asking yourself, “Why am I doing this?”. I knew he would be sore, at best, in the morning. Anthony showed up, with James, and they offered to go out and get us a curry. Nothing is better for a weary soul, after a show loads out, than a meal, and a good night’s sleep. We both got something from the Lebanese place across the street. We had a nightcap from “Hatch’s Portable Bar and Medicine Kit”, and then I left him with Ant in their room.
That was last night. Today, we leave in about 40 minutes for the drive to Sudbury. It’s 300+ miles, then a late load-in at 9pm and the show starts at Midnight! Another long day awaits us…
