Don't you just dig this rock 'n' roll lifestyle?
We drove all night (well, Beau did, anyway) to get to Atlanta from the gig
the night before so that we could make the 10am sound check.
That's right, you heard correctly... 10 bloody AM in the morning...
... if I'm not mistaken, it says in paragraph 32a of the National Association
Of Traveling Performers that, and I QUOTE:
"No Hour Before The Hour Of Twelve In The After Shalt Be Recognized By Any
Member In Good Standing."
What did I do to fall out of grace, oh Sound Elders???
My gut reaction was that there was no way we were going to LOAD IN at 10am,
let alone begin sound check, but that's just me... but hey... for ONCE we
would be there WAITING for them to open the doors.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Variety Playhouse around 6am or so and
pondered what to do for the next several hours... "sleep" being the only
thing we liked better than "hang out with the homeless junkies up the block".
The new Touring Vessel is a wonderful thing - room to stretch out and get
some sleep, that is if you don't lose the "Musical Chairs" for a bench or
decent floor space...
I lost.
When you lose, you have to find space wherever; This for me meant sort of
tucked between the front seats and the underside of the first bench... with
Scott's ass hanging precariously over the edge of the bench... and the first
thing you realize when you get tucked into this space is "My God! I can't
MOVE!"
... the second, of course, is "My God! I can't BREATHE!"
... followed by the inevitible panick attack...
I felt like Richard Gere's gerbil.
OH C'MON... LIKE YOU DIDN'T SEE THAT COMING!!!!
Seriously, I got sort of stuck... and it took quite an effort to free
myself...
"Wonder what them junkies're up to?" I wondered, and opening a beer from the
cooler, stepped out into the day. Looking at my watch I saw that it was
around 9:30am... I must have passed out from the struggle and actually gotten
some sleep after all... just at this point a big truck pulled up and backed
up, dangerously close to the Touring Vessel's shiny white 1998 paint...
The driver got out and walked around back... we exchanged industry greetings,
which protocol dictates never exceeding a nod and grunt, it being before 10am
and all, and he opened the back of this huge truck...
... there were two smallish road cases...
... NOTHING else...
"What's this?" I asked, breaking with protocol...
"Bass rig... supposed to meet someone here at 10am to drop it of... you him?"
"No."
The driver ran his hand through his hair and looked deep in thought... then
he looked up at me again...
"Shit!" was his conclusion. "Well, can I leave YOU to watch it?" he asked
hopefully.
Now, I'm red-eyed, long-haired, beer-drinking at 9:30am, smell like an
incontinent bear, and quite OBVIOUSLY in need of money to feed my various
monkeys...
"I really don't think I ca-"
"I'll give you $20."
" -nnn pass that up, no sir..."
I snatched the $20 from him and waved goodbye, only part of me wondering what
I could get for the bass rig at a local pawn shop... I'd need to enlist the
aid of some of the junkies up the block to carry it... but they'd probably
work cheap... hmmm...
... naaaahhhhh.. this WAS a benefit, after all...
Jerry Jam, a two day benefit for the Upper Chattahoochee Riverkeeper to be
exact... and these multiple-band multiple-day things are a nightmare without
fail.
This one had kicked off nicely by asking us to be here at 10am, I'll tell you
what...
Buuuuuttt around 10am the crew did start to arrive as promised and Beau began
to unload the trailer while I made the rounds to tell everyone to rise and
gripe... I mean 'shine'... there were several folks in freshly printed "Z-93
Jerry Jam" shirts, who turned out to be listeners and radio staff there to
help out..."The volunteers'll be gassed up by 8pm" was my guess outloud and
to no one inparticular...
I gave the house tech Sambo the stage plot and we started to get set up...
the selection of mics the house had was not to my liking, so I volunteered my
mics for both days not wanting to piss the local crew off with changing over
to my stuff for our sets each night (festival monitor guys just LOVE this
sort of end -of-the-day request, and will often offer to put your mics away
for you in a very uncomfortable place... and no, I don't mean Detroit)...
Funny Overheard Conversation:
(One rep from the radio station to the other rep)
"... had to send him home, he was drunk already... and the one guy hasn't
even GOTTEN here yet... he's out... gather all the volunteers around because
I'm going to have to address this..." (then a minute later) "... here to
WORK... if I catch any of you DRINKING or ANYTHING ELSE... yer GONE... and
you can pay at the door just like anyone else to see the show... you GOT ME?"
And You Know What? (Catagory #147) - When we got to the theater later, I saw
some of the Z-93 volunteers out-back... beers in hand... way to go, kids!
Once we were pretty well set up, the lighting company started telling us we
had to move some of our stuff because it was getting in the way of the
lights...
Mike Maraat fixed the guy with his baggy I-slept-in-a-van-don't-do-it stare
and said, and I QUOTE:
"No we don't."
The guy was shut down... it was the Jedi mind trick! You know, "... these
aren't the 'droids you're looking for..."!!!
The guy turned around, and that was the end of it. Pure and easy. I wanted to
laugh but I was way too tired...
We got a quick check in and I made a few mental notes on how I was running
the system (it would all be changed entirely when we came back for the show
that night anyway) and we made a hasty retreat to shut ourselves in dark
hotel rooms for the rest of the day...
When I got up I called a friend of mine and made plans to go out and see
Atlanta the next day followed by him checking out the show that night...
Jason "Spanky" Salzman is a guitar player who used to come through Chicago
with a band called Funk-O-Matic and is indeed a cool individual... and
nothing's changed except now it's ME who's penniless and touring through HIS
town and HE'S got the good paying gigs... funny how the world works...
we packed up and headed over to the venue and when we got up the street you
could see the people milling around outside the place with fingers held
aloft... SOLD OUT... quite easily done with the great collection of bands...
but still nice to know...
We pulled around back and as we walked up to the stage entrance, there was a
familiar face...
"Hey Bruce!" I said, sticking out my hand.
"Hey wait! You're Col. Bruce HAMPTON!" Ahmer almost blurted out.
"Yeah, that's me!" he said with the biggest grin I've ever seen, shaking
Ahmer's hand...
... come to think of it, he never shook mine... that DARNED Ahmer!!!
The last time I had seen Col. Bruce was several years ago when I was working
at Otis' here in Chicago and I got to mix him with the early version of the
Figi Mariners, and even though the show was amazing, he had looked worn out
and beaten. He has since stopped touring and plays exclusively in Atlanta now
and he looks ten years younger!!! Throughout the late afternoon and early
evening he sat with us and told some hilarious stories and really made the
night for me... and all that time, the side door kept opening to a blare of
jam band and a few sweaty people would emerge, gulping for air...
After awhile Col. Bruce took off as he had to play that night, but wished us
luck.
The inside of the theater was about a good twenty degrees hotter than it was
outside and the hours of gyrating hippies had raised the humidity to well
over three hundred percent... I was informed when I got there that the
schedule was right on and that our start time would be perfect...
Um, now it's ... only five minutes off...
... really... um...
Then, wouldn't ya know it...
"Joey, you gotta come quick... the right side of the PA just went out and
Sambo needs yer help..."
We all sort of looked at eachother as various techs scurried around and
volunteer stagehands gawked, hiding bottles and cans...
Sambo is crawling over the amp rack, guys are chasing wire... all-the-while
the band played on... turns out some freak had wandered backstage by the amp
racks and had turned the left side of the crossover down, which is
effectively like turning down a dimmer switch on your wall... so Sambo turned
it back up, and BlueGround UnderGrass continued... and continued... WHICH IS
OK FROM ONE STANDPOINT: They were AWESOME! Buuuuut... we do a certain length
of show, y'see... and we were getting nervous about having enough time to get
the complete show in...
By the time we were to go on B.G.U.G. was "stretching out a bit" and they'd
"have us right on"...
We went on about an hour late.
But Scott made provision... If we weren't finished by cerfew, they agreed to
lock the doors and call it a private party... problem solved!!!
By the time the band got on everyone in the audience was trashed to some
degree... even if it was simple exhaustion... so as I'm hurriedly "getting my
act together" between bands, the King of the Loaded comes over, swings a
sweaty arm around my neck (giving me the best chance of keeping some armpit
to take home with me), and asked, and I QUOTE:
"Do you effect the band?"
Even though I was in a hurry and slightly nervous about getting the
changeover made, I couldn't resist.
"Weeellll... sometimes they express queeziness or slight bowel discomfort..."
"Wha-?"
"Nevermind," I interupted, removing his paw from my person, "What's up,
dude?" I asked, turning back to the console...
"Naw Naw Naw... D'you dooo the reverbs an' shtuff'zwat I mean... c'zitz
cool..."
"Yes I do. I'm also pretty mean with a microwave."
"Say again, par'dner?"
"Forget it... um... thanks, man..." I managed.
"Thazacool thing, y'know? Wha'choo do... thaz'co-*hick*-oool..." he said and
then something bright or shiney caught his eye and he staggered off... never
a dull moment with our folk... NEVER...
AND NOW A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT FROM YOUR HUMBLE ENGINEER!!!
"Folks, I usually have time to answer a few questions but if your liquor
guage has hit that little "F" and the Slur Light has come on then I'd
appreciate it if you wait until next time to ask... Thanks!"
(Paid for by beaten baby Harp Seals)
(...what Cameron's thinking, RIGHT NOW...)
"Gee... I wwwWWONDER if I'll catch Hell for that LAST joke..."
OK... where was I before that cheap shot? Oh yeah... the band came out
onstage and I was now coated in eau d'armpit... How about 6/12/84 from Red
Rocks?
First song was "Alabama", and people were glad they had stuck around for the
late show... with a few tweaks the house EQ was back where I wanted it, and
the console was fairly close to what I had set earlier in the day (to my
surprise)... a little work on the vocals and changing of compression settings,
and two or three songs later I was starting to relax... "Friend of the Devil"
was nice and the place went up for "Althea"... and after Mike cooled it off
with "Looks Like Rain" John let fly with some chunky and insistant guitar
work on "Might As Well" which had the late-night crowd on it's feet...
After a micro-break to get some water the band got back to business with
"Scarlet Begonias", the impressive robotic lighting making HUGE dancing
murals on the walls and ceiling... the jam remained intense and driven,
taking on the at-the-time-in-1984 chug of "Touch of Grey"... still not quite
the polished single that would bring the world to The Dead's parking lot...
followed by a fine "Estimated>Eyes"... (you realize that when I say "fine"
it's because I can't recall anything much about them, right?)...
"Drumz" has changed dramatically with the addition of Dino and Ahmer moving
to the Mickey spot for this tour... I think the two of them play really well
together and Ahmer's tom work has been really impressive... partly, I'm sure,
because this is his last tour with us, he played with heart every night of
the tour. But the first night in Atlanta Dino and Ahmer got some interesting
pad work going and the three of us did our best to make the place howl...
after a short "Space" the band growled into "The Other One", the lights
flickering and flashing over the crowd as Mike's voice reverberated around
the room, falling off into a celebratory "Warf Rat>Round 'n' Round>Johnny B.
Goode" before the band relinquished their instruments and left the stage.
After "U.S. Blues" (a popular song in the South East I guess), Scott finally
got to do one, smokin' the B3 through the stage with "Hey Pokey Way"...
almost directly after the song was over, the lights came up (probably for the
first time in 6-8 hours) and everyone headed for the exits... steam and sweat
and smoke... the place looked like a battlefield... the poor cleaning staff,
man...
After some good-byes we went back to the hotel to celebrate briefly before
falling comatose until morning... everyone was beat even with the day's nap...