GreenSugar

Confessions of A Road Band Vol. IV

Sep 21, 2009 Uncategorized
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Rainy Monday morning…

I’ve read more Rock N Roll Biographies than just about anyone I know, and in each one there is a section in it about how the band gets off the road and there is this weird feeling that sets in amongst the guys in the band. It’s a reference to the social awkwardness that comes with adjusting to a life in which you are not the center of attention, as well as the depression that sets in from the fact that you are no longer…well…the center of attention. Add to this the extreme exhaustion of travel and throw in a splash of domestic/personal life drama and you have a recipe for disaster that has claimed the sanity and lives of more than one musician (check out your favorite dead rockers timeline and cross reference this fact. Somehow almost everyone you can think of survives the tour, but once its over seems to melt down/die).

Anyhow we’re nowhere near having to deal with any of that shit…yet…but I still sit here this morning and find myself wishing I was sitting in the back of the van surrounded by gas station snack food garbage and inhaling someone else’s smoky exhale…so I figure the best way to deal with being this restless is to tell you a tale…a tale of two gigs…

After a great local show at THE BOTTOM LOUNGE on Friday…thanks to the 19…Saturday we had our first experience playing two shows in different towns in one day. This is a necessary evil in the business (it was even more so in the heyday of our idols when most venues still offered early and late shows) and from everyone I’ve spoken to who has done it, it’s an awful experience. Assuming you actually give 100% of yourself to your craft, you’re usually totally shot after a gig, and so the concept of loading in, winding up, exploding, packing up, traveling, winding down, loading in, winding up, and exploding again can be daunting. Yet as virgins to this adventure we quickly agreed to the itinerary and figured it’d be an awesome experience to add to our growing catalogue…and it was!!! From what I remember…

First up we had a slot opening up for a band called MR. BLOTTO at their annual fall festival called the Blottumnal Equinox. The fest was AMAZING and the people who were in attendance were some of the nicest and most involved listeners we’d ever played in front of and I want to personally thank Paul and all the guys for inviting us…THANK YOU!! We rolled into Medaryville, IN about two hours before show time and as we were pulling onto the grounds passing tents and makeshifts camping areas I spotted a hybrid parked along side the Blotto bus…nothing unusual about that at a hippy fest right? So we park the trailer and get our instructions and immediately go about finding all of the necessary tools we need for a full scale pre-party and not a single one of us seems to be thinking about the show we’re scheduled to perform in 8 hours. Learning from my last experience (Confessions 1) I kept it super mellow on the boozing as I knew I had a two hour set to sing later in the evening. Naturally I found whatever I could to keep me entertained while the rest of the guys save our driver, Chief E Rogenous, found their way into their own little state of pre-show Zen. I settled on PINK BALLOONS. OH THE PRETTY, PRETTY BALLOONS…

Anyhow at some point the little hybrid that could catches my attention and this time I realize I recognize it as a friend’s from high school and I notice that in addition to musical equipment falling out of it several guys wearing Spooners and slacks are milling about around it. Turns out my buddy and his band are playing the slot in front of us as a Vegas lounge act meets the LOVEBOAT band called, LOVERS OF THE SEA. These guys take the stage dressed as island hopping Winos and break into the intro music from The Blues Brothers and I can see this fest is gonna be a bit different from the sweaty rock spots we usually play in. They tear through an hour of amazing comedy/schmaltz pop that has the entire fest simultaneously laughing their ass off and wondering if they did too much acid and all the while I’m floating around thinking, “Okay, I’m at an outdoor festival opening up for a band that I’ve been listening to for ten years, and yet we don’t really play music much like headliners, and now we have to go on stage after the laugh-in and play our brand of gritty Rock N Roll in front of a giant campground full of CHILL people!!?? AWESOME. So we get on stage and we’re in the middle of this field and there are hundreds of tents set up around the field and buses and trucks and campers and I’m gonna rock everyone’s face off and there’s NOT A SINGLE SOUL STANDING IN FRONT OF THE STAGE. The sun is beating down, and this is our first time playing for this crowd, and many of the concert-goers are in their tents talking themselves down from the last act (my buddy playing bass was wearing jean shorts so short that during his leg kicks his stones would bounce of your forehead if you were too close to the stage) so we’ve got a hell of a situation suddenly…There’s nothing that takes the wind out of your sails faster than playing in front of nobody…Especially when you know there are HUNDREDS of people all around listening to you so you can’t chill out cause even if they can’t see you they can all hear you!! Needless to say we decided to start with a blues and let everyone’s nerves recover and in the end the show went off without a hitch…but man what a start…

After the show we had about three hours to kill before we had to head out so we hung out with the campers and generally just rapped with all of the people who were kind enough to give our music a shot…and quite naturally within an hour we were hunkered down in a guy named FROG’S tent throwing ideas around as to how we could get out of the second show. People at these types of fests are so kind and polite and respectful of the music that if you can make a good impression their loyalty can take you a long way. We seemed to be getting great reviews from everyone we talked to and so of course we asked ourselves: Who would want to leave this place!? The people are so awesome!! The weather is perfect!! There’s a late night jam session where I could sit in!! They have DANK NACHOS!! PINK BALLOONS!! Why would we wanna drive an hour and a half to some smoky hole in the wall when we could hang here amongst our people!!!

Well despite the beer, bud, and balloons we got out of there on time thanks to Chief E and it’s at this point where it gets messy. Half of us are wasted. The other half are groggy. ALL of us are coming down from the show and NONE of us wants to sit around for four more hours then play for two hours. There is only one thing that can save us: 5 HOUR ENERGY: EXTRA STRENGTH. I know, I know, there’s another remedy…but that ain’t our style…so down the hatch they go…Lafayette here we come…

Side Story:

5 hour energy is worse than crack. It’s more addictive than sex and tastes better red bull. It’s also been created and perfected by the dorky burners who made speed in high school but never had the balls to strike out on their own and so they went to college instead and became, “chemists.” I hate this stuff. I hate the bottle it comes in, and the way the seal breaks when you twist it open like a fiend and the sound the empty bottle makes when you drop it on the pavement and convulse as it courses through your veins. Never try it if you don’t have to. If you already have, well, then take another and keep reading…

Two weekends ago we played an outdoor street fest held by our local watering hole called the 1st Annual Mahoney’s Music Fest. We were scheduled to play in the afternoon and we were fourth on the bill and in direct support of Scott Lucas of Local H and his new band (they don’t talk to pee-on’s like us. And Scott’s guitar player, who plays mostly bar chords, avoided my eye contact and called us “fun” as he walked by…he must be super famous…) and we were coming off shows the Thurs and Friday before. We woke up that morning HUNG THE FUCK OVER after a night in Kenosha WI playing at a massive local venue called the BRAT STOP (free beer and shots for the band…Brats extra) and so clearly our only option was 5 hour. Pat and I hit the CVS at 10am and bought Coors, V8, and a case of 5 hour. We stepped outside the doors of the building and put our bags on the ground and immediately pounded 5 hours. We then dropped those, convulsed, and pounded our V8’s. We hopped in the car and headed over to the studio and by the time we got there we were back in black. Upon arriving at the studio and meeting up with the rest of the clan I took another five hours with the other guys. Never before had I taken ten hours in such close proximity, however I’m pretty much immune to caffeine so I figured that while it wasn’t caffeine (so they say) I would be fine. We park the trailer at the fest and get our shit set up. I’m amped. Ready. This is MY bar in MY backyard and a lot of the people on hand are MY people. No sweat. Well about 20 minutes before we play I’m sitting in the car warming up my pipes and I start sweating. I take my hat off. Sweating. Roll down the windows. Bands playing can’t hear the song I’m singing to. Roll em up. Sweating hard now. Heart rate rising. Swedish knocks on the window, “WHAT!!??”
“Kong isn’t here yet.”
“WHAT!!??”
“Kong’s not here.”
“Where the hell is he!?? Are you hot?”
“No. He said he’s eating a sandwich.”
“Well tell him to get the fuck over here!!”
“I did. U Okay?”
“I’M FINE!!”

Windows up. Sweating deep now. Kong appears. We take the stage. Blood pressure 210 over 65. Samantha brings us a round of Jager BOMBS and sets them at the front of the stage. “Have a good show!!” I’m twitching now. My right eye lid is tweeking full on. I have shades on thankfully. I hand out the shots and set two of them on top of my amp. I pull two more 5 hours out of my pocket and pour one into each shot. I hand one to Pat and we cheers. Now 15 hours in. Plus the Red Bull. We start playing. I’m doing jumping jacks. My back is soaked all the way through after one tune. Blood pressure at 350 over 71. I attempt some sort of intro to Trouble. My hands are shaking so uncontrollably that I’m now laughing at my becoming what I detest so much…a bumbler. There is a small child who I know sitting 10 yards in front of the stage and I can swear I can hear everything he’s saying. “Is their singer tweaked out of his mind on legal speed? Did he just say fuck? What’s dripping off his guitar? Why is he dancing like Richard Simmons?”

At some point the show is over and I clear the stage of my gear in six seconds. Bad ass from the next band walks by and says we were fun. I dig through my bag for my Swiss army knife to shank him but only find a 5 hour. For reasons which only the weasel motherfuckers at the 5 hour lab can tell you I rip the lid off the thing with my back molars and pound another. 20 hours now. I finish loading up the trailer and find my woman. Conversation goes like this:

“Hi!! Good Show!”
“Thanks. I’m Hungry. I think I’m Hungry. I haven’t eaten in a while. Are you hungry? You should eat. You never eat. I haven’t eaten since I’ve been back in Illinois. Is it hot out? You’re beautiful. Where is So and So. Can you order me some food? Anything’s good. Are you having fun?. I’m having fun. I gotta go. Order food.”
“Uh..okay?”

I circle the bar 18 times trying to calm myself down. I cannot. I’m interrupted by E. “drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Just drink it and shut up. Nice intro on Trouble.”
“Fuck you. GULP.”

Jager Bomb. Disaster.

Kong locks the keys in the trailer. I panic. I chew through the lock easily. Situation solved. Food arrives at some point and I stop at the table for a nano second. I grab half the sandwich and wander around talking to myself for 30 minutes with a half eaten raw tuna steak dripping down my arm. There are hundreds of people all around me. My heart rate is 500 over 86. Some close friends of mine whom I haven’t seen are at the show and they introduce me to their friends. These people are super cool. I’m a complete disaster. I nod knowingly as this guy tells me about the time he hung out with the Beastie Boys. I’m slobbering on myself and waiting for him to take a breath so I can bolt to tweak somewhere alone. He’s hammered and doesn’t take a breath except to say, “You want a shot?” I say yes. We go to the bar. Is it day or night? Where are we? Jager Bomb? Sure. Football’s on? What time is it? Where is everyone? Bartender hands me a pint of Vodka and Sprite. Caffeine. “You’re so chill today. What’s your deal?”

“Aw just tired.”
“Right on. Good show.”
“Thanks.”
I circle the bar 86 more times. I spot a friend in the inner circle.

“Dude. Get me the fuck out of here right now.”
“Huh? U okay!?”
“RIGHT NOW.”
“Got it. Let me grab the girls.”
I bee-line for the front door. 16 different people wanna talk to me. I try to formulate words but only nonsense comes out.

“You guys had a killer set!”
“Coo…”
“The drums sounded so massive today! I heard them from a block away!”
“20 hours.”
“Huh?”
“Sweating…”
“I’ll bet! You guys always have so much energy. Are you gonna stick around for our set? You should sit in! It’d be awesome!!”
“20 hours.”
“Huh?”
“Bar tab…”
“Yeah I got one too! Let’s do shots!”
“Can’t. 20 hours.”
“Huh?”
“5 hours bombs and caffeine”
“So you want a Jager Bomb?”
“Yes.”
“Cool! Stay here I’ll be right back!”
“20 hours.”
“Huh?”
“Right here.”
“Yeah. Don’t move!”

I ran. I got to the car somehow and thanks to my peeps made it back to the house where I circled the glass coffee table 786 times and barked obscenities to the television and anyone else within earshot. I went to sleep at five after funneling Rum to slow my heart rate and dreamed I was being chased by the gnome in the expedia.com commercials. That little bastard came in and out of every dream I had that night. Always laughing, always charging around right at me…

I’m not sure if I’ve woken up since…

Stay off the Five Hour Energy: Extra Strength.

SOOO…we take our 5 hour energy and by the time we roll into Lafayette everyone is at least awake. We’re scheduled to play the after party for some friends of ours who are having their CD release party and so we’re not planning on starting until they’re finished…or 12:30am. We load our stuff into the bar and it’s this tiny underground Pub in Lafayette called HUNTERS and there’s no stage and no sound system and you can smoke inside and there’s 15 people in there and we’re beat and we set up our gear and head across the way to see our friends ROOT HOG play and we’re basically hoping we get hit by a train. We stumble into the club they’re playing and it’s PACKED. There’s easily 500 people in the place and the sound system is amazing and our boys are KILLING it and I’m tired, hung over, brain-dead and wondering if the dude who just buzzed by my leg is the Expedia gnome and then Kong says hey we gotta go back and start playing. I beg for death. He doesn’t come.

We take the “stage” at 12:15am and start with a grooving blues to shake off the cob webs as well as sound check ourselves as our sound guy is…busy…this weekend and there’s about 30 people in the room and within a minute ten of them are dancing. They’re all women. Within five minutes all the guys in the bar start dancing with the girls. Swedish and E light up. Within 20 minute another 30 have rolled in. After every song the place goes shithouse. Pat starts smiling again. Suddenly we need drinks. Our professional Buddy is blacked out clean. Repeated announcements from the stage for drinks fall on his deaf ears. He is in the Buddy zone. EVERYONE is smoking. In between lines of each song I inhale and blow out a cloud of smoke. There is a dog in the corner with a parliament hanging from his Jowls. The Expedia gnome is talking to a girl at the bar and rolling his own smoke…apparently gnomes roll deep. Within an hour the place is packed. Women are dancing on both sides of Kong as he keeps the groove. Kong’s woman is seated at the point of the bar laughing AT them in between selling Merch and hording emails and explaining to these people that we’re all single as long as you buy a T-shirt. Hunters is now the best bar on the planet. We play for 90 minutes and then close the set with a drum thing which drives the place crazy. I’m confident half the room is on mushrooms. I KNOW the dude laying on the floor with his head directly underneath my microphone and next to my Wah pedal is on mushrooms. During the set break our boy Pat from Roothog shows up and sets up so we can close the night out with a jam. The conversations that ensue during a set break at Hunters at 1:45am are not web appropriate so I’ll simply leave it at this: Join us there on Oct. 10 and you’ll see why this place is the baddest little bar in the Midwest…We closed the night out with a monster jam and wound up back at the very same house we crashed at from the first Confessions, though several things were different. First off rather than play an empty movie theater we just finished up an awesome show so everyone was pumped. Second, we now knew the house we were crashing at and had since become much closer with its owner (Pat you are, without a doubt, the coolest cat on the planet…THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EVERYTHING!!) and third we’re passing out after a day that started 22 hours before and after we’d turned a thousand people onto our music…the floor never felt so good…

And so our tale of two gigs ended successfully. We had completed the dreaded two-a-day challenge that so many before us have endured, and as I lay on the floor at 5:30am I couldn’t help myself from wondering, “Why does E get the couch? And what is it about hash oil? And how can Pat fart so loudly and not wake himself up? And WHY THE HELL WON’T THAT FUCKING GNOME LEAVE ME ALONE!?

Until we meet again…

GS Forever-