ohGr TOUR DISPATCH -- JUNE 6, 2001

Hey all,

It took me a while to get it together to give the first update. I am in Kansas City today, on one of my first real days off. The previous day off, within a 30-hour timeframe, I blew up to Vancouver Island from Seattle (compliments of mon bon ami, Rachel Proulx) to see long-time friend and first-ever boyfriend Ian's mom, who had a very serious illness. Then I was ferried back down to Seattle (via the ever-patient Rachel and just-Ed) the next morning where I hopped a flight to Salt Lake City, barely arriving at the club in time for the noon load-in. Uhhn. Its been a pretty frantic tour so far, at least for me.

(This is going to be a sort of "what-exactly-do-you-do-anyway" sort of essay, so those of you who know the road might get bored. Yeah, yeah-- call me on the details later. For the rest of you, hopefully this will give you a general snapshot.)

My day starts inside my pitch-black bunk, when I feel the bus lurch to a halt, at least for a stop that lasts for more than a couple of minutes, meaning we're at the day's venue. (Once in a while, I jump up and out, ready to go, only to find that we're at a pre-dawn truck stop detour. Damn it! I hate it when that happens!) Muscle-sore and pasty-mouthed, I jump down from my top bunk in a tier of three. If any those goth kids knew that the bunk RIGHT BELOW MINE was Ogre's... oh, my Goth! Many, many jokes are made about selling all and sundry on the bus on eBay for top dollar-- i.e. "Who's fucking boot is this that I keep tripping over? Cause it's going on eBay at the next stop unless it gets put away!". I asked Ogre if he would mind if I tried to auction my first paycheck on eBay for more than the face value, as it not only had his autograph, but also had his home address.

Brush teeth, pour coffee, then roll out onto the sidewalk/parking lot/back alley. If the venue is a theatre or ballroom, cool. There's gonna be plenty of room, a fairly pro local crew (The Fillmore in San Francisco) and a pretty easy load-in. If it's a beer-stained, dank and ratty glorified beer-hall, it's probably going to be not so much (Area 51 in Salt lake City).

Gather local crew, usually 4-6 local kids of varying strength and experience. I have been trying to really remember everyone's names-- it helps when you want to get a little extra later on, whether it's tighter security or an extra case of water or whatever. It's better if they feel like they are part of the team. So, load the gear in around 2 pm, set up the stage, fix whatever broke the night before, panic a little about whatever emergencies came up. It's all about fixing and improvising with a bit of super glue, gaff tape and drywall screws. For instance, in Salt Lake City, the stage was really small, with a stairwell cut into each side-- an performance disaster waiting to happen. I had the local crew build a platform over the most offensive stairwell with some 2x4's and 3/4" plywood, while I made a stage extension with two of our large trunks, 16 milk crates and some zip ties. It worked admirably.

Band starts to filter in around 5 pm for soundcheck. After ohGr's sound check, I stay around to get Hate Dept set up and ready. I am ready to rename them Love Dept, who are a dream opening act. They are doing the van-tour thing, and knew how much gear ohGr would have, so they didn't bring any guitar amps-- they are just playing direct into the PA system, with a pretty small (partial trigger pads) drum kit. They are really nice and helpful, so in return, I have been taking care of them, like when I find club gaff tape, I write their name on it and leave it in their stuff. Or give them most of our deli tray, since we always seem to waste it. I also got Mary Jo, our tour manager, to secretly give them the keys to the band day rooms after we leave so they have a free place to sleep or at least shower. Opening acts usually are living off of t-shirt sales, and calling some girlfriend's father to borrow money to get gas to get to the next show, where hopefully, they would sell enough to get to Chicago, which is a really big market and usually sells pretty good. Van tours are stressful, budget-strained, friendship-testing harrowing experiences.

Between the Hate Dept setup and about the middle of their set, I can go off for dinner or whatever. I am usually too distracted by the upcoming show to actually get much done, even reading. By the way, this time frame is approximately from 7 pm or so to about 9:30 pm, most days. Not a bad time to try to call me on the cell phone.

Also, I have taken to going out to the edge of the stage if there's no barricade and saying "hi" to the kids right up front and warning them to be careful of the guitar pedal boards and not to accidentally smack them. They get really excited that I've involved them, and then they do their own security. Instead of worrying about kids coming onto the stage (STRICTLY not allowed), they are telling all of the kids around them to be careful. I have to thank Rachel for this approach, as she has taught me much about treating each person as a person. Sounds basic, but it's hard to remember some nights when there are a herd of faithful goth kids are trying to clutch at whatever piece of musician they can get their hands on. After the show, they tend to hang around and get underfoot while the crew is trying to move 300 lb cases into the gear trailer.

Then, it's show time. Frank (of The Legendary Pink Dots) is monitors-- he checks the front wedges and the inner-ear monitors that the singer, Ogre, wears. The monitors are basically what the band can hear in order to keep in time and stay on tune. It's really different than what you hear in "front of house" where the audience is. We are also the idiots who have to go up the the mic and say "check, check" in between bands. That is called "line check", which we do during set change to make sure all of the connections are still working. Glen, the "front of house" sound guy is in charge of that. I have to go up onto the drum kit and hit the kick drum, snare drum, all of the toms, click into the high hat and overhead cymbal mics and hit all of the trigger pads. Sometimes, to my mortification, I am required to play a simple 4-4 beat in front of the entire audience. No, Cevin Key, the drummer, is not in danger of me having an eye on his job. I HATE, HATE, HATE playing in front of people! Then Dave, guitar and keyboard tech, and I, drum tech, run around and make sure everything is set up and ready to go. I place water, towels, and one open Heineken for the guitar player in discreet spots. Dave stations himself on stage left and I go to stage right. We have to run out and fix whatever needs fixing-- a tangled cable, loose parts, etc. We are the geeks that you see righting the mic stand and disrupting the visual continuity. We also do other stuff behind the scenes, like cue the movies for the video wall and change the DAT tapes that have the samples and extra noises on them.

Did I tell you about Dave? He is from Arroyo Grande, a town about 10 minutes north of wonderful Santa Maria where I grew up, but moved back East in his twenties, and adopted Boston like I adopted NYC. He was a messenger there, in the snow and all, which earned some points with me. He was in the Special Forces for a couple of years, too. But he has been slacking as of the last couple of shows. He slept through the bus change we had to do yesterday morning in a truck stop outside Denver, where we had to wake up and immediately repack the bus bays and the gear trailer to accommodate our newer, smaller Prevost bus. He is ALWAYS asleep in his bunk. So I nicknamed him "Princess" and have threatened to gaff-tape him into his bunk if he does it again. It's all about trying to get defamatory nicknames to stick. We had a big production meeting today to resolve issues, so he has a 3-show probation. Last night in Denver, Ogre couldn't spot him during the show in his usual place by the side of the stage, and yelled "Where the hell is Princess?" into the microphone. Excellent!

After the show, Glen puts on "Dueling Banjos" to signal that the show is over. Jolly, our 6' 8" production manager/lighting guy (he is going to have to be introduced in a later dispatch, as he is a story unto to himself) gives the lights one more spastic freakout, and then the house lights come up. No, my job's definitely not over yet. While the audience turns to go home and band are relaxing and unwinding in the bus or the hotel, the crew starts breaking down the stage and packing and loading gear. With the help of the local crew, who are either a big help or a giant liability depending on skill and intelligence level, we are usually locked and loaded by about 2 am.

Then we get about 1/2 hour to shower at the hotel before we hustle into the bus for the drive to the next town. We sleep in our bunks, and only see the hotel in the middle of the night for the time it takes to shower. I turn on the heating pad, apply the liniment, and pass out. Some people stay up to talk in the back (smoking) or front (non-smoking) lounge, but all of us get to sleep pretty soon. After all, we'll be to the next show in no time. I lift a good part of approximately 3000 lbs a day of various cases, gear, band members, etc., so sore muscles and not enough sleep are permanent features. Rock and roll, baby! We are the road crew (a very fine Motorhead song, if you want the highlights).

More anecdotes in the next dispatch. I had to acquaint you all with my job before I got on to the juicy bits!

love from the road,
Paula (a.k.a. Shark)

ohGr TOUR DISPATCH -- JUNE 19, 2001

Hello all,

It's got to be a quick one, because I have to check out of the hotel and get to load-in in a few. We just had a couple of days off in NYC, which is amazing-- usually, you are stuck in some lame place like Akron, OH. We stayed in the Cosmopolitan in Tribeca-- very small, but not bad. The first day, I walked all over downtown Manhattan, giving Cevin and Frank my sideways tour of New York (including a stop in an East Village garden to appreciate the, uh, greenery-- despite the increasing presence of Gulianni's jack-booted-thug police squad). I perambulated until the crack of dawn, ending up at the very bottom of the island, then eating an al fresco ham-and-egg-on-a-roll from a cart on the steps of St. Patrick's while the sun was rising. Perfect.

The next day, William told the assembled breakfast-eaters that his night didn't end there. As I was crashing soundly into oblivion, he was having major difficulties with his roommate, Condo, our video tech. Apparently, Condo had taken full advantage of the late drinking hours observed by New York City, and had drunk himself a fair lake of booze. William was just drifting off to sleep when he heard a cascading fountain. He rolled over to witness Condo pissing on the white laminate nightstand between the two beds (guess he saw the white and thought it was the finest porcelain). William: "Condo! CONDO!!! YOU'RE PISSING ON THE NIGHTSTAND!!!" Condo's slurred, somnulent response: "At leas' I ain't pissing on you!" After a bit of struggle, William finally got him back in bed. But moments later, he felt Condo's very unwelcome presence just seconds before he started spooning. Then Condo started pissing again. At this point I would have lost it, but William, the ever-patient and polite Canadian, gave up and went over to Condo's bed to try to catch some sleep there. No dice-- that bed was also piss-soaked. But instead of kicking Condo's ass or even just sleeping on the floor, William curled up in the only dry spot and passed out. Let me tell you-- Condo had to wear that particular scene for the rest of the tour.

Then I spent the rest of my second day off riding around on the back of Sandra's bad-ass Buell motorcycle. It was very excellent.

Some quick anecdotes from various shows:

I ended up in the emergency room in Pittsburg, not being able to breathe-- my windpipe began to close up during load-out, and I couldn't figure out what was going on. It scared the crap out of me. The had me on a IV, a breathing tube, and all sorts of electronic telemetry. I kept writing notes to the doctors and nurses with my Sharpie, asking what the hell was going on, but it was obvious that they didn't know-- they wouldn't even respond. It kept getting worse. Finally, they gave me a big whacking shot of steroids, which made me hallucinate, but that finally got my windpipe open again. I demanded that William (the ohGr guitar player/video director who brought me there) be let into my room. I lay curled up with my head in his lap for an interminable amount of time, but felt better with a normal (well, familiar) human being there. Thanks, William. The cool part was being picked up from the emergency room in a tour bus. Very rock, man. The next day in Philly, I went to see the rock-n-roll doc, Dr. Frank, who said it was only stress and maybe bronchitis. He gave me antibiotics, which have since made me completely better, with only residual phlegm attacks. Bob, who was the runner, drove me there and back. He is studying biology to become a herpetologist, is a body-mod freak with full sleeve tattoos and four tongue piercings. He wanted to bifurcate his tongue, but his wife said she wouldn't kiss him if he did. But both hang-- which means from meat hooks in their upper backs. (See, Dad, it could have been SO MUCH WORSE!!!)

Torrential downpour for the load-out at 2 am in New Jersey. We were all soaked to the skin in seconds while we tried to wrangle all of the gear into the trailer in complete darkness. Yay. Skold couldn't wait for the day-room to shower, so, being the Euro that he is, stripped naked and stood outside in the pouring rain with soap and scrubbed down-- right in the bus's glaring headlights. We have pictures.

Showed up at the club in Buffalo, NY, to find that it was near-microscopic and still under construction. We played anyway. Because of the dust, Jolly made me wear a filter mask all day and also during the show, so I looked like an idiot raver kid or Michael Jackson. Couldn't find a white glove to go with the ensemble.

Jolly, by the way, is our 6'7" production manager, partially Native American, who can, like, lift a car or something with one hand. One time, someone stuck a decibel meter on him, and he clocked over 100db, unamplified. Crazy. He has long hair, knotty veins all over his legs, JC Waterwalkers on his size 15 feet and a huge heart. If he wasn't so nice, he'd be out-of-control scary. He's tour dad and he rules.

We drove into NYC in the pouring rain through the industrial wasteland of New Jersey at 4 am. I stood in the very front of the bus, looking out of the massive windshield, watching the lights of the World Trade Center emerge out of the mist. And I also provided our bus driver with spot-on directions to the hotel.

The show in Cleveland was a disaster because the promoter was a complete waste of organic matter. He was a small-time rave promoter and was in WAY over his head. He lied to his partner and said that the show was sold out at about 1600 tickets (the capacity of the theatre is 1100), thinking he'd create a feeding frenzy. He only succeeded in making all of the kids in Cleveland believe that it would be impossible to get in, so not many showed. The pre-sale was actually 380, and I'd be surprised if we actually cracked 600 people with the walk-up business. What an idiot. Supposedly, he had to borrow from the venue to pay our guarantee, and the building is owned by...the Mafia! Oops. Bile, from Long Island, NY, also played with us there. I have worked with them in the past, and their drummer, Tom Zagorski, is the little brother of one of the first techs I ever trained. Great to see him and also the rest of Bile.

In a coffee place on Broadway yesterday, i turned around to see my friend, Pasha, from LA, standing right behind me, completely nonchalant. He and his wife, Paulina, are in NYC for a couple of days visiting Paulina's family. So we went out for a drink at Windows on the World on the 107th floor of the World Trade Center.

Gotta go catch a cab to the venue. Big hug to all.

Until next time,
p