Backstage with Baldy
Montreal – July 15th
Over the course of their career, Alice In Chains has opened for a lot of bands, and had a lot of bands open for them.
I’ve mentioned a few along the way, but I generally don’t want to take up precious internet space talking about an opening act when I can be writing about hotel room showers or Mike petting a dog in Budapest.
However, I just can’t help myself this time; I have to mention Monster Truck.
I LOVE these guys.
The band loves these guys.
And you should love these guys.
Great band, great group of guys, and a band that I’m really hoping will break out and have some huge success, because they deserve it.
If you made it out to one of the shows on this last run and happened to see them, you know what I’m talking about, and if you didn’t see a show and are wondering what I’m gushing about, please give them a listen and buy their CD.
Real, kickass rock ‘n’ roll made by real musicians with impressive facial hair.
Check them out…
Now back to the blog.
The Canadian tour wrapped up with a great show in Montreal, capped off by a horribly uncomfortable bus ride to New York City, both physically and emotionally.
Here’s the deal; there are a lot of little duties that fall under my purview.
One of them is to make sure that the bus remains fully stocked with fresh food and drinks.
Over the course of my career, that aspect of the job has sometimes oftentimes been overlooked.
So when Jerry asked (for the 6th time in two weeks) why there was no water in the fridge, I shrank in my seat a little.
Then when Sean followed that up by pointing out the two loaves of moldy bread in the cupboard I shrank a bit more.
Then when they all piled on me about the fact that the only cold soda in the fridge was Diet Mountain Dew, I knew I was busted.
But the tour was basically over, and I had a lot of other loose ends to tie up that day.
What’s the big deal with drinking some warm water and not having bread for our final ride?
I shouldn’t make excuses though, I shirked my responsibilities and got busted.
Naturally I used the age-old defense of someone in the wrong who’s been called out: I turned it around and started slinging nonsense at the people attacking me.
I employed the classic “You Spoiled Rock Star Dicks Don’t Know How Good You Have It” defense.
Because really, what do you do you do when you’re a successful rock star who has it all?
You bitch about minutia.
“Why is the fridge only stocked with stuff we don’t eat or drink?”
“Why is there no ice in here?”
“It’s too hot in here.”
“It’s too cold out there.”
“Finding out that I just won the lottery interrupted the sex I was having with this bikini model.”
But that strategy didn’t work, and I spent the first half of our drive getting ripped to shreds by the band.
And I actually can’t think of a better way for a tour to end.
A bumpy bus ride, a verbal scolding, and the knowledge that it all starts up again in a couple of weeks.
See you In Scranton…
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Backstage With Baldy
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