A Barking Dog

October 31, 2003

She said oh no, Guadalajara won't do

A ringing phone woke me from a rock hard sleep. It was dark and somewhat dank in the room. There was no central climate control, no heat, no air though there was a standalone fan in the closet. I glanced at my travel alarm, 12:40 pm. I took a drink of water and cleared my throat as not to sound as if I just got up.

"Hello" I answered, though in a way that sounds like Yell-O. It's one of my three standard phone greetings. The others are "what!?" and "this better be good".

"Hi Dave, it's the tour manager. Did I wake you?"

"What's up?" I respond, ignoring the question.

"We are checking out of the hotel and are are giving everyone the option of either staying here or going to the new hotel. We are leaving in a half an hour and the only ones we haven't talked to are you, FOH dude and prod dude. We'll leave them directions and cab fare to the new hotel. It's not too far."

"I still need to pack, shower and get ready. I can't be ready in 30 minutes."

"Then I'll leave more money for the cab."

Huh? I think.

"Let me call you back in a few minutes".

I call prod dudes room. No answer. I call FOH dudes room, no answer. I try both cells. No answer. Leaving three quarters of the crew, all key personel in a situation like this had all the makings of either an early Robert Rodiquez film, or at the very least a bad Eagles song. I knew lighting dude would be in the bar, watching football. It was Sunday, after all. He's in the bar, Anejo and Coke in hand, NFL on the big screen. He's heard we're to leave and is getting ready to go get his luggage. He didn't know we were leaving the others. That's two of us perplexed.

I'm going to hit the El Patron and VIPS next to the hotel. They are basically Mexican versions of Dennys. Most VIPS even have a Farmacia in the lobby. Actually VIPS is more like Stucky's, though the food is worse. If you remember Stucky's having worse food is quite an accomplishment. No gringo roadies at any of the eateries, or the Office Max next door. I return to the hotel, not quite sure of my next move. I see lighting dude in the lobby, checking out and most of the rest of the party is showing up. Mr and Mrs Friend are there as well.

No sign of them, it tell him. Lighting dude asks if anyone has gone to their rooms. I tell him that I called the cells and rooms and these guys were some phone talkin' mofos, if they were out they would have the phones on. I then learn that FOH dude had to change rooms, or else would have shared with a Mexican couple. They gave him an occupied room. The rooming list wasn't right. I head to get my luggage, he heads to check the rooms. In the elevator I see the tour manager and explain again why I think it's a bad idea. Tour manager didn't seem too concerned. I get my shit and drag it back to the lobby, where most of the party has now gathered. They don't understand what the big deal is. All we are doing is leaving two guys in a strange foreign town with a note and cab money, nothwithstanding we didn't have complete travel info for the remainder of the tour. It's just a plain bad idea, particularly with a 30 minute notice.

Lighting dude returns a few minutes later. Seems as both the MIAs were sleeping in their respective rooms. FOH dude's room had changed, so we were all calling the wrong room. He probably wouldn't have even got the note. Prod dude's phone didn't ring, for some reason. he didn't tell them they were about to be left, just that we were leaving in a half hour. Which at this point was about 40 mins past when I was told it would be a half hour. The bus starts to load. Carlos and Fillipe are heading back to Mexico City. We're going to Club Med Villas Arqueológicas in Cholula. Another 10 mins or so passes and Mr Friend comes back to ask lighting dude if is is "sure" he talked to the other two. WTF, is he sure? No, he made it up so we can all sit there. Of course he talked to them. About then prod dude shows up, just aware that he was about to oil spotted, though due to no fault of his own. I'm thinkin' who the hell died and made "Mr Friend" king, he's got nothing to do with this. Little did I know I'd find out in a couple of minutes.

Sound dude made the bus and is concerned he is keeping us waiting. He thinks perhaps he missed a day sheet, maybe his phone didn't work. We tell him what's up. "Leave us?" he says. He basically feels the same way we do. Our crew kvetching session was interupted for an annoucement. It seems Mr Friend pulled some strings or some such to get the new rooms. That's a nice touch. Also, Mr Friend is now working on the tour (with Mrs Friend) as our Mexican guides and translators. The hell you say...

It would have been a hell of a cab ride to Cholula. It was over a half hour in the bus. The Club Med is pretty cool. It's an older classic style Mexican villa, with a small resort, pool, and excellent restaurant. It's a historic area and the rest of the party is going to do some sightseeing. After that, the Latin edition of Rolling Stone is going to shoot for the Dec cover. Good press. Neat area for sightseeing, I think I'll go. As we are leaving, I notice the Champ Car race is live on Azteca. There's no Fox Sports in the room so no tape delay. Sorry kids, I'm staying and watching the race. It's bad enough I'm just over 90 mins or so from the track, I don't want to miss it entirely. Good race, lots of coverage of the Mexican drivers, of course. Race ends, I nap for a couple of hours and at dusk, I set out on the town. Sunday night in rural Mexico. Dead as disco. Except, I hear what sounds to be a disco. It's loud and coming from what appears to be a tent in the middle of this little village/ neighborhood. It's a band, alright. Hammered old Mexican band bus out front and a couple of ragtag trucks. There are at least a few hundred people at the gig. It appears to be a wedding or some kind of party. It's in an open tent in a courtyard, so I take a swing through. I must be standing out because it felt like every eye in the place was watching me. After several seconds I decide to split back to Club Med. I have a spot of dinner and retire for the evening.

Our day in Mexico City the next day was pretty uneventful. We arrived at the hotel mid afternoon. The Hotel Gran Melia in the Reforma. It was just as nice or perhaps a bit nicer than the standard rooms at the Presidente. It was about two blocks from the "American Party" where we were the week before. Initially we were told we to be here for two days, traveling to Morelia on the day of show. As it turns out , most of the party want to go sightseeing at "the pyramids". It's the ruins of the anceint city Teotihuacan, or as I like to call it, Quetzalcoátl's place, though the city was at it's height before the Aztecs found it. If you've never been, it's pretty cool. We are to head out at at 11 the next morning, then depart for the next city after visiting the ruins.

I hit the Business Center for some Internet, holy shit nearly 3000 messages. I basically get about 10 spams or more per hour. It's 57 pesos per half hour or fraction thereof. Damn, about 15 bucks to clean my spam. I'm going to start hitting the Internet Cafes around the Zona Rosa. It's about 15 pesos an hour, or less than a buck fifty. The majority of the party is heading shopping at several of the music stores in town. I decline and head down Reforma toward the museums. By the time I get there, I notice it's nearly 6 pm, or about an hour after they shut. I spend the rest of the evening eating pollo al carbon, drinks in a few bars and in by 10 or so.

One of the good things about the Gran Melia is that breakfast is included. This is pretty standard fare in Europe and the fact the hotel is owned by a Spanish chain probably has something to do with it. It was a good spread. A good mix of traditional Mexican and American breakfast treats. Best so far. I go get my stuff, check out and head to the bus for our trip to the pyramids. We hadn't seen Chucho for a few days. When we were within a couple hours of Mexico City, they send him home. He also has to share a room and doesn't get any meal buyout or have meals provided. He's as good as any of us are and they should be treating him better, but it appears he's used to it and doesn't mind. There's one thing about the way the locals treat the crews down here that I first noticed during my first trip here in 1994. They aren't treated very well, like second class citizens. The promoters sometimes try that same shit on the visiting crews. We jump on board after loading the gear and make the 90 minute drive to the pyramids.

Chucho is out cold as we pull up to gate 1.

"Morelia already?" he asks on arrival.

"Nope, the pyramids."

He looks puzzled. It appears no one has told him of our little stop. Nice, a guy gets on the bus expecting to go to work and learns when we stop that there is a six or seven hour detour. As we tour the ruins, we nearly constantly acosted by endless streams of vendors. After about 10 mins I stop responding to them. If they persist or try to hamper my progress, I give them a stern "fuck off!" Many of them are very aggressive. Like I said, it's a nice little trip even with the guys hawking their wares. Some of the stuff is nice and not all the vendors are aggressive I just don't want anything.

You enter at one end and after a 4 or 5 km walk, you end up at gate three where the bus is supposed to meet you. About 20 mins into the trip, we lose Carlos and Chucho. They've seen it before and head to the bus to wait for us to return. A few hours later we arrive at gate 3. For the last hour or so, there have been intermittent light sprinkles. A look around indicates a pretty strong front coming through. One of the advantages of being a transplanted Seattlite is that you can feel the ran coming. I give a few warnings, though not really heeded. Sure eough, it starts hammering down rain. We exit gate 3 to board the bus. No bus. No one really knows what to do. They call Carlos, no answer. Mr Friend finds a cab and will take it back to gate 1 to look for them. About 10 mins pass and someone suggests we walk back. I have to remind them that it's a two mile or better hike. Besides we just sent someone for them. The next suggestion was for only a few of us to go back. What kind of wacky reasoning is that? Stay put, they'll come for us. It wasn't really that bad, we had to wait about 20 - 30 mins and the bus pulls up. We get on for our ride to the next gig..

We've hit Mexico city traffic and decide to stop at a VIPS for dinner. The crew knows VIPS so we hit a local place a few doors down. I had awesome fajitas, a huge skillet for about five bucks, with a Coke. The stop is nearly 90 mins, but the traffic is still really heavy. We clear traffic in about an hour and are told that we'll be there in 30 to 45 mins. About an hour passes and something is discovered. There was an error in the promoter provided interary. It was really about 150 miles more than the stated distance. How did that happen? No one bothered to check the promoter provided info, or call and confirm the hotels prior to arrival. That could be a problem. Mr Friend volunteers to go over the info checking distances and confirming travel. That's good, a nice touch though should have been done by management or within the touring party. Always, ALWAYS confirm and double check things. We don't pull into the hotel until almost midnight. We passed the time on the bus by drinking Modelo, watching videos and I, as alway, have the trusty iPod by my side. It's a Fiesta Inn, a brand of "American Party" hotels. The translation is "no minibar", limited room service and bar. It's like a Day's Inn with room service, restaurant and bar.

We want to go in as early as possible as this is only our second show with this production. Carlos will go to the gig in the morning, then report back. Well, what time? When he is done, we are told. The production is not expected in the building until 10 or so anyway. There is an open air mall next to the hotel. I'd had breakfast earlier with some of the band and the star and tour manager. I meet up later with lighting dude and sound dude and we head to the mall. Same as the others. After milling around they have a spot of lunch and we head back to for the load in. By this point it's after noon. The bus had been taken in for service and was just getting back. We're met in the lobby by Mr Friend and the rest of the crew. He's going over with us to help with the translation. Interesting because the new production staff speaks fine English.

"Instead of taking the bus, why don't we load the gear into a taxi and cab over." Mr Friend offers.

The four of us look at him and say nothing.

"Just an idea." he says responding to our silence.

"It ain't a good one." I shoot back.

I explain this is how we've been doing it the whole time, it works and besides we'd need a van or small truck to fit the gear. The budget calls for using the bus. If we start cabbing everyday who is going to pay for it?

He launches into the "this isn't like other tours you've done, Mexico is a third world country, blah blah blah blah blah". And exactly how many tours had he done? None. How about Mexican tours? None. I'm seeing shades of Jorge and seeing how he tells the star and tour manager everything he sees or hears, he'll need to keep a wide berth. At least Jorge had gigged before. We hit the gig and soon after he cabs back to take care of band dry cleaning. Production is in and it's looking pretty good. I step on stage to survey my domain, and well, fuck me runnin'. There is a pretty new Heritage 3000 where my 4kM should have been. Seems as though they listened when I told them I prefered the Hertiage and since the 4K was a rental item, I bet the promoter was glad to get rid of it. I start patching my gear and presetting the console. That was a welcome addition. The lights were still 50 or so cans short but other than that they seem OK.

We're still missing info for the last two shows of this weeks run and the "big important show" in Mexico City next week. The final gig of the tour will use this production. That was still six gigs away. We wanted to know what we were doing in two days. We've been told so many different things between Jorge and Carlos and Fillipe we just don't know what to believe. With Jorge now gone we think it may be easier. It's Weds and we are doing an upscale bullring in Morelia. Book of lies says arena, but it's a bullring. It's not bad. Thurs we head to Guadalajara for a gig at a cultural center, early Friday morning we fly nearly a thousand miles to Chihuahua where we'll use a different different production for two shows, the second in Juarez. I'd given them a list of acceptable gear. We'd been told that if the company didn't have the gear, they would fly what we needed. Even consoles. That's good, but I didn't know if they didn't know any better or were bullshitting us. During my surfing in at the Melia, I took a gander of what flights were between Guadaljara and Chihuahua. The commercial flights were all DC9s and regional jets. The problem with a large frame desk like a 4K or H3k is that they need a widebody jet to fit the console through the door in the cargo hold. Even a 737 won't cut it. Usually a 757, 767 or larger.

We did get specs the day before but due to the late arrival at the hotel this was the first we had to review it. An outfit in Chihuahua called PY EEY was doing production, including two identical sets of control one for each act. It was a co-headliner gig. Crest consoles, MSL4 and PS650P, a hacked together cluster of processing. They wanted us to share all the backline. No way, it will take too long to do the set change. Plus, what if something breaks. how about just drums? What part of no do they not understand. Two bands, two sets of gear. The other band agreed, though they travel with most of their own backline.

We do that nights show. Yet another good one. I go back to the hotel and crash out. I'm tired and know I'll need to be up for the rest of the week.

We head to Guadaljara, not a long run. We hit the Intercontental about 1 pm. Vans are waiting to take us to the gig right away. And by the way, after most of the party had went into the hotel and some were on the way to the rooms, we were told the bus was leaving. They were also trying to get us to leave as much as we could with the bus like big suitcases that would spend the next five days in luggage storage back at the Melia. Ain't gonna happen, we'll head to the gig at three or so, after lunch. The gear is loaded into a gear van and we hit the mall across the street for a spot of lunch. As we head to lunch, again one of the locals is trying to get us into the van to go to the gig.

We return from lunch and get into the vans for the gig. It's about quarter after three. We take the vans for about 20 mins. We see the truck, but two gensets and what looks like racks for a Thomas four poster roof. Sure as shit, the gig is outdoors. And there is the possiblity of rain. None of us prepped for an outdoor gig. I call Carlos over and Mr Friend follows. The roof is still on the stage so no backline can be set though the PA is up and running, there is some issue with lighting power and it appears that is keeping the roof on the stage. With a trim of about 4 ft or so if that, Chucho and his assistant start to set the band gear, at least what they can and load it on the stage. What a trooper.

"Carlos, buddy you gotta tell us when the gig is outside." I say trying to be cooperative and non demanding.

"You did not know?"

"No I didn't, I just hope it doesn't rain."

"We'll take care of it. Jackets if you need. They making cover for you now" he points as they are building a sidewall with a large tarp over the mon beach. There aren't bay wings and while the structure is a Thomas, six poster actually, the roof skin is merely tarps lashed together with no gutter system. If it rains hard, it won't be able to take it.

We're on the same page and he heads back to his gig. I've come to like him, he's a good guy.

"It says 'patio' on the sheet." Mr Friend states with certainty.

"What!" I say making sure to make intense eye contact.

"On the sheet, it says 'patio', that means outside."

"It says nothing on the itenerary. We have no info other than the gig name and the hotel and phone number. No venue info, no tech info, nothing that helps us plan our day." I was still being pretty calm, although direct. "Patio means nothing in our business, the proper term is outdoors, open air or amphitheater." What he was refering to I would later find out, was the initial deal sheet from the agent that listed the gigs, money breakdown, payment schedule and travel and hotel requirements. He didn't realize that everyone doesn't get that info.

"Thanks, I'll try and remember that for the future" I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "You have understand, this is Mexico and we don't do things here like on the big tours in the US. This is a third world country. It's just a communication problem, they don't understand what you need." He just hit the big red "push this knob to make Dave explode" imaginary control.

"The four of us have been doing this for more than 80 years combined. Big bands, small bands, huge stadiums, small clubs. In places like Indonesia, South East Asia, Thailand, the former Eastern Block, all over South America, Europe and many places far more backasswards than here. This is not a language issue."

He tries to get a word in edge wise and I continue right over him.

"Call Ocessa or Clear Channel, this is my 15th gig in Mexico and my fourth trip down here. What we have are people deliberately witholding info and not providing accurate info. Things aren't organized, things aren't planned and it's effecting the ability to do our job." I decide to let him speak.

"I don't think you understand how it works here."

"We do understand how it works" one of the other roadies respond in a calm, rational fashion. "And you are either totally naive, incredibly inexperienced or both if you believe what we've been told. We aren't being given timely or accurate information and in some cases are getting info that we know is not right. The problem isn't the language, it's the promoter."

We walk away and leave him at the side of the stage. There is power to the motors and the roof is starting to be raised, but not all that fast. Once the roof does get up, we start to work. It's not difficult and we get everything wired and set pretty quickly. At this point it's about 5 and they guys seem to have an issue with some speaker cable or patch on stage right. A couple of MA3600 are going into ODEP when any signal is introduced. It takes them a few minutes but they get it. I'm not sure it the guys really know how to use Smaart to get the most benefit from it. They use it primarily for pink noise testing and not for transfer function with program or CD. From what I've heard though, it still sounds pretty good.

At about 5:30 a guys shows up with a box of Whoppers. We had BK for lunch earlier. He offers a sack with fries and a Whopper and a drink. "No thanks." I say.

"No, no, lunch" he offers again.

I take it and put it under the desk. The band arrives about 6:30 and the focus is just starting. There are issues in squintville. Lighting dude is still pretty cool about it. We get them on and off and at the end of check, star asks if anyone else just wants food brought in. The crew unanimously says no, we'll take the buyout. The band doesn't have an opinion and someone is dispatched to Burger King for food for the party. Shit... Lighting world had some power problems and a design problem these guys couldn't forsee. They did add the extra cans, but it seems that the dimmer package is not compatable and they need an additional desk bringing the total to three consoles for lights. Ninety conventionals, some Leikos, ACLS and Molefays on an Avo Pearl, Cybers on a Whole Hog and half of the front truss on some sort of prehistoric NSI console and dimmers. No DMX on the new dimmers, shit I'm a sound guy and even I know that's bad. The entire show was to be on the Whole Hog, but a while earlier while he was loading the Hog, they powered him down while the disk was loading, ruining the only disk of the show. He was starting from ground zero. Poor fucker. It was going to be another delayed show. The third one due to the locals not having the lighting together. At least the audio package was happening. Knock wood.

The gig ends up good, though delayed. We don't clear the venue until after midnight, due to a van shortage. They don't have enough to take the crew and the band together with the gear. The band goes first, leaving what seems to be 20 BK Whopper meals in the dressing room. After they leave and we make idiot checks of the dressing rooms, the mayor, his staff and several police officers are pillaging the dressing room. At least someone enjoyed the food. I still expected my full buyout.

We head back for the hotel. The three blocks before the hotel are packed with hookers. Wow, the roadies perk up. The driver issues a warning.

"These woman they have the, uh uh, you know, they have the stickshift."

My colleagues wonder what the hell he is talking about.

"He's saying the girls are tranny hookers." I offer.

"Si, si" the driver agrees.

It's Thursday night and the stroll is packed, well Friday morning at this point. I've always been sympathetic to the plight of sex workers. Most of these girls aren't guys, though a few could be. Bummer we have a 4:30 am lobby call.

Posted by Dave at 12:40 PM

October 29, 2003

I'm a Highway Star

So, there we were about to jettison the guys I'd grown to love. The sound guys, anyway. The lighting crew chief Jimmy and his "partner" Jorge were a couple of guys I could do without at this point. Sure, they could have been good guys to hang with, but I have shit to do and don't any lying bullshit. Life is too short for it. In one way, I was glad to see him gone. Particularly since I made a stink about how he should be sacked during the first couple of gigs. I didn't, however, want to lose my sound dudes. They rocked, even if the gear was a bit dodgy.

It came time for us to depart the arena. I thanked Roberto and Arlo profusely. Roberto remarked, "we'll see you in Puebla, right?"

"You need to talk to Jorge, guys"

"Why?"

"I shouldn't be telling you but Jorge and the production were let go this evening."

He was stunned, Arlo still didn't know, his English was as limited as my Spanish.

Roberto hablaed some espanol and Arlo looked shocked, hurt even. Me too. These guys had busted their balls and were being let go, and the guy that was responsible hadn't told them, though other key crew members knew. I nearly teared up, though I'd only done five shows with these guys. Both of them were on the crew that did the other rock show in July, but I didn't work with them directly, though they remembered me. I guess I stand out. I took to them and hoped I would be a mentor to them, show them the ropes, help them out. We exchanged contact info and hugs, and I left the building. I fucking hate that part of the business, just as much as I hate lying motherfuckers. If something is fucked, tell me and I'll deal with it or not. But don't try to bullshit me. If something can't be like I want or need it, tell me straight up and make me deal, but don't tell me everything is OK then spring some shit at the last minute. That's a guarantee to get a buttload of attitude. Professional? Perhaps not, but it makes me feel a ton better.

We board the bus to return to the hotel. Just as we are about to board, Jorge comes out and give his version of the story, I play dumb even though I just told the sound guys what was up. He basically tells me the same thing the promoter told us earlier. Wow, a straight story. Could it be these guys aren't as fucked up as we thought? No, probably not... they are every bit as fucked as we thought, most likely more.

We boarded and headed to the Holiday Inn where for the first time in about a week I got good Internet access. We ended up having a late dinner/ snack and about 1:45 am I headed for my room. Lobby call 5:15 am, depart 5:30 for a 7:10 flight to Mexico City, then a two hour car ride to Puebla.

Blearly eyed we all made the lobby call, though were a bit woosey. We headed for the airport. Did a normal checkin with crew doing carry ons, we left the big suitcases in the bus and checked about 15 pieces of backline or about half of what we had. The rest would meet us at the gig.

I slept most of the flight, without Dramanine though my trusty iPod never leaves my side. We get to Mexico City. Most tours I do of this size are flying tours. I'm starting to wish we were flying, even with the early morning departures. We find the fleet of Suburbans. We load but we have one stop to make. The new backline company provides a guy. He owns the company, even. Chucho, or Celso Montenga as his card says. He sure looks like a roadie. Over the next two weeks, we'd come to find he was the ass-slapping daddy of backline in Mexico. If you go down there, hire this guy. He's THE shit.

We're all tired, but first a stop at The Embassy for a bite and then the two hour Mr Toad's Wild Ride to Puebla. At one point I thought I was going to be launched from the car. We make Puebla though somewhat still groggy. We head to the bullring, no hotel rooms ready yet, though it's not that anyone checked. I haven't taken a shit in a couple days and could really use one. Guess I'll have to wait.

It's a bullring alright, dirt on the floor, dressing rooms in what was the emergency room for the medics, prod office in the room the matadors use to get ready. It's all about the culture, baby.

As we depart the bus, I notice a couple of things. The tractor and trailer are clean and well maintained. The genset is in a separate truck, clean and well maintained. The feeder runs are well laid out, and most of all, the genset is running. It's mid morning and the previous dudes didn't usually fire up until mid afternoon, at best. We head for the arena floor. Most of the PA is up, lights are down but there is a crew working on them in an organised fashion. The movers aren't there yet, they did a gig the night before and should be there before noon. One of the lighting guys apologises. The sound system is killer, I think I'm in a dream. A 32 box KF750/SB1000 rig with Crown power and EV DSP, at FOH. There are 48 snake channels and a 16 channel drive snake. The DIs all match (though they are Directors) and the cabling is neat and clean. FOH has a nearly new Hertiage 3000, with Lexicon, Yamaha and tc effects and dbx and Drawmer dynamics. There are two stereo zones of KT eq and a Smaart rig with a proper mic.

On stage there is a rented 4kM, 10 ch of Drawmer comp, 8 ch Drawmer gate, a tc D2, tc M1, and 2 SPX 990s. It was all cabled and ready to go, with 14 channels of DN360. Most of it was new, or near new. Uh, wow. This was unexpected.

The stage is robust and solid, there is a proper barricade with good ground support. Proper stairs on each side of the stage an the required risers. I'm wondering what exactly we needed to compromise for this gig. For fuck sake, we fallen into a real gig. Pretty much everything was as it should be. There was an issue with the bass cab, some cymbals and a couple keyboard stand but Chucho was on it and the stuff was heading in from Mexico City. There were a couple of issues with the conventional lights. The front truss was only half loaded, it needed both bars per section and had one. That was a product of the last minute gig. It would be fixed by next gig. The cans in the bars were hammered, most nowhere close to being round and most were lucky to have three or even two gel frame tabs. That could be a problem. While the sound got a pretty good upgrade, lights might be taking a hit. Let's wait for the moving lights. Given what was going on, this had to have been in motion more than just 12 hours or so before we knew. We guess Fillipe decided to ditch Jorge a couple of days earlier, and didn't bother to tell us until all was in place. No matter, this was better. I didn't have my boys, but these guys were good. They were about our age and seemed pretty good. Angel was my tech, again, we had a Miguel at FOH and Raul was stage master. These guys had it together.

We start talking about consoles with the promoters (more than one, will explain in another episode) and I'm wondering what the other desk that normally is used with the Heritage is, since my 4k is rented. They were wondering if they should buy some consoles since all the acts they do need them. Why the partner desk is another Heritage 3000, of course. Yer killin' me. It seems (and I knew this before) the rider states that the PM4000M is "the only acceptable monitor console". First, I have a problem when riders say that. If you really and I mean REALLY need that specific piece of gear, might want to bring it with you. Last I heard that's why they had rental companies and freight forwarders. Now if you are going to demand something that, at least spec a piece of gear worth being snotty about. That's like saying "the only car I'll drive is a Honda Civic". At least they took it seriously after I threw a fit when now fired Jorge tried to switch it with an SM24. We tell the promoters (all three of them) that if and I mean IF we do anything with them again, we'll bring our own control and backline and they could save about US$20k or so compared to what they are paying now, even after cargo. They don't believe me. I tell them flat out, they're getting fucked on some of the stuff, though the new deal is much better, acceptable in fact. It's nearly half, well more like 60% of what Jorge was charging.

Not only did they buy us breakfast, they bought lunch and did the daily buyout. There were plastic tubs of iced drinks, something that didn't happen before and a general better sense at the gig. We were asked what we wanted to eat.

"Chicken" I replied.

"Si, pollo, like Kentucky?" Carlos inquired.

"No, like we had the other day. It was awesome."

About an hour later, a dude came back with enough pollo al carbon, tortillas and salsa to feed a small army. Which at that point, we had. Chicken lunch for the crew, though we had to improvise on the dining arrangements. Cases, the asle of the gig, anywhere we could eat.

It's getting to be late afternoon, we call the band to see what is up. Gotta love worldwide cellphones. I've had one for a while, but they seem to work better when they are turned on and you actually answer the calls, or heaven forbid, return the calls. They're in town, but can't find the gig. It's really in a residential area. Go through a neighborhood or two and there you have it. I thought we were lost on the way in but we turned a corner and right in the middle of all these houses was a bullring. They want to stop at the hotel but we need the rest of the backline. The star asks about the production. We give him a thumbs up. They'll be there in "ten minutes". Cool, we hang up.

About half an hour later, probably closer to an hour, the bus shows, but no band, just gear and our trusty pilot Roberto. Seems as though the band wanted to shower, rest and change. No problem. Early evening, about 6:30 the band arrives. Doors at 8 but there is now a support band on another stage in the crowd that starts at 8:30 and we are to do 9:30. It's Saturday night in Puelba. There's a problem with the hotel. It sucks, or so I'm told. Really? Worse than the place a couple nights ago? I'm shocked....NOT... We may be moving. What do you mean "maybe". I thought we were to go to Mexico City the next day for press and days off. We now don't go until Monday. Fuck me runnin'! A couple of us had planned on attending the Champ Car event Sunday afternoon. No problem we are told, buses run to the Mexico City main bus terminal every 15 mins, to the airport every half hour. Buses? Gringo? Mexico? Right. How about a car service. To late for the normal guys and we are given numbers of where to call. The race won't happen for us. Damn it. Forget about it, time to gig. Besides F1 from Suzuka will be on live when we get back to the hotel. Saturday night in central Mexico is Sunday afternoon in Japan. I'd love to see Kimi win the thing.

The gig turns out great, packed, good response. As I go to the dressing room/ emergency room for the beltpacks and molds post gig (also to get a shot or three of the band's Jack Daniels, my nightly routine thinnly disguised as a post show briefing) I'm stopped by someone that looks like an American. He's trying to control access to the dressing room.

"I own this fuckin' place, dude" I offer as I brush past him. Who the fuck was that, I'm thinking. Well, I'm about to find out. Seems as though it's "friend of star from California, now living in Mexico" and "Mrs. friend of star from California, now living in Mexico". I can only wonder why one would move from an upscale affluent beach community north of So Cal to Puebla. I'm thinking maybe it's the pollo al carbon. Maybe it's a pending indictment. Either way, I really don't have the time to ponder it now. I'm still a bit miffed about the race thing. At least it's on Azteca live and Fox tape delayed. I take some Jack and head back to watch the load out.

We finish the out and I'm standing around. I start to notice a couple of things, compared to our last show. Namely, we had a crew just for our stuff. Carlos and Roberto are loading and unloading our stuff now. Interesting. There is also what appears to be local labor which we didn't have before. We had about 20 Mexicans crammed in a tour bus that did each gig. No wonder it took them five or six hours to load out. It's about a half hour, maybe forty mins after the show went down and we're packed, the trusses are down, FOH has packed and cleared the room, mon desk is down and ready for loading and the stacks are starting to come down. In other words, a real touring gig. Or so I thought.

As usual, waiting on the band. That's how it is and it's not that bad. The feeder is being wrapped, the genset truck is already being buttoned up. As I head tothe bus, I notice our consoles being staged to go into the genset truck. No ramp, either. About a dozen guys start lifting the desks into the truck. Why are our desks going into another truck? I decide to ask Angel.

"What's up with our consoles?"

"We are loading them."

"Yes, I can see that. Why are they going in this truck."

"This truck is going to Mexico, to a show."

"Are these consoles being used on another show?"

"Yes, of course."

Of course, OF COURSE!? I had to go get prod dude and FOH dude.

I explained what was happening. Carlos and HLB were summoned to the production office. It seems that the system was rented for five shows (not counting the two up north that can't make the travel sched via ground) and not for the remainder of the tour. No wonder it was so much cheaper. They traveled in vans, leaving the morning of the show, they weren't commited the entire time, just on the show days. There were less crew. At least they could have told us so we could chart the consoles.

We get on the bus and head back to the dive. On arrival, "Mr friend of star" says to get all our stuff off, the bus is leaving to Mexico City. What's up with that? We ask both Carlos and Roberto (one guy pays the bus, the other drives it) and say they are going nowhere, it's staying with us. Mr Friend insists that's not the case. The band heads to a restaurant, the crew to the bar to watch the race. Bummer Kimi didn't win. Red dude won a sixth WDC title. I retired to my room in the dive, and quickly sacked. I'd been up about 22 hours at this point.

Posted by Dave at 12:46 PM

Daddy would you like some sausage?

Three days off. In a row. That's nearly unheard of in rock tour circles. Even though we were doing a TV show the previous day, I'm getting pretty bored. I get up, shower (hot water, YAY!) and make my way to the Dunkin for a few stage weights and a couple of cups of Dunkin mud. I had to get three because they were so small.

I looked for juice dude around the hotel but couldn't find him. It was nearly noon, I had missed breakfast. Damn, I wanted my slab of bacon, omlette and Zucaritas (as Tony says, "They're Grrrreat!") Most of these dives, err I mean fine lodging establishments at least serve breakfast until noon, or so. In a civilized rock and roll eatery like Rae's in Santa Monica, The Pantry in Downtown LA or my fav and world famous Duke's, on the heart of the Strip, they serve great rock breakfasts all day long. I love it. Up here, just a short block down the hill from my house is Glo's, just as good as those So Cal joints. It's a bummer they closed Eileen's and the Ernie room a few years back, but the Five Points is still kicking. Ask my buddy Fowler about the wings at the Five Points. Ask my buddy CK about the punk rock chicks at the Five Points. Got off track, we'll cover that in another rant. There is also a 24 hr self serve laundry next to the joint, just in case you get to town and need some clean duds.

So I climb on the vomit comet we call our bus and take my usual seat. In the back with the rest of the roadies. It's actually a pretty good ride but in a regular car or even passenger bus I have an inclination towards motion sickness. Bummer of an affliction for a touring dude. Dramamine, and lot's of it. Even after 48 oz of Dunkin mud, a few Dramamine's and that's me sacked for the entire trip. Looking forward to as Carlos calls it, the "Holy Day Inn" in Queretaro. I was wonder if I should be expecting a manger, three wise men, some gifts or a virgin. Since we were on tour, there aren't any virgins, mangers or wise men. If we were that wise, we wouldn't be roadies. Hopefully there'll be some gifts. Or at least a fully stocked mini bar. We'd gone through Queretaro on our previous travels. It looked like a nice town. Big US style mall and a fair amount of industry on the outskirts of town, including a big Nissan plant. That might explain what appeared to be an abundance of sushi places. We hit Queretaro sometime in the afternoon.

As the bus slows, about a mile from the mall, I'm not seeing a "Holy Day Inn". We pull up in front of in Mexico what could be considered a pretty run down exterior. The sign says Real De Las Minas. It's like a dingy La Quinta, but without the benefit of a Denny's. We venture off the bus. The lobby doesn't look too bad, big restaurant, small bar, though. There are even several small meeting rooms. One more small detail, the bus was leaving until day after tomarrow and we had to get everything off, gear, luggage, the works. Thanks for letting us know. I was still wondering what happened to the Holiday Inn. It seems that since we changed our travel plans they cancelled the Holiday Inn rooms and booked these. I was told that since we didn't use the rooms all three nights, the hotel made them cancel the reservation and booked the rooms. What a bunch of horseshit. What happened was they cancelled our hundred dollar rooms in the good place and put us in the low budget place.

The pool area and courtyard look pretty good, poolside food and drink service, maybe it's not that bad. Then I have to schlep up three flights, my 32 kilo Tumi five suiter, Brenthaven computer backpack and Tumi Eurpean travel satchel, or what the homophobic roadies call my "purse". The key is an traditional key on a huge fob. The common area smells of a combination of pine cleaner and mildew. The carpets are old and worn. I get to my third floor room. The door barely locks. Reluctantly I open it. Wow, what a place. It's clean, mostly, though worn and poorly appointed. At least there is a TV. But no remote. I call the desk. It seems that the remote required a 200 peso deposit. Even though the rooms and incidentals are secured on an Amex, they still want the cash for the remote. I briefly consider paying the 200 (twenty bucks) just to destroy the damn thing. I'd rather spend the 20 on booze. The mall looked good and was close, I headed for it.

The mall was good. It was new and had everything that a roadie could want. I went into the record store and looked at a copy of Made in Japan, the Deep Purple classic. Nearly 40 bucks. Yikes. I head to Burger King for a Whopper doble con queso. On the way back to the hotel I stop at a cheap liquor store and get some refreshments for the evening. We hang at the pool for a bit, they're doing dinner, I go to my room, watch CNN International and doze off. I wake in time to catch the last call for food in the restaurant. I have enchiladas, rice and beans then head back to the room to start reading the new Al Franken book. I crash out and wake in the morning to go to the gig.

We are leaving a couple hours early. Need to do some shoppin'. Production office supplies and a few other things. We head to the Office Depot, which borders a Gigante. A Gigante is like a Target, Wal Mart and Fred Meyer all rolled into one. They also sponsor Michel Jourdain Jr's Team Rahal Champ Car. We split into two groups, one for office supplies, the other for food. We get muffins, Captain Crunch with cups and spoons (for cereal in a cup) some leche and assorted treats. With that, the luggage tequila and the water, Cokes and cerveza on the bus I was set. The other guys strike out on some of the printer cartridges so we head to an Office Max on the way to the gig. They've got what we need and we head out.

We get to the gig by mid afternoon. It all looks pretty good except for the rear truss is about 20 feet upstage of where it needs to be. PA stuff looks pretty good, though. All new DIs that match, lots of spare quarter inch cables. Roberto and Arlo are busy checking and repairing mic cables. Seems I made an impression on them. They don't want me cutting the ends off the cables. Everything is labeled and things are going well. They're good guys, I'm digging them more and more. We've got a good vibe going. My PM4k is still on the gig, but the new FOH guy has a fairly well used Europa and I venture out front to make sure he's familiar with it. He's got the basic jist, but I run through a few things with him. At least it's got the Schubert modded PSUs. We remark on what a huge waste of space most of the ergonomics of the desk are. The knobs are huge. As I head back to the stage, I see a cased SM24 sitting upstage. Hummm. Time to find our buddy Jorge.

He's busy directing the moving of the upstage truss. "Hola Jorge, good afternoon". I offer.

He comes over. "Hello David. As promised you have your same console. You owe me a steak dinner".

"Well Jorge, the deal was that BOTH consoles and the FOH guy isn't that happy with his. Tell you what, we'll have a drink later and discuss it."

"I had to spend seven thousand dollars, US out of my own pocket for the Yamaha. It's a thousand a show."

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me. What's the SM24 doing here?"

"The deal for the Soundcrafts was an all in one deal. He wouldn't give me a break for just one, so I took them both so he wouldn't rent the other when I was still paying for it."

I'd heard it all now. This was wacky, even for Mexico. And Mexico isn't that bad. I've had worse gigs and dealt with worse companies in the States or Europe. The deal was that during the first week of our run, there was a big Pavarotti show, and large government sponsored festival with six stages and some other gigs. We got the bottom of the barrel, most likely because Jorge was paying low buck. When the second week started, we got the same processing and stacks and racks, but new DIs, mic stands distro and snake. We were ready to tour. The rig was ready, labeled and the guys were primed. Something was still fishy about Jorge's console deal. I offered to call SGI and see what we could do, but he said that SGI didn't provide the consoles. I knew the 4ks were subbed, but something in his story just didn't pan out. Didn't matter though, I had my gear and guys and was ready to rock.

The show was good, nearly 5000 in attendance. Big aftershow. We were set to dine after the gig in a private restaurant. Since the bus wasn't back until morning, we were to be shuttled to dinner in a group of vans. We ask where the restaurant is, the driver is told and we drive around for 15 mins, ending up back at the gig. That sucked, we got directions again, and circled the venue for another 10 mins or so. As we turned back into the parking lot, we happened on a van with the tour manager, Carlos our promoter rep driving, the star and a few band members. We stopped and tried to flag them down. Squint boy hopped out of our van and tried to stop them, they drove past. He then lunged at the van and slapped the side. They stopped, scared shitless. Carlos was so freaked, he was crying. I've never seen a promoter rep cry, and I was engaged to one for two years. She was a lot tougher than this motherfucker.

With Carlos crying, we find the restaurant, which incidently, was directly across the street from the gig. It was packed, nothing private about this. I didn't want to go into this scene, particularly after what happened next. As out van ground to a halt, the side door opened and the tour manager and star started on a tirade on all in our van. Backup kids, one person in the van did something and now we were all getting our asses chewed. I was ready to launch back, but stopped. It hadn't occured to them that they were being lied to and taken advantage of. The promoter was no saint. While his minion Carlos didn't know any better, Fillipe did and used it to his advantage. I was pissed and ready to fly back right at that minute. The crew returns to the shit hole hotel and quietly retire to our rooms. We were just starting to get on a roll, too.

The bus call the next morning was awkward. I had breakfast with the star and tour manager, but the vibe in the party was a downer. I excused myself from the meal and tried to get some leche to go, for my cereal in a cup. That was a chore. I try to order a coffee and a milk, and they try to give me coffee with cream. I try to help myself to milk from the buffet and I'm stopped. I give them a 20 oz Solo cup for the milk. They take it and return with a 10 oz goblet of milk. What the hell? I take it to the bus, though they try to stop me. I wasn't in the mood.

We were headded to Leon, supposedly to a "Holy Day" Inn. The next day was to be the first bullring and one of a few non standard gigs on the tour. The ride is quiet for the trip to Leon. We do a stop at a Mexi truck stop and in the afternoon arrive in at the hotel. Same story as some of the other hotels, can't find the reservation and when they do, it's not paid for. At least I'm on the rooming list this time. The Televisa crew for the interview in two hours for local news is already at the hotel. Seems like every gig has a press conference at the hotel. We have lunch in the hotel. At this point they know that the crew will do buyouts for both lunch and dinner. An extra 350 pesos per show day. They end up comping the the lunch for the party. Nice touch.

We meet for bus call. Seems we need to do some more shopping. Some desk lamps for the star's rig, a 6 ft table for the Whole Hog and displays and some various other sundries, including deoderant and incense for the dressing rooms. We do what most gringos would do, head for Costco. Again, just like the US, though the selection was a bit different. We do some shopping and arrive at the gig late afternoon.

As we arrive, Carlos, Fillipe and the two other promoters are there with Jorge. Something is going down. This venue is a hammered out Mexican basketball arena that is rarely used. It's part of the bullfighting complex. It's big, empty concrete and lacks facilities. The portable stage is dangerous as hell, there are no stairs yet and a few parts of the stage sag quite a bit. The discussion goes on for sometime. Lights, as usual are behind but the sound is ready to go. I retire to the production office and wait for stairs for the stage. I'll be damned if I'm scaling a six foot stage. I'm too old for that shit, though my hard working dudes have done it all day long.

Jorge enters the room. "There is a problem with my money, I have not been paid. If I don't get paid tonight after the show, I'll pull the crew and gear." he tells the production manager. That could be a problem. These guys have money, something is up.

A few minutes later we get word of stairs on stage and the head lying bastard enters the room. "How would you feel if we changed production companies for the rest of the tour?" The translation is "we've already made other arrangements and we're feeling you out for how you'll respond". The rest of the crew excuse ourselves and let HLB and prod dude discuss the situation.

We do the show and for the first time there are no production related delays and we go on time. Seems the band doesn't want to do any more after show dinners. As we are loading out, there is an emergency meeting being called. Just as we thought, Jorge and the production were being fired. But for reasons we did not expect. It seems that Jorge had a package deal for both our tour and a tour of a Chippendales style show from Austrailia. He bid them combined. It turns out the dance show only needs speakers on sticks and a CD player, really no lighting. Jorge loses that gig, they don't need a one truck show. Combine this with the fact he's on the hook for the PM4kM and he now wants to add about US$30k to the total production cost. Ex-fucking-scuse me? How much is this bastard charging? It turns out it's about US$10k per show. You're shittin' me...

So, what are we going to do? Well, we're told that have an EAW system, Midas for FOH and they'll rent me a PM4km for mons. The problem is, the next gig in Puebla is an eight hour bus ride, to a bullring we'll have to make some compromises in production. No problem, the promoter will fly us and whatever band gear we need there early to the next gig. We'll leave at 5 am. It's 12:15 am right now. Great...

Posted by Dave at 12:20 PM

October 28, 2003

Baby, I can make you a star

The next day was a well deserved day off. Normally on my days off, I try not to hang with most of the party or with only limited members. I'm not a very social animal. My phone rang at what seemed to be crack of dawn. It was actually 12:30 in the afternoon. Ten hours sleep, nice job, dude. It was lighting dude telling me to get my ass to the bar, they had American football, NASCAR and baseball on the tube. I came right down.

There were four others in the bar, three guys and a girl. The guys all spoke english, in fact, they were expats that claimed to be working for Texas Instruments just outside of town. The woman was the Mexican girlfriend of the guy that seemed to be the leader.

Matt introduced himself as a "lead engineer" at TI. The two others introduced themselves, claiming to be from Boston. Having spent a good part of the last few years in that area, thanks to my buddy Kenny B, I took them for their word. They seemed to know the Northeast and they had the accent down. A bit too well I thought. Matt was a dead ringer for Gerald Rainy, the lead in the TV show "Major Dad". The others had a similar military/ law enforcement look. Something didn't seem right to me.

Sunday is a relaxing day in Mexico. Family day. The mall and the plaza were happening, packed with people. Matt mentioned that there was a bullfight at 4 pm. I hadn't seen a bullfight live, though I've gigged in several bullrings in Spain. We agreed to go while watching the Red Sox in the playoffs. Those three guys didn't seem like engineers. We feasted on appetizers and Bacardi Anjeo for the better part of the afternoon. Members of the party wondered in and out of the bar, some agreeing to attend the bullfight. We set a time of 3:30 to leave for the bullring.

We meet in the bar for the departure to the bullring. At 3:40, the rest of the party, the band members arrive. They order food and drinks. Uhh, we were set to leave 10 mins ago. They don't care. Neither do we. We leave at a quarter til, leaving a few behind. The walk to the bullring is great, through the public market and square. It's a part of Mexico you don't see if you only visit Mexico City. It's like visiting the US, and basing all American life on a single trip to New York City. We were in the Kansas City of Mexico, maybe the Little Rock.

We arrive at the bullfight, taking the "rich guy" seats with padding. There are waiters to attend our every need. Corona is only a buck, chips are a saw buck. There are six bulls set on the schedule. We are warned it will be bloody. If you haven't seen a bullfight, it's hardly a man vs. beast affair. First, the bull is stabbed in the back of the neck and sent into the arena pissed off. If the matador was in the ring then, the bull would kick his ass. They make the bull run around pissed off for a few minutes, bleeding him in the process and tiring him as well. When he slows, a few assholes on horses come out with spears and stab him in strategic parts of the neck, furthering the blood loss. At that point, the matador appears with some spears and adds to the bleeding. By the time the cape and dude appear, the poor animal is nearly bled to death and in shock. The matador then toys with him, finally delivering the deadly sword down the nape of his back. Hardly a sport. I was rooting for the bull. There were a few bright spots, though. In the second "fight" (I use that term loosely) when the mules arrived to drag the dead bull carcase away, an attendant was trampled, quite severely as he tripped over the dead bull while the mules were about to drag it off the ring. The second was when the horse and spear dudes came out, the bull was so pissed that he lifted a horse off the ground, catching a toreodor in the saddle and trampling him. Good for the bull. After the third "fight", I'd had enough. I could handle some bulls getting killed, as long as some humans shared the risk. Driving my go kart at 100 mph plus on a road course is more dangerous than this.

We did learn some things during the "fights". Matt was former Air Force, so he said. I thought he was CIA or NSA. Lighting dude thought DEA. He was definately law enforcement, along with his buddies. The hair, the look, the act. He wasn't a microprocessor engineer. I know engineers, and he ain't one of them. Nor were his buddies. The FOH guy and me spent the remainder of the evening in the square, eating and drinking. After dark, I hit the "heavy metal" club in hopes of getting laid. No such luck. By 9 pm the scene had died, by midnight it was a graveyard, even at the clubs. I retired to my room anticipating our trip to Mexico City in the morning.

I was ready to head to Mexico City the next Monday morning. We had lost a member of the party, the translator. She was only meant to be with us for the first three dates and those were done. Some wondered how they would do without her. Frankly, I've been in hotter spots in the world without a translator and didn't see a problem. We left just before noon and arrived at the "American Party" in the Reforma late that afternoon. Usually I've stayed at the El Presidente in Polanco which was described to me as the Bel Air of Mexico City. I know my way around the neighborhood, there's a Starbucks across the street and the Mexican joint across the street has great food and will open the bar after hours for the gringo bands that come by late night. There is also the Hard Rock about a block away.

But this time we were a few clicks away, in the Reforma. There is really more to do in that area (and the rooms are cheaper) and it's closer to the famed Zona Rosa where most of the strip clubs, "massage" parlors and restaurants. There is also a Tower Records and Carl's Jr. The band is going to a well know Argentinian steak house but I'm not up for it. The other crew guys find a great Cuban joint called Cantina Latino a block from the hotel. Across the street there is a Dunkin Donuts, KFC and Burger King. The location isn't bad, the minibar is well stocked, I just hope they have enough hot water. That's becoming an issue here. The Cuban joint rocks and the staff are hotties. The drinks are stiff, the pulled pork and black beans and rice are killer. It's my new fav Mexico City hang and decide to take a stroll around the 'hood. I return to the "American Party" and head to the bar where a few of us close the place. There is a TV taping in the evening the next day and even though it's lip sync, I'm going to go anyway just to make sure everything is OK. The whole crew decides to go, just in case.

I wake late morning the next day and head to Dunkin Donuts for a couple of glazed chocolates and a "Great One", black. That's what I had when I was a dot com weenie boy staying at the Westin in Prov or at the Berger spread in Westboro, I had to have the Dunkin. Except that in Mexico they don't have a size "Great One". Only small and large. Large is 16 oz. Must be a third world country, no 32 oz coffees. I decide to take a stroll during which I run into squint boy. He's just got a fresh squeezed orange juice (naranja for those keeping score) for about 30 cents US. It was basically four pesos for a big cup of fresh juice. Hell of a deal, considering the hotel or American fast food joints were about American prices or better.

We decide we need some things from Wal Mart and grab the hotel car service and head to the store. As we arrive, I see there is the Luis Diaz show car. Just as a reminder, I'm totally hooked on open wheel racing, particularly Champ Car style racing. There is a Champ Car race the next weekend in Mexico City and we are planning on being back in town the day of the race. I'm pretty excited, though not about Diaz's show car. The race is a huge todo in the city. All over the news, papers and billboards. On race day there were nearly a quarter million people at the race. I try to make at least two Champ Car races each year, Portland (my home karting track) and Vancouver. I'm hoping to make the race the next weekend.

We venture into Wal Mart and start shopping. I normally wouldn't go into a Wal Mart, but this is Mexico. It's just like a Wal Mart here, but I didn't expect any different. In fact, the reason we went was because it is so predicable. We head back to the hotel, grab a spot of lunch and ready for the taping.

Televisa is a huge studio complex. Pretty much ground zero for all those cheesy Mexican soap operas and what is apparently the smash Mexican hit, Big Brother. A fleet of a few Suburbans shows at the hotel to fetch us. The crew takes the first one. We are heading to a show called Orto Rollo. The band had basic tracks of our show in LA a few weeks earlier and wanted to re-record the vocals and guitar tracks and use those for the taping lip sync. The show does not want to do this live. They aren't quite finished yet. We have good mics with us, courtesy of the artist's AT endorsement and a Mac with Performer and a Motu 828. Enough for them to record. The star got his start as an engineer/producer working on what was to become the record holder for the longest charted record on the Billboard charts. He also had several hits with his own band. With a Powerbook, a couple of AT 4033s and a Motu rig, they were in pretty good hands. Problem was, buy the time we had to leave, they weren't done. They have to bring it with us. Still need to mix it and the boss says it's not quite right yet.

We arrive at Televisa about a half an hour before the band. There are an assload of young kids, particularly girls. Basically pre teen or early teen. Didn't think much of it. We get our credentials and are escorted into the complex. It reminds me of NBC Burbank or Television City in LA. All the hubbub seems to be from the premier of Mini Espies en 3D, or Spy Kids 3D. Some of these young girls should not be dressed as they are, but I wouldn't mind seeing their moms in the same outfits. We are lead to Foro 6 where our show is shot. It's live, not live to tape. We are to do a camera blocking and rehearsal. We reset the band gear, it wasn't right and hang to see how things go. The band arrives and needs to finish the mix and burn a CD of the two songs. They set up in the dressing room and mix using the PB speakers and some Sony Z600 cans. The singer and the keyboard player are quite the DAW ops. I'm kind of impressed. They finish and burn a CD and send it to the control room. We head back to the sound stage.

It was the damnest camera blocking I ever saw. There were no cameras involved. They lip synced the two songs and the director and hosts took notes. Typically when this is done, they do a dry run with shot angles and the like. I guess these guys didn't do it this way. We do notice one thing during the blocking. It seems as though the mikes are on and the dudes are mixing the live synced vocals for the broadcast. In the house PA it sounds hollow, I mention it to our house guy who trys to ask the sound guy what's up. They get the point that the mics aren't to be on during the performance and all is well. There are still a few hours until the show, we opt to head back to the hotel. Only prod dude and lighting dude will return. Lighting dude wasn't meant to do the show, but the TV staff didn't know the music. There was no need for sound dudes. It was a lip sync and they had it all under control. We returned to the hotel where I watched Larry King talk about the Sigfried and Roy tragedy then hit the Cuban joint for dinner. FOH guy was going to call it an early night. I return to the hotel to close the bar and the bar staff asks what show we had done. They put it on in the bar and we all watch. Turned out pretty good. I meet Jeff, a chicken processor salesman that's working on a "deal bigger than Tyson". Jeff works for a company that makes the machines that turn live chickens into food products. He's from Kansas City. Missouri mind you, not Kansas. He's kind enough to by a few rounds. Soon after, I retire to my room.

Tomarrow we head to Queretaro. At this point we are actually having a pretty good time, even though the production has been kind of fucked up.

Posted by Dave at 12:57 PM

October 27, 2003

Lies and the Lying Liars That Tell Them

The tres err... third part of our little Mexican jaunt. We are learning a bit about culture, the Mexican way and the wonders of Don Julio. Anejo, of course. Or is that Repesado?

I was awoken at the Holiday Inn in Toluca by the maid barging into my room just after 8:30 am.

"GO AWAY,DAMN IT!" I bellowed from the bed.

The No Moleste/ Do Not Disturb sign didn't seem to have any effect. About a half an hour later my alarm clock went off and I hauled my ass out of bed. After a quick shower, I put my bus jammies on and headed to the restaurant for a quick desayuno of bacon, omlette and a bowl of Zucaritas (they're Grrrreat!!!). About 15 minutes prior to departure, our bus arrives. As expected, we are traveling in a 40 passenger day coach. It's not bad, the seats recline, there is a small enclosed galley that serves as the smoking lounge. We fill one bay with gear and our driver, Roberto, starts to load the luggage. I climb on board and quickly dose off for our ride to San Luis Potosi.

I wake up at a low budget Mexican truckstop. Pemex, the governement controlled oil company owns pretty much every fuel station in the country from what I could see. The fueling facilities are pretty modern, but the surrounding amenities can be somewhat old and hammered, like the restaurant or mini marts. It's not like in the States or Europe for that matter, where there are large complexes of "travel plazas". The idea is the same, food, smokes, drinks and even tequilla. Seems like most every place we've been has tequilla. No showers, Mc Donalds (which I lovingly call "The Embassy") Krispy Kreme, lot lizards or trucker glory holes. Just fuel, some food and a few items in the mini mart.

Some enterprising young lads have set up an inpromptu wheel polishing business. They had four or five trucks waiting. At this point I notice sensors on every wheel. I take a quick peek in the cab and see a Euro style tachiograph. If you haven't seen one, it's a type of automated logging system for commercial vehicles. A piece of paper is inserted into the tach that logs all relevant info with info from the engine ans wheel sensors. Seems that Roberto has to stop every four hours for a rest break. We still can't determine for how long we must stop. The party retreats to a dingy restaurant and I head to the more modern mini mart. I decide on my patented "cereal in a cup". I invented, perhaps invented is too strong a term, let's say I was instrumental in pioneering the cereal in a cup concept during load in about 20 years ago. The idea is simple, it's easier to hold a cup while directing the locals, though at this time, it was about the only thing I felt comfortable eating in this envirnoment. BTW, I'd also like to take credit for "bacon and eggs in a cup" and the not so well recieved "french toast in a cup". For the hot stuff, it's really important to use a cup designed for it as the typical 16 oz Solo cup will fail with a hot item. A 20 oz paper coffee cup is perfect for both hot and cold "in a cup" style meals. I should have patented it. It probably would have done better than any of my dot com ventures did.

We're about an hour from the hotel, but due to the manditory stop, we won't make it in until about 1500 or so. That would be 3:00 pm, gringo... Still no info on today's gig, though we did pickup an extra body, in the form of the promoter rep, Carlos Fernandez. We had a rough start, but he turned out to be a pretty cool guy, inspite of the fact he was employed by "Lying Bastard, Inc", err I mean FR Productiones. Carlos immigrated from Cuba a few years prior, working for bands in his homeland. He's saving to bring his wife and kids over. He's not yet worked with anything on this scale, and has little more info than we do. Or so the translator says.... We are trying to schedule a production meeting with all the heads involved so we have some sort of idea of what the fuck we'll be doing. No one except us seems to be taking it that seriously. And it's starting to piss us off. Nothing worse than middle aged, uppity adult roadies with nothing worthy to complain about. The difference here is, that we'd at least like a slight fucking clue about what we would be doing for the next 22 days.

Just after 1500 we touch down at the Holiday Inn, our new home away from home. There seems to be an issue with the reservation. We have one, but no one has paid for the rooms yet. Not only that, I have no room. It seems that due to the travel debacle, I don't have any rooms until my mistake arrival date. After some work by the translator, including a heated discussion with the hotel manager, we have rooms, except that for that night they are sold out. I'm given a room that was to go to one of the promoters. We decide to grab a quick bite at The Embassy. I have a hamberquesa doble con queso with papas al la franciese and a Coca. Grande. That would be a numero quatro.

On the bus ride to the gig, we see some familiar sights. Office Max, Wal-Mart, Sears, Costco, Sam's Club. We start to think about shopping and things we need. Like some production information. It's approaching 1600 so we make a list and postpone shopping for another day. The gig is a small amphitheater in the middle of a large urban park. The kind of park where if you were to go into the wrong section after dark, you may not come back out. People are already starting to que and chear the bus on arrival. We see our trailer, the production crews hammered old Eagle parked behind the stage. We park, exit the bus and head for the stage. As we pass the trailer, the genset has yet to be powered up. It's approaching 1700, not a good sign. Band is due at 1830.

As we enter the stage, a "What the Fuck!" feeling overwelms us. The truss is down, the Cybers have yet to be loaded, the risers aren't built and no backline is on stage. Fuck guys, the gig is TONIGHT. We find their fearless leader Jorge. Jorge says "apparently" the out from the night before didn't end until 5 am and the crew is tired. The in didn't start until the afternoon. He really doesn't know, because he and Jimmy left shortly after the band did and didn't get to this gig until after the in had started. HUH? The production manager left before the out was done and wasn't at the next in? What the fuck is up with that? We question why we weren't notified earlier and we have a band showing up in less than two hours. He explains that "it's just the way it is" in Mexico. Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. We've all been down here before and while things are different, the crews are honest, hardworking and seem to enjoy their gigs. Jorge is from Chile and doesn't think too much of the Mexican work ethic. The guy that wasn't at that out, was blaming the crew he was supposed to be responsible for, then dissing them for not working hard when he was the one that bailed on the gig. Jorge again starts dropping names and telling us how much he's done this. From the looks of it, he either hasn't done a lot of it, or isn't very good. Or he's just a lying motherfucker. At least we have the same console set.

About 1800 the power comes up though lights are still far from being done. It seems that nothing in the lighting rig is labeled. The trusses are built from scratch every day, patched and gelled at every gig. Rather than going ballistic, the lighting guy starts labeling and gelling. Most of the crew could be pretty good, and they do work hard, they just need some exposure to how touring shows work. The backline guy again gives me two broken cables and tries to replace them with speaker cables. If he does it again, I'll cut the ends off. I'm serious. Doors are at 2000, show at 2030. We check the band, which thankfully arrived over a half hour late. That goes pretty well. A focus is slapped together and just prior to doors, we appear to finish. Appear, would be the key term.

As squint boy starts to fine tune the Cybers, he notices that none of his conventional patches are comming up. They focused by turning on the dimmers, but the hard patch is completely backwards. It seems they set the dimmers up on the stage right side today, instead of stage left and mirror imaged the patch. Nothing is in the right spot. Initially, Jorge and Jimmy try to blame squint boy and the Whole Hog. We ain't buying it. They fucked up and they are trying to cover their ass. They spend about 20 minutes trying to blame, then get started on the repatch. It's about 10 mins to show, the venue has filled nicely and some folks are starting to get a bit antsy. About a half hour after the show was to start, it's pretty obvious there is a problem. At one point, someone that I did not know came up and said in broken english, "Give me mic for announcement". No I told him, we don't do announcements. He leaves pissed, mumbling something in Spanish. We start the gig nearly an hour late, the crowd was pretty impatient. It's a good thing we started when we did.

It ended up being a good show after all. It was time to load out when we found Jorge and Jimmy in their little hatchback, trying to drive around the bus. The out had barely started and they were leaving to the next gig in Aguas Calientes. It was a Friday night and there was another after show dinner, though at this point the crew has opted for a buyout and not to participate in the after show festivities. It's too big a scene and they stay out way too late. We are shuttled back to the hotel, which just so happens to have the happening disco in town located just off the lobby. We order some food from the bar menu, catch last call after a couple of rounds. We keep seeing hotties come and go from the club. The lobby bar has closed and we decide to adjurn to our rooms. However, one of us has the idea of "taking a peek" in the disco. As we head to the door, a radio station guy from the gig notices us and we get "Elvised" into the club, no cover and a few rounds on the house. It's a pretty happening place, though is rapidly thinning. Just before 3 am, house lights come up and we are are told to drink up and leave. It was a good way to end the day.

At about 8 am that morning, my phone rings. It's someone talking Spanish. The rooming list has not been updated and they have the wrong room. I also notice a message on the desk I'd missed before. The phone rings again, same thing. Damn it. I get up and try to shower, though no hot water. Great. I read the message. It's a fax of a photocopy of the promoters Citibank Visa card. Instant bad karma if I did anything with that. I decide to give it to the tour manager. I pack what little I took out and head off for breakfast. Shortly after, we depart for our showday in Aguas Calientes.

There was a slight change in travel plans to be made following the next show. They have us staying in the previous city for the days off, then traveling to the next city on the day of show. We basically do three shows, have four days off in which we will do a Televisa show in Mexico called Orto Rollo, basically a Letterman type late night show. They were only going to sent the band, and leave the rest of us in Aguas Calientes for four days. The hell with that. The change was that we would all spend Sunday off in Aguas Calientes then travel Monday to Mexico City for a Tuesday taping, departing to Queretaro the day prior to the show, then shows in Leon and Puebla. We basically have every Sun through Tues off, more or less.

It's our first "arena" gig in Aguas Calientes. We get into the Fiesta Americana (or as we call it, the "American Party") about 1400. It's a nice hotel, best so far, though for Holiday Inns the others were pretty good. The hotel basically borders the town square to the rear, with a mall, public market and two bull fighting rings. A "minor league" ring and a pro ring. For a month every spring, the city is host to one of the largest fairs in the world. It will be nice to spend a day off here. But first, we must gig.

Instead of eating at the hotel, we head to the gig where we are told there would be lunch. We've had a difficult time getting fed and want to do a lunch buyout and take care of it ourselves. We get to the gig, doesn't look bad except for a couple of things. Mon beach is on the wrong side of the stage. Jorge's reasoning was that the artist entrance was on the other side and he didn't want to block it. For this band mons always on stage left, ALWAYS. Now, the backs of the star and most of the other performers are to me and they must turn around to see me. I'm hungry, headache hungry. I ask Carlos about food. Fellipe, one of the promoters, is to bring food. Any minute now. He arrives about a half hour later, no food just batteries. I explode on Carlos. I haven't eaten in about 9 hours and I'm pissed.

"You're shit is fucked up man, you guys haven't a clue. I'm tired of being fucked with." I launched on the poor bastard, something I soon after regretted.

Carlos shot back. "You no tell me to fuck."

"You're right Carlos, I'm sorry". I could see I had hurt his feelings, something I didn't want to do. Not to him, anyway. We shook hands and he turned away with disgust.

Jorge, and the rest of our crew saw that go down. Jorge approached me with the usual "this is Mexico" rap.

"Jorge, I'm too pissed to talk to you right now, leave me alone" I barked.

"I won't talk to you when you are this rude" was his response. He left the room. I didn't mind pissing him off. He deserved it. Useless fuck.

I had to get out. I needed food and to get a handle on my anger. I've had anger management issues before and thought that most of it was behind me. I just went off and hate when that happens. I headed to "Thee Embassy" for Quartro Libre combos for the band crew. It's basically a "Royale, with cheese". It was about six blocks away, the walk did me good.

I returned about 20 minutes later, food in hand. I apologised to the FOH guy and lighting guy about my outburst. That was nothing, I was told. The band production manager went off big time on Jorge, Fellipe and Carlos just after I had left. It happened downstage center and stopped the in for a couple of minutes. Jorge launched into his usual "this is Mexico, I'm just like you, I do this a lot" speech and prod dude went off. Inches from his face, spittle flying, barking at max SPL. Jorge had this propensity to have a shit eating grin on his face. Our prod dude barked that if he didn't shape up he'd knock that silly grin from his face. This prompted a meeting of the minds at FOH in which we could relay our concerns.

It turns out, Fellipe didn't know Jorge prior to this. He typically uses another company but they were busy the first part of the week and was steered to Jorge. He's basically getting raped. The cost of the production is US$10,000 per show, plus labor. We could have brought it from the States for that much. Someone is getting fucked. About this time, Carlos and Oscar (one of the other promoters) brought some awesome pollo al carbon. It's like the non commercial version of El Pollo Loco. Charbroiled chicken, tortillas and salsa. Fucking awesome. It was to become my meal of choice down here. I still had 20 days left in country. I thanked Carlos for the food and apologized again.

The third gig...

Chain bags? We don't need no stinkin' chain bags.

The worthless backline guy tried to give me the same cables, I took out my Leatherman and cut the ends off of three of his cable and tossed them into the stands. I wasn't in a mood to fuck around. He seemed shocked. I wanted this asshole fired. He just didn't get it. I put the production on notice, from this point on, any bad cable would lose it's connector.

Again, another great gig that was packed. There was a last minute hitch, however. Jorge informed me that on the next run, our PM 4ks would be replaced with an SM24 and a Europa. "What the fuck is up with that?" I demanded.

It seems that the 4ks were an added expense that he didn't want to absorb. The SM24 won't work like I want it for ears. No stereo cue or mix facilities for six stereo ear mixes. I provided a list of a few consoles, an XL4, Heritage 3000, PM4k, Paragon, PM1D or XL3 were the only acceptable choices. We'd been told that the 4ks were to be with us the entire time, now the story is changing. I now wanted this motherfucker fired, and approached the star and the tour manager with my request. I normally don't do this sort of thing, but this asshole has gone too far. They agreed. If the production did not meet our standards, we'd pull the gig. At the out, Jorge and I got to talk. I basically busted his balls for all the lying and bullshit he was spewing. It turns out, his wife was involved with the PA and this being the last gig of the current FOH guy, he thought he could sneak a change in. Wrong again, asshole. I bet him a steak dinner that he wouldn't have the same consoles at the next gig. I read him the riot act. He was trying to bullshit me and I wasn't having any part of it.

After the out, we went back to the "American Party", had some drinks and hit the sack. Our first three gigs were done. It felt like three months...

Posted by Dave at 01:00 PM

October 26, 2003

Like a Crown of Thorns, It's all who you know...

Part two of our continuing saga in Mexico.....

So I finally had my flight out of Sea-Tac. Except that an ATC delay at SFO held us on the tarmac in Seattle for nearly an hour. It didn't matter, I was hung over and tired from the hurried tasks of the night before. I slept nearly the entire flight. My itenerary didn't list what the layover time was. Seems out little delay left me with scantily 20 minutes to make the connection to Mexico City. Damnest thing I ever saw, same flight number, but requiring a change of planes along the way. I take that back, I've seen that a few other times. What's up with that?

I'm shepherded via bus to the International Terminal while they hold the flight for a couple of us that were delayed in making the connection. At least they didn't page me in the terminal. Another four hours or so to my destination. Thank god for my iPod and the latest Al Franken book. I was out in about 15 minutes. The star's supposed to be on my SFO leg with his wife (the Tour Manager) and her daughter the merchandise maven. They aren't there, only two empty first class seats where they should have been. I check voicemail, no new messages.

We're on approach to Mexico City. My sixth time and the second time this year. Interesting place, though until this trip I only saw the life around a few venues and the Polanco district. Gotta love the El Presidente, though this time, that wasn't in out plans. We were to bus directly to Toluca on arrival.

I was to meet a promoter rep on arrival. I landed, cleared immigration and customs and proceeded to the terminal. I looked around, no one waiting for me. This is starting to become a pain in the ass. No details prior, outbound flight info fucked up and now no one to greet me, much less drive me the 40 or so kilometers to Toluca. I knew that others would arrive in the next few hours, so I waited. In the meantime, I checked email and voicemail from an Internet cafe in the terminal. Another four hours pass. At this point, I have a plan "B". I'll get a room at the Hilton at the airport, call the tour manager and production manager and tell them if they want a Monitor Mel for the tour, they should send someone for me. I had no local contact info. I was starting to get pissed. About five hours after I land, I greet the production manager, FOH sound dude and a few band members. At that point, still no ride for all of us. about 15 minutes or so pass and I spot a guy with a sign for our party. We are informed that the star and his family have been delayed by ATC at SFO and were rerouted and would meet us in an hour or so. About 2200 we meet the rest of the party and begin to head to Toluca. Except they don't have enough space for all of us and the gear and luggage. They have to hire a taxi for the ride. Not exactly the way I like to start a tour.

About midnight, we hit the Holiday Inn in Toluca. High speed Internet in the room, that's a good sign. At 175 pesos for access, it's a bit expensive, even for well healed gringos from the US. The promoter and production staff are already there and had the Argentinian steak house next to the hotel keep the kitchen open for our party. That's a nice touch. We hold an inpromptu meeting with Jorge and Jimmy, the guys in charge of the production while the band gulps mass quantities of steak and wine. Us too.

We were to have the same production, except for two dates in the north where there was to be identical production. There were still some issues with backline, though we were promised they would be resolved. There were to be lots of promises on this tour. We asked about the production schedule. We were told to wait until the morning. What the fuck? The morning was the gig, we needed to know what time to come to work. They told us 10 am would work, though we had to nearly beat it out of them. We would learn later, while the production heads were in town, the gear and most of the crew would arrive the next day, just before noon though we were told the load out was to start a 0200 that morning. If so, then why were the Mexican production manager and the lighting crew chief swilling Don Julio and Corona at an unmatched pace? It turns out the show in the room that night wasn't going out until the next morning. Combine that with the story of only two Whole Hog lighting consoles available in the entire country of Mexico, as we were told, and things started to smell pretty fishy. Unknown to them, our pretty big league lighting guy was affiliated with a sister company down there that owned five of them. So much for that story.

We met in the lobby at 10 am, and ended up waiting until almost noon. The band crew consists of four individuals, including myself, with a fair amount of arena level touring experience. We don't like to be fucked with. If you tell us 10 am, then mean it. Don't keep us waiting for two hours particularly when you are bullshitting us. They send over a mini van. That won't work. Five of us are going, plus the 15 or so pieces of gear we brought with us. Ear mon rig, mics, Line Six head, snare, sticks, Motu 828, VS1824, vococder, the fly date version of my workbox in a Pelican 1650, guitars and some other bits. They remove the seats from the minivan, deposit them in the lobby of the hotel, load the gear then summon hotel taxis for the crew. I guess that will work. We arrive at Teatro Morelos just after noon.

Teatro Morelos from the stage.

I suppose now would be a good time to describe the command structure, or what we would soon find (if not already have figured it out). We have our regular production manager, the promoter has a rep, that calls himself a production manager and the promoter hired a middleman for the tech aspects of the production and to hire the various aspects. The show travels in a single 48' trailer, just like here. The difference, is that we have a sizable 50kva Cat genset that rides in the back of the trailer. WTF? The stages we'll get locally when the venues don't have any. The lighting is from Gafe for the conventionals and Navigation for the Cyberlights. The promoter agrees to rent a Whole Hog from Dos Vente, one of the better lighting companies in the country. The squint package is 120k on two sticks, ground support most days though they can hand the front truss if required. And it's a chore. There are a dozen Cyberlights some ACLS and Molefays. Our squint boy is pretty good.

How the genset was traveling. Note that the gear had to be loaded around it.

There were two FOH mixers for the act. Both well respected mixers, there was a scheduling conflict that required one mixer to cover the first three shows, with the other mixer doing the remaining nine shows. So, we get to the theater and find SGI is to be the provider of the system. SGI was the primary contractor for the big rock show I did down there in July. They had 16 KF850s, 8 SB1000's, Crown power and a pair of PM 4ks. FOH requires eight gates, eight comps and four multieffects. I require 10 comps, five gates and two multieffects and a drum sub. The only thing that could be considered non standard is that we require 18 direct boxes. We meet our guys. Miguel is at FOH, Arlo at mons and Roberto patching the stage. They are pretty good guys and I'd hire them, particularly Roberto as his english is pretty good. He remembers me from July. Other than lack of DIs, the only issue is that the rig infrastructure is pretty hammered. The snake has 40 lines, including an 8 channel drive snake. We require 33 inputs from the stage, plus three click tracks to the mons. I use every input in almost every mix. In 33 inputs we have 9 that either have unusable buzz, or don't work at all. It takes them a few minutes to sort it out, with the assistance of my Rat Pack cable tester.

As we enter the venue, we see some things that need to be changed. Lights are still on the deck, the PA isn't near tall enough for the venue and stacked much too wide. The backline isn't close to being right. Wrong drums, bass cab and not enough cables. An XP 80 won't load. At this point, Jorge, the middleman that calls himself the production manager, starts to provide excuses. "This isn't like the States", he starts. He's trying to spin why things are fucked up, by blaming the culture. That has a bit to do with it, but all of us have gigged here before. This isn't a Mexico problem, it's a Jorge problem. The backline guy that he hired is pretty much worthless. On a couple of occasions, he's given me unshielded speaker cables instead of unbalanced signal cables. I tell him if he does it again, I'll cut the ends off. I'm not kidding.

We do end up getting it sorted, have a good first gig, but I can't help but wonder about Jimmy and Jorge. Jorge keeps telling us how good he is, and how we don't know about how things work in Mexico. If this motherfucker would spend less time trying to impress us, and more time doing his fucking gig, things might be better.

The gig went pretty well after we sorted it all out. The fans were appreciative, they sold a bunch of merch and it looked like we had it under control. I went back to the band's dressing room to get the ear packs and see how it went. It was chaos. As I entered the bands dressing room, Jimmy and another crew guy were in eating the band's food and drinking the beer. "What the fuck is going on? I demand.

"It OK", Jimmy replies.

"No motherfuckers, it's not OK for you to be in the band's dressing room eating and drinking. What the fuck is wrong with you guys?"

Just blank looks as they keep eating and drinking. I go get our production manager and he and I basically kick the guys out of the dressing room. The show had ended about 10 mins prior, and these assholes were back eating and drinking from the band's stash and didn't think anything of it.

Jorge then confronts us, offended that we kicked them out. "They hungry", he responds.

"Then they should eat lunch and dinner" our production manager replies.

"This isn't the US, it's different" Jorge retorts.

"Stay out of the dressing rooms motherfucker!" was my reply.

As we head to the aftershow dinner the band asks "who were those guys in the dressing room after the show?"

We were told that we would have a private dinning room at an exclusive restuarant for dinner instead of catering or a buy out. It was late, but I was hungry and figured what the hell. When we get there, we find that the menu is predetermined and drinks are not included. Not only that, there are at least 50 fans or so, in the place waiting for us. They kept interupping the band for photos and autographs all dinnner long. It was nearly 2 am, this wasn't a scene for me. We made the promoter take us back to the hotel. The bus was to leave at 11 am for St. Luis Potosi, the next gig.

Posted by Dave at 01:03 PM

October 25, 2003

Once Upon A Time In Mexico

While not near as good (IMNSHO) as El Mariachi or Desparado, it still is in the style of those films. It shows that Rodriguez took the time between the second and third to do the Spy Kids flicks and a great deal of the big time Hollywood machine seems to have rubbed off on this, the final installment of the trio.

This isn't a review of the film, but an account of my most recent tour of Mexico. Twelve concerts and a TV show in twenty four days, uncommon for a American based rock/pop artist. Usually, the larger acts do only Mexico City and perhaps Monterey. I thought it appropriate to see the latest installment of the Banderas lead flick the night before my departure, if only to set the tone for the month.

It all started so innocently, with a last minute one off in Seattle in August. I got a last minute call that a six piece all in ear band needed a Monitor Mel for a rehearsal and one off date in Seattle. The gig went well with an audio crew consisting of a third of the persons that were on the tour I did earlier this year. It wrapped and I went back to my new routine of being unemployed, looking for my next gig and racing my go kart. For me, it's all about kart racing at this point, though I do enjoy gigging, just like in the old days. At the end of the gig, all the usual plesantries were exchanged and I thought nothing of it.

About a month later, I'm hanging in the shop, something I've been doing with more frequency though my gigs with the company, with the exception of tour dates and my accounts, are far and few between. I'm basically too expensive for most of the local and regional dates and I suppose I still have a propensity to be somewhat vocal at a gig if all is not going according to plan. At this point I could be called perhaps a whinner, if nothing else a grumpy middle aged man. My former partners are kind enough to store my kart and race trailer and allow me use of the shop to prep the kart and work on it. During a race week, I'm there more than I was when I was a full time employee. I digress... Anyway, I'm in the shop and the Production Manager of the act calls. Seems they've done a couple of dates in the month since I did the gig and haven't clicked with a Monitor Mel yet. It's been a different bloke every time and the leader asks that the "guy that did Seattle" be called to see if he is available for the work in the Fall. At the time it consisted of a three show run in So Cal and Vegas, three weeks in Mexico in Oct, a few Mid West casino dates and ten days in India in Novemeber. The India dates were cancelled due to terrorism in the country a few weeks later. I gladly agreed to do any dates this artist has. I really enjoy the gig.

So here I sit about two weeks into the Mexican tour in a hotel in Mexico City, with a few scattered notes, pictures and memories of what we've done so far. I had planned to write the accounts as the gig happened, but several factors contributed to not being able to access the Web, or even know where I was going to be from one day to the next. The way this leg started for me was a forboding of how things on the tour might turn out, and indeed, have transpired thus far. A week prior to leaving, I still had no concrete info. No flight info, itenerary or other details. Neither did management or production. It was a source of concern for all, though I didn't think much of it at the time as I was busy with the IKF Grand Nationals, a week long kart event that culminates the season with what is meant to be the Crown Jewel of that series. I returned from the So Cal run on Sunday, loaded the kart and left on Monday for the five day event and would return to Seattle two days prior to my departure for the tour. Except that, no one in the party had any travel info from the Mexican promoter. After several mechanical problems, I left the event a day early and returned to Seattle frustrated that I had a chance to grab a podium spot in the Formula 125 Limited Heavy class, but mechanical problems kept me from even making the first grid.

Three days before my departure, I got word that we were to get info via Fed Ex in the form of hard tickets. That's strange because most tours haven't used hard tickets for flights in years, going the all electronic route. Apparently this promoter, FR Productiones in Mexico City only wanted to use hard tickets. I got a confirmation number via email, that was incomplete and the United Premier Executive desk couldn't find a reservation for me. That was Monday, we were to leave on Wednesday. My Fed Ex was due on Tuesday. When I got the Fed Ex I didn't look too hard at the dates and called the Premier desk back with my proper confirmation number. Part of the perks is that I get a seat with a few more inches of leg room and flying in coach that makes all the difference. I chatted with the agent, saying my flight was the next day and I was glad to get the proper info. She countered that this reservation was for a week later. I read my docs more carefully, thanked here and called the Tour Manager. It seems that my situation wasn't the only wrench in the travel works. It seems the promoter had waited until the last minute, sent the info to the agent who then sent it to each person. Tour production never had a chance to review the accuracy and several things did not match the summary they were given a couple days prior. I started to think "What the fuck is going on here?". In a couple of hours it was sorted and the next morning I was to be on a flight to Mexico City.

In the meantime, I called the Production Manager to let him know the situation and find out what he knew about the gig. We were to be in venues of 3000 to 9000, most around 4000 in capacity. It was to be a mix of theaters, small arenas, a few bullfighting rings, a cockfighting ring and a convention center ballroom. There were also the possiblity of a TV show or two. We were to carry the same production for all dates with the exception two dates in Northern Mexico that we were co headlining with another popular act. In fact, I did a short stint with that act in '99. It was to be an identical production for all 12 dates, backline, lighting and sound. We also had a generator that was to travel with us. The promoter hired a production manager, let's call him Jorge, that acted as a middleman hiring the production and arranging all the advance. The problem was, that he had only been confirmed a few days prior to the gig and did not want to part with any info until we got to the first city. Our production manager did manage to get an equipment list, though we still had little confirmed info about the rest of the gig other than the band and band crew would travel by day via passenger bus, with the production crew traveling after the gig in what turned out to be a hammered old Eagle that looked like it belonged to one of those low budget Tejano bands in the Southwest US. The gear was to travel in a single trailer, including the generator.

Our production requirements aren't that difficult to meet. We carry all the mics, ear mons and a few other backline nuggets. We were to have a 24 box KF850/SB 1000 rig with a pair of PM4000s and the associated processing and hardware. It all seemed like a slam dunk. Little did we know what we were getting into.

Posted by Dave at 01:05 PM | Comments (1)