A Barking Dog

November 27, 2003

Mas Que Nada

Getting to be about time to wrap up the old Mexican adventure. This will be the final chapter of the saga. We were 23 days into it, though it seemed like 23 months. Even though some of the gigs were under trying circumstances, all of the performances were well received. When you went to these towns and did this size show, those were the places bands gigged. Not too many of them were pop bands from the States. The band, while only used to playing a few gigs in a row with each other a time or two a month, was really starting to smoke. Good band, and good folks to boot.

We boarded Roberto's ETN bus for the last time on a fall Wednesday morning outside the Gran Melia. The previous night's celebration went well. We all met in the Black and Black steakhouse/ bar adjacent to the hotel and they locked the doors and let us carry on until the wee hours of the morning. We were glad we were gigging. We were glad it was almost done. There were still some issues with return transport that the tour manager and HLB were working on. For instance, I had a 7:25 AM flight from Mexico City to San Fransisco, then continuing onto Seattle after a brief layover and possible cavity search at SFO. Actually, I quite like going back into the States through SFO. The Customs staff is pretty well together and it doesn't take that long. I like early morning flights, but this time I was going to be in Vera Cruz, nearly six hours from Mexico City. A few others in the party had similar issues, though the flights were later that morning. Squint dude had to get back for the load in of a gigantic corporate gig the following morning. Something needed to be done.

It was solved by flying the rest of the party early morning from Vera Cruz. Except for me. I was going to be shuttled back to Mexico City immediately following the gig in one of the fine Suburbans HLB used. I can think of better ways to die than in a sleep induced car wreck in the middle of the night in Central Mexico. At this point, I just wanted to go and didn't wish to try to change my flight. It was floated that I might stay an extra day in Mexico City, but I was ready to go home. There was still the nagging little detail, we had one more gig to go.

The ride to Vera Cruz was scenic. A bit long for my taste, but scenic. We hit a bit of rain in the mountains but still managed to make the trip in just over five hours. Right in time for the press conference. A few of us gathered in the lobby bar and had cocktails and snacks while watching the World Series. We'd been following the playoffs and the Series. It gave us a taste of home. Others ventured to the beach. The hotel was an "American Party Jr", located right on the beach in Vera Cruz. Vera Cruz is a happening beach town, located on the Gulf of Mexico. The hotel was OK. The location was awesome. There was to be an "all hands" end of tour dinner at a local seafood joint, but I didn't find out until a fifteen minutes before we were to leave. I politely declined. I ended up at the Bennigan's across the street from the hotel which turned out to be quite the happening place. I retired back to the hotel and retired for the evening.

When I got up the next morning, we still didn't know what time the call was. Carlos had split to the gig and wasn't answering his phone. I made the 10 minute walk up to the "Embassy" for a doble hambergeso con queso and a grande papas a la francase. Con Coke, of course. That's a numero quatro, by the way. On thing about the Arches in Mexico, they didn't have the fish burger. They did have a few chicken sandwiches we don't have, but no fish. Byt he time I made it back the the hotel, most everyone was still lounging on the beach. We had decided to do a 3:30 depart regardless of what else was going on. That way we could have a 6:00 band, 7:00 doors and 8:00 show.

The gig was in a modern convention center exhibit hall space. Just like in Orlando, San Fransisco, LA or Seattle. It was a pretty big thing for the three local radio stations. The gig had been sold out for a few weeks. The odd thing was that we were only taking up about 20% of the entire floor. There were freestanding cubicle style dividers separating us from the vast expanse of the exhibit hall. When we arrived, pretty much everything was ready for us. Chucho went over with Carlos just before noon, the production loaded in a 10:00. They were all cabled and ready to go. There was another pleasant surprise. Our consoles had not been used since Guadalajara, or about a week. That was the story, anyway. I was surprised as Los Tucanes de Tijuana, the very popular Mexican band that owned the production (though the company was called Soundset) had gigs during the time we weren't using the gear. As I started paging through my automation presets, it became apparent that the guys charted every setting on the console, but were unaware that I was using some fader recall and other automation features. No matter, it was a very nice gesture and I appreciated it. The settings were pretty close, in fact had I not used the automation, I never would have known. I had expected to come into a zeroed console and this was very welcome. It's not that big a deal to start from scratch, as most of the eqs are bypassed, but it is six stereo mixes with nearly everything in every mix and panning as per each performer. When we start from zero, it takes a song or two for me to dial it in. And it's a pretty hectic song or two.

We still had an hour to kill, so we hit the American style mall next door. We killed time going from store to store. I picked up a CD of lounge bands doing Nirvana covers including Karel Marik and Gringo Floyd. I'd never seen anything like that in the States, except for perhaps Lounge Against the Machine or that Aussie Frank Bennett. We did some other shopping, got esperesso and ice cream and headed back to the gig. The soundcheck was pretty uneventful, except for trying to explain to a local radio station that they couldn't broadcast the gig through a Beta 87 radio mic at FOH. They were going to put a Beta 87 U4 at FOH and simulcast the gig. Televisa and Telemundo were going to do the first three songs (with board feed and beta cams), so these guys thought they would do the gig. I found the receiver and was intstructed to power it down and unpatch it, keeping my eye open for other such devices.

We were just about to start the final show of the Mexican tour when we discovered that HLB wasn't around. Not that it mattered, at this point I was glad not to have him around. I didn't trust the guy any further than I could throw him. If I was really motivated, I could probably toss him 5 or 6 meters. This time, though, final settlement was due. What do you know, HLB had the flu and was still in Mexico City. He wasn't going to make it to the gig. It was about 10 mins before show and no one had told us. And he owed the band dough. He claimed he had wire transfered the money earlier that day to the agent, even though the deal was to pay the band that night. We held the show while he faxed confirmation to the hotel and a runner was dispatched to get it. I found out a couple of weeks later that HLB screwed the act on some cost issues. At that point, everyone saw what the crew had been saying all along. Don't trust this motherfucker. Ever. I don't think it's likely we'll be doing any gigs for him, though a real promoter down there has expressed interest, based on this tour.

We do the show, it's killer. There is to be a huge after party but I can't go. I need to get to the airport. It's almost 11:00, I say my goodbyes and look for the Suburban. He went to fuel and check the tires. About 11:30 he returned and we headed to the hotel. Chucho was going back as well. We agreed to depart at midnight. At 12:10 I called Chucho, letting him know that we were leaving. he came right down. We loaded up and headed out. One stop first. Back to the gig to pick up three others. Chucho grabs shotgun, the three amigos grab the back seat and leave me with the middle. It's good being the gringo...

I was slightly buzzed from our post gig celebration, so I took two Dramamine and racked out in the middle seat. About two hours into our journey, I was abruptly woken up by an intense rattling. We got a flat. Good thing he had the tires checked... I offered to help, but they refused and motioned be back into the Suburban. In twenty minutes or so, we were on our way, but first stopped at the nearest truckstop. It was about 3:00 AM at this point and Mexi tire dude checked us out and gave us the green light to go. We were still perhaps three hours from Mexico City and I needed to check in by 5:30, no later than 6:00. I didn't want to miss my flight.

The boys in the back had spread out, using my computer bag, luggage and day back as a make shift bed/ pillow. I had some breakable stuff in the bags and retrieved them from the back. These guys racked out two across the luggage in the back, one in the rear seat, me in the middle seat and Chucho in the front. Driver hombre was starting to get White Line Fever. He developed such a bad weave it rivaled Letterman's old hair piece. He stopped for coffee twice and Chucho was trying to keep him awake. It was just after 5:00 and we were about 60 miles from the airport, just coming up on the outskirts of Mexico City. None of us were sleeping at this point, except for the driver. That's why we were awake. We were getting concerned. I kept thinking which would be worse. Dying in a car wreck in Mexico, surviving the wreck but having to spend time in a Mexican hospital, or missing my flight. We were close enough I could get us to the airport, even if I had to throw the driver out of the vehicle.

We were now a few clicks from the airport. When we turned the opposite way. We were dropping off our riders. Just before 6:00 we arrived at the airport. I was told I would have assistance in checking in, not that I needed it. Apparently, he didn't think I needed it either and quickly bolted after depositing me and Chucho and our belongings outside of the International departures terminal. Chucho and I bid farewell and he disappeared into the terminal. I found the United counter and the Premier Exec line and waited my turn. Funny thing was, the regular line was moving faster. As I was ready to move, another counter opened. I had about 80 mins until my flight left.

There were upgrades available for Senior Stevens, but for the first leg only. Coach was not even half full and I had an exit row in Economy Plus and as I would sleep the entire first leg, I didn't want to waste the 15,000 miles for the upgrade since I would have to sit in cattle class from SFO to SeaTac. A good thing about first or business class international is that you are allowed in the the lounge. I let my Red Carpet Club membership expire when I lost my dot com gig. It was only US$300 per year and I figure I drank at least three times that and got so much free Internet access it made it worth it. I didn't have it now, I wasn't being flown business as I was acustomed to and was too tired to be concerned. Then there was the issue of my exit visa. Since we had to surrender our visas for the work permits, we were each given a photocopy of the Mexican work permit. The one we had an issue with in both Chihuahua and Juarez. There was an issue at the counter and they did not know what to do with my papers. I was told that after I cleared security, I was to report to the immigration desk.

Security was easy, no removal of shoes or personal searches. I presented my papers at the immigration desk. He glanced at them, didn't bother to look at my passport and responded "Yes, OK. You can go home" in somewhat broken English. There I was, all the Duty Free shops open at about half past six on a Friday morning. I bought some Hugo Dark Blue cologne (not available in the States) and a bottle of Don Julio. I thought that the tequila wasn't available where I lived. But it was, only about three bucks more than from Duty Free. These days I try to buy something everytime I leave the country. Not so much for the goods, but so I'm not hassled at US Customs. All the free swag, claim it. But buy some trinkets because if you return from being gone for a few weeks, they won't believe you if you don't claim anything. In the late 90's, most of my touring was out of the country. When I'd come back from being gone for a few weeks, I'd get the third degree if I had nothing to declare. At one point under previous questioning, I asked the officer if they bought a souveneir every time they came to and from work. That was coming into LA and it was pretty bad. I was taken apart and the delay caused me to miss my connecting flight. Of course recent visas from Israel, Milaysia, Indonesia and Hong Kong were of interest to the officers. I learned my lesson. Claim at least a hundred bucks worth of stuff and you'll be OK. In about a half hour I was on my flight waiting to return home.

My connection at SFO was going to be tight. I only had about 40 mins and needed to clear Customs and pass back through security. I was one of the first to the baggage carousel. I got my Pelican workbox and Tumi five suiter and made my way to Customs. Breezed right through. I rechecked my bags and headed for the security checkpoint. I grabbed a snack and some reading material and boarded my flight. I get pre boarded so to pass the time while they load the cattle, I put my iPod on and sit back and relax. Just about the completion of boarding I was tapped on the shoulder by a gate agent, who happened to have a TSA officer in tow.

"Mr. Stevens?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Mr. David Stevens?" she continued. David Stevens? I'm only called David when I'm in trouble or when my parents or grandparents are talking to me. A few times early in life that lead to a spanking. I hoped for a minute she was going to spank me.

The TSA agent spoke. "We've had to remove an item from your luggage. May we have your address so we may send it to you?" Nothing like a statement like that to make your fellow passengers take notice. Great, I was now Osama bin Stevens as far as the other passengers were concerned. I attract enough attention when I travel, I didn't need this.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"I can't say." At this point I was pondering asking if he didn't know, or couldn't tell me. This had sparked the curiousity of my fellow passengers so I let it drop, filled out my mailing address and they went on their way.

it turns out that they took my butane powered Ultra Torch portable soldering iron. It's awesome, but it's full of liquid butane and therefore not allowed to fly. A few years back I had the 16 oz refill confiscated at Gatwick, though they allowed the iron.

When I landed at SeaTac after an uneventful flight, other than me getting the once over twice from some of the other business travelers, I was paged to the baggage service desk. Great I thought, not only did they take my shit, they then lost my luggage. They were only confirming that an item was confiscated and wished my address so they could sent it to me. It turns out, my Ultra Torch is history. These stupid motherfuckers couldn't even send me my shit they took. I've enquired to the TSA, who say it's United's problem and even then, it's contraband and not allowed to fly.

I made it back, took some time off and did some gigs. It was a good rest. We're heading for Spain in a couple of weeks (or Mexico Sr, as I like to call it) and I'll check in with some reports from there. We're due to tour the Far East and Europe early next year so we'll see what happens.

'Til next time....

Dave

Posted by Dave at 12:10 PM

November 23, 2003

First Day of School

I pulled my rented Ford Explorer in front of the non descript building on Main St in Whitinsville, MA just after 9:00 AM on a cold winter morning in November. It had been more than two months since the deal to sell the Live-Audio_Board had been sealed. During that time I'd been searching for office and data center space in Seattle, though later I was told the offices would be located in Whitinsville. I'd found world-class data center space in Seattle, we just needed to seal the deal. At the time, the LAB was running from a managed colo space at Rackspace.com in San Antonio, Texas.

Just about the time the sale went down, the colo host at the time had discovered they hadn't billed the prior year's worth of fees, and halted service without notice. These unorganized morons, operating under the name of Speakeasy.org were in danger of quashing our deal. I called the support line, got them to reprovision the server and promptly transfered all of the data to an account at Rackspace. The LAB was offline for about three hours. That was old history at this point. It happened a couple of months ago, and we were safe at Rackspace now. I was at the door of my first "real" job in about 20 years. I didn't know what to think.

I entered the rather well used retail space, converted to office space, still itching from the cold. I'm a California boy, relocated to Seattle just in time to catch the Grunge Rock revolution of the early 90's. For me, 60 degrees is cold. It was below freezing and there was snow on the ground. I was about 10 feet into the office when a woman that I recognized, asked if I needed any help.

"I think I work here" was my reply.

"Excuse me", she responded in a thick New England accent. I had recongnized her as the assistant to the other founder of this particular venture, the guy that bought my site. She met several hundred if not several thousand people in her tenure as the assistant to the co founder of one of the most successful pro audio manufacturers at that time. I wasn't surprised she didn't recognize me. I didn't expect her to.

"I'm Dave Stevens", I offered.

She was expecting me. She was the Office Manager. She responded welcoming me and giving me an impromtu tour of the still spartan facilities. We were to occupy this bottom suite, next to the local public access TV channel and the business office of the local cable TV provider until we moved into the soon to be remodeled upstairs offices. One of the reasons it was decided to locate in this building was because the other founder bought it, along with another dilapadated property across the street. Downtown Whitinsville was a wreck, a shell of it's former self. The Walmart down the street had ravaged the local businesses to the point where except for a few stores, a real estate office, Subway sandwich, Blue Moon Diner (one of the best breakfasts in the world, and I've been all over the world), Peg's Diner in the old train car, the downtown strip was pretty much wiped out. Way to go Sam Wall. Another local economy butt fucked out of existance. At least the big pro audio manufacturer was still down the street, a few hundred yards away.

I settled into a desk near the front. The others had already laid claim on their turf. They'd been in the office for more than a week while I was still on the west coast. The cable modem had been installed, but we still lacked a proper network. The installer was due later that day. There was a hodge podge of cables that connected the four others in the office. It was very startup like. My pulse was racing with excitement. This was way fucking cool. I was about to be a mogul. Or so my narrow ass thought...

Just after 10:00, the others began to arrive. First, the Director of Operations. I knew him from the trade show gig he had at the pro audio manufacturer. He suceeded the previous person in that gig that I got to know very well. Too well, in fact, before she left for greener pastures. I'd met him at our AES rollout, where we announce the intention of the site. His tit got in the ringer when we were giving out shirts that might have been considered disparaging to his then employer (and the company our other founder built). There were some pissed off people over that. Bummer... A few weeks later he was offered a position with the newly formed Universal Concept Inc and he took it. I had nothing to do with the name, not that I disapproved. I was called one Sunday night in October, told we were hiring some good folks and this was the name of the parent company. We'd been soft launching and prototyping the site since just after the announcement of the sale. The domain ProSoundWeb.com was registered prior to our deal being consumated. I didn't think much of the parent company name or staff as I had a date waiting and didn't want to do any business at that point. That was two weeks prior to my arriving in Whitinsville.

The second to arrive, just after 10:30, was the Goddess of Content. I remembered her from the time I'd spent at the pro audio manufacturer. I thought she was a hottie then, this time I was in love. No, really. She had beauty, brains, attitude (attitude is a must when dealing with me), tatoos and piercings. Nevermind she was 15 years my junior and didn't share my feelings.

So, there we all were, not really knowing what to do. The other founder made it in about noon and we got to work with our first full staff meeting. I still didn't know what to think. My prior 20 years were made up of touring and regional PA company operations. I didn't really know how this regular business stuff worked, though I'd managed and operated a couple of sucessful businesses over the years. I was a fish out of water, though I don't think it showed.

The five of us were about to do something no one else had done at that point. We were going to introduce the pro audio industry to the world of the Internet. Others had tried. We were going to be the one's that defined pro audio on the Internet.

Posted by Dave at 12:15 PM

November 19, 2003

Ezekiel 25:17 and more thoughts on the LAB

"The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you."

As a condition of my parole, I'm required to watch Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs at least once a month each. Usually more. I'm an over achiever on this one. For those that have lives and aren't up on this bit of old pop culture, it's what hitman Jules Winfield, aka "Pitt" says to his victims prior to killing them. Like Jules, I too experienced a "moment of clarity" the last time I heard him give the now cliched speech. It got me thinking about how I moderated the LAB and participated in the community. Let's forget for a second that the quote is really Tarantino speak, a combination of biblical passages with a health dose of artistic license. I'm VERY agnostic, perhaps even bordering on being a pagan. I'm certain I'm a hedonist. I've never read the Bible much, even growning up and being raised by a very religious grandmother early in life. I prefer to get my stories of sex, violence and vengence from the Internet, movies or music.

The quote from the script reminded me of how I have dealt with, or not dealt with my moderation of the LAB and the other LABsters over the years. In the early days of moderation, I was the tyranny of evil men. Or at least thought myself to be. In reality, I was simply rude and immature about some of the ways I forced my vision on the masses. As I did it more and mellowed, I changed my approach and stopped participating pretty much in all audio related threads, only checking in to clean up a fight or lay down the law. There were plenty of others and a strong, respected moderator and it wasn't required that I participate on a daily basis.

When it became apparent that I wouldn't have a seat at the table with the new owners of the site, I started to think about things. I was just picking up a career that had been on hiatus for a few years. I thought I could still contribute to the community, regardless of my affiliation or feelings toward the revamped operation. I really missed and enjoyed to "company" of the Old Skool LABsters and sharing information and ideas with them. I was glad to be back in the biz and in the company of many that I've come to know from years on the LAB. Over the years some may have considered me opinionated and arrogant, perhaps conceited, but I felt I still had a great deal to offer the community and enjoy sharing company and knowledge with my peers in the community. That got me to thinkin'...

Instead of participating in the community as a tyrannt, it would be more constructive if I were the shepherd. I had a great deal I could share, and others knew specific subjects much better than I and with any luck they would share that knowledge and experience with me. That's what I think this kind of community should be. Over the last couple of weeks in response to some posts that were off the scale of being galactically stupid, one little voice in my head kept saying "be the shepherd, be the shepherd". Another voice begged me to flame the poster so hard it would know them off the Internet, or at least make them stop posting on the forum. When someone serves up a softball like some of these posts it's difficult not to take a swing and knock them out of the park. Some of these folks are begging for it. Discreation is the better part of valor, or so I've been told and I'm trying real hard not to nuke them all the way back to the AOL chat room from which they came. That is not to disparage AOL chat rooms, I've met plenty of interesting folks in them. Many of them though, have a difficult time with the rough and tumble of the wide open Internet. Particularly in places like the LAB where they are a fish out of water and never bother to read the rules or follow them. I suppose many feel it easier to ask for forgiveness, instead of permission.

As part of this "moment of clarity", I also put up a trial balloon in the form of a forum with all these features people have been saying they want for a pro audio community. As stated numerous times before, it's about people, not software but this software is chock full of features, powerful and easy to use and administer. You can see for yourself at http://www.roaddog.com/forum/ .

That's not to say I'm getting back into the forum biz. If the situation presents itself where sound reinforcement professionals feel they need a different avenue to address their needs, I'm willing to step up to the plate. all fo the resources are in place and ready for deployment. I don't want it to be about me only and would want and need the support of others, making it a true community project. As part of this, we would need broadbase support from working professionals in the biz. I'm not interested in hosting a general audio forum, but a rather narrow professional community, allowing those new to audio or that don't do audio full time to particpate, though within limits. It wouldn't be a large community, only a several thousand. Any larger than that and the number of participants exceed the number of those in the segement of the biz the community is targeting. We are talking quality, not quantity.

I've gotten a ton of email since I returned to touring and posting at the LAB. Most of it very positive and supportive. Some if it not, but that's OK too. A couple of folks have suggested that I'm merely a disgruntled former employee, with an axe to grind wanting to take down the LAB and PSW in general. I started the LAB with a vision and I don't think that it currently is operating at those standards or within the scope of what I intended. I think many of the things PSW is doing now with respect to content and business development are things that we never matched. They are better at selling ads, they are better at creating feature content. I don't think they understand what being a community means or the specific issues of this particular community.

I liken the situation to raising a child. You bring them up, do your best and love them like nothing else. When it comes time for them to leave the nest, you still can't help loving them and wanting to help, but as young adults they may not want your help. They may do things you don't like, but you still love them and want to help them. They may date or even marry people you don't care for, but you still love them even though you think they are making mistakes.

The last thing I want to do is segment the community by putting up another community as some show of penis factor. I'm not in the forum building business for the money anymore. I'm in the mixing audio live business for the money. Community building for me know is a social endevor and a way for me to give back to the community. If I need to answer the call, it's not a problem.

'Til next time...

Dave

Posted by Dave at 12:18 PM | Comments (1)

November 17, 2003

Playin' solitaire 'til dawn with a deck of 51

Our stay in beautiful Juarez had been extended for a few hours. Instead of taking an early afternoon Aero California flight to Mexico City, we were taking an early evening Mexicana flight. We were given the reason that Aero California "was not a good airline." However true that is or was, it would mean we wouldn't see a hotel in Mexico City until after 11:00 that night, possibly midnight. The gear was being shipped back to Mexico City via a freight company. When I asked HLB about piece counts I was told not to worry about it. So I didn't. To quote the Goddess of Mon Beach at the big rock show, "I am SO over this right now..."

I slept until about 1:00 the next afternoon. I needed the rest. I spent the rest of the afternoon lounging. We gathered late afternoon for the trip to the aero puerto. Same as before, we leave an hour ahead of the rest of the party with the luggage and passports. As we milled around in the bar watching American football on the El Paso ABC affliate, Mr Friend found his way to our table. He was there to offer advice. "Don't smuggle anything through the airport" was the advice. No shit Sherlock. Not that we had anything we'd need to smuggle. And we are smart enough not to try. He was insistent, "Really, they have guards, with guns. This isn't like in the States." The hell you say! Not like the States? Good thing he told me or I might not have figured it out. This guy had worn out his welcome. I excused him with a dismissive hand gesture, the brush off move. Geez, that was helpful advice. Right up there with don't stab yourself in the forehead with a fork. It wasn't so much the advice, but the fact he thought we might try to smuggle something. Our first gig was at night, but it wasn't last night.

We get into the van and the driver, one of the now infamous "got lost for an hour in Chihuahua" guys states that only four, including him are to go to the airport. I'm thinking maybe this time it is a language thing and he doesn't understand there'll be six of us on this trip. It's not a language thing, he's stating he'll take no more than four. Whatever, dude. I love Carlos, but he really needs to work on this transportation issue. Never enough room. They end up taking yet another row of seats out of the van to fit the luggage. Good thing we didn't have the gear. They put the seat in the lobby of the hotel. None of the staff seem too concerned about it. We think it's kind of funny, cheap entertainment watching them deal with it. As we get in the van, driver says "only four" to which prod dude responds, "yeah, right". We motor away from the "American Party Jr".

It was a rustic little airport, though they did have a proper jetway and departure lounge. There was a small customs/immigration desk. There seemed to be some issue, as Carlos, the local driver and the customs dude were conversing and looking at the papers. They finally let us in. It was set up so you had to clear customs before you went to the counter to check in. I didn't realize it at the time and basically bypassed the whole thing. No one noticed. I didn't notice until I had turned around in line at the counter and noticed everyone was being screened. When I went through there wasn't anybody there. We checked the bags, got our boarding passes and headed to the gate. While the facilities were modern, they didn't let you into the departure lounge until about a half hour prior to the flight. We had nearly an hour to kill so we retired to the bar where we ate mexican food and I drank Red Bull. As we went to board the flight, we had to pass through yet another immigration check point at the security screening. I was the first one through, or so I thought until I saw they had Chucho behind one of the screens, taking him apart. The flight was going to be packed, I boarded and racked out for the duration of the flight.

Mexico City, just as I remembered it. We'd been coming to town for at least a day every week now. We'd have a day off, do "Thee Big Gig" of the tour, another travel day to the coastal city of Vera Cruz for the final show. A new set of locals met us at baggage claim. Quickly six of us were rushed off to awaiting transportation. It was supposed to be six, it turned out to be only four of us. The crew. We were sheparded to the airport taxi van line and placed in a van three slots back from the front van. What the hell? We sat there for about 20 mins. What was the hurry? Seems that yet again the transportation was fubar. At this point, I almost didn't give a shit. And I mean almost. They finally got us to the hotel, shortly after 11:00. The Reforma was dead. Dead as disco. Since the crew slept the entire flight and most of that day, we agreed to head out into the city. It's Sunday night, not much is happening. The Cuban joint is shut, so we head to the bar at the "American Party" where we'd stayed while we were here doing the TV show. They refused to serve us, they were closing, though it was about 75 minutes prior to the posted closing hour. Lighting dude told them we had been flying all day and had just gotten into the hotel. Pretty much the truth, yet they though we were staying at the hotel. They agreed to serve us a round, that later turned to two rounds. Just after midnight and we were returning to the hotel. Shit... We were given the location of three other bars open, but they were for locals only. No gringos. We didn't feel like forcing the issue or heading to Zona Rosa where there are bars that always welcome gringos, particularly gringos with excess cash on hand.

The next day, Monday, was an off day. After sleeping until after 11:00, and enjoying the included breakfast I hit out on the city with lighting dude. For lunch we hit the Cuban place. It simply rocks. Great service, food and drinks stiffer than a guy dying from asphyxiation. FOH dude joined us halfway through lunch. After lunch, we decided to troll Zona Rosa. While in the Zona Rosa, we stopped and an Internet cafe. It was 150 pesos an hour, or about a buck ten US per hour. Tons better than the hotel. There were CD burners, Kazaa and several other tools available to us. Others were downloading porn and burning it to CD, along with pirated music. The place was hopping. We did a couple hours, only about three bucks and were on our way. I also discovered that rover.roaddog.com had crashed and I had no email. I wasn't about to try it from this place. No telling what kind of keystroke monitoring was going on. We returned to the hotel after a stop at Carl's Jr for some burgers. All that porn and file sharing made me hungry. I napped until early evening.

I woke about 6:00 pm and made some calls to the other troops. No one was in. No matter, what I wanted to do was explore the bowels of Zona Rosa and it might be best to do that alone. That area is notorious for clip joint strip clubs and hustlers and casas de citas. I can hold my own, and little bit of anyone else's. I had a pretty eventful evening that night. Clubs, bars and well, a couple of other places that provided good middle aged roadie entertainment. And at a very, very reasonable price. Hell, even you young fuckers would have been entertained. No, really. I thought I knew the lay of the land. I figured I'd take a short cut from Zona Rosa to the Reforma. Except that when I thought I was on the main drag, Paseo de la Reforma, I didn't recognize a thing. I only had about 10 pesos left and had no fucking idea where I was. Nice.

I always leave my passport, cards and cash I don't want to spend locked up in the hotel. I had about a buck and a photocopy of my passport with me. This could suck less. When traveling abroad, I always pride myself in keeping in touch with my surroundings. Of course, with the exception of my little run it with Russian mafia types in Budepest in 2000. Ask Briggs, he'll tell you the story. Cost us nearly a grand, and we didn't even get blown. Anyway, I was lost as shit in Mexico City, pretty drunk and broke as a motherfucker. Pretty much a new guy move. How did I allow that to happen? I circled around and within a half hour or so spotted the Reforma skyline and was able to triangulate back to where I needed to be. It got a bit tense there for a while. I was in a place where some white guys might not want to tread. At more than two meters and nearly 150 kilos, I was probably OK. The American conversion could be described and one big, fat bastard. The pissed off look was icing on the cake, though many say that is my normal expresssion. I could have been up shit creek without a paddle, or a boat for that matter. I made it back to the Hotel Gran Melia and consumed some beverages from the mini bar. I dodged a bullet. Must be good roadie karma. Lobby call was at 8:45, in at the gig at 9:00. No onsite catering or beverage service. Brutal, dude, brutal...

The next morning at 9:15 we decided to call the errant member of our party. Seems he overslept. We grab the promoter provided van and head for the gig. It's a big, real gig. I did this gig in '95 with another band. We survey the situation. No truss, no Par cans. Movers will be in at noon. Our consoles aren't there but our processing and a few of the crew from our touring production are there. Seems as a cost saving measure, HLB is using the pair of 4ks in the house, augmented by a pair of Ramsas for support. There was support on this gig, something we did not normally do. It was a twelve piece latin band. Yep, twelve, as in 10 plus 2 musos... The rig was a bunch of powered Meyer stuff and a dozen 12AMs that I wouldn't use. It's all about the ears on this gig, baby.

My guy at the venue introduces himself. I don't remember his name. He (Raphael?) gets the info to patch the stage. I'm still tweaked abit about HLB telling me I'd have my H3k and showing up and there is 4k. It's only a gig. I can do the job on this gear quite well, it's just the point of being told one thing and getting there only to find out something different. Again, or should I say still. I'm ready to go home, only two more left. It's a gig that I can do regardless of what piece of shit they throw at me. At least it's a 4k. My guy (Miguel?) starts patching. It's a real gig, the venue is pretty well together.

We are well into the setup when some dude that looks like he fell out of a Minolta ad starts to snap some pics of me at the console. I give him my standard no pictures spiel. I don't like being photographed, unless I'm naked, of course. Or with Paris Hilton. From basically out of nowhere Mr Friend appears. "No, it's OK" he says enthusiastically.

"No pictures please, have a nice day" I drone without looking up as I continue presetting the console.

"It is OK, he's from Soundcheck Magazine and he's doing a story and interview with you guys" was the explaination.

"Not with me he's not" is my reply. This time I manage to look up and give them a bit of a smile, just so I wasn't being too rude. This is the first any of us have heard of it. I wasn't about to do a translated interview in a mag I don't read at the last minute without knowing the angle of the story or why they wanted to talk to us. While there are some very good trade pub articles, much if it I think is questionable at best. Basically product placements. If we are working with a manufacturer on a product (though after publishing the blog I doubt I'll get many more calls for that) or with a sound company on something like a new technology that's one thing. While our guy is known for some legendary work, our gig is pretty much like thousands of other gigs out there. Ain't no big thing. FOH dude provided the mag with some quotes and specs. After a couple of hours we've had enough, line check most of it and leave squint boy to focus. We're heading back to the hotel, we'll be back at 3:00 pm. Then again, we may get lucky and the world would end before then.

We get back to the gig about an hour before the band. The support act is set up on the what is now the raised portion of the orchestra pit. They are using the house Ramsa. The feedback is deafing. The Monitor Mel is having a hard time. That sucks. They sort it just before our band arrives for soundcheck. At the check I ask the star for his acoustic guitar so I can check it prior to use. It seems he doesn't have it. It "went with the gear". So how about that piece count, Carlos? That's right, we'd lost the stars acoustic guitar. Us wanting to count the shit doesn't seem so bad right now. Does it? I guess that piece count was important after all. Who'da thunk it? I mean, besides our entire crew. We basically had little say over how things went at this point. That's actually an exageration. We really had no say. HLB did what he wanted and we just got to tag along. A couple of calls were made and the wayward axe was located in the storage closet at the hotel in Juarez. Seems as one of our band guys took it to the last hotel after the gig, and left instructions at the desk for them to give it to the boss when he came back. Support dudes would loan us a guitar and Chucho was able to get a replacement wireless rig in time for the show. I had the receiver but the packs for the guitar were in the case.

We finished check and I headed for the crew room to kick back for a bit. The facility is pretty nice. It's basically the Radio City Music Hall of Mexico. Plenty of real dressing rooms, appointed nicely. The staff seemed to be organized and professional. I hid out in the crew room until showtime, which was delayed by support going over about 20 mins or so. The schedule called for them to do a 15 min set, but with that many people in the band, we knew they weren't going to do 15 mins. The soundcheck was nearly an hour. I found out later that they told them to play until they were told to stop. There was still a line outside the building. That was the real reason for the delay. I wanted to get some pics of the room, etc but when I stepped out in front of the curtain about 15 mins prior to support, security wouldn't let me.

Like all the other shows, the fans enjoyed it and now that we once again had proper production after our fiasco in the North, it was pretty uneventful from a technical standpoint. House security freaked when the band invited several hundred people onto the lowered portion of the pit. All the high dollar tix were sold and had HLB told our prod dude the situation, we could have seated perhaps 50 to 100 in that area. The gap was about 30 plus feet to the front row. If we raised the pit and put the band out there, there would have been issues with lighting and they also would have been 20 ft or so downstage of the PA. As the crowd packed the lowered pit with encouragement from the band, I wondered if the hydraulic system of the pit could support a few hundred, but since they might put a 100 piece orchesta with instruments, etc on that same platform, I though it was probably going to be OK. The real issue and the reason security was freaked, was due to the stage front being stage black scrim. The edge from where the pit raised and lowered from the stage had no hard boundry. There was a 4 ft or so vertical gap which if anyone had fallen through, would have resulted in a tumble of another 10 ft or so. Wouldn't be fun, though compared to some things we'd seen in a couple of the low budget buildings this was a non issue. Things turned out fine, though for a while there were some pretty frassled security guards.

There was a big shindig after show, of which the crew did attended this time. I split about an hour after I got there. Others carried until the wee hours of the morning. A good time was had by all. We had only one show left and I was looking forward to the tour to end. Normally I don't like it when tours end. This time I didn't mind.

Posted by Dave at 12:23 PM

November 11, 2003

The Day the LAB Died

It was a typical late summer night, the Thursday prior to Labor Day in the year 2000. I was sitting in a suite in the Wall Center Tower Two. thirty floors above downtown Vancouver. The two "special friends" that I had met earlier that night at the club in the Cecil Hotel had already showered, packed and headed back to the club. It was still early, just after midnight. On what should have been one of the happiest days of my life, tears filled my eyes. Earlier that day I'd just sealed the biggest deal of my life. I'd sold the Live-Audio_Board site and secured a rather well paying job after several weeks of negociations. As my normal custom over Labor Day for the last few years, I made the trip to Vancouver for the Molson Indy Vancouver race. I knew things were going to change, little did I know how much. I was in for the ride of my life, I just hoped I could hold on.

That was the beginning of the end, though perhaps the beginning of the end was really about the time I started looking for a buyer. I'd had a few offers, none I took too seriously. While the revenue from banners at the time would have made for an OK part time endevor, I wanted something more. In retrospect I was probably being greedy, caught in dot com era heyday. I wanted the LAB and it's newborn cousin ProSoundWeb.com to become the Amazon.com of pro audio on the Internet, if you will. The other attempts by the media giants were miserable failures at this point. They just couldn't find the formula and were busy trying to apply the manufacturer driven content model of the trade pubs to the Web. It wasn't working. They missed the fact that interactivity was the whole point of the Internet. Even though the Internet bubble had burst the previous April when I was in Europe, there were still some people willing to play.

What really hurt the LAB was not so much the pressure from some manufacturers once we started selling more ad space, was that due to increased publicity there were more and more coming to the site. In fact, far more visitors than there were people doing sound for a living. At first it wasn't that bad, there were still a fair amount of Old Skool LABsters (OSL) that could come in and help set things straight. One thing I've found that's instrumental in a community such as this is that the participants at least respect the moderators of the community. In turn the mods have to be fair in the moderation and fairly knowledgeable about the community interest or at least know where to go for the answers. A moderator must do more than tell errant posters to follow the rules. The key components of a sucessful online community are leadership, trust, honesty and integrity.

It is absolutely important that the moderator have the trust and respect of the community, else the lunatics start to run the asylum. Too often when that happens it's not the "alpha loons" like Randle Patrick McMurphy, but lesser know, less capable, less respected inmates. What they lack in knowledge they make up for in shear number of posts and greatly add to the noise, without adding substance to the community. Another plague is what I call the "drive by" posters. That's where a poster has no interest in the community other than as a one-way research forum. Often, if not most time they have a sense of entitlement. They are typically younger, less experienced members of the community and are being raised in a digital world. They feel they are entitled to answers for mearly having access to the resource. If the answer isn't the one they were looking for some get argumentitive even though they have not one basic clue as to the subject matter. This "info on demand" phenomenon is one of the great benefits of the Internet. It's also an achilles heel when used in a disrespectful manner.

There is a thirst for knowledge on the subject. One has to make an effort to find it. There is no short cut for hard work. Having a browser and a cable modem is no substitute for experience, hard work and experimentation along with a healthy dose of mentoring. Kids, you need to get off your asses and work. It's true, many of you do, and if you keep at it and get some of the right breaks, things will come your way and you'll have a rewarding career in the business. Even if you do all that, some of you will not make it. Sorry, that's the the way it is. The transition into the industry can be difficult and not having another means of support or willing to make the sacrifices required will most certainly up the risk of failure. The industry did just fine before the Internet and will continue to do so. The Internet is just one powerful tool. By no means the only tool available to a student of audio.

I'll stop short of proclaiming the LAB dead for the moment. The LAB is a patient in critical condition, though there still continues to be some of the type of discussion that built the repuation of the LAB. The cancer of newbieism continues to slowly kill the patient, forcing it onto life support. All while the surgeons debate over what color to paint the operating room.

'Til next time....

Dave

Posted by Dave at 12:26 PM | Comments (1)

November 10, 2003

This Cockring is Too Small

We're winding down the last couple of installments of the Great Mexican Adventure, or Dave's version of Sierra Madre. The computer karma at Roaddog Manor, located in the "versatile" Capitol Hill neighborhood , didn't fare so well this week. The server upgrade was a little shaky and there was lost mail and then to top it off my last Powerbook, or should I say Kenny's last Powerbook, bit the dust. With my tour notes, pics and my iTunes library on it, about the only things that weren't backed up. I also lost the cooling fan on my BillGatesXPPro box, nearly smoking the CPU. It took nearly a week for the Mac doodz to download my homemade porn from my hard drive, err I mean fix the Powerbook. Today's installment really needs pictures so one can get the full effect of the story.

We return you to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress...

Several of us congregated in the lobby cafe of the Chihuahua Westin for breakfast prior to departure. We don't plan it that way, at least I don't but usually most of the band, myself and most of the other crew manage to make it down. We were joined this morning by one for the stars of Other band and most of the band. Nice lot. There was various chit chat and before we knew it, it was time to go. The gear was going ahead in a van as the now roughly 25 person touring party would fill both bays with luggage. Other crew had gone ahead the night before. I had my two Dramamines earlier and was ready for some restful slumber with the assistance of my trusty iPod. A few of us lucked out and had empty seats next to us. Within a few miles of pulling out, I was fast asleep.

A couple of hours later, I felt the bus slow to a crawl. Normally that means it's time to pay the dudes at the Auto Pista or the Mexican version of a turnpike. As I opened the curtain a looked out into the desert, I could see it wasn't your typical toll booth. Throughout the country at various locations are military check points, where vehicles are stopped and sometimes searched. We've seen a few before, though never been stopped. These outposts were typically manned with a few large machine gun placements behind sandbags and staffed by several soldiers carrying automatic weapons. Though a rank and file gringo might be a bit wigged, if you've ever toured the world, you'd find this sort of thing is more common than one would imagine, particularly in places that don't enjoy the standard of living that we do in North America or Western Europe.

We pull in behind a couple of other tourist buses and are told when our turn comes, we are to depart the busses with our documents and line up along the tables under the canopy beside the bus. There were larger signs depicting "No Smoking", "No Pictures" in International format. Our turn came, we disembarked and stood in our place at the table beside the bus. On the wall behind us were a couple hundred Polariod snaps of persons being caught hiding drugs or people in various way in all different sorts of transport. From the generic and overused false rear wall in load, to some pretty sophisticated means. For example, a great quantity of what appeared to be cocaine or heroin was stashed inside the spikes of one of those huge earth breaking roller machine. The kind that is pulled behind a tractor and the large spikes on the drum break the ground. There was a fake Coca Cola truck that had cases of Coke with false compartments that contained drugs. There were false compartments in busses that stashed humans heading for the US border. It seemed these guys were pretty proud of what they had found. Some the pics had soldier posing with the booty, most of which was drugs, then humans and a few weapons seizures. They had mirrors, they would tap on compartments and parts with small bats, they even had metal detectors. They didn't have any dogs, though. I didn't know if they weren't in the budget, or perhaps they had eaten them previously. I wasn't going to ask.

As we lined up alongside the the bus, we could see they were stopping everyone this Saturday afternoon. Across the way, they had one guy standing at the front of his car, assuming "the position", hands behind head, interlaced fingers. They had every door open, trunk and hood and the back seat was being removed. On our side they were unloading some of our luggage in a random fashion and placing it on the table for inspection. They pulled about eight bags and ordered the owners of those bags to report and consent to a search. It was a lot like going through a TSA screening at an airport in the States, except these guys were heavily armed, we got to keep our shoes on and they weren't confiscating our nail clippers. It's going along just ducky when I hear Mr Friend bellow from the end of the table.

"Hey, pay attention now, WHO'S BAG IS THIS!?" he basically shouts down the line. Several of us look down, it's not ours and we resume looking at the pics and making jokes the guards can't understand.

"LISTEN UP! GET WITH THE PROGRAM! Who's bag is this?". He barked again. He had a soldier next to him and they wanted to search it.

After the last outburst, Other tour manager and one of Other stars looked at each other in a "who the hell is that guy" look and went about their business. I'd had enough of Mr Friend at this point and shot back, in a rather dead pan way "they have these things called bag tags, and I'm told they might actually have the name of the person that owns the bag on them. Don't quote me on that, though." Several in the party break out in snickers or chuckles, including Other tour manager and Other star. At that point our star looks at the tag and announces it belongs to our prod dude. The Federalies were already elbow deep in prod dudes other suitcase and he was working with them and wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him. Understandable. They search a few more bags using the newly employed "look at the tag to see who belongs to that bag" approach, then send us on our way. There were four or five busses behind us and a line of trucks in the next lane at least 10 deep. At least nobody got shot though I was tempted to make an offer for them to shoot Mr Friend. We climbed back on and a short while later were at the Juarez city limits.

As we made our way through town, past the airport that made the last one look like LAX, we passed a shopping complex that had a store called S-Mart. I started to laugh. Last night the FOH dude told me that when he was talking to Jose, our production translator about front of house gear, he had mentioned they had "JBL S Mart" and it actually was a Smaart Live release, though I didn't get the version. I asked if he was sure the dude didn't mean "esmaart", some sort of Spanish thing? The guy's English was VERY good, he indeed says S Mart, just like the store. Between us, it's now become S-Mart and while we shouldn't tease him like that, I do think it's kind of funny.

We are driving through what is the real part of Cidudad de Juarez, not the touristy old style Mexican border village look like Tijuana or the part of Juarez just over the border from Texas. This part of Juarez, in fact most of the city could have passed for El Paso or any other Texas town of that size. They need a city slogan. "Juarez, it's not only donkey shows and over the counter perscription drugs anymore." Feel free to use that to promote tourism. Free of charge. It's the least I can do.

As we pull into the "American Party Jr", or Fiesta Inn as it's properly known, Mr Friend informs the party this is Other band's hotel only, we are to stay on and go to our hotel. That's funny, because the most recent update from Carlos and HLB say this is the hotel. As the band sits on the bus, the crew disembarks. A few minutes later, Carlos appears asking why they are still on the bus, this is the hotel. Once again, Mr Friend is just pulling stuff out of his ass. I think he just makes it up as he goes along. We ask Carlos what time should we be in the lobby. He doesn't know, he'll go to the gig and find out. There have been some delays. We have some lunch, mill around and find a few hours later we'll have an in at 4:00 pm. I pass HLB in the elevator and he more or less tries to avoid me.

The first thing we see when we show up.

About this gig... It's in a pollo foro, or chicken forum. It's a cockfighting ring that on Sunday hosts Mexican wrestling. The stage just covers the ring, which is about 20' x 20'. It goes all the way to the first row of seats. In fact, the first row has to cross the stage in some parts. It's similar to the "melody tent" or revolving stage gigs in the eastern and northeastern US. It was more like the old Cape Cod Melody and less like the Celebrity Theaters in Anaheim or Phoenix or the Westbury Music Fair on "Lon Guy Land".

Taking a video of the "no video" sign entertained the locals.

We get there just after 4:00 to find Other crew just wrapping it up. It had been kind of a rough day for them. The overnight from Chihuahua in the van was rough, they checked into a different hotel than the band and were due to move later that day. That's where they were headed when we arrived. They were informed in the morning that the production wouldn't even be loading in until noon at the earliest. It seems that while Other crew traveled at night, the Mexican production didn't leave until the next morning. Jose greets us and informs us they are working on my snake problems and console issues and that HLB had gone to ElPaso to try and find another console for me to use. WTF? Large format consoles aren't something you just "go looking for." Besides, he'd need a truck and a customs doc (4455) to bring it over for the day, though the customs doc is easy to get. Fact was, he was not in El Paso, he was back at the hotel. I just saw him and there was no way anyone was going to switch consoles that late in the day. Yet another bald face lie. That wasn't the only one of the day. When Other prod asked why they didn't leave Chihuahua until well after 2:00 am the night before, he was told it was because we played until nearly 2:00 am which lead to Other prod asking if we played until 2:00, why did he see our band in the hotel just after 1:00 am? Good question.

What a nice cockring you have.

It's ugly. Prison sex ugly. In terms of production logistics this was the least accomodating of the entire tour. The PA is stacked in four stacks at the top of the bowl, pointing toward the bowl or basically right across the ring from each other, back down to the stage. I assist FOH dude because he can't hear the sound in the bowl where he sits. The previous picture is from the FOH mix position. The lighting is also placed around the top of the bowl. The set change is to be made down a long, narrow, dark vom that leads backstage. Other band set and staged along what could be considered the upstage, and we set our "riser line" across the middle of the stage. It was decided we'd only use the center riser for the star, drums and keys would go on the floor. The key rig was so close to the mon console the left side of the Triton butted against the back of the desk. It was going to be cozy tonight, that's for sure.

Overview of the stage setup.

View of PA stack and lighting truss. There were four such positions around the bowl plus moving lights spaced equally around the bowl on cases or mounted on handrails.

The crew is going through the snaking system as we start the backline setup. I offer the use of some tools and they decline. It seems there are three or four bad lines outright, with some that are just noisy. They find the bad lines but are having difficulty with the noises. While two are watching two others troubleshoot, I instruct Jose to have the remaining two start wiring the stage. The band is due in about 20 mins and we aren't even close to having the stage wired, though I was able to set up the ear rig before they started. It turns out that they have a bad main trunk. What we decide is to use our splittler and tails, and switch the trunk at the box and up at FOH. We patched around the bad console inputs are were going to start a line check. By that time the band had arrived and were cooling their heels. FOH dude thought they should just get up and play, but I thought we should go through the lines. That's about the point where my evening shit the bed.

View from my seat to the cheap seats.

We had the drummer test the kit after we tapped the lines so we wouldn't have to set levels twice. There was a crackling floor tom. A mic swap seemed to do the trick. We're using ATM35s on the toms and the sound is pretty good, though I like the SM98s a bit more. The 35 is still a good mic, though. We are using an ATM23 on the snare, a pair of 4033s for overheads, an AT4041 on the hat and for while we used an AT 25 on the kick until it blew up. FOH dude brought his personal Beta 52, which is one ass slappin' daddy of a kick mic. We'd like to add a ride, snare bottom and second kick but we're running out of channels in the mons and the tech specs went out before either he or I started. For vocals we are using AT 3300s with the front man on an AT wireless unit. Everyone sings. For DIs we're at the mercy of the PA company. Most freak when we tell them we need 18. That is one of the things that separate the men from the boys in the biz. Being able to handle what is really a simple requirement without losing it. Back to the cockring...

During the rest of the line check, we find several lines not working. After about the third one, it set me off considering that the patcher or Jose were nowhere to be found at that moment. I turned into ugly fucking American roadie. Unfortunately, most of the band was sitting up in the seats where I couldn't see them. It was a regretful, unfortunate incident. I blasted the sound crew guys as they got back to the stage. Though I doubt they understood what I said. It probably sounded like "Blah, blah, blah, motherfuckers, blah blah blah damn it blah blah blah." Not one of my finest hours for sure, but I was tired, in constant pain from a pinched nerve in my lower back and was frustrated with the way HLB had been handling the information flow. It's no excuse, but those poor audio boys caught the full force brunt of the rage. It's not to say they were without blame. They should never have brought gear in that shape to a gig like this. At this point it was easier and faster for me to just do it myself, something I was trying to avoid but couldn't. A couple of minutes later it was fixed, and we finished the soundcheck.

At the end of the check, FOH dude reported crackling in the bass line. I asked if we could fix it later as I was on another task. I didn't hear it and was still pissed about the setup thing. I took the Minirator out on the stage. I warned FOH to mute and told him I was sending 1k @ a certain level (I forgot what the level was) Most times talking in a line line that won't yield anything. I should have been more clear to the bass player as I unplugged and inserted the Minirator in the line. He grabbed his ears in shock and was visibly pissed. I'd blown his head off with a shitload of 1k right into the bass channel. Shit, I should have been more clear when I warned him. I apologized up and down. Now I really felt bad. With the tone down the line, if you wiggle the cable you can replicate it if it's a shield issue. Nothing with 1k so I try 60 cycles. Now it's sounding like a bowl of Rice Krispies. A couple of amazed faces on stage, but it's just basic troubleshooting, kids. I apologize again and he's cool about it. We start final prep for the show.

About 10 mins before showtime it's pretty apparent that for a near sold out show there are still many that are arriving. We hold for nearly 45 mins. The activity around the stage is like nothing I've ever witnessed. And I've seen a lot of shit. As the stage is at first row level, people walk across the stage to get to seats, sometimes stopping to look at the instruments. At this point Mr Friend has dubbed himself head of security, but that's not on his mind. He's looking for bootleggers. I find Carlos and he gets the right guys to do the right thing. There are vendors selling bottles of booze, beers and chips and snacks that cross the stage once every few seconds. I'm wondering if they're going to do this at the show.

Showtime comes and sure enough, folks are crossing the corners of the stage to get to the seats and some vendors are coming down sell their wares. I've never seen anything like it. I tried to get some pics but it was too dark and I was pretty busy. Not only doing my main gig on mons, but following the band members into the crowd. At one point in the set during an instrumental number, the star is off his centerstage riser and a guy walks across the stage with drinks and snacks. The star takes one of the drinks, has a bit returns it to the fan and thanks him. The trys to give him the drink and some snacks. It was funny as hell. The gig ends and we start a hectic load out down the narrow hall.

Our out has gone well, they're line checking Other band and we're in the narrow vom leading off the stage. It's nearly showtime for Other band as we take down our gear. I give a "heads up" as Other band makes toward the stage. We part and give way to them. The whole time we were with them, I'm hoping no one in the band recognizes me. When I left other band it was under less than desirable circumstances. The tour manager at the time (they have changed a couple of times since then) had misrepresented the gig and I wasn't getting paid the rate we discussed and due to that and a few other issues I bailed midstream. Leaving them in a lurch. Then there was the history I had with Other stars ex wife about 7 years prior. I'm pretty sure it was before they were engaged, but I can't say for certain. When I had the gig with Other band, I was told by management not to mention the history. As he is passing me in the tunnel, he says, "Great seeing you again Dave, hope to see you soon." So much for not remembering me. He's a good guy, I like hanging with him but the ex wife thing is awkward for me.

We were to leave the gear in the narrow vom. Carlos would arrange for shipping. We weren't checking it this time. I asked about piece count. I was told not to worry about it. The gig was about 50 yards from the US border. We walked to the fence and looked across. It was a series of tall chain link and jersey barriers with INS vehicles crossing about every minute. We were so close, yet so far away from home.

View of the Juarez/El Paso border from the "American Party Jr". The line of lights about a quarter of the way from the top of the picture is the US border.

Posted by Dave at 12:29 PM

November 07, 2003

All Out of Love

The 4:15 wake up was mighty early, considering I hadn't racked until nearly 2:00 am. I did a pack and dash, the ritual where you pack the night before, leave the luggage near the door, get up late as possible and make a mad dash to the door. It's a tried and true method,used by many a big time show business roadie types, and smaller timers like me. The crew assembled in the lobby just prior to depart. Nice hotel, too bad I only had a few hours there. We were getting the gear out of storage, the rest of the luggage and heading on the "8 to 10 minute" drive to the airport. We were to fly to Mexico City, change planes and land in Chihuahua, near the Texas/Mexican border.

Except for the crew, the rest of the party handed their passports and luggage to Carlos the previous night, actually only a few hours before. They were to leave an hour after we did. We were given that option, but I only give up my passport under extreme conditions and this wasn't one of them. It didn't matter, I don't really dig checking in with a large party. I guess the TSA doesn't have a Mexican division because as long as you have the ID and ticket, you can check that person's luggage and get them a boarding pass. We gathered everything, crammed it into one van and set forth on the "8 to 10 minute" ride to the airport. We were only about 10 mins behind, which on this trip was pretty good. On previous jaunts, the crew moved with military precision. If there was a call time, damn it we were there, ready to go, though in some case a bit doughheaded from the previous night. A lot like a pilot for Northwest Airlines. We buckled in, something that we found rare with the locals and split. The stroll was still active, just before 5 am. That's pretty hardcore. For anywhere. We hauled ass with no traffic and 24 minutes later we arrived at the departure terminal. Carlos, Chucho and the skycaps schlepped the bags and gear into the terminal.

I started counting gear, getting a final tally with assistance from FOH dude. The ear mon cases, my workbox, the Wholehog, a couple of LCD displays in duct taped ragged cardboard boxes. Real gaff is hard as hell to find down here, though Chuco has the connect. "What the fuck" was the next thing out of my mouth. "Carlos, what is that doing here?"

The skycaps had just unloaded the six foot folding table we bought the other week at Costco and were preparing to check it as baggage. All four of the US crew busted out in laughter. We were checking a fucking folding table, that, by the time we flew it back from these two dates were paying more than it was worth. The only reason we had the Hog and displays was because there was no other transport for the gear and there was talk of switching the lighting company once again. Squint boy had it rough the last few shows. They had wanted us to ship our luggage nearly a week ahead to Mexico City but were checking a table as baggage. That pretty much summed it all up. As we checked our stuff the crew made sure to get their own baggage claim checks, in their own name. We made a master piece count, left the locals with the gear and headed for the gate. It took us about an hour to check everything in and the others were starting to arrive. We hit the Dunkin in the airport, pondered a stop in the Herradura gift shop, but thought better of it. Not because we were against drinking tequila at 6:00 am, but because we had a show that night.

Shortly after the Dunkin stop, we took our seats on the regional jet and settled in for the hour or so flight. Uneventful, fortunatly for us. We were awaken on arrival at Mexico City, changed planes and headed to Chihuahua. Since I only had maybe three hours sleep, I slept like a rock on both flights. I'm pretty good at that and can generally do it under some pretty hectic circumstances. I'm good like that.

The aero puerto in Chihuahua is pretty, well, let's call it rustic. It looked they were building two jetways and a proper terminal, but the current incarnation reminded me of Meadows Field in Bakersfield in the late '60s when my family was living there. Still have relatives there, in fact. It's one of those small, third world airport disembark from the rear kind of vibes, walk across the tarmac and into the terminal. Chihuahua, not Bakersfield though if you ask some in So Cal, Bakersfield is worst than third world. Once in the terminal, there as a Mexican immigration kiosk and point of entry. Lighting dude was the first through. They asked him what he was doing and asked to see his visa, pretty common practice. Except that he didn't have a visa. Basically, none of us did. A couple of days after arrival, HLB took them to get our work permits. That was a little different than what I normally did down there. Over the course of the last couple of weeks, the visa was on our minds, not working down there, we were with a gringo band (though legally we needed work permits) but our concern was getting back. They tend not to let you leave the country without one. Since it only took a couple days to get them, we were wondering why it was nearly two weeks since we had them. Technically, the Federallies or other law enforcement could stop you at anytime, search your person or vehicle and demand your "papers". It seems they "don't need no stinking fourth or fifth amendments" down there. We'd really find that out in about 24 hours, little did we know.

But the issue now was visas, A few days prior, Mr Friend told us we didn't need them. Wrong. Dead fucking wrong and I wasn't going to take immigration info from a guy traveling on a Mexican passport and using a US Green Card. As lighting is questioned for his visa, further back in the line we notify tour manager that we need to produce papers. In the meantime, remember that FOH dude wasn't in the original party and didn't apply for a work permit. From the back of the line, he saw what was happening, pretended he didn't know us and went to the second line with his original visa. He glides right in. Meanwhile, Carlos fumbles for paperwork. Why do we have to check in again some were asking. Because they were telling us to, that's why. Mr Friend and Carlos were habla-ing some espanol to the now two immigration officers. At one point the conversation stopped, and the two agents and Carlos just looked at Mr Friend. He took his place back in line and the three of them continued. A minute or so later, we'd been there a couple of minutes at this point, they lined us up and went down the list, checking each one off as we passed. We were back in the country, but we never really left.

We were met by a new batch of locals. HLB and Carlos seemed to know everyone. A few days prior, we did learn how the gigs were going down. A few months ago the agent was contacted by a couple of South American promoters from Argentina, infact one was traveling with us. He seemed like a nice guy, pleasant though very little english. Also, when he was around, HLB's bullshit factor seemed to vanish. Due to reasons no one could offer an explaination for, the South American dates turned into Mexican dates. Just as well, a few of those places were pretty hot. Bogata, who in there right mind goes there, particularly well healed gringo entertainers. Equador, I was there once before. The climax on that tour was the entire party being held by armed guards, military police after a dispute with the promoter on when to go on. The funny thing was the band at the Equador gig was the one we were coheadlining the next two shows with. Argentina is a mess, Bolivia was about to explode. Probably not too good for a bunch of high profile white guys right now. Anyhow, after the dates were brokered to the Mexican promoter (who is really from Chile), he either sold them outright or brokered deals for about half of those dates with other promoters. That's why some of the other stuff was so inconsistent. Some of the locals were pretty good, some just didn't know. The gig was stepped on so many times it was nearly pure Manatol. If you understand that last reference put the Deering down before you hurt yourself. Anyway, good thing Bogata was off the schedule.

Meanwhile, back at baggage claim the party waited for the luggage to come off. As it did we assembled a piece count. A couple of the party didn't quite get the baggage count thing, and tried to take some pieces. I explained what we were doing and they got the big picture, appreciated it even. When we were almost done and counted, Mr Friend and the locals started loading bags and gear onto carts. We weren't done with the count, but they didn't care. I had to get a little surly. And I thought it was going to be a good day. We made sure the gear was there and took our own bags to the vans. I'm assured that we have everything, even though no one except me and prod dude know the count. He's not sure either, so we just cover the gear. "When you stop counting, shit gets left." Star agrees nodding his head. Once again, not enough transportation. There is a van for the gear, a pickup for the luggage and two mini vans for the people. The non essential locals split off and we won't see them until the gig. They pack the shit out of each vehicle, and we head to the Westin where we grab a quick lunch, shower and head for the gig.

The gig is not bad. The local promoter and guide lives in El Paso (our SUV has Texas plates). They throw shows in Juarez on a regular basis and make it over to Chihuahua every now and again. He's a nice chap, seems willing to help where he can. He's gigged before and it shows. The gig is in a basketball arena in a univeristy in town. Not a bad venue, but a hell of a ramp down into the gig. We arrive just after 3:00 pm. The production for the next two days is there. There are 16 MSL4s per side with 12 650Ps per side. Ton's of PA. There are a pair of Crest X VCAs out front, a pair of LMxs on stage and litterally a stack of processing sitting in a pile upstage. The first LMx has The Other Band's input strip and settings. They had gigged a night or two before in another small Northern Mexican town. The Rock-it cargo guys were just dropping Other Band's gear. Other Band's LMx looks like it's in good shape, mine is hammered. Much of the silkscreen is missing and the last few channels have missing pots, faders or knobs. It's seen better days, but then so have I. A couple of hammered Whirlwind W3 snakes with W2 drives, the first drive and splitter system mults we'd seen down here. My desk didn't yet have a PSU. It "was coming". Or lamps, we would share.

Shortly after arrival, we meet Jose, our production translator. Excellent, no Mr. Friend. Not for the roadies anyway. Jose spoke excellent English, being raised in Chicago by Guatmalan parents. He knew how to gig, he was also a guitar player but I wasn't going to hold that against him. We started on the set up. The first thing we noticed was there was only a single drum kit for both bands. When we inquired, the local backline guy said he talked to both drummers personally and they said it was OK. As Jules might say, that's "pretty fuckin' far from OK". We were explict, as was the other band. Due to the nature of the show and set changes, two kits, two complete backlines. The guy actually tried to argue that he talked to each drummer. Now, I don't know if two guys pretended to be drummers and called him, or if he was just trying to bullshit us. My guess is for bullshiting. We brought most everything else from the last gig, keys, etc. Even the guitar 4 x 12 because they didn't have one. We were cased for checked baggage fly dates. Small cases, minimal tools and accessories and a six foot folding table. They were cased for an International tour, though picked up the drums, guitar and bass amps but had 120 vac power distro and conditioner and the one thing I wished we had, every piece of cable on the stage, just plug the tails into the splitter and go. They also had workboxes, something we had but weren't able to bring on the tour.

As we're setting up, Other Band crew arrives. I'm doing my thing with my rig and try to break the ice with a little humor. After all, we're all steppin' in the same shit. I offer, "at least your's has some silkscreen left".

"What's the problem?" he curtly barks.

Wow, I'm thinking, what's up with this dude. I introduce myself, he introduces himself but is basically blowing me off. Just then, from behind me I hear, "Dave, dude it is you!" It's the backline guy for Other Band that I worked with before. He's an awesome guy, the best. Really good, a real guy. Other mon guy perks up a bit as Other backline guy tells him a bit about me as in I used to do his gig. I was embarassed as hell I didn't remember his name at the time and had to ask. We catch up for a minute or two. About then I see Other FOH and our prod dude start across the stage, plotting how the hell we were going to do this. They had all real guys, we had all real guys, we'd set up and have pretty much a real gig. That was the plan anyway. I reintroduced myself to Other FOH guy and after a second of hesitation, he remembered exactly. It was then we learned that they were told we were to do a 2:30 soundcheck clearing the stage for them at 4:00. It was 4:15 and we were nowhere near done, and didn't plan band until 6:00, which was our normal deal now more or less. We also found out that Fillipe, you know, HLB told them that we "were lazy and wanted to hang out at the pool all day" and were "demanding about the hotels and couldn't make up our mind where to stay". After the short meeting prior to them making it up to the stage, we all were on the same page. We would preset them in front of us, they would close the show the next night. From then on, Other mon dude was way cool and would even save my ass in an hour or two. He'd been told we were fucked, it looked like we were late and he thought we were going to give him 'tude. HLB had told me during one of our console discussions when I told him I could use an LMx if I had to that Other mon was being "uncooperative" and not as flexible as I was. I just think well no shit he's pissed, he's got to work with you HLB. Other mon, as well as the entire crew and band were very cool.

It appears HLB's modus operandi is consistant. Minimal information, of which most of it is wrong, conflicts with other info, or is what he thinks we want to hear at the time. Good, we weren't going crazy, it really was that bad. Now that we had independent confirmation it wasn't so bad. When I mentioned to him that we had a Mexican prod guy that was a piece of work, Other dude said "I see you've got to work with Jorge". I didn't even have to say his name, he knew by the way I was talking. These two gigs weren't going to be so bad after all. Or so I thought.

About 5 we start to line check. Bad buzzes in snake lines, mic cables one legged, AC stage power with no neutral on one drop. In all about a 1/3 of our 36 inputs have issues that eventually are brought under control. The band arrives and we start to do soundcheck. The star, I'm sure I mentioned he's a world class engineer, producer and artist complains about distortion in his ears. Gain structure looks OK, I can't hear it in the cue, or in the units with an iPod. Sure as shit though, it's distorting in the ears. Everyone's got it. I start to troubleshoot as the rest of the band still adjusts, runs over parts and the star comes over to see what's up. We try the spare, then the cue, then two different frequencies on each unit. The meters on the device reads OK, the headphone out is OK. Now, and get this, he asks for my voltmeter to check the power. How cool is that, huh, dude not only knows to check that, but knows how to use the meter. How often do you see that? He equally liked my Minirator and RatPack tester. I knew that wasn't the problem. I'm thinking something in the console, but that would mean it would be in the headphone out as well. Other mon offers use of spare PSM700 to get us through check. That is being one cool mofo. Star and I discuss it, I'm pretty stressed at this point though later he says I didn't show it. I have a Coca Cola (which is very good down there) and ponder. The rest of the party is going back, but I'm to stay and fix this. If not fixable, I'm told to ask to borrow the entire ear rig from Other band. This could suck less. Everyone else but me and lighting guy head back. It's an 11 pm show so there can be hotel hang time.

Other band only line checks, never sound check. We make sure I can leave my units powered up so they don't interfere with his. I start chasing signal through the LMx with an RMS DVM and a function generator. The meters are all different with what is supposed to be the same signal coming through, as well as the output level. That's not the problem. I plug the iPod directly into the ie300s, clean, clear. The PSM700 didn't have an issue, but the gain structure is different. I decide to try to pad down the ie300. One of the few drawbacks is that the ie300 doesn't have variable front panel attenuation on a hard knob, like the PSMs. I pad it down 5 dB and that solves the problem. It's way different than other desks, and the meters show the same as on other desks, but the broadcast portion only clips, not the phones and the meters on the transmitter are where they are every night. It couldn't take it and was clipping. That didn't take too long and we're ready to head back. Lighting dude finishes focus and we get promoter dude to take us back. He's a bit tweaked and tries to convince us to wait at the venue for the next three hours. Right....

As we pull into the Westin, we notice that some of the rest of the party are just then disembarking from one of the vans. That's strange. As we approach, they are visibly agitated. It seems that the drivers took almost an hour to get back to the hotel, which should be about 10 mins. After about 20 mins or so, the occupants of the first van started calling the gig to tell them. Once the drivers figured out where they were, they were about 20 mins from the hotel. No wonder promoter dude was tweaked, his boys dropped the ball. It turns out the drivers were from Juarez and didn't know the first thing about Chihuahua. We all retired to the restaurant for dinner. Informed the band the ear situation was fixed and explained the situation to them. We had initially planned to return in two waves, one with crew, one with band. We were informed by promoter dude that not only were there not enough vehicles to do this, he was the only one that knew how to get back to the gig after dark. We were set to arrive just as set change was to happen. As it turns out, we got back just in time for the encore, though the band had been held 15 mins while the house filled. Otherwise we would have been about 15 mins late.

Set change goes well, the two crews work good together. We start the gig. Within a song, the click being used on that song gets so much buzz on the input it's not usable. A couple of songs later, the right guitar input on the console fails. A couple of key channels have intermittent buzzes. We lose a rack tom and the SR overhead starts to buzz. About halfway through the set, the star's vocal , though not the primary lead vocal, develops a signifcant hum. Around that time, there were issues with the star's mix, which was still on the PSM700. It sounded like a big compressor coming in and out, with sometimes the vocal dropping. It took me a song or two but either the channel on the console was failing, or there was a cable problem such as an input going one legged, the regaining full strength. Later testing proved bad cable. It was a pretty shitty show from a tech standpoint but the fans seemed to enjoy it. At least the ear thing was sorted. The band and I had a small meeting after the gig and I calmly expressed my displeasure with the current setup. They agreed and prod dude went to tell the promoters our feelings on the situation.

We were set to leave via bus the next morning. We'd just found out that we were to share the bus with Other band. Cool, no big thing. Other crew traveled at night and HLB was taking them in a 15 passenger so they could do a 9:00 am in and clear the stage by 3:00 pm for us. The only issue was Other band was told they were leaving the hotel at 9:00 am and we had planned a noon. There was a compromise of 10:30 am, though not everyone, including one of the stars of Other band was informed of the change. He was cool about it as most of our party headed for breakfast he joined them. The bands and crews worked well together and liked each other. That was good, because for this next gig, we'd need all the help we could get.

Posted by Dave at 12:34 PM