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 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 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

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 an