My body is currently in a state of rebellion.
I have spent the last two days in and out of exhaustion, fighting a valiant battle to maintain consciousness. I have fallen asleep in front of the television four times, though I have so far successfully avoided falling asleep in front of my computer screen at work. And I'm currently nursing a cold and fever I probably picked up in Detroit (sure wasn't division championship fever, you saps).
But I'm not complaining. The exhaustion, the narcoleptic episodes, and the sniffles are all just a few extra souvenirs from life on the road with the Hudson Falcons and Maybe Pete for a week. And they'll be gone soon enough. But when the fever breaks and the exhaustion disappears, there will still be the memories of highway gas stations, a hyper pug in Pittsburgh, late-night breakfasts in Ohio, biscuits in West Virginia, and a perfect rainbow on the way to Detroit.
Oh yeah, and kick-ass rock and roll, too.
After the successful tour kickoff at Manitoba's in NYC, and some late-night pizza and a pit stop in Brooklyn, it was off to the Hudson Falcons compound in northern New Jersey (exact location withheld to prevent fans from staking out the place) for a brief sleep. The morning--or, more accurately, five hours later--would mean loading up the trailer and heading out to Pittsburgh for an opening-day doubleheader: an early show at the Mr. Roboto Project (domo), which is technically in Wilkinsburg, followed by another show at the Smiling Moose in Pittsburgh proper. It would be my first time back in Pittsburgh since visiting Duquesne University when I was an eager high-schooler looking for a college. Duquesne finished second, because they wouldn't give me much scholarship money. Fools.
Anyway, we got a bit of a late start, which at least enabled us to watch the latest in an unending series of "Who's My Baby's Daddy" episodes of "Maury." Always a delight. One of the potential fathers was a heinous-looking chap who went by the name of Fuzzy. Doyle, the Falcons' bass player, briefly toyed with the idea of changing his name to Fuzzy for the length of the tour. But that never came to be.
We hit the road a little after "Maury" wrapped up, with a six-hour ride to Pittsburgh ahead of us. I suppose I should include something complaining about how riding in a van for long stretches of time is an unbelievable drag. But it wasn't. I really do think that my marathon bus ride to Charlotte may have prepared me for any vehicular travel that comes my way. Then again, I was only in the van for a week. Maybe it would have started to wear on me by Week 9 of the tour.
But the ride to Pittsburgh (interrupted only by a stop at Sheetz, the rest area of choice for Falcon-in-Charge Mark Linksey and his wife Kerri, at least until we found out in Pittsburgh of some potential union troubles) was pretty smooth, and soon we were pulling in behind the Maybe Pete Mobile in front of the Mr. Roboto Project (domo), only a little off from our estimated time of arrival.
I imagine it's a little hard to play after six hours on the road, but both bands (aided by locals The War Is On and Unarmed) soldiered on. It was a pretty small crowd, but it didn't matter. As I would discover (or, really, confirm) throughout the week, both Maybe Pete and the Hudson Falcons put it all out there regardless of crowd size. That's what makes a band in the long run. It's easy to get all revved up when there's hundreds of people screaming for you, but when there's a little under a dozen, and you're playing in a room where anybody who has to go to the bathroom has to go through you to get to it, it's a touch more difficult. But Maybe Pete and the Falcons did it every night. And twice in Pittsburgh. It's like the song goes:
"10 people or 200 it don't matter
Gonna leave our hearts right on the stage
For the guy who broke his ass working all week
We're gonna play some rock 'n' roll
Like a Mother Fucker"
("LAMF," copyright 1999 Mark Linskey)
The Roboto Project show was also the first test of the Kerri Linskey Soap in the Merch Tub Experiment. Some of the older shirts were carrying an odor picked up in the basement of the Hudson Falcons Compound. A bar of soap was chosen to go into battle against the odor. And it was starting to make a difference on Day One.
After wrapping up the early show and loading all the gear into the trailer, it was off to the second gig at the Smiling Moose, which is reached by crossing my new favorite bridge, the Hot Metal Bridge. Go ahead, say it like a monster truck commercial announcer would. See, it's your favorite bridge now, too. You're welcome.
But a funny thing happened on the way to the Hot Metal Bridge. While traveling on the highway, we heard a muffled clattering, and it seemed like we might have run over a hubcap or something. There was a very brief panic, but when the van kept moving, it was decided that everything was OK. Cool, right?
Except that, as we pulled in front of the Smiling Moose, the guys from Maybe Pete, who were riding a little ways behind us, mentioned that we lost one of the tire covers on the trailer. Not being well versed in trailers, that didn't seem like a big deal to me. Until Mark pointed out that without the tire cover, you could see the axle. Probably not good.
So Mark and our host for the evening, Bill, went to go try to find the cover. Amazingly, they did find it, and it was still sort of usable. Look.
Good as new, right? Bill said he could get it back on the trailer the next day. And he did, God bless him.
With the first literal bump in the road behind us, it was once again showtime. I was in charge of watching the illegally parked van outside until Mark and Bill got back, so I didn't get to see much of Foxy Deathbox, who opened the show. By the time they were done, we had to load in. Maybe Pete started kicking ass a little while later, but not before the overly serious bouncer in the Thai Submission Fighting t-shirt checked my ID twice in 5 minutes, which was fun. Unfortunately, I later missed the same gentleman doing chinups while people were trying to exit the bar. But fortunately, I did witness an early highlight of the tour, him dropping a chair on his foot while demonstrating his effortless, one-armed chair-stacking technique.
But enough about him. Let's talk about the guy (apparently not an avid reader of Tinsel and Rot), who kept yelling out requests for "Freebird" during both Maybe Pete and the Hudson Falcons' sets. The weird thing is he seemed to be enjoying himself and the non-"Freebird" songs being played. But he was really on the "Freebird" kick. Luckily, the Moose has a strict no-covers policy, rigidly adhered to by Maybe Pete but righteously violated by the Hudson Falcons several times (though not for "Freebird"). After driving six hours and losing a tire cover, you can play what you want.
The night ended at Tom's Diner, where we were greeted by the least helpful waiter in all of Pittsburgh. Separate checks were not possible, medium-well was not a viable option for burgers, and, as it turned out, swiss cheese on a burger was also going to take two tries. Then again, it was about 2 a.m., so maybe some slack should be cut. And my food wasn't bad.
The Hudson Falcons contingent and I stayed with Bill (and Christine and Bonecrusher) for the night, while the Maybe Pete folks bedded down in a downtown hotel. It was probably around 3:30 when I fell asleep.
And I think that was the earliest night of the tour.
No comments:
Post a Comment