“End of the Road”

November 10, 2007

Minehead, England
Hard Rock Hell Festival

It’s finally here. The last day of the tour. We arrived in Minehead, a resort town, a bit early because of the cancellation in Dudley. The Hard Rock Hell festival in Minehead is a weekend musical marathon, and bands play until the wee hours of the morning. And, since Friday is chick band night, some of us were able to catch “Vixen” and “Girls School” before hitting the sack at 3:00 a.m.



This morning we are treated to a full buffet at the hospitality center. The place is filled with rockers and crew members, including members of Twisted Sister, UFO, Saxon, who the band shares the bill with tonight. Later that night, Steve, Honorina and I eat dinner with the band. This is where I first see my future wife, Evelina (actually spelled Ewelinkja), a sweet Polish native with beautiful green eyes. I call her my future wife after I invite her and her Polish co-workers (many of whom have similar green eyes) to come to America. Evelina states, “But we don’t have visas,” to which I reply, “No worries, you are going to be my wife.” Well, that got laughs from all the girls. But, Evelina, quick witted as she is, chimes in, “And we will have beautiful children together.” Well, I was instantly smitten. Even after Steve states, “And Marc is a successful attorney,” Evelina smartly replies, “But I don’t need money, I have my own.” Perfect answer, she wants me for me!!

Once again, I did my usual and hailed a cabbie to tour the tour. We drove to Dunster Castle, a privately owned castle that has been continuously occupied for over 600 years.












Off in the distance you could see the "Folly Tower," which was the "fake" castle that invaders were tricked into attacking, and thereby, assist the inhabitants of Dunster in defending the real castle.



We, also, drove the narrow back street of the village and stopped to take pictures of the thatched roof houses and the medieval Gallox packhorse bridge.



With so many great classic acts on the bill, the stage calls kept getting pushed back throughout the night. That resulted in Tesla not going on until approximately 2:00 a.m. And we had to be out of there by 4:30 to get to Heathrow in time for our flights out. It was gonna be one hell of a night. Due to this being a festival set up, we have about 2 hours to load in set up everything behind the stage, then push it forward when our turn comes up. Steve has no sound check and has to bring up a mix on the fly. And the house sound techs have really squashed the system with a compressor, so no one act has had that great of a sound, so far. But Steve is a master at sonically getting around those barriers. He knows all the tricks in the trade. And the night was no exception.





The band sounded great, a combination of their musical abilities and Steve’s expertise at his trade. Throw in Statics ability to throw up a mix on the in-ears in a pinch and, while we’re at it, the setup and tuning abilities of Robbie and I, and the Tesla band of traveling misfits had one great night. It was an perfect end to a perfect world tour.

Now the rush was on, and everybody, I mean everybody pitched in.
Thanks to the band members and to Steve (with his broken foot) and, even, Honorina and Pasquel, we loaded up in no time and made our way back to London. Dave is definitely happy to be going home.



Pasquel drove that bus through the winding roads of Minehead like he was in Le Mans. And even though he is one of the smoothest bus drivers we’ve ever had, half the bus was getting motion sick. But he knocked nearly an hour off the travel time, and we all made our flights with some time to spare. Since Brian, Jeff, Steve, Honorina and I are headed to Rome, Italy, for vacation, we had to say a quick “Goodbye” to the rest of the group.







Thanks to all of you Tesla fans for following along on the tour. I hope you all enjoyed my ‘behind-the-scenes’ look at a rock and roll tour. Hope to see you when Tesla comes to your area. Keep rockin’ and remember, “Love Will Find the Way.”

Marc

"A Dud in Dudley"

November 9, 2007

Dudley, England
Cancelled

It was a bit chilly in Dudley when I woke up this morning. Evidently, Marcus at Surridge Sport (across the street from the venue) realized, as soon as I walked through his doors, that I was not accustom to such weather. And, although they had no beanie caps on sale, he found a Rushall Olympic Football Club cap and gave it to me for free. Thanks Marcus, it was just what I needed for my tour of the Dudley Castle. This castle was the real deal, an authentic medieval castle just a block away from the bus. Compared to Nottingham, which was styled in an Italian villa architecture, Dudley Castle gave me the feel that I was in Old England.




Poor Jeff. The dude woke up this morning “Sick as a Dog,” to quote Aerosmith. Joe took him to the local hospital in Dudley to get a doctor’s evaluation, and some medication. Unfortunately, doctor’s orders force the band to cancel the show. Jeff is ordered bed rest. Still the Dudley fans come to bus and Jeff signs a few autographs, until we pull him back on the bus. He really aims to please the fans, sick or not. But he was hacking up a storm and needed to rest. Our apologies to the Dudley fans, but we know you understand.

Prior to leaving, Brian and I had a chance to have lunch together at a local pub. Shepard's Pie, of course!! We are getting along so well, that he and I start planning future vacations. He and his wife, Monique, are great to hang with, so I'm ready to buy my tickets.

“A Rollin’ Petri Dish”

November 8, 2007

Nottingham, England
Rock City

Remember junior high science. You put a scraping of your tongue on that jelly like stuff called ‘agar’ in a round plastic Petri dish, cover it up a wait. And a few days later, it looked like something growing on the piece of wonder bread that fell under the refrigerator. Well, a tour bus is like a Petri dish with giant wheels. And the five rock and rollers, four crew members and two merch guys are like the tongue scrapings. And the dirty rock clubs are like the agar. The combination means colds and flu viruses spread like wildfire while on tour. It first started 10 or so days ago, with Robbie (who believes his stomach ache was due to the hospitality meal at a certain club that will remain unnamed.) But all of us had that same food, and he was the only one who got sick, so the rest of us reckon it was the start of the “Tesla black plague”. Then it started making it’s rounds to each member of the group. Luckily, one week prior to the start of the tour I went to the local Walgreens and had my first ever flu shot. I’ve had none of the flu symptoms, but think I’m catching the cold that has also been going around.

Nonetheless, I find some time in the morning to take a tour of Nottingham Castle, the house of many nobles including the famous Sheriff of Nottingham.





The whole Robin Hood theme abounds in this city, so I figure this is a perfect place to get some gifts for the nephews back home. Luckily, the Castle now houses a gift shop.




Speaking getting sick, Jeff has been sounded pretty sick lately. I don’t know how he gets through a show, much less sing so well. So, now I’ve been feeling a little achey, got a bit of a sore throat. The only one who hasn’t gotten sick other than me, is Static. But, I think he has built up immunity the rock and roll funk and gunk. But the show must go on, even though I’m feeling miserable and Jeff is congested and coughing. Tonight, the band throws me for a loop. Evidently, they made last minute changes to the set list, but forget to tell me. So, I’m holding up the wrong guitars at the wrong time, and Brian is looking at me like I’m on crack. As I try to explain myself, he just laughs and says, “Dude, don’t worry, it’s all good. Just get me the pink bass.” After the show, I give him crap for the set changes and for calling ‘audibles’ during the show to further change the set list. I jokingly insinuate that the “Rock Stars” don’t think of us peon crew members and purposely keep us in the dark. He laughs and apologizes for the confusion.






And one of the funniest things happened at the beginning of the set. Dave pops around to “guitar world” behind the amp line and hands me a banana. Now, I’m look at him like he’s on crack. He’s laughing so hard, he can’t say a word. And he is still trying to play the song the band is on. I’m trying to figure out where the hell this thing came from, . . . maybe a fan threw it on stage? He finally tells me that he forgot it in his jacket pocket and didn’t realize it until he took the stage. That dude is in a world all his own. But, he’s hilarious and I dig touring with him.

"Which way to the Promised Land?"

November 7, 2007

Nottingham, England
Day Off

Even though we had the day off, the drive to Nottingham was a “long and winding road,” as the Fab Four would say. Pasquel’s GPS tracking system accurately directed us to the ‘correct’ address on Talbot Street, a dead end road surrounded by rows of small townhouses in a, shall we say, ‘quaint’ little town. We contacted three of god’s children (I think they refer to them as juvenile delinquents in this ‘quaint’ town) and interrupted the stimulating conversation of them debating whether the female was or was not a “skank.” When we asked whether we were near the ‘Rock City’ club on Talbot Street in Nottingham, they immediately started laughing and informed us that we where on Talbot Street, alright . . . in Pinkston, approximately an hour away from Nottingham. Well, I just about died, as this was fodder for teasing Pasquel for the next few days (“Hey Pasquel, are we in Pinkston, yet?”)



Well, by the time we got into Nottingham, on our “day off”, it was already 3:00. So, I quickly checked into my hotel room, rinsed off, and walked the 10 minute hike to Nottingham Castle. Unfortunately, the walk took 30 minute because of the photo ops that I encountered on the way. By the time I arrived at 3:55, the gate keeper was closing up for the day. Looks like I’ll have to wait for tomorrow to storm the castle. The gatekeeper, nonetheless, referred me to the “Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem” pub (‘trip’ referring to ‘stopover’ in old English), which was around the corner and a the foot of the castle wall. Now, this place was a proper pub. Small and multileveled, with low ceilings and caves, built right into the sandstone bedrock that makes up the natural fortifications for the castle.

It is claimed that the pub dates back to the 11th century and is the oldest in England, but research informs me that there are 20 such pubs in England that make such a claim. Nonetheless, whether it’s 800 or 900 years of patronage, I’m not going to interrupt the lineage. I'm headed to the Promised Land, but not before I have a ‘right proper pint’ and toast those travelers before me.

Luckily, on my way back to the hotel, I met up with Brian, Jeff, Steve, Honorina (Steve’s wife, who met up with us in London) and Pasquel (our driver, who has now become one of the gang) Unfortunately, I had to inform them that the Castle was closed. “However, I know this little place . . . . ” This time Pasquel bought the round of drinks at the ‘Trip.” He and I had a pint, while the rest had coca-cola, as part of a “dry tour” compact the band members have with one another. (Years of experience have proven that alcohol or drugs, and touring can have disastrous results for the group.) After hanging at the ‘Trip,’ the six of us walked into the middle of town to search for the best Indian food (they say England is the best place to find it.) Brian happens to be a expert when it comes to Indian food and was helping everybody with the menu. Not only did we have a great meal at Chutney’s, it was definitely great company and conversation. One of the best nights I’ve had on the tour.

"Real Men Wear Kilts"

November 6, 2007

Glasgow, Scotland
The Garage

Do yourselves a favor, after dinner tonight go to the local Blockbuster, rent the 80’s classic, “The Highlander” and check out the opening scenes. Majestic rolling hills punctured (not punctuated) by formidable rock outcroppings. Real men are sown from these lands. Men like Sean Connery and, . . . well, men like Connery. I want to be from Scotland. I want to have bullocks big enough to wear a kilt and not be afraid to punch out any “wee bit of a scrap” who wants to make fun of the fact that I’m allegedly wearing a dress.

After a Scottish Meat Pie for breakfast, “a hearrr-teh meal,” I grabbed a cab (again, it’s my modus operadi) for a quick tour of the town. Although, I couldn’t understand half of what Ronny the cabbie said, because of his thick Scottish accent, I hit all the significant hotspots. Wow, they know how to build churches in Scotland and the Glasgow Cathedral is one of the most ominous.


















It’s a perfect setting for any movie involving werewolves and other beasts rumored to roam the British countryside.




Thanks to Ronnie, I get back to the venue in time for load in. Speaking of load in, these Scots are tough. One local loader refused to allow a second man help him carry our 100 pound “in-ear” racks and other heavy cabinets. He picked them up like they were boxes of packing popcorn and carried them up and down the hill to our trailer. He was a maniac and claimed to be a participant in local highlander games. Bravado or not, he sure made our lives as techs easier since we didn’t have to carry much during the load in or load out.

The Garage was a relatively new club, yet the stage had to be modified and extended on the spot to provide enough space for the band to fit on it. Paul, one of the house crew members, specially fabricated a platform for me so I could have enough room for “Guitar World.” Poor Paul, he told me his name three or four times, but because of his accent, I couldn't understand what the heck he was saying. I felt bad for having him spell it out, “P – A – U – L.” What a moron I felt like, but to my American ears, it sounded nothing like “Paul.”



Once again, great crowd, great show. Thanks Glasgow!

The "Royal" Treatment

November 5, 2007

London, England
Islington Academy

Although we arrive at the Jury Inn around 10:00 yesterday, we were unable to check in until the rooms were cleaned. I wanted to go sightseeing, but there was so much confusion at the front desk regarding our reservations, that the check in process is took a lot of time (which wasn’t such a bad thing considering it was a good excuse to talk to Alexandra, the beautiful green eyed Romanian, behind the counter. Sorry fellas, didn’t get a picture, which I regret.) By the time the rooms are ready, the whole group spent about 4 hours crashed out in the lobby of the hotel room. I opted to take a shower and a get few hours of sleep first. By the time I woke up it was 6:00 p.m. and everybody was sleeping or gone. I was feeling a bit sick, but realized I had eaten only a pastry that morning. Basically, I hadn’t had anything to eat in 24 hours. I need to find a “proper” English pub and quick.

After walking the streets around my hotel for about an hour and came upon the York pub. The menu was much more than expected, with about 20 varieties of savory pies. I ordered a Guinness and a chicken and mushroom pie. The pie took awhile, so I ordered a Blackthorn cider, which is like a cross between an apple cider and champagne, with a nice kick to it. Unfortunately the waitress thought I said Guinness (evidently us American’s pronounce the word “cider” a bit differently??) So, another Guinness was served up. Well, contrary to my last experience in London (circa 1995), where the only flavor to the boiled potatoes and Shepard’s pie came from the 20 to 30 shakes from a lonely salt shaker that was on my table (evidently pepper was not part of the spice trade in England at the time), the food at the York was fantastic. If the evolution of English cuisine was played out on the silver screen, one could quote Rex Harrison’s character, Professor Henry Higgins, in “My Fair Lady,” and say, “By George, I think she’s [finally] got it.” England has taste!!

By the way, leave it to Steve and Honorina (his wife, who has now joined the tour) and a couple of the guys to find a Mexican restaurant in England.
"Tortilla" owner Brandon Stephens and his wife just moved here from the San Jose. And boy, did they get it right. Awesome Mexican food. Try them out if you're in England.

This morning I set a wake up call for 7:00, showered and went to the front desk, where I once again schmoozed with the lovely Alexandra. She directed me to take the nine-two double decker city bus to some stop and switch to the 130 something bus to . . . yah-dah, yah-dah, . . . Frankly, looking into her green eyes, I was barely paying attention to her directions to Abbey Road. But she said the bus would be way cheaper than a taxi. So, I boarded the nine-two and nine stops later departed . . . at the wrong crossing!! (Did I say she had beautiful green eyes?) Now what?

Well, can fate live in the soul of a London cabbie? A quick whistle later, and I found out, as a London city cab pulled over and I stepped in. Brian, the cabbie, is an old school indie rocker who has been playing bass for 20 or 30 years. He’s had an album mastered at Abbey Road Studios and knows London streets like the fret board of a Fender Precision Bass. After all, it took him three and a half years to study for his taxi license exam (a requirement for a London cabbie.)
Well, two hours, one coffee break at Starbucks, 75 photos and 80 pounds later (plus 20 pound tip), and Brian has given me a “Magical Mystery Tour” of the best sites of London, complete with a running narrative. Kudos to him for the Royal treatment. So, do me a favor, check out his band, “Just B” at their myspace website: www.myspace.com/wearejustb




I finished the sightseeing just in time for lunch and a quick walk to the venue which was down the street from the hotel. Islington Academy sure doesn’t seem to be an institution of higher learning. Frankly, it appears to be a typical nightclub, so don’t ask where the name comes from. Right before the show, Brian pops a new one on me by handing me a five string bass that a Londoner acquaintance of his has provided. It’s to be used on “Song and Emotion,” which requires a 5-string. I don’t even know if this thing works, but I quickly string it, tune it up and test it. The song was a great addition for the night, since it hadn’t been played on the whole tour. Additionally, “War Pigs” replaced “Rock Bottom” for the night, which was a huge crowd pleaser.



After the show, Static, Robbie and I join a couple of the fans for a few beers back at the hotel, while some of the band go to an industry party sponsored by Brian’s friend, Jimmy Page (yes, THE Jimmy Page.) I guess I really have become a "Road Dog" since I would rather have a beer with the crew than go to an industry party. As Lemmy from Motorhead would say:

"But I just love the life I lead,
Another beer is what I need,
Another gig my ears bleed,
We Are The Road Crew."

"Fasten Your Seatbelts"

November 4, 2007

Day off, travel

The “pack” (load into the trailer) last night in Barcelona took forever. The venue, like many on this tour, was on a second floor. So, an elevator had to be utilized to transfer the gear up and down floors, which is usually a slow, tedious task. The typical configuration is that Robbie will stay on stage, I will be stationed at the elevator or at street level and Static will oversee the truck pack. This means an eye will be on the gear at every point of the transfer. Last thing we need is a missing guitar (an example of which occurred in Madrid, when Brian “lifted” one of Frank’s guitars from a transfer point that was unmonitored, a mistake which I readily admit was my fault.)




The pack was further slowed by a few other factors: 1) the bus was parked down the street, but due to European transportation regulations, Pasquel, our driver was unable to move the bus to the loading zone, much less start the bus, for another few hours; 2) some of the Spanish loaders were about 5’ 2” tall and couldn’t have weighed more than a buck twenty; and 3) because of their slight build the loaders used our Marshall cabinets as dollies across the cobble stone walkway to transfer items that were normally carried. Therefore, the cabinets made 8 to 10 trips back and forth before being packed, instead of the one trip that is the norm.

After the load, one would think that we would hit the berths in our bus and take off. But, again, with the transportation rules, the bus was going nowhere. And with a corner bar right outside of our tour bus, the noise from the locals inside seemed to be humming the words, “Have a beer, have a beer.”

By the time the bus departed, it was time to get to the airport for our 6:00 a.m. flight to London. By the time my head hit the pillow, it was merely ½ hour before I heard Pasquel’s wake up call of, “Gentlemen, we’re here, time to get up.” The only other sleep I had was another ½ hour on the plane. Unfortunately, instead of the soft bunk pillow, I had the pleasure of resting my head on the fold down tray in front of me. If you wonder why Ryan Air’s tickets to London were the extremely affordable price of $39, it’s because they don’t have to spend the money training their attendants to saying, “The Captain has started his decent into London. Please put you seatbacks in their up right position.” That’s because Ryan Air’s seats don’t recline!!

But, Steve, Brian and I, sharing a row, nonetheless retaliated by having fun with the Ryan Air staff. Every time our stewardesses would walk the aisles checking to see if us passengers had our seat belts on, we would grab our seat belt buckles and, in concert, give four to five hard tugs in a “pumping” manner. This brought giggles and red cheeks to the faces the Ryan Air staff. And it brought belly aches and tears of laughter to the three of us. By the time we hit London, we were delirious with lack of sleep and laughter.

[Here's Sherman, Frank's dad, at the "Merch Table." Once we got into Spain, we sold a lot more of the pink halter tops. Hardly sold any in German, because the weather is too cold and the women are too tall.]

“Anybody for a Dip”

November 3, 2007,

Barcelona, Spain

I have a rule when I travel: if I see the ocean, I have to at least get my feet wet. So the first thing I do when I wake up (in another truck stop) in Barcelona, is grab my bathing suit and head for the sea. Steve, Sherman and Xavier, the local promoter, are with me and we decide to go have some breakfast first, where we meet a wonderful Spanish waitress who speaks fluent English due to her stay in Miami for three years.
She serves me a three finger deep egg and potato omelet, with a side of Jamon (thinly sliced Serrano ham) on a baguette drizzled with olive oil and schmeared with crushed tomato.
Add a thick, rich espresso (they put cream in it without telling you) and I’m ready for my Mediterranean dip. When we finally get to the “beach” (a wood planked sea side area that runs for hundred of feet) I roll up my pant legs and climb down the pool ladder into the protected swimming area that was created by thousands of giant cement blocks. It’s way to cold for a bathing suit, although you wouldn’t know that by looking at the two 70+ year old men in Speedos.
As my feet touch the water, I have the sense that I have again reached the ends of the earth in my travels (although it’s only the end of the Mediterranean.) I, also, have the sense that the water is really friggin cold!! Time to get out.

Prior to arriving at the Apollo Theatre, Pasquel took us to the top of the hill that overlooked the city where we were able to take some photos and get a group shot of the band, crew and 2nd driver Laurence.


The venue in Barcelona was a beautiful old theater complete with chandeliers, red décor and a hard wood floors.
The crowd started lining up early in the day and the guys were happy to spend time signing autographs
and talking to fans that have, as they say, been waiting nearly 17 years for the band to make another appearance. Once again, the Spaniards proved that they are into to their rock and roll. The crowd, again, went nuts.
At the end of the night, I was bombarded with shouts of “Hey, Meester, pleeese, peeck, Meester,” from all the fans that wanted guitar picks as a souvenir. Many of them keep stamp-collecting books with plastic inserts to store hundreds of picks from various rock bands. They came up to me hours before the show started (and every half hour thereafter) and asked me to remember their faces when I pass out picks at the end of the show. Jose, Arturo and the rest of them were very appreciative when, at the end of the night, I handed them each a “Brian Wheat” and a “Dave Rude” pick.

“It’s the Latin Blood”

Madrid, Spain

Passion seems to be a inherited trait in Madrid.
November 2, 2007 I’ve never seen a crowd react with so much of this stuff called passion (unless you count that time at the Vic Theater in Chicago, when my own band hit the stage to chants of “Ehf You, Ehf You.” But that’s a completely different story.) The band opens up with “Comin’ Atcha Live” and the whole audience, all 1500+ of them sing the chorus.





I peaked out from “guitar world” and saw a sea of Spaniards thrusting their fists in the air and cheering for the band.
It was like being at the World Cup, at a bullfight and as a crew member on a Gallion in the Spanish Armada at the same time. In between songs the crowd would chant like they do at soccer game. Jeff and the rest of the band would join in because it was impossible to attempt playing another song until the chanting subsided. I had chills, so much so, that I almost missed some of my cues.

After 20 something hours on the road, I woke up the morning of the show in a truck stop outside of Madrid. Jose, the manager of the stop, provided us a key to the shower rooms. However, I was the only one who dared to take a shower. Jeff said that it was a “bit too colorful” in the shower stall, referring to the lovely shade of jade green between the tiles. (Oh, the color of the grout is not part of the decor???) After showering up, we headed off for the venue.

On our way in to Madrid, there is one thing that becomes readily apparent. There are a whole lot of Madridians and most of them live in multi-story apartments. The skyline is packed with housing, all of them painted in a shade of terra cotta. As we get into the city, a second thing becomes readily apparent, Spain has some of the most beautiful women in the world. Fair skinned, dark haired, light eyed, and fit. However, the Latin blood showed when I tried to tell the beautiful waitress at the “Fresca” (Spains version of Fresh Choice or Sweet Tomatoes) that she was a “beautiful representative of her people” and that I would “always remember her face.” Her response was a quick shake of the finger and a curt, “No.” (Note to all traveling in Spain, a ring on the right finger, not the left, means you are married.)

Once again, thanks to Madrid and the Macumba Club for one of the most rockin' shows on the tour. And credit goes to the designers of the Macumba Club for one of the most creative mens/womens bathroom signs.

“It’s only my job, mame.”

November 1, 2007

Switzerland to Spain (25 hour drive)

I have been remiss in explaining exactly what I do: I am the bass technician for Brian Wheat and the guitar technician for Dave Rude. A tech’s day usually begins around 11:00 a.m., although I’m usually up anywhere from 8:00 to 9:00. Load-in is the first thing, and if we are lucky the venue will provide the required four to six loaders. However, usually there are only two guys, so we end up doing a lot of it ourselves. After load-in we spend about an hour setting up the gear, pluging in amplifiers, pedal effects, and running the necessary cables. I, also, set up what is referred to in the industry as, "Guitar World," which is basically my station for working on guitars.
Next, I spend another hour or more of restringing and tuning two to five guitars and basses. (Some instruments have strings changed everynight, others are every other night.) Restringing requires one to install new strings, then repeatedly tune them to pitch and then stretch the strings with my already blistering fingers. The constant tugging and stretching of the nickel wound steel strings with bare thumbs and fingers was torture when I first started, but my supple lawyer’s hands have toughened while on the road.

The guitars have to be ready for the band’s sound check, which is usually at 4:00 p.m. Before and during soundcheck, we have to, further, troubleshoot any problems, and be present to handle guitars for the musicians. Afterwards, we usually break for a quick dinner, then back to stretching strings and breaking in the new strings by playing the guitars. Also, during this time, we polish the guitars, apply tape for the picks, and begin taping down every cord and piece of gear with gaffers tape (which is also murder on the fingers, because of the adhesive.)


Prior to show time, I get an updated set list (song list) for the night which, by the way, changes every night. This is Tesla’s way of keeping the set fresh and a way of satisfying the fans who travel from show to show. (Now is a good time to give props to Cristina, a Spanish native who has been front row at every show in Europe. She purchased a European bus pass to get from city to city. Thanks, Cristina, for being one of the band’s biggest fans.) This list is usually not available until a ½ hour before the show. After I get it, I must make notes about all the songs and which instruments Brian and Dave will use. There is usually 7 to 8 bass changes and 4 to 5 guitar changes every night. In between changes, I must retune the guitars that just came off stage and check the tuning on the ones ready to go out. The stage lights and the hard playing by the guys wreak havoc on tuning. I usually have a guitar or bass in my hand all night long checking the tuning with an eye on the Peterson strobe tuner and the other eye on Brian and Dave.

At the end of the night, I have to deconstruct the rigs, pack up the gear and assist loading the trailer that rides behind the bus. Usually I’m done by 1:30, and hopefully have enough time for a shower before the bus departs for the next city. This is not always possible, and so sometimes the crew settles for a couple of beers instead.

By the way, on the way to Madrid we almost "oilspotted" Dave (left him at the truck stop.) I had to go find him, but first I took a few shots of him searching for the bus. I know, I know, how evil!!