ZanZee Summer Tour 1999

Counting Flowers On The Wall, That Don't Bother Me At All

1999-05-31T22:05:00.000-06:00

Today was another day in the misadventures of the ZanZee Band. Yup, this trip has yet to pay off. I woke up this afternoon, looked at my watch which said 12:00 noon, but it took a second for me to realize that I was in a different time zone, and it was actually two hours later. Maybe it was time for me to drag my myself out of bed -- anyway, we were supposed to set up our gear in the club during the afternoon.

I found Dave in his housecoat downstairs, eating "breakfast"; he must have just awoken as well. Right away he told be the bad news: We weren't going to play tonight, and we weren't going to move our equipment into the club until the next day. I was just praying that I could get my hotel room today. If I had to spend another day with a geriatric who had lost his marbles, I would probably end up losing mine as well. It turned out that I didn't have to stay there much longer.

I got into my hotel room by 3:30. Damn nice place -- far, far nicer than the other hotels we've stayed at. I breathed a sigh of relief as I walked into my own room, and I no longer had to be a burden to anyone for the rest of the week.

The next task was to check out Scuttlebutt's, the club we're playing at this week. It's a fairly large room, a mid-sized club, with approximately a capacity of 300. First impressions lead me to believe that this looked like a Hudson's Bay Co. trading post. The heads of all kinds of ungulates are mounted on the walls, vintage skis, beaver pelts, snowshoes, and other artifacts from colonial times complete the theme. Then, if you turned your head to the stage, and the place resembled a rock concert. The stage stands 3.5 feet off the floor -- and is the largest stage I have ever played on. The speakers are suspended from the ceiling, and a huge contingent of lighting will illuminate us tomorrow. 7 QSC amplifiers sit on stage left to power the house system, which, by my estimations is about 12 000 watts. It's gonna be loud.

I drank a few beers while I admired the place, and then left to find some dinner. I went to the lounge beside the pool and had Cajun chicken and Alfredo. It was the best meal I've had in some time. It cost me an arm and a leg, but I wanted to treat myself to something other than my steady diet of hamburgers. Contently stuffed, I returned to the hotel room which I called home, and turned on the Discovery channel. I passed out, and didn't awake until midnight.

I returned to Scuttlebutt's -- why, I don't know since it was empty. I think I stayed for 20 minutes, and promptly returned to my room to watch TV, read, write, and drink coffee. It's now 3:45 am, and I'm still wired, though I've only had 2 cups of java. But, if I don't go to bed soon, I'm going to be just bagged tomorrow, and I have much to do.

Springer's Final Thought: Though I've spent most of today alone, it hasn't bothered me, and I still love my job.

24 Hours in a Vehicle -- Without Stopping

1999-05-30T20:33:00.000-06:00

Define: Hell.

Void in the spiritual plane where souls are banished due to ungodly deeds they committed while alive.
Symbolic manifestation of the above; situation may be referred to as "hell", given the circumstances.
What I have had to endure the last 24 hours.

Nothing like hitting the road at 10:00 pm to go to your job which is halfway across the Country. Everything started on a bad note. We left Medicine Hat with only 1/4 tank of gas. The rationale was to fill up when we got to Walsh, where gas is cheaper.

So we hit the highway in style -- in as much style that a bar band could be. We were traveling in a burgundy Cadillac pulling a trailer. It sure as hell is not a classic car. Given its size, it resembles a Hummer with low suspension.

"Tearing up the highway like a big old dinosaur," and the beast guzzles gas like it was going out of fashion. We arrived at Walsh to a ghastly sight: The 2 gas stations -- the only ones in the area -- closed. We didn't have enough fuel to get back home, let alone to the next town.

Since Walsh consists of 2 gas stations and about 2 houses, the powers of deduction told us that the families who operate those businesses must live in those houses. Since it was only 10:30 at night, and the lights were still on at the nearby house, Dave proceeded to knock on the door and kindly ask them if someone could turn on the pumps and help us out.

Moments passed with Dave standing at their door. Though it never opened, it appeared that he might be talking to someone through the screen. He returned just fuming. The people who owned the station where we were parked (apparently an immigrant family who are still learning the Canadian culture), didn't want to help us out in our little predicament. "Oh, we no have key" , "No get gas" , "Wait 7:30, then get gas" were their responses. It sounded to us like they were making up excuses in what little English they could speak.

Well, making a long story short, we couldn't find any help at the other fuel station either. We were not going to stay overnight, 30 minutes away from home, just to give our money to these unsympathetic boobs. We were stuck between a rock and a hard place, and we couldn't sit here and wait for the Gods to shine upon us. We had driving to do.

So we dropped the trailer, full of all our gear, and left it, right in the gas lane where we first parked, brightly illuminated, in the middle of nowhere. If this isn't a situation for someone to come and steal it, I don't know what is.

Our only option was to barrel down the highway back home, and just pray that the fumes can get us safely to an open gas station.

Now, Dave wasn't driving like a bat out of Hell, in fact, I think he was driving the speed limit. Regardless, an RCMP felt it was in his divine right to pull us over on the outskirts of Medicine Hat -- 2 minutes away from a refill.

I've dealt with this officer before. He isn't who you would consider someone you'd want to have a few drinks and a few laughs with. This particular cop made me take a sobriety test after I "allegedly failed" to come to a "complete stop" at a stop sign. Smelling alcohol fumes emanating from the friends whom I was escorting, he decided that it was I who had been drinking, and threw me in the back of the patrol car. Of course, I passed the test, and then he decided to be a nice guy and not write me a ticket for my traffic infraction. I think I was more insulted than relieved. Enough about that story; it happened ages ago.

This time, he decided to be nice again (he pulled Dave over because he was "allegedly speeding"). We managed to get back into town where we could fill the Cadillac with gas. We were back on the road in fifteen minutes.

On our way back to Walsh, we spent the time praying that some crook didn't make it off with a trailer full of our expensive equipment. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when I saw the black trailer parked solitarily in front of the deserted gas station. We had wasted an entire hour because of that mishap, and we hadn't even made it out of Alberta yet. I jokingly said to Dave, "well, it can't get any worse, it can only get better".

We all took turns driving and sleeping. Arleen drove until 2:00 am, then Dave took over, where he drove until 7:00 am, somewhere near the Manitoba border. I took over, and drove to Winnipeg while the rest of the band slept.

We hit Winnipeg at 11:00 am CST, and we were starved. We found a Humpty's and Dave tried to wake Arleen up. She didn't even stir. It appeared that the two men would be eating breakfast alone.

By noon, we were back on the road. Maybe I was traveling well since I had been sleeping quite a bit on the road, but if we stopped to fill up every 3 hours, maybe I had a chance to sleep from 1-2 hours. I passed out pretty hard when we left Winnipeg. I didn't wake up until we were in Ontario. The views were spectacular -- compared to the prairies, but the highway is only single lane. To make things worse, it was pouring rain, and visibility was close to nil.

Another time change and several hours later, we found ourselves in Thunder Bay at 9:00 pm EST. The trip only took 20 hours, though it sure appeared to be a 24-hour trek. I was cramped, sore and miserable from traveling for so long. All I wanted was my hotel room, a hot shower, and a beer.

I didn't get any of the three -- which pissed me off. The hotel didn't book our rooms until Monday night. The thought crossed our minds that we could pay for the extra night, and settle with the manager later (if he's willing, and we haven't been getting much help since we left Medicine Hat) plus, I hardly have 100 bucks to keep myself fed this week.

There was one other solution, although I didn't like the idea, I had no other choice. Dave's father lives in Thunder Bay, and we could stay with him for the night. All I could hear was my mind telling me: "Staying at a stranger's house, hmm... Why don't I just sleep in the car?"

So Dave tells me that his father is 86 years old, and is not "playing with a full deck of cards" -- he even told me last week that his father would probably drive me batty. What else could happen to make things worse?

We pulled up to Dave's fathers' house. Now, from all the stories I've heard of this guy losing his mind, I was sure that I would not be welcome there -- and if he didn't recognize Dave and Arleen, neither would they.

Well, maybe he didn't lose all his marbles, but he did lose all of his teeth sometime in his life. When I first saw him, the first thing that popped into my head was that he looked like the grandfather in "Grumpy Old Men". I was sure he would approach Arleen, where he would say "Come here, and I'll show you my man-sized manicotti," or some sick line like that.

This is an old person's house. You can tell by the crocheted doilies everywhere, the old gaudy clocks from the fifties, and that smell... You know that smell -- of rotten mothballs, stale sweat, and Metamucil. If the situation I have been in the last day didn't kill me, the smell of this house surely would.

And Dave's dad -- he talks more than Dave does! And you can't understand him. All his stories predate both World Wars, and they go nowhere. Not one of us listened to him. We just let him talk, we nodded, and kept our eyes glued on the television set. Even getting out of the living room to go to bed was a challenge. He was still talking. And he's not your typical geezer who goes to bed at 9:00 at night, more like 3:00 in the morning. Still, I feel sorry for the guy. He lives in this house alone; the rest of his family lives elsewhere. I guess when you're as lonely as he, you'll talk to anyone about anything.

Gem of the Day: I did get a really good laugh at a picture Dave's dad showed me. It was a picture of Dave and Arleen some sixteen years ago. Arleen looked like herself, but Dave -- he had this spiky haircut that was all over the place, these huge tinted glasses, a thin mustache, and wearing this clashing God-awful suit. He resembled a pimp. It had to be the funniest thing I've seen since the sign that read: "Medicine Hat Lodge Casino: Sluts open at 10:00 am".

The MM Incident

1999-05-27T21:19:00.000-06:00

I woke up Wednesday morning with my head in the toilet. I was suffering from the mother of all hangovers, plus a cold hit me from out of nowhere. I felt like dying. Of course, the Lord wasn't so merciful and he let me learn my lesson the hard way. How was I going to move my equipment, let alone play loud music all night?

I somehow managed to drag my ass out of bed in the afternoon. Setting up was rather painful. I don't know mow many times I whined to whoever might give me the time of day. Nobody seemed to be too sympathetic. A couple Advil and a 2 hour nap had me feeling a bit better by 9:00, though my stomach was still irate with me. At least my headache was numbed. One thing for sure: I was not even going to dare drink tonight. We played well tonight -- for nearly nobody. It was dead in the Alamo. I wished for a crowd of 50 people to walk in. If there's anything Dave hates most, it would be playing to an empty room. Sure, it's depressing, but to me it felt more like a rehearsal. Judging by tonight's crowd, tomorrow could only get better. We played until 1:45, called it a night, and left in record time.

I woke up Thursday morning feeling 100% better. Though I still had a sore throat, anything was better than how I felt the previous morning. I ran various errands during the day, and met a few friends for coffee. Though catching up with old friends is all good in nature, there was still something -- somebody I hadn't spoken to in a few months, whom I had been dying to see again. MM. It's been a small secret, but I have been seriously crushing over her for at least 5 years... We have been going to the same school for a number of years, I haven't seen her since I left University, and since it seems that I can never find her, maybe it could be possible for her to find me. But that required 2 things: A phone call, and a lot of guts.

Surprisingly, both came quite easily. I called, and when she was put on the line, she was extremely happy to hear from me. "I thought you were on tour!" was the first thing she said to me. I explained to her that though we traveled quite a bit, we returned to the Hat for a couple days each week. I told her we were in town for this week and that we were playing in the Alamo that night. She freaked. I didn't have to invite her to come & watch. "I'll be there!" she said, though I had a gut feeling she was trying to blow me off in the nicest way possible. We spoke on the phone for about another 10 minutes, when we let each other go. Regardless of whether she shows up tonight or not, I am happy that I called her.

A few hours passed, and I found myself back at the Alamo for evening number two. No liquor tonight either. I played so well last night that I didn't want to ruin tonight by getting drunk. There were more people at the bar by the time we played our first song, compared to last night. The crowd was generally younger as well. We won the ears and hearts of a few tables right from the beginning. They were these two cute girls who were shooting pool and continually throwing requests in our direction. The blonde was really smiling at me.

I really didn't know what was going through my head at the time, but I think I was pretty sure I was saying to myself, "Here we go again." The Blonde came up to Arleen and said "I'm breaking up with my boyfriend, so could you please play 'Any Man of Mine?'" Arleen thought the better choice of song would be "I'm Outta Here". Regardless, to appease our blonde beauty, we played "Any Man of Mine". We had a few dancers on the floor, and there was one girl who whom I thought I recognized. MM! She made it! My heart was pounding, and I was grinning from ear to ear. We played the remainder of our set, and once we were finished, I immediately started walking in the direction of MM's table. I began walking from the stage, and I noticed the blonde batting her eyelashes at me. I smiled and walked past her. I had more important matters to attend to. I nearly spent the entirety of the break with MM and her friends. We mostly had a casual conversation -- that is, flirting was down to a minimum. But then, she was always a tough flirt. It was a good catching-up-with-old-buddies kind of session. And that really didn't bother me.

Then the conversation changed moods. The blonde walked past us -- likely trying to grab my attention, and I said to MM: "That girl has been batting her eyes at me." Now, MM's response was peculiar. She said: "I don't really know why anyone would want to date someone in a band." I felt a little dejected, like I was shot down in flames.

Now, this reminded me of the proverb: "Always make your words extra sweet, because you'll never know when you'll have to eat them." And that's exactly what MM did. She realized what she had said, stopped dead in her tracks, and her face turned a little red in embarrassment. Now, although she didn't say much in response to that, what she did say spoke volumes. "Well, except for you... You're different. You're a Rez Babe." I replied: "Rez Babe; I like the sound of that." It wasn't until after she left the bar that I discovered what she did say to me -- unbeknownst to myself and to her. The powers of deduction clearly told me that she does consider me as dateable material. The woman whom I have hopelessly chased for five years told me -- with what she didn't say -- that she has either liked me in the past, still likes me, or would at least get to know me better! At least, my efforts have not been in vain.

Of course, knowing my luck, I realized this only a little too late. I am confident that we will cross paths again. Maybe not this week, and maybe not next, but we will see each other again before the summer ends, and we will pick up where we left off.

The rest of the night was uneventful. MM left soon after we began our second set. The crowd dwindled and died. Even the cute blonde left. The bar was vacant as a ghost town, and we still had to play. We finished again at 1:45 am. We managed one of the quickest breakdowns I could ever remember, and was home at 3:00. I have a day to rest before we hit the road again. I am curious to see if tomorrow's festivities will involve alcohol.

Three More Days of Non-Stop Drunkenness and Stupidity

1999-05-22T21:51:00.000-06:00

There have been a few dates I haven't written about. My apologies, but I figured I'd rather give you a condensed version rather than a boring day-to-day anthology. You see, Thursday night was really boring; the only thing that was amusing were the two girls who danced all night who happened to be "living an alternative lifestyle", and the group of inebriated, horny men who swarmed around them like bees, hoping that they could entice the queens for mating. Some of us were laughing at the poor fellows, who were following the trail to the hive, only to find no nectar. Other than that, Thursday was quiet and boring.

Friday was more eventful. I managed to catch a matinee of The Phantom Menace, and I emerged completely wired. I felt that the movie was worth waiting some sixteen years for. Yes, there were a lot of people who felt that the movie didn't live up to the Star Wars franchise or hype, but this isn't the place to discuss science fiction, or popular culture.

Friday evening began with KH coming to the bar and taking photographs of me on the stage. We decided to get the pictures done early -- so we wouldn't aggravate the drunkards with flashes of light. Some of the better photographs are attached.

The bar was busier that night, and even though I knew only a few of the patrons, I knew most of the bar staff quite well. I also met "Magenta" -- the shooter bar girl. She was quite a lovely woman. Red hair, tongue, nose and eyebrow rings; qualitites of which I have an inexplicable attraction to. We talked extensively that night, joked around, and flirted a little bit. Of course, I ended up being drunk for the third straight night.

I woke up Saturday feeling the effects of my drinking. I wasn't hung over, but I sure felt sluggish. The details of the afternoon were a blur, but I had to be at the Royal by 4:00 to play our first set. We opened the jam session, and then we could sit down and relax. It ended up that Arleen and Dave took off and left me to host the jam myself. LC was one of the first people to show up. He was one of the first people on the stage, and once he got up, it was impossible to get him away from the keyboard! While making my rounds about the bar, many local jammers were impressed by his performance.

The first few hours of the jam were quite slow -- maybe because it was a long weekend. Slowly, jammers trickled in. I began drinking beer, much to the dismay of my innards, and soon I lost track of time.

Magenta returned, and I made regular appearances to talk to her. Either she likes me, thinks I like her, or both. Sometimes you can see those things in their eyes, and she definitely showed me that sparkle in hers. I really didn't want to play a game of hardball, since I didn't know if she was involved with someone else -- or if I really wanted to get to know her myself.

After an afternoon of drinking, I was feeling no pain. It was 9:30 when my parents walked in with some friends, and they could clearly tell that I had plenty to drink today.

We managed to begin playing around 10:30, and we ended up playing quite well, though my playing abilities were somewhat compromised. When we finished playing the first set, I sat down with my parents and met their friends. AP was be one of my mothers' piano students. Her husband, BP, was a chemistry professor at the local College. Ironically, he's the exact same professor who failed me in my first year Chemistry class. What a world. Maybe I'm glad I never lipped him off, even though the thought had crossed my mind before. His big joke that evening, was that out of all the past students that he had -- who were present at the bar -- there was only one who had passed his course. I have a real problem with those people who have a lack of faith in our youth.

My parents left late; close to 1:00 AM if I recall. My mom was pretty drunk, and Dad managed to sober so he could drive her home. Of course, they weren't going to stick around to drive me home -- I was going to be there until 4:00 in the morning.

We finished playing somewhere around 2:00 AM, the three of us exhausted. Of course, I had already spent 10 1/2 hours in the bar that day. Arleen didn't look well at all. She had been sick all week and her asthma was acting up.

Dave suggested that we leave the equipment, and take it down the next day. I didn't argue. That left me more time to party and see if I could make something out of the Magenta situation, who had just finished her shift. She had a beer in hand.

Magenta disappeared for a few minutes, and I wasn't about to follow her around like a lost puppy. I decided to be cool, casual, and relaxed, standing against the now-vacated shooter bar. Magenta returned moments later and asked "Do you want to come with me?" There appeared to be a bit of duplicity in the way she worded the question. I think it was my drunkenness which made me think about all the possibilities of what her question meant. Sit by ourselves? Go somewhere and 'talk'? My mind raced and my heart skipped. My response was a simple, an unassuming "where to?", to which she replied: "to sit down". We ended up sitting down with another few people at the table and one of the bouncers. Maybe I did jump the gun, but then she could have left me at the shooter bar -- and I could have found someone else to mingle with.

The bar closed and people slowly drifted out. All that remained was the bar staff and myself. I had quit drinking for at least 2 hours, and I didn't feel too bad, but I was still debating whether I should drive home or not. Truth be known, I was secretly hoping that Magenta would offer me a ride home. She didn't -- though she asked me if I was okay to drive. I assured her that I would find a safe means of getting home -- even though I was unsure. One of the bouncers escorted her to her car, and I was left in the bar, felling somewhat like I really shouldn't be there, even though they did not ask or tell me to leave. I waited a few extra minutes, and left the bar -- headed in the direction of my car -- still unsure if I was going to drive, or just drop off my phone and my recently-developed photographs.

Call it fate or coincidence, but Magenta was parked beside my car -- and still speaking with the bouncer who escorted her out.

I opened the car door, threw my stuff in, and the conversation between the 3 of us began. "MC, are you okay to drive?" Magenta asked. I honestly didn't know. I felt okay, but in the course of the last 10 hours I did put down at least 6 beers and 2 Rye & Cokes. I coun't even recall how mauch I had to drink since I had lost count by my third beer.

I thought I was okay to drive, but I really wanted a second opinion -- preferably, a sober one. The bouncer said "I know you're over the limit, although you might feel okay, I know you'll blow over," and that was all I needed to hear. I said: "Then I won't drive", and I locked my car. As I was about to walk to the cab station, Magenta offered me a ride home. Of course, I graciously accepted. We had a good conversation on the way, mainly about music, the Royal, and life as a touring musician. As a means to get to see her again, I invited her the Alamo, where we would be playing. She told me that she probably wouldn't make it. With all the piercings, she didn't appear like Alamo material anyway.

By this time, she had pulled in front of my house, and it began to feel like I was stalling. I thanked her again for the ride, and I stepped out of the car. She drove away as I was walking to the front door, and I realized (a little too late) that I should have asked her out for coffee. Though I've only known her for a couple of days, I can tell she is the kind of person that you'd want for a friend -- regardless if it would develop into something more.

Now I'm shrugging things off. I know where she works, and I'm sure we'll meet up again soon. There are still possibilities, and there are still gigs to happen -- and more women to meet. Anyway, do you think that my parents would like it if I brought home a woman who had more piercings in her face than I can count on one hand? I would hope to think that they wouldn't -- no matter how respectable a person she might be. (That, and much like 20 million other male Star Wars fans, I am now completely infatuated with Natalie Portman). *sigh*

P.S. As I write this, Arleen is in the Hospital in Calgary. She was flown up early Sunday morning. I do not know what they are doing with her, but Arleen had difficulty breathing at the bar Saturday night (In fact, so did I). Dave is optimistic that she will be released in time for us to play in the Alamo Wednesday -- and so am I.

Rockin' at the Royal

1999-05-19T22:20:00.000-06:00

Happy Phantom Menace Day! It looks like I won't be seeing the new Star Wars film until sometime next week; the first three or four days are completely sold-out. Being a big Star Wars fan, I can't wait to see it. With five cinemas in town playing the show, I'm sure it won't be long until I have my chance.

The good old Royal Hotel. This is one of the scummiest bars in town, but you always end up having the best time there. The tables appear like they are as old as the bar itself (~100 years), which are covered with these ugly yellow tablecloths that resemble bath towels from your great aunt's closet. The bar is dilapidated, but if it were ever renovated, it just wouldn't be "the Royal", and all the atmosphere would be gone. [ed. Note: I hope to have photos of the Royal Hotel interior by May Long Weekend.]

This place has a lot of character -- and a lot of characters in it too. This was the Hell's Angels bar in town, but things have mellowed down, and if you have the gall to talk to any of the bar patrons, you would realize they all have hearts of gold.

Dave and I set up the bands' equipment in the afternoon. The assembly of our PA system is getting mundane, except that I almost had a rack of par-64 lights fall on top of my head. We caught it just in time before it injured either of us. Regardless, I saw my life flash before my eyes: All two seconds' worth.

I returned to the bar at 9:00, a full hour before we were to begin playing. I purchased a beer, and waited patiently. Dave and Arleen arrived shortly before 10:00, and so did my friend LC, who also happens to be making a career in music. He stayed to listen to the first set, and left shortly thereafter.

AF and SG showed up shortly thereafter. They are two females I worked with for a number of years. They showed their support, visited with me during my break, and left shortly before we were to play our third set of the night.

A few other people came and went, and we had a few dancers -- which was pleasing as there was only about 20 people in the bar. During this set I was surprised to find two other local drummers intently watching my drumming. Of course, when I noticed this, it happened to the time where I started screwing up. Poetic justice.

Our final set consisted of a couple Fleetwood Mac tunes, and we didn't play an encore. It wasn't such a big deal, the bar was dead, Arleen was ill, and she wanted to get out of the smoky bar as soon as possible. I finished what remained of my beer, and I went home.

Strike Three

1999-05-08T22:07:00.000-06:00

I woke up sometime around 3:00 in the afternoon, feeling a little groggy, which was likely due to last nights' festivities. I went downstairs to the restaurant, and found myself having breakfast with Dave and Arleen. As the afternoon wore on, I ended up walking to Radio Shack looking for cable adapters. I managed to find what I needed, and I was soon back at the Classic Rock Bar to implement my new purchase.

There was a fellow at the bar who didn't look a day over 19 took a liking to me; he watched us play the other night. First impressions told me he was a massive geek, but it turned out that he was a little bit on the "slow" side. I didn't tell him to get lost, but I did have some work on my drums I needed to do, which required that I be free from distractions.

It wasn't long until I met "Gary". He offered to buy me a beer, so soon I was sitting at the 51 year-old's table with a few of his inebriated buddies. A couple hours and a few beers later, I felt like I should leave the table, since Gary, being as drunk as he was, was really starting to get on my nerves. I excused myself, and left to find dinner.

This happened to be the first inclination that perhaps I didn't want to stay in Neepawa for the week. Honestly, I only wanted to stay in this town to see what I could make out of the Roxy Roller situation.

After a hamburger and a few hours of relaxation, it was showtime. I was still drained from last night's party. I wanted to perform, but I had no energy to do so. I began to feel burned-out, and the bar wasn't very busy, which made it even more difficult to get the adrenaline going. It seemed that the crowd wasn't very perceptive to us being there either. I was gulping down many glasses of cola in order to keep myself awake.

The first set came and went. Gary was still there, drunk like there was no tomorrow (and I'll bet that he'll be wishing exactly that tomorrow morning). Was he ever obnoxious. The bar wasn't very busy, and there was no sign of anyone under the age of 25.

Amidst my apparent lack of energy, the band ended up playing quite well. Dave spoke to the management about the possibility of us playing next week. He returned saying: "We're packing up; we're going home". He explained that the bar only wanted us to play Friday and Saturday next week, and it didn't pay for us to make the long trip for that kind of money. Instead, the band took a "rain check", and we would play here again in the future.

We finished our third and final set of the night by 1:00. This show was a far cry from the previous two nights. We began to pack our equipment until the unexpected happened. At exactly 1:30 AM, the bar became swamped with people aged 18-25, all drunk and attractive. Karen and Roxy were not there. I was somewhat disappointed, but I expected as much. The dance floor was packed, which made it extremely difficult for us to move our equipment. Instead, our cases became coasters for everyone's drinks. By this time, I was really looking forward to leaving this town. I had quite enough of the place by this time.

It was about 3:00 in the morning by the time we had everything packed up and loaded into the trailer. Only one thing remained: all our articles upstairs. The three of us agreed to get out of town as soon as possible, so by 3:30 we were on our way home. We stopped in Brandon at 4:00, grabbed some food, and into the blackness we sped. I think I managed to keep my eyes open for 45 minutes, but as the sun began to rise, I finally ran out of steam.

I stirred slightly as we reached Regina at 7:00 AM. We stopped briefly, but I stayed comfortably curled up in the back seat. We hit the road shortly thereafter.

The next thing I knew, Dave pulled into a 7-11, and walked inside. I stirred, and got out of the vehicle to stretch. I had the feeling we were in Swift Current. Dave walked out of the store, stood beside me, and looked at me. He resembled the living dead. "You look pretty wasted," I said to him. "I'm just baffed," he replied. I was feeling rather awake, so I took the wheel, while Dave layed down and took a power nap. I thought I was well-rested, but 30 minutes later I was fighting to keep my eyelids from closing. I may have dozed a couple of times -- just for a few seconds, only to scare myself awake. The adrenaline would pump fiercely for a minute or two, and then I'd feel exhausted again.

I have no idea how Dave can play all evening and drive all night. We made a gas stop at the hamlet of Walsh. Dave felt better, and he took the wheel for the last leg of the trip. We made it home by 12:30, and I was spending Mother's Day with my mother by 1:00. A hot bath and a long nap completed the weekend.

Roxy Roller

1999-05-07T22:19:00.000-06:00

I slept in until 2:00 pm CST, and after a quick shower, I went down to the restaurant for some "free" breakfast. It seems that Dave had forgotten to mention to me that one meal per day is paid for by the bar.

The afternoon was fairly uneventful, though I walked down the street to Radio Shack to pick up some cable adapters, spent some time reading, and took a nap.

I woke up a few hours later, and walked down the street for some pizza, I warmed up my cold muscles, and soon I found myself playing the first set of the evening. The band was tight, and I think it was the best we had ever played to date.

The local television station came by and recorded our performance. The television staff were really personable as well. They asked us if we would like to be interviewed after the show. The band was receptive to the idea, so we agreed to the interview. I haven't been interviewed since my tenure in the Anglers (1993-1994), so I was pretty excited about the situation.

We played our second set of the night, and the music felt really good. I jumped off the stage to get myself a beverage, and two young ladies pulled me off the stage and "told" me to dance with them. The blonde's name was Karen, and her friend was introduced to me as "Roxy Roller" - likely a nickname coined after the Sweeney Todd song. They were both very friendly people, but I think I would consider Roxy as wife material. I found her very attractive. My rock-star ego was beginning to surface, as I was positive that both of them wanted a piece of me, but I learned some time later that they didn't even know I was in the band! I danced and flirted with Roxy and Karen for the rest of the break, and then time came for us to play our final set of the night.

By this time, the bar was packed, and the crowd response to our music got louder and more supportive with each passing song. Some of the crowd began dancing on the stage, right in front of us! The atmosphere was becoming very intense. It wasn't until our third last song that Karen and Roxy noticed me behind the drums -- I might as well have been a Beatle. They screamed "MC! Oh, my god! You're in the band!" and nearly fainted. I was convinced that I was going to have my way with either one of them this evening.

We finished playing for the night, and I was immediately pulled from the stage to the dance floor by Roxy and Karen. We danced for the remainder of the night, and I began drinking some liquid courage hoping that I might make something out of the rest of the evening. I put down three beers in 90 minutes, and I was looking for more, even though bar sales were suspended. It was difficult to tell whether the two girls wanted anything else to happen over the course of the evening, but nothing further happened in that department -- and don't tell me I didn't try. All the patrons were kicked out of the bar, but Roxy and Karen promised that they would be back the next night. I sure hope they do, as I couldn't keep my eyes off Roxy.

The bar closed, and the band found ourselves conducting our interview with the television staff. The interview only took about 5 minutes, but it was nonetheless exciting. After the interview, I found myself drinking with the bar staff until 4:30 in the morning. It was a great ending to a successful night, though I admit, if the conditions were different, the night could have ended a lot better.

While having drinks with Donald (the bar manager) this evening, it was brought to my attention that we might be playing here again next weekend. If that's the case, I might just ask Dave and Arleen if I could stay here over the course of the week. I have only been here two days, but I love this town. The people here are so laid-back and friendly, and the bar staff are great as well. I am thinking that I really don't want to spend 20 hours in a vehicle only to return here next Wednesday and do this all over again. We will know by tomorrow night if we are playing here again next week, or if we are going home.

A Narrow Escape From Death and Other Trivialities

1999-05-06T22:03:00.000-06:00

I am still not used to the time change. In fact, I didn't notice it until I got up this afternoon, when my clock read 12:45 MST, and I was in CST. I got up, showered and went downstairs to the bar to see if I could find some breakfast. I was offered a beer instead. I gracefully declined, and ended up in the adjoining restaurant. Dave walked in while I was finishing my meal, and shortly thereafter, I was working.

It was damn cold and windy in Neepawa this afternoon. Dave and I moved in all the equipment, and started assembling the PA. It happened to be that Dave forgot some cables in the trailer, and sent me outside to retrieve them. In hindsight, he should have went out to get them instead. The wind was howling, it was bitterly cold, and the case was so heavy that I had trouble lifting it back into the trailer (copper wire is not light). I climbed into the trailer. While I was lugging the brute into the front end of the trailer, a huge gust of wind came, and blew closed the door. With a pile of other equipment sitting at the opposite end of the trailer, the trailer tipped along the axle, and the door was effectively pinned shut against the asphalt. It was pitch black inside, and I was trapped. My mind started racing, and I began to think that Dave & Arleen wouldn't discover my whereabouts until Saturday evening, a decaying body trapped in their own trailer. After a few moments, I managed to tip the trailer in the opposite direction and free myself. I was not happy about the situation, to say the least.

The events of the rest of the day were not too eventful, so I will fast-forward to the moment we hit the stage at 9:30. The place was deserted, but not for terribly long.

Even though the rooms in this hotel are acceptable, the bar is in rough shape. It is difficult to describe this place, but there is a lot of concrete visible, including much of the floor. The Men's room is lit only by blacklights -- contrary to the rest of the bar. It might be more fun to party in there rather than the rest of the bar.

The first set was relatively boring. By the second set, the clientele in the bar quadrupled, and they were very enthusiastic about our performance. By the second set, the band was playing very well, almost like we hadn't taken a few days off. The owner of the bar approached us and spoke to us for some time during one of our breaks. I was making friends with a few other bar patrons, so I didn't get to hear much of the conversation, but I did manage to catch the owner tell Dave & Arleen "Every time I hear you guys, you keep getting better and better"! I figured that was quite a compliment, since the last time this gentleman heard the band was when Dave & Arleen performed on the main stage at Minnedosa's Classic Rock Weekend last summer. If we continue playing like we have been, it is likely that we will be playing at Minnedosa on the August Long Weekend again this year.

We played our final set of the evening, and although we did not get an encore, we were well-received. We turned off our equipment and relaxed. Dave & Arleen went upstairs to watch a movie; I stayed in the bar to finish my drink. I soon found myself sitting with a few people who really enjoyed our music, and it ended up that they bought me beers. "Malcolm" (one of the guys I met) was a kind, laid-back person who ended up living in one of the hotel rooms down the hall from me. The bar closed, and Malcolm bought some off-sales, and we continued drinking in my hotel room. Some girls showed up, but it soon apparently became clear what they wanted to do for the rest of the evening - get high. I asked them to not commit such acts in my room, and they were respectful of my request. They left, smoked some dope, and returned for a few minutes. By this time, I had lost my second wind, and I decided to go to sleep. They kindly left to find some other excitement in this small town. Apparently, they all work at this hotel, so I expect I may see them again in the upcoming days.

So as I was in my room, getting ready for sleep when I hear some racket from the staff downstairs. For some unknown reason, I decided to see what was happening. It turned out I met the bar manager "Donald". He didn't look a day over 25, and he was a very kind to me. I spoke with him for about ten minutes. He claimed that tomorrow night was going to be crazy at the bar. He seemed to take a liking to me as he suggested that we would end up drinking until 6:00 in the morning tomorrow. This sounded like a good idea at the time, though I do not like being hung over. Amidst my current drunkenness, I an wondering how I am going to feel in the morning. I really don't want to feel pain tomorrow.

3 Provinces in Ten Hours

1999-05-05T23:04:00.000-06:00

I woke up this morning feeling terrible. It could have been the unpasteurized beer that I drank last night, or the tuna casserole I ate, but something made me quite ill. I spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom, and crawled out feeling a little bit better. I managed to take a nap for another three hours until I had to teach one of my pupils, who happens to be Dave and Arleen's youngest son.

The ZanZee band didn't manage to hit the road until 5:00 in the afternoon. We thought it would be better to drive all night, sleep in, and set our equipment up the next day. This way, we wouldn't be as rushed as we were last week.

I slept in the Suburban until we hit Moose Jaw. We arrived at Regina at 10:00 pm, went to Subway for dinner, and then went to Arleens' sisters' house to pick up the trailer full of band equipment we left there on Sunday. We were back on the road by 11:00 pm.

The second half of the trip felt a lot longer than the first half. In fact, as the night went on, Dave and I got increasingly delirious. We had the radio playing full-blast, singing along to countless Classic Rock songs. By the time we arrived at Brandon, Manitoba, Dave was telling me incredible stories about their experience last year at Minnedosa's Classic Rock Weekend. It appeared that they had the time of their lives at last years' festival.

It was about 10 after 4 in the morning by the time we arrived in Neepawa, Manitoba. We are staying at the Hamilton Hotel, and the "Classic Rock Bar" is located on the main floor. The one thing that makes this show so important, is that the gentleman who owns this bar is also the gentleman who puts on the Classic Rock Festival in Minnedosa each year. It is imperative that we play our best the next three nights.

This hotel is a definite improvement over the City Limits Inn, though I wouldn't give this place more than 1.5 stars. My room has two double-beds, and a huge bathroom; I have more room than I will need. I am confident that I will not have to put a chair under my door to prevent my room from being invaded.

[Ed. note: Last fall, ZanZee hired me to play a weekend gig in Regina. Our hotel was the Plains Hotel; a real dump, located in the middle of downtown. It was about 3:30 am, after our Friday night performance, and I was in my room, getting ready for a good nights' rest. To my surprise, I heard a key insert into the lock in my door, and in walked a very drunk male, toting a case of beer in hand. He immediately saw me in all my glory, and he freaked. I am sure I soiled myself at the same time. The gentleman allowed me to get myself decent, at which time, he called the front desk and tore a strip off the receptionist. It seems that the receptionist double-booked the room I was staying in. The intruder ended up getting his own room after he and I ended up having a good laugh over a beer. Ever since then, I have been a little cautious about my hotel accommodations. Do you blame me?]

Dave has been talking to an Agent in Las Vegas. It sounds quite possible that we might be playing on a cruise ship this fall. Those gigs range from six weeks to six months. After hearing some stories about Dave & Arleens' first experience at sea, I found myself very excited about the possibility. I want to go right now.

Well, it's about time for bed. A very busy day awaits me.

Party Animals Should Not Be Let Out Of Their Cages Until At Least 3:00

1999-05-01T01:05:00.000-06:00

For the second day in a row, I was rudely awoken by Cher's Believe being played full blast over the jukebox at 10:15 in the morning. At the same time, some rowdy drunks were causing a ruckus, shouting "Whoo-hooo!" At the top of their lungs (think Blur's Song2). I felt like I was going to be solely responsible for a homicide. Placing the pillow over my head, I managed to sleep through the noise until 2:00 in the afternoon. As I discovered later, Arleen couldn't stand the noise, and drove the Suburban to a quiet field where she took a relaxing nap.

By 3:00, I was quite hungry and I found myself walking several blocks to Smitty's for some hearty grub. The same red-haired girl greeted me, remembered me from yesterday, and asked how our gig went the previous night (we had a pleasant conversation the previous day). When I get customer service like this, I want to stay in these towns a little longer, but my "job" prevents me from doing so.

I left the restaurant shortly after eating, and walked straight "home". I listened to a few of the bands' songs, and then went up to my hotel room to practice. It wasn't very long until Dave knocked on my door. While Dave was asking about my plans for the afternoon, a door across the hall opened, and a heavily impaired male decided to strike up a friendly conversation with us. Dave informed me later that he doesn't have the patience to talk with people that are clearly under the influence, so we promptly went downstairs to do some maintenance to the band equipment, in hopes of avoiding and ignoring the party animals.

The band then went out for a bite to eat, and we were playing our first set shortly thereafter. The "Silver Spur Saloon" wasn't as busy as the previous night, but we were playing very well. I think it's the best we had ever played. During one of the breaks, Dave mentioned to me how my timekeeping had improved from last night. In fact, he was talking about learning another half-dozen songs for next week, which would include Blue Öyster Cult's Don't Fear The Reaper, Led Zeppelin's Stairway to Heaven and a few others. I would call this definitive proof that I am not holing them back.

The bar crowd was especially strange tonight. Patrons came and went, but rarely stayed for the full night. We began playing Rock music early on, and it seemed like the crowd wasn't into it tonight. We then changed our repertoire to reflect about 90% country music, and that got us a much better response from the crowd. The second-last set felt especially good to me, at which time I was very thirsty, so I grabbed a beer and sucked it back. I sat down at a table, and soon found one of the bar patrons (who called himself "Abe") sitting at my table and keeping me company. He seemed friendly enough. We made small talk for about 20 minutes until the time came for the band to play our final set of the night. That beer didn't take long to hit me, and then I felt very loose sitting at the drumkit.

The last set was a real killer. Half the bar was up dancing to our music, and we received two encores at the tail end of the show. By this time, my bladder was bursting, and I couldn't do anything about it until we were completely finished our show.

The band took a short break, at which time Dave paid me the ultimate compliment. He told me that if I kept playing as good as I did this night, that I would end up becoming a "monster drummer". Dave wasn't full of it either; he's played with dozens of drummers in his musical career. For him to tell me this in the 2 short weeks I've been playing with him is quite flattering. I told him that I take my music very seriously, and I have spent most of my spare time practicing the material. All he could say was to "keep up the good work". A compliment like this makes me think that maybe I do have the dedication, perseverance, and ability to make a career out of my drumming. I know ZanZee won't be around forever, and rubbing shoulders with other musicians will be a necessity if I want to make my dream a reality -- even though it's quite real already.

We are going to ship out of Yorkton in about four hours, so perhaps I should get some rest. We have seven hours of driving ahead of us, plus Dave and Arleen have family to visit on the way back home. Next week, we are headed to Neepawa, Manitoba, which is about a 10-12 hour drive away from Medicine Hat. Dave said he would like to leave sometime Wednesday evening. I hate traveling, but maybe driving at night might be a better alternative than driving during the day. It's cooler and you get better mileage, though it could be considered more dangerous.

I am greatly anticipating the adventures that await us next week.

Deserted

1999-04-30T22:25:00.000-06:00

I was rudely awakened at 11:00 am by Cher's "Believe" being played full blast in the bar downstairs. Soundproofing is obviously a feature the building contractors didn't consider when building this place. I think I heard that damn song at least eight times within an hour (somebody plugged that song into the jukebox on repeat). The annoyance forced me to get up, since it appeared that I wouldn't be sleeping anymore.

I can't even begin to explain what a dive that hotel/city is. I couldn't even pay tribute to The Who and trash my room, because it is already vandalized beyond repair. Maybe one of the dues of being a professional musician is staying in places you would otherwise never set foot in.

By noon I had showered, and knocked on Dave and Arleen's door to see what their plans were for the day. I had guessed that the general din of the bar downstairs had already awoken them. To my surprise, it was my knocking that ultimately woke them up. I asked them what they had planned for breakfast, but it ended up that they drove me to Smitty's and left me there. They claimed that they were going to get their own food at the Superstore (they are vegetarians, so "meat is murder", you see).

There was friendly staff at the restaurant, even though I felt like a first-class ass, sitting in the restaurant by my lonesome, but I tried to not let it bother me. The food was decent and filling, and shortly thereafter, I found myself walking back to the hotel/bar that I am calling home for the next few days.

Since last night's performance was not the caliber I had expected, I went down to the bar, mainly to become acquainted with the seven new songs we learned this week, plus listen to a few that I thought needed attention. I ordered a beer, listened to music for a few hours, and made a few adjustments to my drums. I quickly became exhausted and went upstairs to my room to lay down.

The next thing I knew, it was 7:00 pm -- I had slept for nearly three hours. We had to be on the stage in about two hours, so I figured I should get up and find some dinner. There happened to be a Subway no more than a block from the hotel. I grabbed a sandwich from the restaurant mega-chain and opted to eat in my hotel room, rather than being seen eating alone. While I satisfying my hunger, I turned on the television (one so old it had dials) and found a documentary discussing the Columbine School shooting. It was an informative program, but there was, of course, the right-wing spin on the program. The assassins were blatantly portrayed as being mentally ill. I watched the television for a little while, but I figured that I could have been doing something more productive, so I went back downstairs to the bar.

I listened to a few more songs, then had a sudden urge to practice my drums. I brought a spare pair of sticks and my practice pad for just such an occasion. To further explain, I had recently bought the latest issue of Modern Drummer, and while spending part of the afternoon reading the cover article featuring the "Thunder From Down-Under" Virgil Donati (whom claimed he practiced ten hours per day), I felt inspired. Needless to say there was an incessant tapping sound coming from my hotel room for some time.

Before I knew it, ZanZee had taken the stage again. The bar was fairly empty, but we played very solid. I would say that there was a 200% improvement in our performance since last night. We did have a few dancers since the beginning, which didn't surprise me, given the fact that all the patrons in the bar were drunk beyond belief.

There was this really "cute" couple who danced to our music all night long. It was cute in their behavior; you could visibly see they were mildly mentally challenged. The male was hilarious. While dancing, he would get very excited, and would let loose on the dance floor with his arms and feet flailing in every possible direction. The female counterpart appeared embarrassed by his behavior, and she would stop dancing and stare at him. She would then proceed to scold him for making a fool out of himself. He would then sulk, and look very ashamed of his behavior. The cycle was completed when they would neck on the dance floor for an extended period of time. This behavior continued for the entirety of the evening. There was no lack of entertainment for the band while this couple was dancing.

After a couple sets, I decided to relax a little by drinking a beer, which didn't last long. My performance in the subsequent set wasn't perfect (it never is), but it still felt very solid, even though I had a buzz by the end of the night. Dave and Arleen never expressed any problem with my "drinking-while-working" (they don't drink), but I was quite sure they would have said something if my playing sounded compromised.

The night ended with an encore, and if that's an indication of our performance, I'd say it was pretty good. In the aftermath of the show, I met another drummer -- who was drunk beyond belief, and he insisted that I sit down and have a beer with him. He bought some off-sales, and we ended up in the hotel room next to mine (which happens to be the residence of one of the bar bouncers). We drank a few more beers and played some Blackjack. I don't remember much of the details of the "after-bar-party", but I expect the sole purpose was so the attendees would not have to drink themselves into unconsciousness alone. I called it quits after a couple free beers and returned to my room, as I would hate to play tomorrow night's gig with a killer hangover.

The First Road Trip

1999-04-29T21:27:00.000-06:00

Today was a long day. I got up at 8:30, and was supposed to be at Dave & Arleen's house by 9:30 in order to leave for Yorkton. I arrived at their house, and rang the doorbell. Thirty seconds passed and Dave answered the door in his housecoat. It seemed that either their alarm failed, or they slept through it. That error put us behind schedule by at least an hour.

It was closer to noon that we managed to hit the road, and the weather was absolutely miserable. It was cold and raining. I curled up in the back seat of their Suburban, hoping to catch a few z's. It was damn cold in the back of that vehicle, and I was wishing I brought a parka instead of a leather jacket. Dave spent most of the time driving, and flipping through radio stations. It seems that the only thing that is on the radio is related to the shooting in Taber yesterday. It makes me wonder if I want to become a teacher after all. Maybe being a rock star is safer in this day and age.

We kept driving, and I kept sleeping. The sun finally decided to peek out of the clouds by Moose Jaw, and the rest of the day ended up nice. Driving across the prairies was beginning to become a major pain in the rear. This was a seven-hour trip, not including fuel stops or "pit-stops".

I think we got into Yorkton by 7:30 that night, which didn't allow us a lot of time to set up our equipment and eat. We moved into the bar swiftly, and set up our equipment in a mad rush. We didn't have time to sound check at all. At least, to make things a little more convenient, we have been given hotel rooms upstairs.

We are staying at the City Limits Inn -- I have no idea why they call it that since the hotel is situated in the middle of downtown. This place sets a new standard in low for quality. This makes the Royal Hotel look quite lavish (see previous post). If you ever travel to Yorkton, I strongly recommend that you not stay here. This bar somewhat looks like the watering holes you see in movies (Police Academy's Blue Oyster comes to mind). Scummy. The rooms aren't any better either. Searching my room found the Gideon Bible absent, there were cracks in the wall, stained carpet that was 30 or 40 years old, and the bed seemed like it would collapse upon you like an Iron Maiden if you dared try and lay on it. The only redemption this room had was a plaque with John 3:16 written on it. However, I could almost imagine the immense amount of sin that has been committed inside these four walls. How do I miss my university dormitory. At least there I felt like I was at home. [ed. note: During this tour, we returned to Yorkton numerous times, and I was given the same hotel room each time. Strange as it sounds, that room grew on me, and I began to call it my home away from home. There were some things, like certain smells, the graffiti on the paintings hung on the walls, or sounds like the dripping of the faucet that I found comforting. It may have been a dump, but the familiarity of having the same room was comforting.]

Yorkton seems like a fairly small city [City of Yorkton website states 16,747 residents]. It doesn't seem like there is much to do in this town either. When we moved our equipment into the bar, the patrons were so drunk they could barely speak to us. I couldn't understand a word they were saying.

Before we began playing, we managed to grab some food. I abandoned Dave and Arleen and let them have dinner themselves. I walked across the street to Dairy Queen for a greaseball burger. The counter girl that helped me was especially cute... "Laura" was her name. I may just have to return here tomorrow and "introduce-myself-and-my-occupation" to her. I'd love to ask her out on a date, but then why should I? I am in this town for two more nights, and I have no idea if I will return.

We began playing at 9:30, and the bar was fairly empty, so we ran through the seven new songs Dave and Arleen learned this week. The band learned two Shania Twain songs: "That Don't Impress Me" was one of them, I cannot recall the other at this time. They also learned that new Cher song "Believe", that new Blondie tune "Maria", and the Santana classics "Black Magic Woman" and "Evil Ways". I have my work cut out for me, again. The first set sounded really shaky. Arleen and I couldn't seem to get things together. I had big trouble finding the groove tonight for some reason. Maybe it's because of the new songs, but more likely because we are playing a lot of country music in this establishment.

We had a few dancers, and the response from the crowd was generally warm -- from those who were listening. The other patrons were there (of course) for one reason: cheap alcohol.

Over the course of the evening, the band tried playing a few songs with me on back-up vocals. Dave cancelled that idea pretty quick. He claimed learning vocals in a rehearsal situation would be a better idea. I suppose I agree with him, but at least he let me sing The Tragically Hip's New Orleans is Sinking, which went over quite well with the crowd.

As the night progressed, we managed to fall into the groove. There were still screw-ups, but I imagine I will go downstairs tomorrow afternoon and iron some things out for myself. The crowd changed swiftly in this bar, and as the night went on, more people occupied the dance floor, and more cheered. We got one encore tonight; those I always enjoy. We decided to kick their asses by playing Deep Purple's Smoke on the Water. That gave them enough to chew on for the rest of the evening.

After we cleaned up the stage and shut off the PA and stage lights, Dave, myself, and Fluffy (Dave and Arleen's dog) went for a walk to the 7-Eleven for some munchies and other necessities. It was a nice, warm night, and a good way to unwind from this long day. Twenty hours ago, I got up; I guess I should be exhausted. My headache has returned, but so far it is tolerable. Maybe I'll take some ibuprofen to knock me out tonight. I think I got the headache from sleeping in an uncomfortable position in the back of the truck. Sleeping in this bed with the springs poking through probably won't help either. It's well after 4:00 in the morning, and it's about time to get some rest.

First Binge of the Tour

1999-04-24T20:06:00.000-06:00

I finally got a good night's sleep, and it was well-deserved. I got up around 1:00 in the afternoon, and after a quick shower and "breakfast", I found myself back on my way to Stiletto's with the intention of learning songs. I ended up drinking instead. Sheena was there in the afternoon, she greeted me warmly and placed a beer in front of me. Instead of "working", I was socializing with the staff. A Caesar came next, and then I decided to make a stop at the Royal Hotel and check out the afternoon jam.

The Royal isn't one of those places that you would consider a 4-star hotel... It probably does not even deserve a half-star, but it is "The Good Times Bar", where people from all walks of life hang out and drink copious quantities of cheap beer. I sat down with SF, who happens to be another drummer, and we talked a bit, mostly waiting for the jam to begin. The band opened the stage at 4:00, and by 4:10 there was already a drunk couple dancing. They were older, possibly in their thirties, and the woman appeared to either have a glandular problem, or a compulsive eating disorder. My guess would have been the latter. This woman, while dancing with this guy, lifts up her t-shirt, pulls it over this guy's head, exposing the shocking contents underneath -- no bra. I figured this was my cue to leave, so I quickly finished my beer, and decided to go back to a place where the women would be wearing a bit more clothing: Stiletto's!

I was back at the lingerie bar again, but this time I actually managed to listen to some songs, instead of drinking, since by this time I managed to be wearing a "healthy glow". I stayed at the bar for about an hour, and then went home for a home-cooked meal.

I returned to Stiletto's somewhere around 7:30, and somehow a Paralyzer would up in my hands. So much for learning a few more songs.

We began playing around 9:00. The band sounded more together than the night before, but the improvement wasn't considerable. At least there weren't any major train-wrecks. Dave was picking material they didn't normally play, so Dave and Arleen had a bit of a refresher course as well.

I shouldn't hesitate to mention that Stiletto's bar is located adjacent to a retirement condominium. In fact, the condominium is about fifteen meters from Stiletto's back door. As soon as we started playing, the old farts called to cops on us and complained about the noise. This little ordeal happened last night, but it didn't stop us from playing...

That is, until the police decided to show up and check out our volume situation. Those old buggers called the police on us four times that night, which basically denotes once for every 40-minute set we played. When we started to play our final set at 12:30, we had only played our second song when the police called the bar and informed them of more noise complaints. Dave, Arleen and I were doubled over laughing. We weren't even playing loud! Here were some old fogies, with nothing better to do with their time except bitch, bitch, bitch. You'd have thought that they turned up their hearing aids to aggravate themselves (and us) even more.

First of all, it's the weekend. Second of all, the noise bylaw doesn't come into effect until 11:00 pm, so why are they calling the police at 9:30? Third, and lastly, who goes to bed at 9:00 on a weekend? Needless to say, we finished our show a bit early, but we played a few songs extra loudly to grandma and grandpa could hear us loud and clear. I recall Dave shouting: "Wake up, Grandma!" during a few of our songs. It was a nice humourous touch.

I think Dave and Arleen are pleased with my progress. They will be rehearsing this upcoming week, which means they will be learning the songs they hadn't played in months, plus learning half a dozen new ones. If I wasn't up to speed, I guarantee that they wouldn't be learning a dozen new songs for this weekend. Maybe they will have a bit more fun if they play some new songs instead of the ones they normally play four nights a week.

The first week of the tour is now over, and I am 300 bucks richer. Too bad my pay was already spent before I even got it. Next week, we will be playing for three nights in Yorkton, Saskatchewan, wherever that is. Until then, I will become a drum teacher for a couple of days, and an unemployed bum for a few more. Not unlike a superhero, next weekend I will instantly change from a geeky nobody into the "rock star" that I am. But for now, chilling out is a necessity.

Rock n Roll, Thongs, and Stiletto Heels

1999-04-23T23:51:00.000-06:00

I bought some new equipment today. I guess the money I was paid last night is already burning a hole in my pocket. I often think my desire for shiny new gear borders on addiction, and I have too many vices to worry about.

Tonight's show was at Stiletto's. It's kind of difficult to describe this bar. It's small, narrow and the main thing that gives this place a bad reputation is that all the waitresses sport (or shall I say, flaunt) the latest trends in ladies' lingerie.

I met "Sheena", (a bartender) while loading in equipment, and I would say she's a pretty cool person. She was tall, friendly, and if her hair were dark brown, she would look just like Sarah McLachlan. I've met her before, but I don't recall where. Perhaps she was a waitress at another establishment I have frequented in the past. I've killed too many brain cells during my alcoholic binges to know exactly where I first met her.

Dave and I moved our gear into Stiletto's at 2:00 in the afternoon. Stiletto's has stage lights for us, so setting up was much easier than the Alamo two days prior. The stage lights we lug around on tour are a major pain in the rear. We had all our equipment set up by 3:30. I remained at the bar, set up my drums, and then sat down for a quick beer. I then left for home (which is incidentally, two blocks away) and made dinner.

I found myself relatively bored at home, so within an hour I was back at Stiletto's listening to songs I was having trouble with, making mental notes, and tuning my drums. I wasn't until 8:50 that Dave and Arleen arrived to play the gig. In other words, I spent quite a few hours listening to those songs.

Tonight was mostly a rock gig, thank the maker. If I played another country gig I'd have to go home, play some Black Sabbath really loud, and cleanse my soul. Our performance tonight improved drastically. We, as a group are beginning to click musically, and the music is beginning to tighten. Dave and Arleen are quite happy with my amount of preparation and dedication to the band. Maybe I'm trying to earn myself a raise. Then again, maybe I'm trying to win myself a few new friends. I guess I want to show them that I take my music very seriously, and I don't want to be holding them back. If anything, I want to be pushing them.

Other than that, the rest of the night was uneventful. It was a good, solid night, there were no major screw-ups, and the bar was packed. In fact, Dave and Arleen were making mistakes, at least ones that I could identify after three days of playing with them. If this is a sign of things to come, by next week I'll know all the material, which is in excess of 150 songs. There might be a few more to add if I start singing, and it sounds like Dave and Arleen want me to start singing shortly.

Dave is excited about this summer. Next week, we are headed to Yorkton, Saskatchewan. The week after that, we are in Manitoba. Dave is also talking about the week we are going to play in Thunder Bay, Ontario. He informed me that the bar is huge. As far as I know, that won't happen until June, but I sure don't know how busy our schedule is going to be -- at least, not yet.

Two-Steps Back

1999-04-22T01:52:00.000-06:00

I managed to sleep in today. I woke up without my headache, and felt like a million bucks.

I went back to the Alamo around 2:00 in the afternoon. I spent some time listening to tracks I was not terribly familiar with, and made a few notes in an effort to speed up my learning. I want to know my material inside & out and in record time. Some of the keyboard tracks have been recorded very well -- for example, Phil Collins' In the Air Tonight sounds better than the original. On the other hand, Enter Sandman sounds like a bastardized version -- and in my opinion should never be played.

After listening to two dozen country songs, my brain was beginning to feel like mush. I took a quick break, tuned my drums, and made a few adjustments to the hardware. I left the Alamo at 4:30 feeling like I made some progress that afternoon. All I needed was to put my knowledge to the test -- and that would happen in a few hours.

I returned back to the gig a little after 9:00 pm, and made sure everything was on and working properly. There were already a few patrons there, but you will only find out if they are there to listen to you until you start playing.

By 9:30 we were playing our first set of the evening, and it felt rough. I was missing fills, cymbal crashes, starts and stops. I was getting a little frustrated. To make things worse, I was still messing up the songs that I had paid particular attention to earlier that afternoon. Sheryl Crows' My Favorite Mistake and Shania Twains' Honey I'm Home sounded disastrous. I felt like a first-class ass.

We crashed through the first set, and took a break to clear our heads, and rest our vocal cords. My friends DG and KH were there, sipping on a few beers. So I sat down with them and discussed "musical things", such as the PA sound, song choice, etc. They stayed for a few songs in the second set, but left soon after.

The rest of the night seemed to go by much smoother. Maybe I was more relaxed. Maybe it was because we were playing more rock music. The one thing that did change, was as the night went on, people became more receptive and responsive to our music. Even though there might have been only forty people in the bar, half of them occupied the dance floor.

We even got two encores! They wouldn't let us off the stage. We played a half hour longer than we were supposed to, and it was like we could do no wrong in their eyes. We finally managed to call it quits, and the house lights came on. Dave and I started discussing what the summer had to portend, about some of the bars we will go to, and some of the sights we will get to see. Arleen was busy talking to about half a dozen girls aged around 18-20. They kept telling her "You sound just like Sheryl Crow!"

We also heard quite a bit of "You guys rock", and "You guys kick ass!" This particular cute brunette was saying this to all of us when she turned to me and said "And you... You are soo cute!" All I could mutter was a modest "Thank you," before she walked away. Maybe she was embarrassed. There wasn't much I could do. I had work to do -- a PA system to deconstruct.

All the patrons were kicked out of the bar, and Dave and I got back to work, ripping down 2 tons of wire, magnets, metal and glass. It wasn't until 3:30 in the morning that we had all the equipment loaded up. We took a half-hour break and had a non-alcoholic beverage with the bar staff. The staff always seem to have stories to tell. They usually center around all the dumb drunken boobs that saunter in and stumble out of the establishment. Not us; we work, and we get drunk on adrenaline. Let the lushes have their booze, and we can have our music.

The Day I Became A Rock Star...

1999-04-21T20:12:00.000-06:00

Or was it a Country Music Star? I can't remember.

It has been a long day. I got the call from Dave at 2:00 pm. At his place is where our story begins. We packed up and loaded our equipment into his truck. Damn those road cases. Carrying all that stuff up a flight of stairs is definitely not my idea of a good time. Those things must weigh at least 200 pounds.

Somehow, we managed to pack all the equipment into his truck, avoiding injuries at the same time. I nearly broke my leg carrying that junk up the stairs. Luckily, I only managed to receive a couple scrapes and bruises though. We pulled up to the Alamo Saloon by 3:00.

So Dave and I set up the equipment in the afternoon. It took us longer than expected. While assembling this massive puzzle, I was apparently introduced to the owner of the "'Mo", although I never would have guessed that he'd own anything more than a beat-up trailer and a rusty old Impala. He looked more like a farmer or a bum with a drinking problem. He made some small talk with us between gulps of beer, and finally decided to let us get back to work within a few minutes. An hour or two had passed. We managed to set everything up, but we were still making a few adjustments to the PA, and making sure all the components were connected properly and not broken. Micing the drums turned out to be a little more tedious than we expected. There were feedback problems, and on top of that, we were having trouble obtaining a good drum sound.

You can probably imagine me, sitting behind my drumkit, incessantly hitting drums, while Dave is fooling around with a myriad of buttons and switches, trying to do some sound-engineering magic. While we were at this, and beginning to make some progress, the owner approaches us again and asks: "Could you guys cut that out? You're driving us crazy over there. If you guys wanna fool around, do it at 3:00 in the afternoon."

I was fuming. Thanks buddy. We were here at 3:00. When did you arrive? 10:00 am when the bar opened? I really wanted to give this ass-head a piece of my mind, but my better judgment told me to keep my mouth shut. Dave suggested we leave for the time being, and return at 9:30 to play the gig.

Wednesdays must be a lousy night at the 'Mo, since there weren't that many people there. My Mom & Dad showed up for a couple sets to show their support.

We played until the bar closed, and honestly, the night was uneventful. There were certain troubles with some songs, and a lot of the Country songs I'm not familiar with. Dave has assured me that things are going to change in the coming weeks. I certainly hope so. Right now, I have a headache the size of Gibraltar, and my ears are ringing incessantly. I am hoping that tomorrow's show will be better than today's.

The Day Before I Became A Rock Star...

1999-04-20T21:51:00.000-06:00

...And what a day it has been. I'm exhausted. I woke up in Lethbridge, now I am at home in good ol' Medicine Hat. Packing up took me longer than I had anticipated -- so did the cleaning -- and I didn't manage to get on the road until 6:00 pm. Strangely enough, I left the university nary a look back. Maybe I just wanted to get "outta there".

When I got into town, it was raining -- but a beautiful rain at that. It was warm, the air was humid, the sun shone through the clouds, and the brightest rainbow that I could ever remember arced its' colors across the grey-blue sky. I must admit, that moving all my belongings inside wasn't all that much fun. In fact, I don't expect to be fully unpacked until mid-next week. Either I'm too busy or too lazy -- it's your call.

Somehow, in the midst of things, I have managed to escape this house for an hour or two to have a beer with a few friends; the celebration of the end of an era, and the beginning of a new one.

So now I am in my room, my drums lay broken on the floor in their cases, awaiting to bless and curse the ears that may listen tomorrow. As I am writing, I am nursing a Grasshöpper, inspiring myself by listening to Led Zeppelin and Counting Crows. This is the first time I have been able to relax all day, perhaps all week.

Tomorrow, we play the Alamo Saloon. I do not recall how busy Wednesday nights are, but my parents said they would show up and bring 20 of their friends. Maybe it won't be so bad of a gig after all.