Now I know what it feels like to be the bassist for Linda Rondstadt, or something.
We got the show in Eindhoven, and after enjoying a morning out searching for coffee, the club opened up to us. by club, I mean palace. I should have had my first clue when they had an elevator to move our equipment up four feet.
The stage was damn fine, a huge room, and the a control room for the lights. Everything reeked of new. We got upstairs, or rather, took the card keyed elevator to the artists’ lounge, fully decked out with food and a separate office for the tour manager. Then we got to the dressing rooms, because the huge artist lounge on floor four wasn’t enough. On floor five, there was the band rooms, a separate room for each band complete with toilet, sink, shower, and living room area.
What the fuck? This is amazing… not only that, everyone was friendly, helpful, the meal was delicious (asian style vegetable and curry chicken I’m told was awesome), and then we heard the intercom! They paged us when they needed to let us all know something. I went to band heaven. Band heaven is apparently in Holland, where they make the best food.
There was small concern when a false alarm went off and delayed the show by about fifteen minutes. I thought they were gonna want us to go on before letting anyone inside, but again, the club exceeded my expectations, and delayed the show until we had a full crowd to play for.
Then, after only four songs, we were told last one. I got pissed. I played hard, and when that song was over, Brovar, our tour manager extraordinaire, let us know he’d made a mistake. Wow, cool! More good news! I Got to do one of those cool, “you wanna hear another one?!??!!” and get the yell back. And this is for the opener! Woot! How fun. Instead of one, though, it was three, to complete our set.
That was great. I showered so damn hard. Twice. This was just awesome treatment. I imagine pop stars get this constantly, and I can see how it could make you a snot, and it’s very alluring. Alas, tonight we play club Scum, and I think maybe the most awesome treatment is over.
Everyone did real well, we had a good time in our room with a pair of interviewers, like big ass rock stars, and that was about it. Then came the tour pussy hunt. Jason went to bed, Sean and I declined to enjoy the experience, and Raul went to watch and reported later on some pretty pathetic antics. There was cock-blocking, talking up, back stabbing, basically anything to try and get some poontang. This was not metal, this was some desperate ego trying to pretend it has a bigger penis. Fascinating.
Sean and I went to a fry shop and figured out that yes, the same jock assholes exist everywhere. No, we didn’t get messed with, just looking around and realizing we looked like scum and these kids looked like the popular kids in High School. And there were hundreds of them. We passed by a weird sex club with nothing but a door bell, but Sean kept me from finding out what lay past. Thanks Sean, you’re my conscience. Also, perhaps saved my pocketbook.
Back at the bus, people were drinking whiskey and getting tanked. They’re gonna have a nice morning. The stomach flu has moved on to JJ from Vile, as I’ve got to hear all about his watery stool and puking this morning. What fun breakfast conversation!
Also, at some point, those fools managed to get some giggling ninnies with breasts to accompany them to the bus. Here’s the thing… what kind of random girl would get on a bus with 20 horny guys all loaded on alcohol? Don’t answer that… just think about who would do that. I went to sleep.