"How can I live without you... If it means I gotta get a job?"

Lurking backstage behind Johnny as Camper plays the first set.

Hey kids,

I love ya, mang, but... how can I come back and live such a mundane existence after living the life of a rock star (okay, rock star GO-FER) for one measly day? Here I sit the morning after, sipping on one of David's leftover ginger ales and nibbling on broken crumbles of vegan choco-chip cookies that have all been pawed over by one or another musician during the night, thinking I should've run away with the circus.

shopping

Finally got the shopping list of hospitality items from the promoter at about noon on the day of the show. Gah. Your daddy was in more of a tizzy than I was, although I was slow-building towards some sort of anxiety episode. He said he knew how important this whole thing was to me, and that the promoter was being "an asshole." No, the promoter's a nice guy, just maddeningly LAID BACK.

So here it is, the modest rider in its entirety:

1 six-pack of Coke
1 six-pack of ginger ale (turned out being a five-pack, cuz I dropped one in the parking lot)
1 six-pack of lemon-lime Gatorade
1 case of bottled water
Tortilla chips and mild salsa
Pita bread and hummus
Turkey and cheese and a good loaf of bread
One lb. mixed nuts

Oh no, no, no. That wouldn't do. What the hell kind of "hospitality" is that? How can we get them to return to Tahoe if all they remember is a sad little table backstage with the above meager setup?

So it was off to Whole Foods, where I bought the above, as well as:

Fresh strawberries
A variety of Kalamatas from the olive bar
Baby carrots and celery sticks
Vegan choco-chip cookies
Vegan oatmeal raisin cookies
A variety of sandwich condiments
Pita chips
Three different kinds of locally baked bread
Essentials like ice, utensils, napkins, cups



So yeah, I overshopped a little, but I felt like Phoebe in the episode of Friends where she is in charge of cups and ice. I had to EXCEL in my tiny little corner of this vast production.


David contemplates the unusually cool and refreshing qualities of this particular Gatorade.

getting there

So I was told to be at the venue at 4 p.m. And of course when I get there at 3:20 I personally feel like I am already running late. I pull my truck up to the backstage area, and what do I see? Musicians and tech guys running around all over the place.

They weren't supposed to be there until 4:30! So I start unloading the groceries and the coolers, and Victor the bass player is already tearing into the bags of food as I set them down, while I'm trying to act nonchalant and coolly detached.

Johnny walks over and introduces himself (the only one who does...) and offers his hand.

Him: Hi, I'm Johnny! Me: (giggle giggle) I know! (giggle giggle) I'm Kelly! Your hospitality hostess today! (giggle giggle)

We then embark on some conversation that I can't even recount to you here. Something about the last time he played this venue (a private event that I was not invited to). Maybe something about the weather. I could never in a million years ever imagine myself being in a situation where this man would walk up to ME and introduce himself first. Strange, strange days.

I continue to set out the food and shoo the wasps away. The promoter doesn't even show up until after 5, so I feel like I am the sole local representative up to that point, giving Greg directions to the nearest water source, lending my lighter to Jonathan, discussing the wasp infestation with Victor, showing David how to open up the cooler. I manage to introduce myself to David and shake his hand, too. Saying something completely cliche about how much his music has meant to me over the years. And that he better eat before the wasps get it all. He is gracious and says thanks.

getting lost

The promoter guy finally gets there, and asks me to drive the band manager to the hotel so she can get everybody checked in, and then to pick up pizza. Thank god I had gotten the car detailed and it smelled like harsh chemical cleaners instead of baby vomit. He gives me convoluted directions, and I wind up getting us lost. She calls the hotel and gets us un-lost. She checks in while I sit in the parking lot furiously smoking and trying to mentally backtrack through downtown Truckee so I don't get us lost again.

She was supernice about the whole thing, but does manage to tell me as we wait for the pizza that we have to hightail it back to the venue: "No getting lost, okay?" Gah. I secretly converse with one of the pizza waitresses about the best way to get back to the venue, and we make it back without a hitch.

Meanwhile, I'm getting some backstage dish from her about the band. Which one's shy, which one's a control freak, who's already had a mini-meltdown that day, how she came to be their manager, the take from the previous night's show, etc. I confess to her that for about 20 years I have straddled the very fine line between superfan and stalker. She laughs and says there have been a few stalkers and I am definitely not in that category.

As we drive back into the parking lot, security stops us and asks if we're lost, or if we're with the band. Hahahahahhah!

the show




Disappointing turnout. It was a bitterly cold evening (in the 30s before the night is over!), and most of the people who would turn up at an outdoor event such as this are most likely at Burning Man. But the guys were troopers, and each band played an (almost) full set of songs. I felt rather self-aggrandized and self-important as I ran out to the crowd to dance with my friends, then dashed backstage to wipe up hummus spills and show yet another musician how to open up the cooler, then back out for more dancing and shouting along and taking pictures, then back to give the merch table gal a potty break.


A bad bit of video taken by me on my point-and-shoot

the poster

The poster was a hit. The promoter had asked me to bring an extra handful with me, so I brought about 20. As I'm standing in line at the bathrooms, an acquaintance walks by and says I did a nice job on the poster. Jonathan is standing in line behind me and says he hasn't seen it yet, so later I show him one that is taped to the merch table. He loved it! People gathered around the table ask if the poster is for sale. I shrug and look at the manager, and she whispers, "Yes. Sell them for $5." One guy handed her a $20 bill, took a poster, and then just walked away. Yow!



The manager arranged for all the band members to sign a couple posters for me, and they actually wanted a couple for themselves. Yow! I should do this shit for a living.

after the show

There was absolutely no reason for me to mill about onstage as the band breaks down their equipment, but I do, chatting with the promoter and begging him to try and bring the boys back for an INDOOR show sometime soon, making introductions between a local reporter/fellow Cracker fan and various people. In short, self-aggrandizing yet again and reveling in it. Oh, and I also cadge a free CD off of the manager, and get reimbursed by the promoter for my little shopping spree.

the macguffin

After I get all the leftovers packed up, the trash thrown away and everything wiped down, I stand out by my truck and think, "Dammit. If not now, WHEN?" I grab "the photo" out of my truck and walk back up onto the stage one last time. Johnny is walking off with a guitar case in one hand and a travel bag in the other. He sees me approaching and sets down his stuff and says, "Kelly!" rather warmly for a man who has spent most of his evening freezing his ass off onstage. He shakes my hand again, thanking me for taking such good care of them during their stay.

I show him "the photo" and explain that it's one that I took of him 15 years ago at a show in Golden Gate Park, and how I've taken it to many shows since then, on the off-chance that someday I would meet him and get him to sign it. We laugh at how bushy his hair was back then. He signs it for me, and tells me thanks for sticking with them for 15 years and shakes my hand yet again, one of those gooey, fuzzy, two-handed handshakes that melt my heart. I wish him well, tell him to come back to Tahoe soon, and then hurry to hop in my truck and go, hoping that this will be my last memory of the evening, before someone asks me to do something mundane like fold chairs or pick up cigarette butts.



So that's it. Maybe I wish this ended with a wild story of afterparty debauchery and drinksmanship at the nearby bar, but what I have is plenty, plenty. How in the world am I supposed to work on what I'm REALLY supposed to be working on today -- stupid marketing materials for a stupid blah-blah-blah. Stupid stupid. I'm a rock star go-fer, dammit. Don't you know who I am?