I'm not sure how many breaks Dutch was
giving himself, but they were few and far between. I went to bed,
half drunk, with Dutch at the wheel, plodding through the night, I
woke up about eight hours later and it was if Dutch hadn't moved. He
just seemed to keep driving as if in some sort of a trance. Scary to
think about it in hindsight..
We spent the entire day flaked out in
the RV, watching wrestling films, watching the barren landscape drift
along, eating junk food and drinking coke in the morning, the odd
beer in the evening. Daylight became dusk and the journey rolled on.
We finally stopped for dinner in some small town called Twin Falls,
somewhere in Idaho. It was like walking out of prison when we
climbed out of the RV. Oh for some fresh air.. We were also in
desperate need of hot food, anything would have done. The fact that
Twin Falls had an outstanding Mexican restaurant was just a wonderful
bonus.
It must have been around six pm by the
time we'd stopped. I asked Dutch when he was going to sleep, “Can't
sleep for long, we'll never make it to Denver for the show” came
the simple answer. I just pretended I hadn't heard that and headed
inside the restaurant. I hoped the Denver show was going to be worth
this fucking journey.
We were about two weeks in to the tour
and as usual some people in the band had been a little more flagrant
with their budget than others. Daz had managed to piss away most of
the money he'd brought with him and with there still being a week to
go until payday back home, he was now forced into being somewhat
thriftier with his bunce. We all sat down and ordered food, except
Daz, who just sat there quietly and drank the free tap water on
offer. As is the norm in the States, each plate of food ordered was
enough to fill a bear's stomach for a winter of hibernation and so
Daz ended up feeding on the sizeable scraps left by the rest of us.
The thing is, the daft cunt boasted upon leaving the restaurant that
his plan had worked magnificently. That fucked the rest of us off
big time and the fucker didn't get a crumb out of us for the rest of
the tour. I remember at one point later on Jay delightedly handing
over a half eaten plate of food to a waiter, waxing lyrical about how
good it was but that he couldn't possibly manage another morsel, all
before a drooling, famished Daz. Nothing like team spirit to get you
through the rigours of touring.
Considerably stuffed, we took a quick
walk in the cool evening air to help the food go down. Twin Falls
was exactly as it sounds, a little settlement next to a large ravine
with two waterfalls, although the river was dry and the falls were
little more than a trickle. It was a stunning sight all the same.
We stood there admiring it for twenty minutes or so before
reluctantly climbing back aboard the RV. There would be no partying
tonight, everyone was exhausted. And so Dutch rolled on through the
night.
By the time we arrived in Denver it was
already dark. Thirty six hours we'd travelled to get here and we had
to load in as soon as we arrived since we were a little late. Denver
was another of those places I'd been looking forward to seeing since
it's not the kind of place I'm likely to end up on holiday. When I
come here as a tourist it's always New York or California, but places
like Denver still interest me and it was one of the destinations I'd
earmarked when we first got the tour dates through. Of course, as is
the fucking norm, the club we were playing was nowhere near the inner
city. It was just on some faceless long stretch of heavily
trafficked road that could have been anywhere. There was the odd bar
here and there but nothing of sightseeing interest.
The atmosphere within the entire
touring camp seemed a little subdued, which is hardly surprising
after the epic journey we'd made. Even Chris, Soilent Green's tour
manager, was quiet, and he's normally someone you can't beg to shut
up, constantly cracking jokes and taking the piss out of people,
normally us Limey's and specifically Gords. We loaded in and
afterwards slumped into the backstage room. The compulsory bottle of
beer was opened but drank with lacklustre.
The venue was quite a big place, with a
balcony looking down over the stage, and it was full of long haired
death metallers. Not a fucking chance tonight! I went to check on
Lasse who was sat reading a book by the merch table. He looked
pissed off. I guess this wasn't what he'd signed up for. I could
feel the strain between us. It's fucking hard when you're tour
managing your own band, trying to take care of everything, feeling
responsible for everyone and still trying to enjoy the tour yourself,
never mind put everything into the shows. I was starting to get
pissed off with the sour look on Lasse's face. I felt responsible
for him because he's my friend and I'd brought him along, and I could
feel it starting to cause tension within the ranks. This is what you
call cabin fever..
Of course to make things better, the
show fucking sucked. I could sense that the normal level of energy
and animosity we have was sagging significantly. We played to a near
full room but it was a room full of people standing there looking
like they hated us. In fact, some brave cunts on the balcony above
were spitting at us and throwing beer cans as we played. John
offered each and every one of them on stage but received no takers.
I would've loved to have seen that go down. I could tell by the look
in John's eyes that he was ready to kill someone. He has that look
every now and then..
Nile had a great show by the look of
it. I watched them for a while whilst drinking a beer I wasn't in
the mood for. They sounded half decent again and the crowd were
going wild. As privileged as I knew I was to be travelling around
this country, playing shows and getting paid and fed, I was starting
to wonder what we were doing with this band. I mean, we just seemed
to take any tour offer there was going, and maybe that was something
we'd have to think about in the future. As much fun as it could be
battling idiots in the crowd night in, night out, it could get to you
now and again, especially after and energy sapping journey like the
one we'd just made.
All the same, the drive to Omaha,
Nebraska was a breeze compared to that we'd just taken, and we'd
filled the bus with booze. Me and Lasse had gone to a nearby liquor
store and bought a case of beer and a bottle of Captain Morgan. On
top of that someone in the band had stumbled across a bottle of rank
tasting Slo Gin. I felt like getting fucking shit faced tonight.
The trouble is, I wasn't in the best of moods and that isn't a good
place to start when you're drinking copious amounts of booze...
We were travelling through the night
again, and we were all drinking like there was no tomorrow. The
music was blasting, Dutch constantly shouting at us to turn it down,
us ignoring him as we passed the bottles around. The beer was warm
and tasted like piss but nobody cared. And then a simple discussion
suddenly flares up into something way beyond reason.
Gords is one of my best friends and
sometimes it felt like it was the two of us taking most of the strain
for the band. Unfortunately this lead to the two of us bickering
every now and again. The trouble with this occasion is that we were
both pissed as farts. Gords starts on about the record label,
moaning and complaining about something or other. Standard stuff
really. But then I start to feel like he's turning it on me, having
a go for not being on top of things and fighting the label enough on
the band's behalf. This completely fries my piss since it seems I
spend my entire life trying to make this fucking band work. A light
bickering soon flares up in to a full blown argument and the two of
us are getting very emotional. And then a red mist comes over me and
I lose my mind for a brief moment. I'm sat at the lounge table,
penned in by Kev who is trying to hold me down, punching the fuck out
of a twenty four can box of beer, smashing my fist into it with all
I've got, screaming at Gords, “Why is it always fucking me? Why is
it always me that has to do everything for this fucking band?!” I
feel myself completely lose touch with sanity for a few seconds, as I
continue to pummel my fist into the cans of beer. Kev is trying to
calm me down as everyone else stands back looking on. Gords is by
now close to tears, Dutch is shouting at us, asking what the fuck is
going on. It all calms down as abruptly as it started and before
long we're all hugs and sorrys. I feel like a bit of a twat, but at
the same time justified in my outburst, although quite why I feel the
need to damage my own hand is beyond me.
After that the party is pretty fucking
dead and we all stumble to bed in sombre mood. Lasse, completely not
reading the situation, then thinks it funny to pull me out of my
upper bunk by my hair as he's on his way to bed. I go fucking mad,
telling him in no uncertain terms that if he does that again I'll
plant my boot firmly in his fucking coupon. The knob just lies in
his bunk, sounding upset, asking me if I'm serious, like he's really
hurt. Jesus Christ, I feel bad again now. Fuck this shitty night, I
need to sleep.
I wake up in the morning to find the
van is parked up by some roadside service station. I know things
are going to get weird between me and Lasse if we don't address last
night so I crawl into his bunk and give him a hug. And then I
go to Gords' bunk and we do the same. It feels better this morning,
as if the air has cleared somewhat. Maybe last night is exactly what
was required. Does good to blow the cobwebs off now and again.
Dutch is worried though. As we sit and share a coffee on a bench in
the parking lot he tells me he thinks we should stop drinking. He's
serious and all. I tell him we'll be ok, it's just the way we are
sometimes. He clearly has no understanding of where I'm coming from
though, he just shakes his head, “I thought you were the sensible
one!” “I am” I tell him, although I hear how half-assed it
sounds..
We enjoy the rest of our black coffee
in silence...
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment