Welcome to My Nightmare

Remember the movie Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray is stuck re-living the same day over and over again and can’t do anything to stop it? I was recently involved in a project that was the house of worship audio version of that movie.

Being a weekend warrior for the last 15 years has generated many crazy stories, but this one tops them all. The itinerary I received from the production company stated “six piece band, company party, 13th floor of the … hotel, sound check @ 6:00 p.m.” My wife of 27 years and I carry a one-ton rig in a utility trailer that I pull with my day-to-day AV install company truck. We pull up to the hotel at 2:30 p.m. and begin questioning the staff as to where to load in.

I’m a 20+ year employee of Clair Global working for a popular Cuban born Miami resident and her 15 piece band as A2. (I’ll leave out her name to avoid litigation, but you can probably guess). We brought some gear with us (Board groups, etc), and got some locally (stacks and racks). We also carried a 45k.v.a. Transformer to interface with local 220 volt power (mostly generators).

This didn’t happen to me but to someone that I know well. One of the band members had brought a groupie back to the bus, and after they had finished, she used the loo not knowing about the rules. Driver told her there was a $200 fine as he had to empty the tank. Since all she had were the (very skimpy) clothes she was wearing, she suggested they come to some other arrangement, and vanished with the driver into the lounge at the back.

There is a National Arts Festival in Grahamstown, South Africa, held each year, and my company got the contract for the “Blues/Rock” venue for a few years. This was quite a challenging venue, takes about a 1000 PAX with a squeeze, and with the best of South African bands showing their stuff over a 10-day period. A band, whose name I won’t mention, requested a DAT recorder/player on their rider. DAT at the time were just starting to make inroads.

I was traveling home from Europe after six months on a cruise ship, just getting settled on my third flight of the day in Chicago bound for Toronto. There was a line-up to takeoff so we had been sitting on the tarmac for about 20 minutes when I started to fall asleep.

The gig is a kickoff concert for orientation week at the local University. No problem, 700 to 800 kids with a four-piece band. Well, they don't have a large budget for the show, which will be outside under a tent, so we'll need a medium-sized PA with monitors and a light rig. Nobody wants to rent a generator, so we'll use the outlets that are used for plugging in cars.

I have never considered anything that has gone wrong, or changed, to be a nightmare. It has always been a learning experience, and then I keep it in the back of my head for the future. However, I just got back from a nightmare.

So, there I was, minding my own business eating dinner at around 7:30 at night when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number on my caller ID, and thought to myself, maybe a new client. I answer the phone, and they began to tell me that they were promoting a show in my area. I asked for some details. They told me they needed a PA for four bands, and that it was to be held in a giant “steel” circus tent.

A few months ago, I was hired to do a gig for a company I had not worked for before, but heard a few horror stories about, mostly pay related. We were carrying most of the gear, but subbed out local crew, most of the lighting, racks and stacks and some backline. First, there was a problem with the promoter paying the balance when due, and the local crew (who had a five-hour call) sat around for three hours (after unloading the local gear for the first hour). Finally, the payments were made and we started unloading our truck.

I don't like taking parties or bar gigs, but sometimes you have to pay the bills, right? So there I was loading gear into the back of my Toyota Prius. We were loading for a venue that did not provide parking, and a rooftop gig meant a very small amount of gear. Of course, I was reassured there was an elevator. Fortunately, years of experience told me to look at this venue the night before, which by the way was just about an hour after I got the call to do the gig. Yup, no elevator!  

I had helped a friend do a little work on his father’s home, and in the process, injured my hand. I didn’t think too much about it, and figured I simply jammed or possibly broke a finger. Weeks passed by and the finger didn’t hurt any longer, however, the tips of the ring and middle fingers didn’t work properly, not to mention a nice-size lump was growing on my palm.