Rock Dichotomy Weekend

[The Bear Jew]

Or... maybe I could call this post: [b]How I Was A Rock Star, A Good Husband And A Good Grandson This Weekend."[/b] [i]By the way... this fucker is long. Don't read it if you get bored easily or just don't have time.[/i] Here's how it started: I knew this past week was going to be rough. Alongside my regular responsibilities (42-hour day job, spouse maintainance, etc), I also had two rehearsals, a recording session and a major family event to attend -- my grandmother's 80th b-day bash. We had 60 people flying into Philly from as far away as LA and Florida for this one, so I had to be on top of things. On top of this... I've been a little sick (headachey, bad throat). Starting Wednesday: Hit rehearsal at 7pm after working 8-5pm. Nailed the set until 11pm. Broke down the gear, went home and crashed at 1am. Thursday: Up at 6am, dressed and made it to work at 8. Talked on the fucking phone all day (I had to interview a lot of people for something I'm writing.) My throat got so trashed that I wound up with a voice about an octave deeper than usual. Rocked the day job till 5pm. Home by 6. Changed. Saw the ol' ball & chain for about an hour, and then rolled to a recording session at 8pm. Produced guitar tracks and vocals (not my vocals, thank god) until midnight. Home and in bed by 1am. Friday: Up and at 'em at 7am. Rolled to work by 8am, where I continued to fuck up my voice until 5pm. Friday was the first day I actually started hacking up some lovely light yellow/greenish lung butter... it's really repugnant. Left the fucking hell hole of suburban hell at 5pm and went to grab the gear in the van. Loaded the van in the rain, ensuring at least one more week of bad health for me. Lucky for us, the show was in Philly, so we only had to roll about 30 minutes through traffic to get into the center of town. The gig was on South St., which is one of the "hip" streets in Philly... it's where a lot of "alternative" peeps go to hang out, snort, smoke, drink, fight and pick each other up. You know... it's where the "cool" peeps hang. Unfortunately, traffic on South Street is also a regular problem, since it's a narrow, old, one-way street, and the sheer volume of pedestrians and drivers is very high on the weekends. That's why the police are fucking bugshit about the parking on South St. Now, the club we play on South St is an oldish one, but it's kinda small: Tool played there in '93. Nirvana played there. So has Everlast, Bardo Pond, Aimee Mann, etc, etc. Basically, it's a place where bands who are on their way up play when they are able to draw about 200 or so people. It's an established place, but it's not established enough for it to have a dedicated "Loading only" parking space in front of it. There are meters along the street, and then there is a meter-less, no parking zone for the last 20 feet of the block. This last 20 feet is generally considered the best place for bands to park and load gear for this club. Unfortunately, the police don't agree. This has become a bigger and bigger issue lately.... WELL.... On Friday night, as we pulled into this spot, three police officers in yellow rain slickers immediately approached the van and started yelling at us: The boys in blue: "Move this fucking thing! This is not a fucking parking spot! MOVE IT NOW!" Me: "Officers, we'll just be here for a minute.. we have to put our gear into that club right there. It'll take about five minutes. We promise." The B.I.B.:"Move it before we fucking tow it. I'm not going to tell you again." We moved. There were no legal parking spots within two blocks, so we did the next best thing: we parked in a pay lot about a block away. We then loaded our gear into the club, crossing streets, etc, in the rain. Wonder if this was helping my voice at all? Took us a while to get the gear in (obviously). I'm just glad we have good cases and covers for all of our gear, because it was STILL pouring. Inside, it was nice. The people who work at this room are old friends of ours. We go back years. We set up our merchandise, backlined our gear and chilled. The other bands arrived. Relaxing time. Finally, the crowd started rolling in... smiles, hugs, handshakes, etc. Drinking began. The first band played.... not bad... kinda prog, but not mature yet. They'll learn. Second band played.... these guys are our boys. We love them, but they're shady. The guitarist (super nice guy) is a big-time coke dealer. The band draws a LOT of shakey, sniffly fans who sweat a lot. They're a really dubious bunch. The band played. The place was packed. Not bad... but the guitar player has too many effects, which makes his guitar sound very thin and piercing. Not good. Towards the end of their set, we got ready, since we were on next. They got an encore... that's fine with us... more set-up time. Side bar: Why doesn't anyone besides my band understand that you're not supposed to break gear down onstage? Sheesh.. get it offstage and THEN pack it up. We do this in 5 minutes. These guys took 20. Dammit. We finally managed to switch over... Fucking rock. The place stayed packed, and, since the soundman is a good buddy of ours who knows all our stuff, he added all the right effects to our vocals at the right times. We love that guy. Did all my backing vocals in a crusty, Lemmy-like voice. Set over. Sweaty. Hot. Voice cooked. Get gear offstage. Pack gear. Drink water. Shake hands, get hugs. Wash face. Last band on... Very young... not too good. They'll learn. Got paid. Paid other bands. Got van. Loaded van. Home 4am. Shower. In bed at 5am. Saturday: Phone rings 9am. I snap awake. My wife's fucking friends must all die. Don't you dare fucking call my house before noon on the weekends! Since I was up and unable to sleep any more, I decided to help the missus clean up around the house. Cleaned until 1pm. That fucker was spotless. Got a kiss from the wife. Awwww. Went out and bought my grandmother a present for her 80th b-day. The people at the store looked at me funny when I picked out a delicate silver bracelet for her... that's probably because my voice had approached satanic depths of crustiness. Home again at 3pm. Had a snack. Picked up our roadie (who slept all fucking day, that lucky bitch) at 4:30pm. Met the other boys at 5pm. Rolled upstate for 2 hours, where we met the greatest fucking people in the world -- our friends in a little town called Wilkes-Barre, PA. We love this place... For the first time in a very long time, we were second on the bill... We normally headline, but we played with a national act... a mid-level stoner act who are on tour. VERY nice fellas from the mid-west. I'm actually a big fan of their stuff. Heavy. We mingled with the peeps... I was starting to feel a little sick and out of it... but whatever. That's rock n' roll, right? Watched some of the first band... crusty. I like, but they're yet another band who loads out slowly. Get off my fucking stage, you assholes!!! Load on, set up. People talking. Our roadie, the lovely Avy, our 6-foot Nubian princess (she hates when we call her that), had to punch some wise-ass kid in the face for trying to grab her ass. It was almost a full-blown fight, but I interceded. He was summarily removed from the premises with a black eye and a bloody nose. I love Avy. HAHAH. We finally got to play. These fucking people rock. Non-stop pit action... hot girls in front of me, screaming my name. Sweaty boys bashing into each other at top speeds. I will never cease to feel a huge adrenalin rush when I hear 120 voices screaming the inane lyrics of our songs back at us from the pit. End of set highlight -- two teenage girls in mini-skirts dirty dancing against me as I tried to finish our second encore. One kicked my cable out, and I couldn't even see where it went -- there were at least 20 people onstage with us -- so I just let the other boys finish the song while I danced with the girls. Being a rock star is a lot of work. I then grabbed the mic and told everyone to hang out for the headliner, because I think they're great. Load off the stage... I was soaked, and my voice was basically gone. I could only manage a slight baritone whisper. After the gear was packed, I went out to the van to grab a sleeping bag and lay down. I was finally, officially sick. I took some Contac Sinus medicine and a Halls cough drop. Avy, the giant roadette, joined me... I think she was tired of punching people who tried to grab her ass. She and I hung out and listened to this awesome stoner band from inside the van... We heard everything perfectly.... yes... they were THAT fucking loud. They're so good. Went back in the club after the set. Shook hands with the stoner boys. Got weird looks from a lot of people. See, I usually hang out with everyone after our sets, but this time I felt so bad that I had to get some rest. I later found out that everyone thought I was banging Avy. Yeah, right. She'd punch me in the nose (she likes girls). We thought it would be funny if we pretended that I "turned" her, so she and I slow danced to a bunch of fast songs that were played over the PA system. Then we sat on one of the ratty couches in the club together, and she put her long-ass legs across my lap and played with my dreads. I can't wait to see what kind of rumors this one produces. It oughta be good. A little controversy is good for a rock band. Hung out a little more... Got paid. We finally left around 2am. Two hour ride home. In my house at 4:30 am... Shower. In bed at 5am. Sunday: Phone rings at 9am. What is this, a fucking conspiracy? This time it was my parents, who were worried that we didn't make it home last night (there was a little snow and a LOT of ice in Northeastern PA the previous night.) My wife assured them I was home, and that we'd be at my grandmother's luncheon at noon. Got up... found "nice" clothes. Shaved. Dressed... Tried to speak. No voice. Good. That means I wouldn't have to argue with anyone at the luncheon (my family is kinda conservative), because I was physically incapable of doing this. Went to luncheon. Met family. Hugged grandmother, who told me I sounded terrible and that she wanted me to go sit down. Ok.. an 80-year-old woman just told me (31 years old) to get off my feet. Sat through tedious luncheon. Smiled at everyone. Let my wife speak and be charming for me. She's great at that. That's why I love her so much -- she's the nice one in our relationship. Everyone in my family kept saying, "You HOLD on to her, you hear me?" Yeah, I fucking know, you tool. Here's what I learned at the luncheon: 1. I'm a horrible derelict, and my wife is the only good thing that ever happened to me. 2. How I landed her, nobody will ever know. 3. I'm a scumbag -- a lousy provider who wastes his incredible writing potential playing horrible, screamy music that will never pay the bills or do anything worthwhile. 4.My wife is an absolute SAINT to put up with my shenanigans. 5. I'm funny-looking and an embarassment to the family. In spite of this, I took pictures with obnoxious family members who asked me the same fucking idiotic questions about my beard and hair that they always do... But I didn't say anything. Listened to my uncle make racist jokes. Took many pictures with my grandmother, who told the assmbled douchebags of my extended family that I am the BEST, sweetest grandson she has, and that if she lives another 80 years, she'd STILL never find another one as good. She also laughed and said that I'd get 20% more of an inheritance from her will if I cut my beard. SUCK ON THAT, ASSHOLES! Go back to LA. After the festivities, we went to my grandmother's house and helped her open presents (she loved the bracelet I got her, BTW). Went home and changed. Back to grandmother's house for dinner and to help clean up wrapping paper. Home and in bed at 11pm. Today: Up at 6am. No voice at all, but I'm at work. Rehearsal today at 7pm. FUN. I love the rock n' roll business.

[Tom Capasso]

I agree with your family until you start putting all this stuff in a book !!! I've seen families where they all ask the same questions - some are serious, and some are just breaking your chops. Hopefully a few were like that. And I'm with you on the recist jokes. I have two that do that, and I walk away. One has figured it out (well, sometimes). Sounds like the rock went well (it rocked !!). While the mosh pit has always been a mystery to me, singing your songs back to you is awesome !!! I've had that illness for 2 weeks. Hope you get some kind of break for the holidays. Isn't it cool how older people can read your heart? Tom

[The Bear Jew]

Hhaha... Tom, do you think anyone would actually want to read this nonsense (besides you)? I think my family wants me to "straighten up" (stop wearing, black, looking like a derelict and do "something" with my hair) and write for some huge publication like [i]The New York Times.[/i] Riiight. I don't see this happening any time soon. More importantly, it's not what I want. They have no idea. It's a good thing my immediate family accepts me for what I am. I'm pretty sure the others just don't want anyone to know that I exist, which is fine, because I don't want anyone to know that THEY exist. The racist stuff really bugs me. We're fucking Jewish, for crying out loud! It's ridiculous for Jews to make fun of other minority groups -- we're in the same damn boat! People hate us. Why add to it? And I'm RELATED to these tools. Blech. My grandmother rocks. 80 years old, and she still drives, bakes and teaches English As a Second Language (EASL) to Russian immigrants. She gets what I'm doing, but she also thinks I look a little weird. Oh well... she's 80. I can't blame her. She's the best. I hope that I can do half of what she does when I reach her age. I'll probably be pissing in adult diapers by the time I'm 50. Right now I sound a little like "Big Joe," the boss guy from [i]Reservior Dogs[/i] or "Mickey from the [i]Rocky[/i] series. I just coughed up something that had the consistency of gummi bears and the color of baby shit. I love being sick. It's so textural. The rocking was good, though. I think that makes everything OK in the end. I can't wait to rock some more.

[Gato]

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