Lies and the Lying Liars That Tell Them
The tres err… third part of our little Mexican jaunt. We are learning a bit about culture, the Mexican way and the wonders of Don Julio. Anejo, of course. Or is that Repesado?
I was awoken at the Holiday Inn in Toluca by the maid barging into my room just after 8:30 am.
“GO AWAY,DAMN IT!” I bellowed from the bed.
The No Moleste/ Do Not Disturb sign didn’t seem to have any effect. About a half an hour later my alarm clock went off and I hauled my ass out of bed. After a quick shower, I put my bus jammies on and headed to the restaurant for a quick desayuno of bacon, omlette and a bowl of Zucaritas (they’re Grrrreat!!!). About 15 minutes prior to departure, our bus arrives. As expected, we are traveling in a 40 passenger day coach. It’s not bad, the seats recline, there is a small enclosed galley that serves as the smoking lounge. We fill one bay with gear and our driver, Roberto, starts to load the luggage. I climb on board and quickly dose off for our ride to San Luis Potosi.
I wake up at a low budget Mexican truckstop. Pemex, the governement controlled oil company owns pretty much every fuel station in the country from what I could see. The fueling facilities are pretty modern, but the surrounding amenities can be somewhat old and hammered, like the restaurant or mini marts. It’s not like in the States or Europe for that matter, where there are large complexes of “travel plazas”. The idea is the same, food, smokes, drinks and even tequilla. Seems like most every place we’ve been has tequilla. No showers, Mc Donalds (which I lovingly call “The Embassy”) Krispy Kreme, lot lizards or trucker glory holes. Just fuel, some food and a few items in the mini mart.
Some enterprising young lads have set up an inpromptu wheel polishing business. They had four or five trucks waiting. At this point I notice sensors on every wheel. I take a quick peek in the cab and see a Euro style tachiograph. If you haven’t seen one, it’s a type of automated logging system for commercial vehicles. A piece of paper is inserted into the tach that logs all relevant info with info from the engine ans wheel sensors. Seems that Roberto has to stop every four hours for a rest break. We still can’t determine for how long we must stop. The party retreats to a dingy restaurant and I head to the more modern mini mart. I decide on my patented “cereal in a cup”. I invented, perhaps invented is too strong a term, let’s say I was instrumental in pioneering the cereal in a cup concept during load in about 20 years ago. The idea is simple, it’s easier to hold a cup while directing the locals, though at this time, it was about the only thing I felt comfortable eating in this envirnoment. BTW, I’d also like to take credit for “bacon and eggs in a cup” and the not so well recieved “french toast in a cup”. For the hot stuff, it’s really important to use a cup designed for it as the typical 16 oz Solo cup will fail with a hot item. A 20 oz paper coffee cup is perfect for both hot and cold “in a cup” style meals. I should have patented it. It probably would have done better than any of my dot com ventures did.
We’re about an hour from the hotel, but due to the manditory stop, we won’t make it in until about 1500 or so. That would be 3:00 pm, gringo… Still no info on today’s gig, though we did pickup an extra body, in the form of the promoter rep, Carlos Fernandez. We had a rough start, but he turned out to be a pretty cool guy, inspite of the fact he was employed by “Lying Bastard, Inc”, err I mean FR Productiones. Carlos immigrated from Cuba a few years prior, working for bands in his homeland. He’s saving to bring his wife and kids over. He’s not yet worked with anything on this scale, and has little more info than we do. Or so the translator says…. We are trying to schedule a production meeting with all the heads involved so we have some sort of idea of what the fuck we’ll be doing. No one except us seems to be taking it that seriously. And it’s starting to piss us off. Nothing worse than middle aged, uppity adult roadies with nothing worthy to complain about. The difference here is, that we’d at least like a slight fucking clue about what we would be doing for the next 22 days.
Just after 1500 we touch down at the Holiday Inn, our new home away from home. There seems to be an issue with the reservation. We have one, but no one has paid for the rooms yet. Not only that, I have no room. It seems that due to the travel debacle, I don’t have any rooms until my mistake arrival date. After some work by the translator, including a heated discussion with the hotel manager, we have rooms, except that for that night they are sold out. I’m given a room that was to go to one of the promoters. We decide to grab a quick bite at The Embassy. I have a hamberquesa doble con queso with papas al la franciese and a Coca. Grande. That would be a numero quatro.
On the bus ride to the gig, we see some familiar sights. Office Max, Wal-Mart, Sears, Costco, Sam’s Club. We start to think about shopping and things we need. Like some production information. It’s approaching 1600 so we make a list and postpone shopping for another day. The gig is a small amphitheater in the middle of a large urban park. The kind of park where if you were to go into the wrong section after dark, you may not come back out. People are already starting to que and chear the bus on arrival. We see our trailer, the production crews hammered old Eagle parked behind the stage. We park, exit the bus and head for the stage. As we pass the trailer, the genset has yet to be powered up. It’s approaching 1700, not a good sign. Band is due at 1830.
As we enter the stage, a “What the Fuck!” feeling overwelms us. The truss is down, the Cybers have yet to be loaded, the risers aren’t built and no backline is on stage. Fuck guys, the gig is TONIGHT. We find their fearless leader Jorge. Jorge says “apparently” the out from the night before didn’t end until 5 am and the crew is tired. The in didn’t start until the afternoon. He really doesn’t know, because he and Jimmy left shortly after the band did and didn’t get to this gig until after the in had started. HUH? The production manager left before the out was done and wasn’t at the next in? What the fuck is up with that? We question why we weren’t notified earlier and we have a band showing up in less than two hours. He explains that “it’s just the way it is” in Mexico. Bullshit. Bull-fucking-shit. We’ve all been down here before and while things are different, the crews are honest, hardworking and seem to enjoy their gigs. Jorge is from Chile and doesn’t think too much of the Mexican work ethic. The guy that wasn’t at that out, was blaming the crew he was supposed to be responsible for, then dissing them for not working hard when he was the one that bailed on the gig. Jorge again starts dropping names and telling us how much he’s done this. From the looks of it, he either hasn’t done a lot of it, or isn’t very good. Or he’s just a lying motherfucker. At least we have the same console set.
About 1800 the power comes up though lights are still far from being done. It seems that nothing in the lighting rig is labeled. The trusses are built from scratch every day, patched and gelled at every gig. Rather than going ballistic, the lighting guy starts labeling and gelling. Most of the crew could be pretty good, and they do work hard, they just need some exposure to how touring shows work. The backline guy again gives me two broken cables and tries to replace them with speaker cables. If he does it again, I’ll cut the ends off. I’m serious. Doors are at 2000, show at 2030. We check the band, which thankfully arrived over a half hour late. That goes pretty well. A focus is slapped together and just prior to doors, we appear to finish. Appear, would be the key term.
As squint boy starts to fine tune the Cybers, he notices that none of his conventional patches are comming up. They focused by turning on the dimmers, but the hard patch is completely backwards. It seems they set the dimmers up on the stage right side today, instead of stage left and mirror imaged the patch. Nothing is in the right spot. Initially, Jorge and Jimmy try to blame squint boy and the Whole Hog. We ain’t buying it. They fucked up and they are trying to cover their ass. They spend about 20 minutes trying to blame, then get started on the repatch. It’s about 10 mins to show, the venue has filled nicely and some folks are starting to get a bit antsy. About a half hour after the show was to start, it’s pretty obvious there is a problem. At one point, someone that I did not know came up and said in broken english, “Give me mic for announcement”. No I told him, we don’t do announcements. He leaves pissed, mumbling something in Spanish. We start the gig nearly an hour late, the crowd was pretty impatient. It’s a good thing we started when we did.
It ended up being a good show after all. It was time to load out when we found Jorge and Jimmy in their little hatchback, trying to drive around the bus. The out had barely started and they were leaving to the next gig in Aguas Calientes. It was a Friday night and there was another after show dinner, though at this point the crew has opted for a buyout and not to participate in the after show festivities. It’s too big a scene and they stay out way too late. We are shuttled back to the hotel, which just so happens to have the happening disco in town located just off the lobby. We order some food from the bar menu, catch last call after a couple of rounds. We keep seeing hotties come and go from the club. The lobby bar has closed and we decide to adjurn to our rooms. However, one of us has the idea of “taking a peek” in the disco. As we head to the door, a radio station guy from the gig notices us and we get “Elvised” into the club, no cover and a few rounds on the house. It’s a pretty happening place, though is rapidly thinning. Just before 3 am, house lights come up and we are are told to drink up and leave. It was a good way to end the day.
At about 8 am that morning, my phone rings. It’s someone talking Spanish. The rooming list has not been updated and they have the wrong room. I also notice a message on the desk I’d missed before. The phone rings again, same thing. Damn it. I get up and try to shower, though no hot water. Great. I read the message. It’s a fax of a photocopy of the promoters Citibank Visa card. Instant bad karma if I did anything with that. I decide to give it to the tour manager. I pack what little I took out and head off for breakfast. Shortly after, we depart for our showday in Aguas Calientes.
There was a slight change in travel plans to be made following the next show. They have us staying in the previous city for the days off, then traveling to the next city on the day of show. We basically do three shows, have four days off in which we will do a Televisa show in Mexico called Orto Rollo, basically a Letterman type late night show. They were only going to sent the band, and leave the rest of us in Aguas Calientes for four days. The hell with that. The change was that we would all spend Sunday off in Aguas Calientes then travel Monday to Mexico City for a Tuesday taping, departing to Queretaro the day prior to the show, then shows in Leon and Puebla. We basically have every Sun through Tues off, more or less.
It’s our first “arena” gig in Aguas Calientes. We get into the Fiesta Americana (or as we call it, the “American Party”) about 1400. It’s a nice hotel, best so far, though for Holiday Inns the others were pretty good. The hotel basically borders the town square to the rear, with a mall, public market and two bull fighting rings. A “minor league” ring and a pro ring. For a month every spring, the city is host to one of the largest fairs in the world. It will be nice to spend a day off here. But first, we must gig.
Instead of eating at the hotel, we head to the gig where we are told there would be lunch. We’ve had a difficult time getting fed and want to do a lunch buyout and take care of it ourselves. We get to the gig, doesn’t look bad except for a couple of things. Mon beach is on the wrong side of the stage. Jorge’s reasoning was that the artist entrance was on the other side and he didn’t want to block it. For this band mons always on stage left, ALWAYS. Now, the backs of the star and most of the other performers are to me and they must turn around to see me. I’m hungry, headache hungry. I ask Carlos about food. Fellipe, one of the promoters, is to bring food. Any minute now. He arrives about a half hour later, no food just batteries. I explode on Carlos. I haven’t eaten in about 9 hours and I’m pissed.
“You’re shit is fucked up man, you guys haven’t a clue. I’m tired of being fucked with.” I launched on the poor bastard, something I soon after regretted.
Carlos shot back. “You no tell me to fuck.”
“You’re right Carlos, I’m sorry”. I could see I had hurt his feelings, something I didn’t want to do. Not to him, anyway. We shook hands and he turned away with disgust.
Jorge, and the rest of our crew saw that go down. Jorge approached me with the usual “this is Mexico” rap.
“Jorge, I’m too pissed to talk to you right now, leave me alone” I barked.
“I won’t talk to you when you are this rude” was his response. He left the room. I didn’t mind pissing him off. He deserved it. Useless fuck.
I had to get out. I needed food and to get a handle on my anger. I’ve had anger management issues before and thought that most of it was behind me. I just went off and hate when that happens. I headed to “Thee Embassy” for Quartro Libre combos for the band crew. It’s basically a “Royale, with cheese”. It was about six blocks away, the walk did me good.
I returned about 20 minutes later, food in hand. I apologised to the FOH guy and lighting guy about my outburst. That was nothing, I was told. The band production manager went off big time on Jorge, Fellipe and Carlos just after I had left. It happened downstage center and stopped the in for a couple of minutes. Jorge launched into his usual “this is Mexico, I’m just like you, I do this a lot” speech and prod dude went off. Inches from his face, spittle flying, barking at max SPL. Jorge had this propensity to have a shit eating grin on his face. Our prod dude barked that if he didn’t shape up he’d knock that silly grin from his face. This prompted a meeting of the minds at FOH in which we could relay our concerns.
It turns out, Fellipe didn’t know Jorge prior to this. He typically uses another company but they were busy the first part of the week and was steered to Jorge. He’s basically getting raped. The cost of the production is US$10,000 per show, plus labor. We could have brought it from the States for that much. Someone is getting fucked. About this time, Carlos and Oscar (one of the other promoters) brought some awesome pollo al carbon. It’s like the non commercial version of El Pollo Loco. Charbroiled chicken, tortillas and salsa. Fucking awesome. It was to become my meal of choice down here. I still had 20 days left in country. I thanked Carlos for the food and apologized again.
The third gig…
Chain bags? We don’t need no stinkin’ chain bags.
The worthless backline guy tried to give me the same cables, I took out my Leatherman and cut the ends off of three of his cable and tossed them into the stands. I wasn’t in a mood to fuck around. He seemed shocked. I wanted this asshole fired. He just didn’t get it. I put the production on notice, from this point on, any bad cable would lose it’s connector.
Again, another great gig that was packed. There was a last minute hitch, however. Jorge informed me that on the next run, our PM 4ks would be replaced with an SM24 and a Europa. “What the fuck is up with that?” I demanded.
It seems that the 4ks were an added expense that he didn’t want to absorb. The SM24 won’t work like I want it for ears. No stereo cue or mix facilities for six stereo ear mixes. I provided a list of a few consoles, an XL4, Heritage 3000, PM4k, Paragon, PM1D or XL3 were the only acceptable choices. We’d been told that the 4ks were to be with us the entire time, now the story is changing. I now wanted this motherfucker fired, and approached the star and the tour manager with my request. I normally don’t do this sort of thing, but this asshole has gone too far. They agreed. If the production did not meet our standards, we’d pull the gig. At the out, Jorge and I got to talk. I basically busted his balls for all the lying and bullshit he was spewing. It turns out, his wife was involved with the PA and this being the last gig of the current FOH guy, he thought he could sneak a change in. Wrong again, asshole. I bet him a steak dinner that he wouldn’t have the same consoles at the next gig. I read him the riot act. He was trying to bullshit me and I wasn’t having any part of it.
After the out, we went back to the “American Party”, had some drinks and hit the sack. Our first three gigs were done. It felt like three months…