Baby, I can make you a star
The next day was a well deserved day off. Normally on my days off, I try not to hang with most of the party or with only limited members. I’m not a very social animal. My phone rang at what seemed to be crack of dawn. It was actually 12:30 in the afternoon. Ten hours sleep, nice job, dude. It was lighting dude telling me to get my ass to the bar, they had American football, NASCAR and baseball on the tube. I came right down.
There were four others in the bar, three guys and a girl. The guys all spoke english, in fact, they were expats that claimed to be working for Texas Instruments just outside of town. The woman was the Mexican girlfriend of the guy that seemed to be the leader.
Matt introduced himself as a “lead engineer” at TI. The two others introduced themselves, claiming to be from Boston. Having spent a good part of the last few years in that area, thanks to my buddy Kenny B, I took them for their word. They seemed to know the Northeast and they had the accent down. A bit too well I thought. Matt was a dead ringer for Gerald Rainy, the lead in the TV show “Major Dad”. The others had a similar military/ law enforcement look. Something didn’t seem right to me.
Sunday is a relaxing day in Mexico. Family day. The mall and the plaza were happening, packed with people. Matt mentioned that there was a bullfight at 4 pm. I hadn’t seen a bullfight live, though I’ve gigged in several bullrings in Spain. We agreed to go while watching the Red Sox in the playoffs. Those three guys didn’t seem like engineers. We feasted on appetizers and Bacardi Anjeo for the better part of the afternoon. Members of the party wondered in and out of the bar, some agreeing to attend the bullfight. We set a time of 3:30 to leave for the bullring.
We meet in the bar for the departure to the bullring. At 3:40, the rest of the party, the band members arrive. They order food and drinks. Uhh, we were set to leave 10 mins ago. They don’t care. Neither do we. We leave at a quarter til, leaving a few behind. The walk to the bullring is great, through the public market and square. It’s a part of Mexico you don’t see if you only visit Mexico City. It’s like visiting the US, and basing all American life on a single trip to New York City. We were in the Kansas City of Mexico, maybe the Little Rock.
We arrive at the bullfight, taking the “rich guy” seats with padding. There are waiters to attend our every need. Corona is only a buck, chips are a saw buck. There are six bulls set on the schedule. We are warned it will be bloody. If you haven’t seen a bullfight, it’s hardly a man vs. beast affair. First, the bull is stabbed in the back of the neck and sent into the arena pissed off. If the matador was in the ring then, the bull would kick his ass. They make the bull run around pissed off for a few minutes, bleeding him in the process and tiring him as well. When he slows, a few assholes on horses come out with spears and stab him in strategic parts of the neck, furthering the blood loss. At that point, the matador appears with some spears and adds to the bleeding. By the time the cape and dude appear, the poor animal is nearly bled to death and in shock. The matador then toys with him, finally delivering the deadly sword down the nape of his back. Hardly a sport. I was rooting for the bull. There were a few bright spots, though. In the second “fight” (I use that term loosely) when the mules arrived to drag the dead bull carcase away, an attendant was trampled, quite severely as he tripped over the dead bull while the mules were about to drag it off the ring. The second was when the horse and spear dudes came out, the bull was so pissed that he lifted a horse off the ground, catching a toreodor in the saddle and trampling him. Good for the bull. After the third “fight”, I’d had enough. I could handle some bulls getting killed, as long as some humans shared the risk. Driving my go kart at 100 mph plus on a road course is more dangerous than this.
We did learn some things during the “fights”. Matt was former Air Force, so he said. I thought he was CIA or NSA. Lighting dude thought DEA. He was definately law enforcement, along with his buddies. The hair, the look, the act. He wasn’t a microprocessor engineer. I know engineers, and he ain’t one of them. Nor were his buddies. The FOH guy and me spent the remainder of the evening in the square, eating and drinking. After dark, I hit the “heavy metal” club in hopes of getting laid. No such luck. By 9 pm the scene had died, by midnight it was a graveyard, even at the clubs. I retired to my room anticipating our trip to Mexico City in the morning.
I was ready to head to Mexico City the next Monday morning. We had lost a member of the party, the translator. She was only meant to be with us for the first three dates and those were done. Some wondered how they would do without her. Frankly, I’ve been in hotter spots in the world without a translator and didn’t see a problem. We left just before noon and arrived at the “American Party” in the Reforma late that afternoon. Usually I’ve stayed at the El Presidente in Polanco which was described to me as the Bel Air of Mexico City. I know my way around the neighborhood, there’s a Starbucks across the street and the Mexican joint across the street has great food and will open the bar after hours for the gringo bands that come by late night. There is also the Hard Rock about a block away.
But this time we were a few clicks away, in the Reforma. There is really more to do in that area (and the rooms are cheaper) and it’s closer to the famed Zona Rosa where most of the strip clubs, “massage” parlors and restaurants. There is also a Tower Records and Carl’s Jr. The band is going to a well know Argentinian steak house but I’m not up for it. The other crew guys find a great Cuban joint called Cantina Latino a block from the hotel. Across the street there is a Dunkin Donuts, KFC and Burger King. The location isn’t bad, the minibar is well stocked, I just hope they have enough hot water. That’s becoming an issue here. The Cuban joint rocks and the staff are hotties. The drinks are stiff, the pulled pork and black beans and rice are killer. It’s my new fav Mexico City hang and decide to take a stroll around the ‘hood. I return to the “American Party” and head to the bar where a few of us close the place. There is a TV taping in the evening the next day and even though it’s lip sync, I’m going to go anyway just to make sure everything is OK. The whole crew decides to go, just in case.
I wake late morning the next day and head to Dunkin Donuts for a couple of glazed chocolates and a “Great One”, black. That’s what I had when I was a dot com weenie boy staying at the Westin in Prov or at the Berger spread in Westboro, I had to have the Dunkin. Except that in Mexico they don’t have a size “Great One”. Only small and large. Large is 16 oz. Must be a third world country, no 32 oz coffees. I decide to take a stroll during which I run into squint boy. He’s just got a fresh squeezed orange juice (naranja for those keeping score) for about 30 cents US. It was basically four pesos for a big cup of fresh juice. Hell of a deal, considering the hotel or American fast food joints were about American prices or better.
We decide we need some things from Wal Mart and grab the hotel car service and head to the store. As we arrive, I see there is the Luis Diaz show car. Just as a reminder, I’m totally hooked on open wheel racing, particularly Champ Car style racing. There is a Champ Car race the next weekend in Mexico City and we are planning on being back in town the day of the race. I’m pretty excited, though not about Diaz’s show car. The race is a huge todo in the city. All over the news, papers and billboards. On race day there were nearly a quarter million people at the race. I try to make at least two Champ Car races each year, Portland (my home karting track) and Vancouver. I’m hoping to make the race the next weekend.
We venture into Wal Mart and start shopping. I normally wouldn’t go into a Wal Mart, but this is Mexico. It’s just like a Wal Mart here, but I didn’t expect any different. In fact, the reason we went was because it is so predicable. We head back to the hotel, grab a spot of lunch and ready for the taping.
Televisa is a huge studio complex. Pretty much ground zero for all those cheesy Mexican soap operas and what is apparently the smash Mexican hit, Big Brother. A fleet of a few Suburbans shows at the hotel to fetch us. The crew takes the first one. We are heading to a show called Orto Rollo. The band had basic tracks of our show in LA a few weeks earlier and wanted to re-record the vocals and guitar tracks and use those for the taping lip sync. The show does not want to do this live. They aren’t quite finished yet. We have good mics with us, courtesy of the artist’s AT endorsement and a Mac with Performer and a Motu 828. Enough for them to record. The star got his start as an engineer/producer working on what was to become the record holder for the longest charted record on the Billboard charts. He also had several hits with his own band. With a Powerbook, a couple of AT 4033s and a Motu rig, they were in pretty good hands. Problem was, buy the time we had to leave, they weren’t done. They have to bring it with us. Still need to mix it and the boss says it’s not quite right yet.
We arrive at Televisa about a half an hour before the band. There are an assload of young kids, particularly girls. Basically pre teen or early teen. Didn’t think much of it. We get our credentials and are escorted into the complex. It reminds me of NBC Burbank or Television City in LA. All the hubbub seems to be from the premier of Mini Espies en 3D, or Spy Kids 3D. Some of these young girls should not be dressed as they are, but I wouldn’t mind seeing their moms in the same outfits. We are lead to Foro 6 where our show is shot. It’s live, not live to tape. We are to do a camera blocking and rehearsal. We reset the band gear, it wasn’t right and hang to see how things go. The band arrives and needs to finish the mix and burn a CD of the two songs. They set up in the dressing room and mix using the PB speakers and some Sony Z600 cans. The singer and the keyboard player are quite the DAW ops. I’m kind of impressed. They finish and burn a CD and send it to the control room. We head back to the sound stage.
It was the damnest camera blocking I ever saw. There were no cameras involved. They lip synced the two songs and the director and hosts took notes. Typically when this is done, they do a dry run with shot angles and the like. I guess these guys didn’t do it this way. We do notice one thing during the blocking. It seems as though the mikes are on and the dudes are mixing the live synced vocals for the broadcast. In the house PA it sounds hollow, I mention it to our house guy who trys to ask the sound guy what’s up. They get the point that the mics aren’t to be on during the performance and all is well. There are still a few hours until the show, we opt to head back to the hotel. Only prod dude and lighting dude will return. Lighting dude wasn’t meant to do the show, but the TV staff didn’t know the music. There was no need for sound dudes. It was a lip sync and they had it all under control. We returned to the hotel where I watched Larry King talk about the Sigfried and Roy tragedy then hit the Cuban joint for dinner. FOH guy was going to call it an early night. I return to the hotel to close the bar and the bar staff asks what show we had done. They put it on in the bar and we all watch. Turned out pretty good. I meet Jeff, a chicken processor salesman that’s working on a “deal bigger than Tyson”. Jeff works for a company that makes the machines that turn live chickens into food products. He’s from Kansas City. Missouri mind you, not Kansas. He’s kind enough to by a few rounds. Soon after, I retire to my room.
Tomarrow we head to Queretaro. At this point we are actually having a pretty good time, even though the production has been kind of fucked up.