Mas Que Nada
Getting to be about time to wrap up the old Mexican adventure. This will be the final chapter of the saga. We were 23 days into it, though it seemed like 23 months. Even though some of the gigs were under trying circumstances, all of the performances were well received. When you went to these towns and did this size show, those were the places bands gigged. Not too many of them were pop bands from the States. The band, while only used to playing a few gigs in a row with each other a time or two a month, was really starting to smoke. Good band, and good folks to boot.
We boarded Roberto’s ETN bus for the last time on a fall Wednesday morning outside the Gran Melia. The previous night’s celebration went well. We all met in the Black and Black steakhouse/ bar adjacent to the hotel and they locked the doors and let us carry on until the wee hours of the morning. We were glad we were gigging. We were glad it was almost done. There were still some issues with return transport that the tour manager and HLB were working on. For instance, I had a 7:25 AM flight from Mexico City to San Fransisco, then continuing onto Seattle after a brief layover and possible cavity search at SFO. Actually, I quite like going back into the States through SFO. The Customs staff is pretty well together and it doesn’t take that long. I like early morning flights, but this time I was going to be in Vera Cruz, nearly six hours from Mexico City. A few others in the party had similar issues, though the flights were later that morning. Squint dude had to get back for the load in of a gigantic corporate gig the following morning. Something needed to be done.
It was solved by flying the rest of the party early morning from Vera Cruz. Except for me. I was going to be shuttled back to Mexico City immediately following the gig in one of the fine Suburbans HLB used. I can think of better ways to die than in a sleep induced car wreck in the middle of the night in Central Mexico. At this point, I just wanted to go and didn’t wish to try to change my flight. It was floated that I might stay an extra day in Mexico City, but I was ready to go home. There was still the nagging little detail, we had one more gig to go.
The ride to Vera Cruz was scenic. A bit long for my taste, but scenic. We hit a bit of rain in the mountains but still managed to make the trip in just over five hours. Right in time for the press conference. A few of us gathered in the lobby bar and had cocktails and snacks while watching the World Series. We’d been following the playoffs and the Series. It gave us a taste of home. Others ventured to the beach. The hotel was an “American Party Jr”, located right on the beach in Vera Cruz. Vera Cruz is a happening beach town, located on the Gulf of Mexico. The hotel was OK. The location was awesome. There was to be an “all hands” end of tour dinner at a local seafood joint, but I didn’t find out until a fifteen minutes before we were to leave. I politely declined. I ended up at the Bennigan’s across the street from the hotel which turned out to be quite the happening place. I retired back to the hotel and retired for the evening.
When I got up the next morning, we still didn’t know what time the call was. Carlos had split to the gig and wasn’t answering his phone. I made the 10 minute walk up to the “Embassy” for a doble hambergeso con queso and a grande papas a la francase. Con Coke, of course. That’s a numero quatro, by the way. On thing about the Arches in Mexico, they didn’t have the fish burger. They did have a few chicken sandwiches we don’t have, but no fish. Byt he time I made it back the the hotel, most everyone was still lounging on the beach. We had decided to do a 3:30 depart regardless of what else was going on. That way we could have a 6:00 band, 7:00 doors and 8:00 show.
The gig was in a modern convention center exhibit hall space. Just like in Orlando, San Fransisco, LA or Seattle. It was a pretty big thing for the three local radio stations. The gig had been sold out for a few weeks. The odd thing was that we were only taking up about 20% of the entire floor. There were freestanding cubicle style dividers separating us from the vast expanse of the exhibit hall. When we arrived, pretty much everything was ready for us. Chucho went over with Carlos just before noon, the production loaded in a 10:00. They were all cabled and ready to go. There was another pleasant surprise. Our consoles had not been used since Guadalajara, or about a week. That was the story, anyway. I was surprised as Los Tucanes de Tijuana, the very popular Mexican band that owned the production (though the company was called Soundset) had gigs during the time we weren’t using the gear. As I started paging through my automation presets, it became apparent that the guys charted every setting on the console, but were unaware that I was using some fader recall and other automation features. No matter, it was a very nice gesture and I appreciated it. The settings were pretty close, in fact had I not used the automation, I never would have known. I had expected to come into a zeroed console and this was very welcome. It’s not that big a deal to start from scratch, as most of the eqs are bypassed, but it is six stereo mixes with nearly everything in every mix and panning as per each performer. When we start from zero, it takes a song or two for me to dial it in. And it’s a pretty hectic song or two.
We still had an hour to kill, so we hit the American style mall next door. We killed time going from store to store. I picked up a CD of lounge bands doing Nirvana covers including Karel Marik and Gringo Floyd. I’d never seen anything like that in the States, except for perhaps Lounge Against the Machine or that Aussie Frank Bennett. We did some other shopping, got esperesso and ice cream and headed back to the gig. The soundcheck was pretty uneventful, except for trying to explain to a local radio station that they couldn’t broadcast the gig through a Beta 87 radio mic at FOH. They were going to put a Beta 87 U4 at FOH and simulcast the gig. Televisa and Telemundo were going to do the first three songs (with board feed and beta cams), so these guys thought they would do the gig. I found the receiver and was intstructed to power it down and unpatch it, keeping my eye open for other such devices.
We were just about to start the final show of the Mexican tour when we discovered that HLB wasn’t around. Not that it mattered, at this point I was glad not to have him around. I didn’t trust the guy any further than I could throw him. If I was really motivated, I could probably toss him 5 or 6 meters. This time, though, final settlement was due. What do you know, HLB had the flu and was still in Mexico City. He wasn’t going to make it to the gig. It was about 10 mins before show and no one had told us. And he owed the band dough. He claimed he had wire transfered the money earlier that day to the agent, even though the deal was to pay the band that night. We held the show while he faxed confirmation to the hotel and a runner was dispatched to get it. I found out a couple of weeks later that HLB screwed the act on some cost issues. At that point, everyone saw what the crew had been saying all along. Don’t trust this motherfucker. Ever. I don’t think it’s likely we’ll be doing any gigs for him, though a real promoter down there has expressed interest, based on this tour.
We do the show, it’s killer. There is to be a huge after party but I can’t go. I need to get to the airport. It’s almost 11:00, I say my goodbyes and look for the Suburban. He went to fuel and check the tires. About 11:30 he returned and we headed to the hotel. Chucho was going back as well. We agreed to depart at midnight. At 12:10 I called Chucho, letting him know that we were leaving. he came right down. We loaded up and headed out. One stop first. Back to the gig to pick up three others. Chucho grabs shotgun, the three amigos grab the back seat and leave me with the middle. It’s good being the gringo…
I was slightly buzzed from our post gig celebration, so I took two Dramamine and racked out in the middle seat. About two hours into our journey, I was abruptly woken up by an intense rattling. We got a flat. Good thing he had the tires checked… I offered to help, but they refused and motioned be back into the Suburban. In twenty minutes or so, we were on our way, but first stopped at the nearest truckstop. It was about 3:00 AM at this point and Mexi tire dude checked us out and gave us the green light to go. We were still perhaps three hours from Mexico City and I needed to check in by 5:30, no later than 6:00. I didn’t want to miss my flight.
The boys in the back had spread out, using my computer bag, luggage and day back as a make shift bed/ pillow. I had some breakable stuff in the bags and retrieved them from the back. These guys racked out two across the luggage in the back, one in the rear seat, me in the middle seat and Chucho in the front. Driver hombre was starting to get White Line Fever. He developed such a bad weave it rivaled Letterman’s old hair piece. He stopped for coffee twice and Chucho was trying to keep him awake. It was just after 5:00 and we were about 60 miles from the airport, just coming up on the outskirts of Mexico City. None of us were sleeping at this point, except for the driver. That’s why we were awake. We were getting concerned. I kept thinking which would be worse. Dying in a car wreck in Mexico, surviving the wreck but having to spend time in a Mexican hospital, or missing my flight. We were close enough I could get us to the airport, even if I had to throw the driver out of the vehicle.
We were now a few clicks from the airport. When we turned the opposite way. We were dropping off our riders. Just before 6:00 we arrived at the airport. I was told I would have assistance in checking in, not that I needed it. Apparently, he didn’t think I needed it either and quickly bolted after depositing me and Chucho and our belongings outside of the International departures terminal. Chucho and I bid farewell and he disappeared into the terminal. I found the United counter and the Premier Exec line and waited my turn. Funny thing was, the regular line was moving faster. As I was ready to move, another counter opened. I had about 80 mins until my flight left.
There were upgrades available for Senior Stevens, but for the first leg only. Coach was not even half full and I had an exit row in Economy Plus and as I would sleep the entire first leg, I didn’t want to waste the 15,000 miles for the upgrade since I would have to sit in cattle class from SFO to SeaTac. A good thing about first or business class international is that you are allowed in the the lounge. I let my Red Carpet Club membership expire when I lost my dot com gig. It was only US$300 per year and I figure I drank at least three times that and got so much free Internet access it made it worth it. I didn’t have it now, I wasn’t being flown business as I was acustomed to and was too tired to be concerned. Then there was the issue of my exit visa. Since we had to surrender our visas for the work permits, we were each given a photocopy of the Mexican work permit. The one we had an issue with in both Chihuahua and Juarez. There was an issue at the counter and they did not know what to do with my papers. I was told that after I cleared security, I was to report to the immigration desk.
Security was easy, no removal of shoes or personal searches. I presented my papers at the immigration desk. He glanced at them, didn’t bother to look at my passport and responded “Yes, OK. You can go home” in somewhat broken English. There I was, all the Duty Free shops open at about half past six on a Friday morning. I bought some Hugo Dark Blue cologne (not available in the States) and a bottle of Don Julio. I thought that the tequila wasn’t available where I lived. But it was, only about three bucks more than from Duty Free. These days I try to buy something everytime I leave the country. Not so much for the goods, but so I’m not hassled at US Customs. All the free swag, claim it. But buy some trinkets because if you return from being gone for a few weeks, they won’t believe you if you don’t claim anything. In the late 90’s, most of my touring was out of the country. When I’d come back from being gone for a few weeks, I’d get the third degree if I had nothing to declare. At one point under previous questioning, I asked the officer if they bought a souveneir every time they came to and from work. That was coming into LA and it was pretty bad. I was taken apart and the delay caused me to miss my connecting flight. Of course recent visas from Israel, Milaysia, Indonesia and Hong Kong were of interest to the officers. I learned my lesson. Claim at least a hundred bucks worth of stuff and you’ll be OK. In about a half hour I was on my flight waiting to return home.
My connection at SFO was going to be tight. I only had about 40 mins and needed to clear Customs and pass back through security. I was one of the first to the baggage carousel. I got my Pelican workbox and Tumi five suiter and made my way to Customs. Breezed right through. I rechecked my bags and headed for the security checkpoint. I grabbed a snack and some reading material and boarded my flight. I get pre boarded so to pass the time while they load the cattle, I put my iPod on and sit back and relax. Just about the completion of boarding I was tapped on the shoulder by a gate agent, who happened to have a TSA officer in tow.
“Mr. Stevens?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Mr. David Stevens?” she continued. David Stevens? I’m only called David when I’m in trouble or when my parents or grandparents are talking to me. A few times early in life that lead to a spanking. I hoped for a minute she was going to spank me.
The TSA agent spoke. “We’ve had to remove an item from your luggage. May we have your address so we may send it to you?” Nothing like a statement like that to make your fellow passengers take notice. Great, I was now Osama bin Stevens as far as the other passengers were concerned. I attract enough attention when I travel, I didn’t need this.
“What did they take?” I asked.
“I can’t say.” At this point I was pondering asking if he didn’t know, or couldn’t tell me. This had sparked the curiousity of my fellow passengers so I let it drop, filled out my mailing address and they went on their way.
it turns out that they took my butane powered Ultra Torch portable soldering iron. It’s awesome, but it’s full of liquid butane and therefore not allowed to fly. A few years back I had the 16 oz refill confiscated at Gatwick, though they allowed the iron.
When I landed at SeaTac after an uneventful flight, other than me getting the once over twice from some of the other business travelers, I was paged to the baggage service desk. Great I thought, not only did they take my shit, they then lost my luggage. They were only confirming that an item was confiscated and wished my address so they could sent it to me. It turns out, my Ultra Torch is history. These stupid motherfuckers couldn’t even send me my shit they took. I’ve enquired to the TSA, who say it’s United’s problem and even then, it’s contraband and not allowed to fly.
I made it back, took some time off and did some gigs. It was a good rest. We’re heading for Spain in a couple of weeks (or Mexico Sr, as I like to call it) and I’ll check in with some reports from there. We’re due to tour the Far East and Europe early next year so we’ll see what happens.
‘Til next time….
Dave