See, I've been doing tour diaries/concert recaps since I started this band-following madness at the tender young age of seventeen. I tend to have a very good memory, yeah, but then I consider three or four years down the line, when I just have the photos and some vague recollections, and I want some concrete writing about where I was, what happened, what was said and done. And trust me, there's so much here I want to record for posterity, and just because it really does make a damn good story (even if it may get boring in places for everyone but me, and those who lived it).
Preamble, for the uninformed: My name is Caitlin, Toronto-based music journalist, and I worked as the merch girl for legendary Vancouver punk band The Black Halos on the American leg of their spring `07 tour opening for Social Distortion. I've known the Halos for a couple of years now, ever since I reviewed one of their gigs and then went on to interview their drummer and review their last album. We kept in touch, and after an interesting fall of 2005 that involved me following them halfway around southeastern Ontario and them crashing in the basement of my mother's house, it was pretty obvious that we were a good match. Not to mention I absolutely fucking loved their music and their live show. Being a bitter jaded bitch of a music critic, it takes a lot to impress me, and their kickass musicianship onstage was only matched by how sweet they all are offstage.
So when the position of touring merch girl was offered to me last April, my brain basically imploded. Travelling on the road with one of my favourite rock bands? Uh, yes please.
What followed was basically two and a half weeks, one beat-up van, five guys, one girl, thirteen shows, two cases of extreme weather conditions, and one hell of a journey across North America.
Your main cast:
The Black Halos
Billy Hopeless - vocals
Adam Halo - lead guitar / backup vox
Johnny Halo - rhythm guitar / backup vox
Denyss Halo - bass guitar / backup vox
Rob Halo - drums
Supporting players:
Social Distortion (tour headliners)
I Hate Kate (tour co-openers)
Your narrator:
Caitlin Halo - merch girl extraordinaire, Sister Christian, band auntie/little sister
Friday, April 27th - Burton Cummings Theatre: Winnipeg, Manitoba
I fly out of Toronto at the ridiculous hour of 8 a.m. and, given my fear of airplanes, the correct term to describe my complexion would be "ashen." (I also happen to get a window seat, which is kind of neat, and kind of terrifying.) Touch down in Winnipeg at 10, cab it to the friend's house where the guys are staying (it turns out to be a holistic health centre of some sort -- perfect place to be defiled by a band of punk rockers), wait for them to wake up so I can gleefully attack each of them in turn -- and I do, of course. It's only been about a month since I've seen them last - their CMW showcase in Toronto was in March - but that's still too long a time between me and one of my favourite bands. After we all pile into the van and get to the venue for load-in and sound check, I'm given my all-access laminate, re-christened "Caitlin Halo", and sent off to do my job of merch table setup.
I quickly learn many things on this first night, such as: I am the only female backstage at pretty much all times (Social Distortion and their crew are all male, not to mention other opening act I Hate Kate, a young Killers-esque quartet from California); the hair straightener is god's gift to the Halos; with the exception of Billy, they all wear the exact same shoes (black Converse sneakers); Halos may love hair products but collectively despise Budweiser; and it is both a good and bad thing that the aformentioned lone female will change from skinny jeans and a black t-shirt into fishnets and stiletto heels. Got lots of amused/bemused looks from the crew for that, I tell you.
Sold plenty of merch. Got plenty of catcalls and proffered phone numbers. Heard stories about a stabbing at Edmonton's show; realize that Billy wasn't joking when he told me earlier that Social Distortion's crowds can be rough. Saw very little of the show - I was stationed in the old theatre's lobby - but was at least granted the chance to meet my fellow merchies: Gayve and Tim at Social D's booth, and whichever member of I Hate Kate (or else manager Justin) that got suckered into manning their table. Also, my tight black PVC outfit turns out to impress more people in Winnipeg than it does in Toronto; one of the women working the tickets at the door later informs me, "You're the talk of the night!" Er, sweet? I think. After Social D wraps, we pack up the rest of our gear and head right back to the health centre for some television and winding down. This is a band that values their sleep time. Given my own less-than-two-hours of rest the previous night, I can appreciate this. Blackout.
the merch table, in its full glory
Adam is unimpressed with his side shot
the theatre marquee, and Billy's ass
our notorious frontman warns people away from the ancient elevator
Johnny and Billy
Billy
Denyss, Johnny and Billy
Denyss goes ninja in order to hide the massive lump on his cheek
the PVC waltz
lights over Winnipeg, 1 a.m.
Saturday, April 28th - Burton Cummings Theatre: Winnipeg, Manitoba
Day two of the Winnipeg shows starts off with Billy and I deciding to make it our mission to find the worst coffee on tour, starting with the adjacent Husky gas station and Mac's store across the street from the house. Nothing so bad as of yet - any sort of caffeine is welcomed at this point in time - but I'm assured it gets worse. Mass sleepage from the rest of the band and plenty of admiring of the Winnipeg landscape in the meantime before driving back downtown to reclaim the band's place at the venue for round two. After soundcheck and en route to dinner (which turns out to be mall food court for most), the group of us head off to Wild Planet, a store specializing in crazy mass amounts of rock posters, band t-shirts and various memorabilia. Denyss picks up a wicked Rolling Stones t-shirt, and I get giddy over my purchase: a girl's Nine Inch Nails shirt with "*fucker" printed across the front. (I mean, really, when would a better time be to buy a Starfucker t-shirt?)
Even with new attire, though, Denyss is still in a less than capable state; one of his back teeth developed an abcess a few days ago, causing the band to make a side stop at the hospital emergency room. The golf ball in his right cheek is bad enough, but he's also on antibiotics which forbid him from drinking, so our bass player isn't the happiest camper. The rest of the guys are raring to go for their second night at the ancient and gorgeous Burton Cummings Theatre, though, so I leave them to their preparations and position myself at the merch table as doors open at 7. Again, a capable-sounding show -- although I admit to sneaking away from the table only once (I got Scotty, Kate's bass player, to watch it for me) in order to check out one of the two new songs in the set, the retardedly fucking awesome "Disbelief", followed up by one of my favourites, "No Tomorrow Girls". Still as fantastic as I remember them! This tour is going to rule all.
Getting less weird looks from the crew today -- well, Social D's crew at least. The local crew members always look unsure whether or not I'm the official backstage groupie. Sold plenty more merch, made some Winnipegian friends; Rob snags a bag of Tostitos from Social D's green room after they leave. (This is a common practice, I discover -- if permission is given to raid the headliner's room post-show, it's like unleashing a pack of vultures) At a nearby club - the same bar that Denyss tells me was the inspiration for "Last Call At The Toothless Saloon" - around the midnight hour, we take in a bit of a set by the Halos' West Coast band friends The Jolts, then make our way back to the peace and tranquility of the house for some sleep before the drive to America tomorrow. Though there's really nothing like settling in to get some sleep just as Adam pops his head in the room and exclaims, "Guys, you gotta come see this TV show! It's about people with balloon fetishes!" Ahhh, yes.
inside of the theatre
drummer reclining, unimpressed with the paparazzi
Johnny and Billy
Billy
now there's a tempting thought(?)
Sunday, April 29th - Winnipeg, Manitoba
And it all started off according to plan: Wake up early enough to allow U.S. customs & immigration their typical lengthy and extensive check of band van and band members, then make it through to the scheduled gig in Fargo, North Dakota that night. So we pack up all our shit into the van and make our merry way a few hours out of Winnipeg to the border crossing at Emerson. In the meantime, because I don't have a visa for the U.S. and thus I can't exactly say that I'm working for the band, we figure the easiest route is to say that I'm a band member's girlfriend along for the ride. Rob ends up being the unfortunate one, so we spend time staring at each others' passports, frantically trying to memorize birth dates and middle names and coming up with some bullshit backstory about how we met, fell in love, etc. Well, it sort of made sense.
It all turns out to be for naught, though, as the border guards are much more interested in the amount of merch we're bringing over. They shut us in the tiny, windowless waiting room as they turn the van inside out, then inform us that there's no way we can bring that much commercial merchandise to America. Shit, so...now what? The option chosen by the band is to go back to Winnipeg, pack up all the t-shirts, grab the allowed CDs and a few vinyl to sell, and send the rest by UPS to arrive in Chicago when we get there on friday. In the meantime, however, this whole ordeal causes the Halos to have to back out of the Fargo gig (Billy: "Fargo's a no-go!") and stay another night in Winnipeg instead, which nobody's happy about. It kind of coalesces in a heated vegetarianism vs. cannibalism argument on the way home that I find more funny than anything.
Here, I find the best way to cheer up Black Halos: buy a huge bag of candy and junk food at the nearest convenience store and lay it at their feet to skeletonize. A good half-hour of the guys trying to toss Junior Mints across the room into each others' mouths - not to mention our resident nature boy, Johnny, attempting to commune with a passing crow, beer bottle in hand - and everybody's in better spirits. The majority of the guys then retire to a bedroom to watch the hockey game while Billy and I craft a spaghetti dinner consisting of items bought for far too much money at the nearest 7-11. A third, unexpected night spent in Winnipeg may not be as good as rocking out a stage in North Dakota, but we all take it as a prime opportunity to wind down a bit.
My black nail polish is barely chipping at all. Sweet.
Monday, April 30th - Sioux Falls, South Dakota
Black Halos versus U.S. customs & immigration: round two. With the t-shirts safely shipped off to Adam's Chicago apartment and whatever other merch we could bring with us on board (which amounted to a handful of CDs, some vinyl, and as many skate decks as we could bring through), we apprehensively head towards the border crossing. There is at least a bit of a laugh when the inspection officer is going through our passports and matching them to us, and as I pipe up that "mine's easy to find, it's the only female one", he replies, "Yeah, I was gonna ask how that works." (I mean, true, it really isn't that often - or, at least, not for any legit reasons - you see a solo young girl travelling in a van with a group of rocker guys)
However, this good humour doesn't go far enough in placating us, as we all spend a grand total of five hours sitting bored in the office as they once again tear apart our stuff. There is a certain amount of undue hysteria on the part of the officers on the topic of the skate decks; they technically aren't allowed to come over, but some convincing talking on Rob's part and they're ours. Yet revenge belongs to the officers: As the band go to put the gear back in the trailer, they find that some of the bags have been literally torn apart, with clothing strewn across the tarmac. (Apparently, my garter belt is hanging off of a guitar case. Fan-fucking-tastic.) With murderous thoughts towards border guards dancing in our heads, the Black Halos finally claw their way into the United States. Since this is a day off for the Social D tour, we drive and drive in order to catch up with the other bands for the gig the next night. (I'm made happy, though, as during his clean of the van's dashboard, Johnny unearths a Black Halos pin for me to put on my pageboy cap)
On this evening drive, Adam summons me to the back of the van (literally, this thing is fucking huge -- three benches, and it seats probably eleven people altogether. It also isn't as bad as I expected -- no weird smells, and fairly clean despite the little piles of garbage that seem to accumulate, not to mention the sporadic disappearance and reappearance of Johnny's half-full bag of Frosted Mini-Wheats) to discuss how long I'm planning on staying on tour with them. I tell him that I have to go home after the Chicago show on Friday, I have work shifts scheduled next week, I have to get back to regular life, I don't have the money to stay on any longer, et cetera. He gives it to me straight up: that I may never have a chance like this again, and this is the best way to see the country -- on tour with a rock band I really love, while they open for a sold-out headlining act. No shitty dive bars here. If I at least stay on as long as the Las Vegas show on May 13th, he says, then it'll be easy to get a flight back to Toronto on the 14th. Why not come see the midwest and the desert? I bite my lip, knowing that I'm THISCLOSE to caving. It's too much for me to resist, especially given how much I thrive on the road with bands and how I'd wanted to properly tour with one since I was seventeen. I could get away with the time off at Loblaws, sure, but it'd mean I'd have to quit my Starbucks job. Even with all my internal vacillating, though, I knew my mind was pretty well made up right then and there. I was going to Vegas, motherfuckers!
Anyway, we eventually retire at a Motel 6 ("Motel 666!") in Sioux Falls, and the band somehow manages to find a grocery store at 2 a.m. The night closes as we make sandwiches while watching reruns of The X-Files. (Adam is particularly proud of his spicy mustard procured for less than a dollar, and vegan Johnny has got his rice milk, so he's pleased)
Adam displays the newest in van fresheners, "Night Music" scent
Tuesday, May 1st - Sokol Auditorium: Omaha, Nevada
I open the morning by making the first of the feared phone calls: this one to my father, to inform him that I'm going on to Las Vegas with the guys, and I won't be home until May 14th, not May 6th as originally planned. Surprisingly, I'm not met with any sort of parental-figure explosion; rather, my dear father offers to send me some money "to cover expenses", tells me to be careful, makes me promise to call him in a couple days and basically wishes me a good trip. I stare at my cell phone, vaguely stunned. As if one of my parents just gave me his blessing to run wild into the United States with a rock band. Awesome!
Now that we're back on schedule, everyone's a little more relaxed -- Johnny enough so that he grabs his bike and dares to ride the motel's empty pool as we cheer him on, keeping a wary eye out for security. Once that excitement ends, we're back on the road to Omaha, eventually pulling over to a roadsize plaza that includes an entertaining Western-themed souvenir store. We admire cowboy shirts and hats and snakeskin boots before making our way over to the old-fashioned country diner to indulge - though for a few of our camp, a better word would be "gorge" - in the lunch buffet. Of course, the local hicks are fascinated by the sight of a group of skinny-pantsed, tattooed guys with dyed black hair and spiked belts piling out of a beat-up blue van to fill up on tacos and cling to mugs of coffee. Seriously, everybody has got band radar. So it isn't too long before there's a drawled "Are you fellas in a band?" from the portly old gentleman sitting near our table. Cue the conversation about where the band's playing next, how famous they are, what other bands they sound like, local advice (apparently the town we're headed to after Chicago is "on the rough side of the tracks"), and so on. The dude's nice, though I can't help but entertain the idea of manufacturing stickers for bands to put on their vans and trailers that read Yes, we're in a band. Band-dar, I'm telling you.
Onwards to Omaha! Where the bands are playing...a gymnasium! I'm not even kidding. There's a creepy room upstairs that Adam shows me where they store all the gym equipment and stuff, not to mention one hell of a smelly bathroom. But first, the guys hang out by the Social Distortion tour bus and bond with Charlie, the affable drummer of the band. Not very good karma when a car comes barrelling around the intersection and nearly smashes into the lot of us, though. What the fuck? Yikes. As the guys go back and forth from hanging out to loading to setting up for soundcheck, I set up what meager merch we've managed to get over the border, all the while telling our sad tale to Gayve, Tim, and the Kate guys. Woe!
But just because we're down to a few albums and skate decks doesn't mean I can't take the opportunity to pretty it up, so on go the thigh-high fishnets and garter belt and gothic party dress. However, this does not exactly bring me the desired results, as although I sell much of what we had on the table, I also get hit on repeatedly by the finest that Omaha has to offer, i.e. rednecks, tattooed dirtbags, and one particularly persistant redhead chick who wants to take me to a strip club. Although I'm drunk enough by this point to almost consider it (Johnny keeps bringing me beer from the green room upstairs, the devious bastard), the idea is vetoed - though a few of the Halos ask if they could watch, haha no - in favour of staying with a friend of the band's, at her suburban apartment where we all crash on bunk beds. It's like summer camp, but with rock bands!...and with Johnny entertaining us all to the point of hysterics as he freestyles and breaks beats on our hostess's daughter's pink Barbie keyboard. Mission: Get one of those for the van ASAP, or at least until it drives us crazy and someone breaks it over Johnny's head.
So far, the most overused word on this tour is "rad."
Johnny rides the pool at Motel 6
remember: no diving
making the most of a sunny morning in South Dakota
aww, bonding over boarding
Sokol Auditorium marquee
literally, this gas station chain is called the Kum & Go
Denyss from a distance, minutes after cheating death by sharply-turning car
soundcheck
soundcheck
Scott and Mike, rhythm section of I Hate Kate
Halo and Kate chill, enjoy some tasty alcoholic beveridges
I like me the blond ones
the merchies give mutual respect
this is only funny because I spent the entire night sitting on that sign
merch girl and guitar player MySpaceing it up
Johnny, me, nubile bisexual young women
Adam provides his own special touch to my Kill Hannah tattoo
I Hate Kate had this sign propped in front of their tip jar
Johnny placing a ridiculously complicated Taco Bell order, Rob gleefully copping a feel
Wednesday, May 2nd - Val Air Ballroom: Des Moines, Iowa
It isn't even noon yet and Johnny is riding the pool. That's right: he's riding the pool. The apartment complex's empty pool. With his bike. Of course Billy and I are right there watching him, but I can only take a few photos before leaving in fear that I'll eventually be witness to him breaking his neck. But no, all turns out for the best, and we pack stuff up before pulling out towards the freeway to buy gas -- or, if you're Adam and Billy, buy monstrously oversized slurpies for a dollar at the gas station store. It's here that we reconnect with Denyss who, in his young wild ways, headed off from the pack last night to go party it up with local friends. With everyone accounted for, we now hit the road to Des Moines, home of Slipknot and corn fields. (This is also the point in the trip where I learn not to fall asleep in the van if more than two of the guys are awake; on this particular occasion, they took great delight in placing signs on my chest and writing things on me in permanent marker)
The digs in Des Moines are definitely better than Omaha gymnasium quality, and although I'm still low on merch - we sold out of CDs last night - I do my duty of setting up what I've got, in between running around to take goofy candid photos of the boys. (We've since determined that, in absence of merch, I can assume the role of band photographer. A little more wholesome than Billy's idea of chaining me to Rob's drum kit during shows a la slave-princess Leia.) While watching the Halos sound check, I have my first sort-of conversation with Mike Ness, Social Distortion's frontman and something of a legend on the punk-rock scene. He asks me how I'm doing and somesuch, and I reply that I'm tired but the guys are treating me well (all the same, I'm trying to hide the JOHNNY that's been Sharpie'd onto my left arm), and we have some more conversation that I can't recall. Just goes to show which band on the bill I'm here to see. (Hint: It's the one I'm working for.)
In regards to the later show itself, as usual, the Halos tear the place down. Even watching from the merch booth at the very back of the room, I can see the kids up front really digging it, and it's even more evident by how many of them come over to say hi after the set finishes. I make a lot of friends, from bunches of kids fascinated by the idea of a girl touring with a rock band to more Omaha-style rednecks to one old guy who asked me back to his house so he could make me dinner. Uh, no thanks. I even have a group of confused kids asking me if I'm smoking clove cigarettes -- turns out du Maurier smokes are foreign in this land. I vow to track down a decent brand of American cigarettes while I'm here, or else I might go insane. (I'm a casual smoker only until I'm with people who also smoke, and as it turns out, three-quarters of the band are nicotine addicts. Mmmm, cancer sticks)
I flirt heavily with one young man in order to sway him into buying a Black Halos skate deck, but it looks like no dice, so after an impromptu meet and greet autograph session - the guys are always awesome with their fans like that, by the way - we pack up the stuff early so we can drive through the night to Adam's place in Chicago. However, before leaving, we all take a moment to stand sidestage as Social D goes on in front of a roaring sold-out crowd. One by one, we all salute Mike Ness as he takes the stage, and he returns the gesture to us. And it's here that the moment happens that I referred to in my first road-update blog post: "You know what I was saying before about how I needed to remember how it feels where I came from? Standing backstage at a Social Distortion concert, all-access pass around my neck, flanked by the band I'm working for, watching the headliners rock out in front of a sold-out auditorium... yeah. I remember how it feels now." That feeling stays with me all through the ride to Illinois, all through the night.
Johnny rides the pool, suburb edition
whoaaaaa
make Adam happy, buy him a slushie
I display the numerous selection of flavours
Johnny "Lakota" Halo, lover of Nibs
Val Air Ballroom marquee
this was in the men's washroom; we're still not sure
Johnny and Denyss experiencing the scent of pleasure
Social Distortion's mass wall o' merch
Thursday, May 3rd - Chicago, Illinois
The previous night's still on my mind as we pull into Chicago during the early hours of the morning, and by now I know that I won't be leaving from here tomorrow. I'll be staying with them. It's not even a question to me at this point in time, especially not when the offer's on the table for me to stay on longer. I remember telling a friend in Toronto about leaving on tour a few days before going, and she grinned and said, "You're going to come back a changed girl." I'd scoffed at her, saying it was only a week, I'd have my fun and then come back home to my normal life. But now, I'm kind of seeing the possibilities here, and just how much I could experience and learn from on this trip. And for me, there's no bigger bone than the promise of life experience. Especially given the rough last few months I've had...this was definitely what I needed right now. Not to mention that by now, I'd trust any of these fuckers with my life. There's no other band I'd want to be out with, as I've told many of them already. So, I don't think there's even a choice to be had.
But in the actual moment, we drag ourselves into Adam's loft apartment at some ungodly hour of the morning, and pass out one by one. No gig tonight, so the boys can have some well-deserved down time while I plot on running amok in downtown Chitown at first opportunity -- I fucking love this city, and it was one of the main reasons I wanted to come on this leg of the tour. Being in Chicago again gives me enough courage to grab my cell phone and head off in private to call up my job and quit; my boss freaks out, as I somewhat expected - screwing them over like this is gonna be bad, bad karma, I just know it - but I feel relieved once I hang up. Done and done. Next, call my other job to let them know I won't be back until the 15th (and thankfully, I get my coworker buddy on the line, and he promises to take care of it for me), then do a little victory dance in the hallway. Freedom to stay on tour!
Eventually, after some hardcore napping, we're all conscious enough to decide to split up and spend some time in the city. After an awesome lunch of Indian food courtesy of Adam's lovely wife Mary, Rob and I head off to take in downtown Chicago on foot (excitable fangirl dragging around hapless drummer is a tableau that seems to repeat itself in my life often, it seems). This involves minor acts of sightseeing, hitting up the Virgin Megastore, me taking lame tourist photos of flowers and bicycles, watching street drummers impressively bash away on plastic buckets, and stopping at a Walgreen's so I can procure a box of Nice N' Easy hair dye in "Natural Blue Black". Yeah, it's all going to go downhill from here.
But in the meantime, Rob and I talk about the touring life, and he mentions that he can't really understand why people would be so eager to go on tour with a band, given how rough the road life gets sometimes. Truthfully, I'm not even sure I know the answer to that -- it probably has something to do with wanting to experience the musician's life without having to be a musician, but as I reply with a shrug and a grin, "I just love being on the road with bands, that's all." I'm here to have fun, and do what I can to help out. Simple enough. (Even if I do feel like a total freeloader right now, given that I'm a merch girl without a goddamn job.)
As planned earlier that afternoon, the entire group of us go out to see an evening matinee of Grindhouse together, which turns out to be an excellent choice. Zombies and explosions keep the whole gang entertained! However, I slip away beforehand in order to place one last phone call -- this one to my mother, who reacts as predictably as my father did unpredictably: I get a resigned sigh, an "oh, Caitlin", and a "well, I can't stop you". I make sure to emphasize how much I need to do this, promise that yes, I will come home - I actually just booked my flight home from Vegas on May 14th this morning - and hang up before joining the boys in the theatre. All loose ends tied up now. Excellent. Excelsior.
Chicago sightseeing: er, flowers
a most impressive use for a bicycle
towering over downtown
Friday, May 4th - Cobra Lounge: Chicago, Illinois
So it's the morning of our second day in Chicago, and the merch? AWOL. Adam and Johnny are both calling UPS as often as possible to try and get a hold on where exactly the boxes are, and it's not looking good. In between that and handling some frantic last-minute gig scheduling online, it turns out to be more hectic a morning than intended. Eventually, UPS manages to locate our boxes...and they're still in Winnipeg. WTF? Adam just about loses it. Eventually, UPS agrees to correct their mistake and send the boxes to meet us at a tattoo parlour in Kansas City that a friend of the band owns. Still, that's another three days away, and another three days without merch profits. Not impressed. Fuck you, UPS.
At least the venue for this evening's Halos headlining gig (Social D are playing a festival in Memphis), the Cobra Lounge, is pretty rad, with excellent food and an even more excellent view of the Chicago city skyline from the third floor fire escape. Given that the bar's front room is also equipped with a stripper pole and cage, I figure the only choice for the night is my full black PVC. (Really, all the outfits I've brought for merch-girling are black, for obvious reasons. Well, the "purple thing" is the one exception, but it's a notable and impressive one.) This is also Denyss's last day of forced sobriety, and it looks like he's counting down the minutes until he can hit up the booze. Come to think of it, this is how many of us are most of the time.
It turns out that a small club gig is just the rowdy thing the boys need after a couple weeks of big theatre shows. They tear the place to fucking pieces, causing semi-permanent hearing loss in many of us in the front row. I'm also fully embracing my position as band photographer, snapping many choice shots of the band in action -- well, when I'm not humping the stage and screaming, getting dragged around by Billy and getting whacked in the head by Adam's falling mike stand. I think I'm needing this release of pent-up energy almost as much as the guys are! At every one of their shows I've seen in the past, I've always been the excitable girl in the front row, so it feels damn good to be back where I belong: not just the merch girl and not just the band's adopted little sister, but the total diehard Black Halos fan. Fuck, I love this band.
(Also, I think "Suck City" is slowly replacing "Disbelief" as my favourite of the two new songs in the set. Damn if I don't love a song I can pump my fist and holler along to, and those are a Black Halos specialty)
There is plenty of alcohol flowing post-show, as well as many cigarettes smoked on the green room's balcony in order to take in the full view of Chicago, all lit up for nighttime gorgeousness. However, this isn't boding well for load-out, as many of us are wasted enough to instead favour more shots, hanging with old friends, and slapping each other's asses. (Or, if you're me, letting Billy convince you to get up on the stripper pole for photos. Oops.) Johnny, who's probably more drunk than me but possibly as drunk as Denyss, swipes a hefty loaf of French bread from the kitchen as we leave. He claims he's going to make sandwiches with it, but instead we all make a 2 a.m. stop at the Mr. Greek down the road from Adam's place. Again, walking down the street to the packed restaurant, it hits me that there could be no possible way anyone could NOT know that this group is a band: five eyeliner-smeared, black-clad, studs-and-skinny-pants-wearing punks and their lone female entourage, dressed in black PVC and high heels and long leather coat. Awesome. We end the night with pitas and french fries and mockery of drunken clubgoer dudes.
welcome to the Cobra Lounge...
...the last bar you'll ever visit
they even have vampires!
the source of the evil: Satanic tater tots
buddies
because this ain't no acoustic show
guitar superstar and guest vocalist Eddie
green room danger: electrified toilet
OMG, is that Trent Reznor?!...no, just Johnny texting his bitches
merch girl, unimpressed
that's a little more like it
one of the impressive Sparrow guitars
set list which I later stole for my bedroom wall at home
Billy and Rob
Billy
Billy and Adam
Billy and Adam
Adam (his spiffy guitar, anyway)
Johnny
Johnny and Billy's naked ass (apparently this is going to be the next album's cover)
Johnny, Rob and Billy
Rob
Denyss, Johnny and Billy
Billy
Johnny and Billy
Johnny
Rob
Adam
Adam
this is the only money shot you're gonna get
Billy makes a new friend
blah blah blah
Denyss, 2 a.m., food hangover setting in
Saturday, May 5th - Pops: Sauget, Illinois
Two things to know about Sauget: It's pronounced "so-JEY", French-style, not "sawget"; it is also essentially St. Louis. But the wasteland version of St. Louis. Social Distortion's keyboard player compares the surrounding area to Apocalypse Now, and I have to agree. This venue is jammed in between two strip clubs and a racetrack-betting centre, amidst a sea of burnt-out factories and dusty fields. Lovely. As we get out of the van at Pops, the main thing we all notice is how much goddamn hotter it's gotten since Chicago. This doesn't bode well, especially since the inside of the club is arctic-level frigid, and the guitars are guaranteed to have their tuning thrown off due to the hot air coming in from the doors. Still, the boys make the best of it, while I silently turn down the idea of not wearing a bra under my shirt that night. Stupid cold club ruining my wardrobe plans.
Although we still have no merch aside from a couple vinyl and skate decks, I opt to hang out in the area designated as the merch booth for the opening bands: er, a very small coat check by the entrance. (It was fairly well stocked with alcohol, at least; Smirnoff Ice and Heineken this time, not just the usual and much-despised Budweiser. There was also the omnipresent bag of Tostitos and jar of salsa, which we've received backstage at every show on the American leg of the tour thus far. We've starting nicknaming this the "Chips & Salsa Tour `07".) Jamming the six of us plus the five guys of I Hate Kate into the same area isn't feasible, so the guys all come and go while I attach myself to the wall using a nearby barrier chain and my O-ring collar. Hey, the look got me a few monetary tips, anyway. (I actually even managed to convince a few interested gentlemen that I was on my way to "my next job" at the strip bar across the field)
There is an inordinately large amount of people at the venue already by the time the Halos hit the stage, which is something we've noticed at many of the American shows: that, unlike Canada where people stay home to pre-drink, Americans actually come to clubs early enough to catch the opening acts. (Also a bonus for I Hate Kate who, although they are pretty far from the Black Halos music-wise, are a most excellent band that deserve to be heard by many, many people) I myself manage to wind my way through the packed crowd and use the almighty power of the all-access pass to snap a few photos from sidestage. The crowd's digging it. Good show.
Afterwards, more packing of sweaty musicians into the tiny coat check room as I periodically escape to smoke on the curb outside in my miniskirt and fishnets. Man, the local crews sure do look at me funny. Reminds me how earlier, some cougars in the parking lot spied me on my way to pick up an energy bar at the nearby convenience store and hollered, "Where did you get that pass?!" I told them that I work for one of the bands, and they replied that they wanted my job. I grinned and said sorry, I think I'll be keeping it.
Back in present time, the guys finish loading up the van, and we decide to take off in order to drive right through to Kansas City. Adam and I had been watching the news on the bar TVs earlier, and took cautious note of the fact that a tornado had just obliterated a town in Kansas yesterday. ("It wouldn't be a Black Halos tour without a few natural disasters," he deadpanned to me.) Unfortunate weather lay ahead, for sure. With this in mind, we all trudge back into the van and take off through St. Louis, admiring the arches the entire time. The only album I have to listen to on the ride is an old mix CD from last fall, and somehow, the only three songs I keep listening to are Depeche Mode's "Never Let Me Down Again", lostprophets' "Burn Burn" and Bush's "Chemicals Between Us". Huh.
what you should not do: tighten the inside bolts of the van whilst mid-drive
Adam
Rob and Adam
Billy, Johnny and Denyss
Sunday, May 6th - The Beaumont: Kansas City, Missouri
Sure enough, we only really hit the bad weather after we rumble into Kansas City (Missouri, not the state of Kansas) far after midnight, and take up shelter/residence with Cordy, the girlfriend of Halo friend Ryan. The torrential rain ends up hitting us right in our weak spots: I've gone to bed under an open window inside the apartment, and the van - currently holding a sleeping Denyss and Adam - experiences a small flood. (The only real casualty is whatever food was on the floor, so Johnny's bread from Chicago is now a lost cause)
The rain and otherwise dreary weather continues on throughout the morning, although there are some bright spots when we all go out for a rousing breakfast with local friends at a nearby diner, as well as discussing tattoo plans. See, the band members (with the exception of the tattoo-less Adam, whose wife would apparently remove his testicles if he got one done) are all getting inked up at Ryan's tattoo parlour, The Mercy Seat, while we're in Kansas City. This is a cause of much deliberation for some, while others have it already planned out. The first one raring to go is Denyss, who heads off with Johnny to the parlour while the rest of us eventually roll out through the recurring rainstorm to that night's venue downtown.
Aside -- two common things I seem to be getting asked about a lot: my unnaturally good posture (when you're wearing outfits like mine, you have to have excellent posture while sitting in order to avoid flashing any unmentionables) and whether my boyfriend's in the band (no).
Okay, so, The Beaumont? Better rename it The Ark. Man, what a leaky dump of a place. Granted, I don't think it's entirely the venue's fault -- the place was an old tavern-sort of bar (complete with barbeque offerings and a mechanical bull in the back that pretty much everybody was coaxing me to ride while wearing my garter belt and heels), and its old construction didn't do well at holding up against flash floods. So while people were getting drenched outside, there were numerous puddles and leaks throughout the venue, causing mayhem when it came to setup and soundchecking. Uh-oh. When the Social D crew is in that foul of a mood with the facilities, you know things aren't boding well for that night's show.
Then, an interesting moment: While sitting nearby and watching the guys unpack their gear, Kirk, one of Social Distortion's crew, comes up to me. "Hey. You know how to sew?" I blink and respond yes, I do. (Because, you know, I'm female, and all females know how to sew) "Great. Wait one second." He goes off, mumbles into a cell phone for a bit, then returns and asks me to come with him (saying an aside of "We're stealing your girl for a bit" to Adam). From there, I get led onto Social D's tour bus, parked outside in the downpour. Turns out that Mike Ness wants a patch sewn on a shirt, and so the crew decided to bring in the only girl in the entourage to help. It made for an amusing scene - me sitting next to Mike on the gargantuan tour bus, sewing a patch, making small talk about the tour and his kids and thanking him for giving the Black Halos this opportunity - but also kind of nice because I really hadn't done much talking with the Social D guys. I was still probably just the "Halos' girl", though that was definitely okay by me.
With my duty done and some new bonds created between the Halos' girl and the Social D crew - they were all in favour of my bullriding as well - I head back to change into that night's skimpy outfit and hang a bit with John, the lighting tech (who grumbles to me, "I know how to sew, but did they ask me? Nope."). This was going to be one clusterfuck of a show, by the looks of it -- the place was still leaking everywhere, the tuning was being thrown off by the dampness in the place, and nobody was thrilled with the situation. Least of all the two opening bands, my dear Halos and I Hate Kate, both of whom couldn't even get a proper soundcheck in before their sets. We all nervously hang around in the small green room off sidestage - Denyss displaying his freshly inked arm tattoo - trying not to step in puddles and keeping gear out of the way of drips. Well, at least they gave us mini chocolate bars along with the chips and salsa this time. Sugar is most definitely welcomed right about now.
The guys would later go on to dub this show the worst of the tour, but really, they made do with what they had. Given that our merch is still absent, I'm still out of a job, so I spend the set watching from sidestage instead. My position has now devolved into "girl who hangs out backstage with the band while drinking beer and wearing very short skirts". Excellent. Billy pulls me onstage to dance with him during "No Tomorrow Girls", but that's the extent of my participation with the Halos' success (or lack thereof, judging by the grumbling from all the guys afterwards).
It's after the show ends that the real fun begins: We all split and regroup at the tattoo parlour for some after-hours ink sessions, alongside plenty of drinking, new friendships, loud rock music, and general wild debauchery. In between far too many beers and cigarettes and late-night runs to the convenience store down the street, I get to hear the new Black Halos album for the first time, and although it's the unmastered version, I'm still ecstatic listening to it. If I'd known earlier that there was a copy floating around on this tour, I would have stolen it ages ago! This is the album that's the soundtrack to the most impressive show of the night: Rob getting a massive Black Halos winged skull logo tattooed across his side, back and ribcage. It takes three hours in total. We're in awe - especially when he goes all zen and totally looks asleep - but not so much so that we can't offer him alcohol, encouragement, or just astonished laughter. I silently vow to retire all my drummer jokes. In the meantime, Johnny gets his arm tattooed with a cobra wrapped around an anchor with a scroll reading DOWN FOR WHATEVER (which we all agree should be his motto), and Adam frantically convinces his wife via text message that no, he is not getting a tattoo with the rest of us.
By now, it's getting crazy late, so Billy agrees to have his session tomorrow morning -- and then Chet, the tattoo artist, asks me if I'm in as well. Of course I jump at the chance, because it's free ink, and because I've been wanting to add a fourth to my collection for ages now. While Billy plans on having the Halos logo done on the back of his neck, I also decide on a Halos-related tattoo, to commemorate my time with the boys: NO TOMORROW GIRL, in a gothy font chosen by the guys, done across my abdomen. Chet makes me promise never to get pregnant. Hrmmm. We'll see how this all goes tomorrow. For now, back to Cordy's for some sleep and tattoo aftercare.
tattoo parlour shenanigans with new friends
we are the new awesome
cheap thrills
holy motherfucking shit
seriously, we thought he was asleep (when we weren't laughing at him or offering alcohol)
ladies and gentlemen, the indestructible drummer on smoke break
Monday, May 7th - Kansas City, Missouri
Up early enough today to psych myself up for the noontime tattoo session. It won't be so bad, I tell myself, I've gotten three tattoos and three body piercings already and it's never been that bad. Sure enough, I'm actually pretty calm about it, even with Adam wincing when I tell him that I'm getting it on my abdomen. Truthfully, the "no tomorrow girl" idea is one I've been harbouring for a year or so now, but I figure now would be the best time to have it done. Now or never, sweetie.
After getting some quick food, we return to the Mercy Seat for Chet to begin work on Billy while I drink way too much coffee, read a book about zombies and listen in on Adam's current (or rather recurrent) telephone fight with UPS. Yes, the merch is nowhere to be found, and our guitarist is spitting nails. Eventually, they track the merch down to Adam's apartment in Chicago, where it should have arrived four days ago. Frustrated, we get the incompetants to attempt to ship the boxes to Flagstaff, Arizona, where we'll be on Wednesday. Good luck with that happening. Adam's still on the phone as I go in to get under the needle, though all of the guys wander in at some point to see their merchie getting inked. Billy even grabs my camera out of my bag and snaps a few in-process pictures (where, thankfully, you can't see the whites of my knuckles as I'm clutching the sides of the table). When all's said and done, though, I've got a new tattoo to tie me to the Black Halos forevermore. "You're one of ours now," Billy says with a fiendish grin, and I can't help but laugh.
It's mid-afternoon by now and the guys have decided to drive through the night to Albuquerque, where tomorrow's gig will be taking place. However, this is a fourteen-hour drive. Yes, fourteen fucking hours on the road. Overnight. This is apparently commonplace in the Halo camp. (They split driving duties, thank god, but I've already heard stories about near-nodding off at the wheel) But before we leave, the boys want to experience some of the legendary Kansas City barbeque, so we leave half the camp at one of the more notorious BBQ restaurants while Ryan takes the vegan (Johnny), the vegetarian (Rob), and the health-conscious (me) to a Vietnamese restaurant for dinner. Yes, I'm a carnivore, but not when the meat's been smoked for a week, thanks. (The place gets a five-star review from Billy, Adam and Denyss, though. Apparently the waiters loved them.)
After one more quick refueling stop on the way out of Kansas City, so begins the longest drive of my time on the tour thus far. Another thing to know about Black Halos is that they survive on classic rock stations, though - shhhh - they're just as likely to belt out Alannah Myles or Avril Lavigne as they are Iron Maiden. I think Johnny gets the worst of this drive, though, as the tornado-flood weather finally catches up with us going through Oklahoma, and the sky is constantly illuminated with lightning flashing through the heavy rain. I finally manage to remove my tattoo's gory bandage and clean it off in a truck stop bathroom - not as sanitary as the aftercare instructions would have liked, I'm sure - then later determine that the next stop, in Tucumcari, is the winner of serving the worst coffee all tour. I drink it anyway.
Driving shift 3 is Adam, and although we're finally in New Mexico and it's starting to get a little bit lighter out, we've still got a few more hours to go before Albuquerque. Distracted by numerous billboards toting an upcoming store's "Agate Bookends" and "Hillbilly Figurine Collection", we're powerless to resist pulling over. Leaving the sleeping three in the van, Billy, Adam and I go running amok through a roadside shop specializing in Tacky. Billy gets his heart set on a snakeskin belt with an actual snake's head at the buckle, and I nearly buy a bullwhip. After we get bored of looking at scorpions encased in glass domes and a lifesize stuffed buffalo, we head back to the van and press on. The constant joking between Adam and Billy is killing me with laughter, but that might be because I haven't slept for more than an hour or so. When you're that deprived and delirious, everything's hilarious.
my turn under the needle
you can't see it, but I'm clutching the sides of the table with an iron grip
three-quarters finished result
Adamned, Warlord King
Denyss displays some mighty big...weapons
tattoo parlour badass boys
Tuesday, May 8th - Sunshine Theater: Albuquerque, New Mexico
We eventually get into Albuquerque around 9 a.m., and immediately set out to locate the venue downtown. We're tired, smelly and look like survivors of a train wreck, but we're no worse off than Social Distortion: We find out from the venue's local crew that that Social D's tour bus has broken down on the highway. At first, the crew wants to use the Halos' van to pick up them and their gear - an idea we agree to, although we're all pretty apprehensive given the amount of heavy gear that'd be going into a midsize van - but it turns out that they manage to get it fixed and are on their way. Stories to come later from those guys, surely.
Before searching out a cheap hotel, four of us decide to go get breakfast at a nearby diner - the rhythm-section duo is still sleeping in the back of the van - as I sneak off to call my father. I have the suspicion that he's slightly scared of the United States, or at least the idea of his youngest daughter traipsing around various American cities with only a rock band for company, but I repeat many times that the guys are taking good care of me and watching out for me. He's impressed that I'm in New Mexico and that I'm seeing so much of the country, but like my mother, he feels the need to ask: "You ARE coming home, right?" I sigh and reply yes, my flight from Vegas leaves Monday. Real life's coming back for me, far sooner than I'd like.
We're still too early for load-in and soundcheck - both of which will probably be pushed back later since Social D got stalled on the road - so we check in at a motel near our breakfast diner and settle in for some downtime. While watching the dire world news on CNN - floods, forest fires, tornados, terrorists planning takeovers of American military forts - Johnny sagely makes the observation that "the world's been ending while we've been on the road." No Black Halos tour without natural disasters, indeed.
Since this is the first motel room we've been in since Chicago, the boys are in favour of having a "dye party", although I end up being the only one to go through with it that night. Hey, if I'm going to completely change everything else by quitting my job and getting tattooed and travelling so far from home, I figure I might as well dye my hair while I'm at it. (Plus all the guys have dyed black hair -- it's basically a prerequisite for being in the Black Halos.) Armed with my box of Nice N' Easy, I enter the motel room's ghetto bathroom a natural brunette and leave with my hair a slightly unnatural shade of "blue-black". I'm met with catcalls and applause and Joan Jett comparisons from the boys. They approve. (However, my hair will never turn out so well as Adam's, which always ends up looking perfectly styled although he uses no product. It's like the eighth fucking wonder of the world, his hair.)
Right before we leave for load-in at the venue - which is conveniently within walking distance of our motel, good for later on - Johnny comes back from riding his bike in the desert, now with two flat tires and tales of Mexicans yelling at him from cars and throwing a bell(?) at him. We're not even sure by now if he makes this shit up or not, so we all kind of shrug and get our asses to the theatre. As figured earlier, everything's been pushed back due to Social D's bus breakdown, leaving us with very little to do besides smoke, catch up with the Kate guys (I spot drummer Mike hanging up his wet clothes on his stands and, asking him if he'd found time for a laundromat, he replies with a grin, "Nope, I washed `em in our hotel bathtub!"), and wander the nearby Albuquerque strip -- which seemed to have basically closed at 4 p.m. Well, at least there's coffee. Thank god there is always coffee.
Another night, another rushed and barely-existant soundcheck. This doesn't please the Halos, but spirits are a little lifted in mutual company, as it turns out that we're sharing a green room with I Hate Kate. (We also have to share the same crate of beer, yet both bands have their own chips and salsa.) Putting ten male musicians in the same room yields interesting conversation results, most of the less-than-savoury variety, making it all the more obvious that the room contains ten guys and one girl in a miniskirt and bondage blouse. Not selling merch could get pretty boring at times - I like having a set position - but I secretly kind of enjoy this whole bit of hanging out and drinking with the guys. Not too shabby, anyway.
The show's solid, especially in comparison to the Kansas City fiasco, and the boys are pleased with it, aside from some jackass in the front row spitting on Johnny and Billy. If this had been a smaller club show, I don't doubt that either would have jumped into the crowd to land a few punches, but in a theatre with barricades and security...well, no go. The Kate guys get warned of the spitting - although the crowd later loves them - as the Halos pack up and get their shit off the stage ASAP. They all scatter aftewards and, unsure of where everyone else has gotten off to - most likely to wander back to the motel and seek out Mexican food in the process - Rob and I hang back to refill the van's cooler with extra beer and watch the rest of Social D's set. Nothing like some rockabilly to go with the dusty desert heat.
pensive Denyss mid-prep, mid-drink
Wednesday, May 9th - Pine Mountain Amphitheatre: Flagstaff, Arizona
It's another early wakeup - seeing a pattern here? I don't understand how younger bands could go out and party all night on this sort of schedule, honestly - before we roll out to Flagstaff. Not enough time to return to the diner for a proper breakfast, so we settle for an improper one at a gas station convenience store on the way. Goddamn truck-stop nutrition. So far, I'm living off of energy bars, cranberry-raspberry Fuze, honey nut Chex Mix, travel packs of Wheat Thins, Parliament Light cigarettes, and bad coffee. If I happen to find the rare truck stop that offers apples and bananas for ridiculously jacked-up prices, I will buy many, and then covet them. Wonderfully enough, this truck stop not only has an abundance of fruit but also a crane-game machine, at which Billy promptly wins me an armload of stuffed animals. The grin on my face is pure glee.
Once we're back on the road to Flagstaff - the show tonight is in an outdoor amphitheatre, which should be a nice change - we start seeing some more of the Arizona landscape, which is all very new and exciting to me, a girl who had barely travelled out of her own country up uptil now. Seizing the moment, I make the rather lofty claim that "I'm not gonna be satisfied at all until I see a fucking cactus." Well, we don't encounter any such plant life as of yet, but the van is passed on the freeway by I Hate Kate's vehicle, and there is much hollering and laughing and obscene gestures exchanged between both parties. The race is on!
Even with a few stops to refuel along the way, we still arrive at the amphitheatre first, and are greatly heartened by the fresh air and pretty mountain scenery. Definitely a welcome change from cavernous clubs and theatres. We're once again sharing a green room with I Hate Kate - who show up just behind us, but late enough that we enjoy some triumphant mockery over them - and a pretty sweet green room it is. Between drinking Tecate indoors and roaming the great outdoors, there's plenty of places to hang, though most of the boys are more concerned with rapid text-messaging on their cell phones, as usual. Someone in this camp really needs a laptop, I think.
It's weird to see the Halos play a gig in daylight, much less outside, but - benefitting from a proper soundcheck this time around - they give it their all, and I stand sidestage to snap photos (the one time I venture into the pit to try and take some shots, I get harassed by security until I wave my laminate in their face and yell, "I'm with the band -- I'm their photographer!"), later joined by the members of Social Distortion, who watch with interest. It's at this point that I have one of those semi-important moments of realization that these guys, these five lovable idiots that I've spent so much time goofing off with and chilling with and joking with over the last two weeks, are actual goddamn rock stars. They don't agree with me, of course - and I've gotten reactions varying from laughter to disgusted scoffing when I've told them as much before - but to me, it's more of a state of mind than any show of fame, profit or popularity. On killer work ethic, showmanship and perseverance alone, these five are rock stars. Mark my words on that. Been there and seen it for myself.
It gets way chillier in the evening than any of us expected, not to mention the fog machine's getting a bit obnoxious due to the breeze, but most of us choose to return Social D's favour and watch their set from sidestage. I may be here for the Black Halos and have very little knowledge of Social Distortion aside from a few singles, but I gotta say, they sound fantastic. The first two songs are always my favourite part of the show, so I make sure to catch those before retiring to the green room to hang with Adam and a few of the Kate guys. More fun is the aftermath of the show -- with everything packed up, there's prime bonding time between both opening bands and even a few members of Social Distortion and team. (One of Social D's posse refer to us as "the black-hair crew", which delights me, given that my hair's been black for no less than twenty-four hours and I'm loving it.) Drummer Charlie is particularly sociable tonight, even indulging in some fine herb with I Hate Kate outside. Perhaps inspired by this mellow mood, Charlie gives us permission to raid their green room, and both bands turn pirate as we trample each other trying to get to the free food.
Once the task of refilling the cooler with beer and nutrition that isn't chips and salsa (although we took those too) is fulfilled, it's time to bid everybody one last farewell before tomorrow's final gig of the tour. However, tonight is lighting tech John's last show, and he did take a liking to me after Kansas City. So as a going-away present, the Halos convince me to show him my ass, which I do with a laugh. I'm shameless, but damn if I don't always have fun.
Motel 6. X-Files reruns. Blessed sleep.
Johnny giving love to coffee, stuffed hedgehogs
Denyss and Johnny stringing their instruments of mass destruction
soundcheck
Johnny made me do this -- I was worried about cursing the kit
group shot
group shot
Adam
Billy, Johnny and Denyss
Billy and Johnny
Adam
Billy and Adam
Adam
Billy, Denyss and Rob
Denyss, Rob and Johnny
Billy and Adam
Rob and Johnny
Denyss and Johnny
Adam
Adam
Johnny, Denyss and Rob
Rob
Adam, Denyss and Rob
Adam
Justin from I Hate Kate adds his own secret sauce
Thursday, May 10th - Rialto Theater: Tucson, Arizona
Waking up to a warm morning in Flagstaff, the first mission after showering is coffee. Billy and I are then unsuccessful at finding a grocery store (though we do get turned away from a Sam's Club -- membership, my miniskirted ass), but with the desert sun starting to beat down at only 10 a.m., we get just a hint of what lies ahead for us in the Arizona heat. And it's not good. The drive to the last date in Tucson is by far the hottest fucking ride of the tour thus far, partially due to the state's freak heat wave (105?! Fuck off!) and also due to us cramming six people in one non-air conditioned van. A van that has a ridiculously hot floor to boot. Result: Everyone taking off their shirt with the exception of Rob, who refuses to join the Dave Navarro club with the rest of the guys, and me, for obvious reasons. Though I was thinking about it for a while. (There's also an exorbitant amount of tattoo moisturizing at this point, given that five of us are in the peeling phase right now and in various states of discomfort)
Also adding to the uncomfortable mood of the van is the continuing fight with UPS. Adam shows a remarkable amount of restraint while on the phone with the company, though he doesn't hold back the swearing once he finishes. Turns out the root of the problem behind our merch disappearance is that it was never stamped when it went through customs, so it kept being turned back and/or bounced around from one location to another. It's finally made it to Flagstaff, but we're halfway to Tucson by now. Adam arranges it so that the boxes will be sent to his mother's house in Scottsdale tomorrow, since it won't make it to us for the show tonight. Eight dates without merch. What a fucking joke.
Well, aside from rage at UPS and the disgusting heat, at least the scenery on the drive through Arizona is amazing. There's mesas everywhere you look, and red soil, plus I finally see my fucking cacti and palm trees too (I've never seen a palm tree in my life). Now I've got my heart set on seeing a tumbleweed in action. Hey, it's the desert, after all.
And it definitely isn't any cooler once we're in Tucson itself. There's still plenty of time before the Halos' soundcheck at the Rialto Theater, so I head off on my own to wander the sunny streets, making sure to pick up some sunblock on the way. Miraculously, I find a fetish fashion shop not too far from the venue that has a veritable wall of fishnets. I am in heaven. There needs to be a store like this in every town. (Although the surrounding mirrors just go to show that it still says JOHNNY in black marker on my left arm, even after a week's time. For Christ's sake.)
Back at the theater, the mood is somewhat melancholy. Although the Halos are going on to play solo gigs all the way back home up the West Coast to Vancouver, this is the last night of the Social Distortion tour, and everyone's either chilling out or getting their kicks in while they still can. In honour of this final date, Tattoo, Social D's guitar tech, comes over to me and requests a photo of me ("the supermodel", as I'm apparently called in their camp) with Mike Ness's guitar strapped on. I pray to god that I won't be struck down by lightning for this.
The members of I Hate Kate are conspicuously absent backstage, leading the Halos to suspect some form of last-tour-date prankery in the works, but my boys are more than ready for anything. There's some perks to being the first band on of two opening bands, after all. The green room refreshments remain consistent -- the guys are now at the point where they're beginning to rate the salsa. As an additional means of entertainment, Adam and Denyss try to out-imitate each other by saying everything in Peter Murphy voices. I don't think I even need to be sleep-deprived to find their exchanges hilarious.
Finally, the Black Halos hit the stage in front of a sizeable crowd for their set, and it's one that everyone later agrees is especially solid. The Kate guys are all lurking around sidestage with me during the show, and during the last song ("Shooting Stars", of course) Mike and Jeremy don masks - Mike's is Billy's Eddie mask and gloves, which he was trying to get me to wear but I resolutely refused - and run onstage to jump around and play air guitar with the guys. Hardly sabotage as much as it is great fun for both parties. The Halos return the favour at the end of I Hate Kate's set next -- Johnny runs onstage to hop on the drum kit, Mike grabs a guitar to finish off the song, and I grab Scotty and give him a kiss. Chaos and mayhem! Good times.
Although nobody dares to prank Social Distortion, most of us choose to once again hang sidestage to watch their final show of the tour. But since there's other girls there and I don't do well with competition for attention - particularly after being the only girl backstage for the last two weeks - I choose instead to hang out in the downstairs green room, having a heart to heart with Billy Hopeless that's worthy of a Lifetime movie (seriously, I nearly cry), smoking up with Jeremy and Mike, picking at the chips and indulging my alcohol problem. I need to stop being a fucking retard.
Once the show ends, it's a messy scene of loading and fans and pillaging Social D's green room and group photos in the parking lot, and we all say our final goodbyes to both bands. The guys of I Hate Kate claim that they're stealing me away to be their merch girl on their next tour, much to Billy's chagrin -- I'm a Halo family member forever, it seems. But for now, the entire Halo family checks into a motel on the way out of Tucson to get some rest. I repent and sleep on the floor.
the picturesque Arizona landscape, shot from inside the van
fun at roadside attractions
keep a straight face, chief
so that's where we picked up these guys
hottest fucking drive of the tour
Arizona mesas, snapped from the van
someone's got self-esteem problems
Rialto Theatre marquee
Jeremy, Scott, Justin and Mike of I Hate Kate with Brent from Social D and our own Adam and Denyss
requisite end-of-the-tour group shot: Social Distortion, I Hate Kate and the Black Halos unite!
Friday, May 11th - The Rogue: Scottsdale, Arizona
It's looking no cooler outside today, but that doesn't stop the guys from some early hijinks -- there's a particularly rough motel-room wrestling match between Billy and Johnny, and Johnny and Denyss throw water bottles at each other in the hotel parking lot. I get teased for ordering a salad at Waffle House (this is the same occasion where Denyss coaxes me into drinking coffee that's been spiked with hot sauce and cayenne pepper), and Johnny breaks the zipper on his shorts, causing a due amount of distress. Rob eats a head of lettuce while driving down the Arizona interstate, which is only made more funny by the fact that Johnny poured soy sauce on it first. It also happens to be a head of lettuce that Johnny procured earlier at a dollar store, along with a package of veggie turkey, a jar of no-name peanut butter and a Mexican Barbie doll.
Seriously, these fuckers are weird, but I love them.
It's another ugly hot drive to Scottsdale, where the next date awaits us. It's not a Black Halos gig tonight; rather, it's a DJ set between Adam and Billy at a club called The Rogue. The night's promoter is the same one who's putting on tomorrow's Halos show, and he's also offered to wine and dine us tonight -- an irresistable offer for any brokeass touring musician. First, though, we unload and kick back at Adam's mom's place, where the boxes of merch are finally waiting for us, stamped and stickered from every location they'd been to. Ridiculous, but at least everything's in one piece and accounted for.
With a few exhausted members of our camp opting to stay behind and rest, the evening's promoter instead gets three Halos and one merch girl for dinner, at which most of us (well, maybe just me) do too much drinking of free alcohol. It's a hell of a relief to be drinking something other than beer, I can tell you that. However, this somewhat hampers our attempts to find the Rogue afterwards and meet up with everyone else; twice we think we're driving the wrong way, but we fortunately reconnect with the others and make our way to the club, only one hour late. Well, at least it's fashionable (something you wouldn't normally associate with the Black Halos, as foxy as they are).
This evening is fun for a while, but only until the booze takes its toll, and only until I try to answer a pressing dilemma: What exactly does the lone girl in the entourage do when everyone she knows in the place is off networking, socializing, or scattered throughout the club? Answer: Drinking, and boredom. If this were any bar in Toronto, I'd be heading the fuck home by now. So I do the next best thing: I take my sleepy boozed-up self - with my eye-rolling disappoval of the bar's obnoxious roaming cougars - back to the band van for a nap. (Granted, I probably should have told the guys where I was going, as apparently they were looking for me while I was sprawled out unconscious and drunk on one of the van's long seats)
And then, distress: Our proffered invite of crash space for the night has been revoked, so we manage to eke out a place to sleep in some hippie-artist house near Phoenix. The place is pretty decrepit-looking at first, and I'm definitely not that comfortable with the idea of staying, but after we start drinking and hanging with the denizens of the commune, it's not so bad. A couple of the guys choose to drink until sunup with new friends, but I'm definitely done for the night. Day. Whatever. I sleep on a bare mattress that I'm pretty sure is infested with bedbugs and god knows what, but hey, it's a place to sleep. Rock and roll.
this photo may or may not be NSFW
I finally get to see some fucking palm trees
two sleeping bitches
no really, it's just the angle
Denyss samples a drink of his own creation, the "Adios Motherfucker"
the DJs are a little too into the music
Saturday, May 12th - Wok Bar: Scottsdale, Arizona
Up again not long after the sun rises. Estimated sleep time: 2-3 hours. Like I said, rock and roll. Turns out Adam went back to his mother's place last night to sleep, and so that's our destination for lunch and catching up on whatever rest we all missed. We all pray not to get lost making our way back to Scottsdale from wherever the hell we ended up last night when we drove out to hippie HQ. Fortunately, the Mapquest gods are with us this time around (unlike last night when we kept getting lost trying to find the Rogue), and we drag our sorry asses back to civilization. There'll be no swimming in the backyard pool, given that five of us are still newly inked (Johnny contemplates taking a gamble, though; it's seriously that hot out), but at least there's a TV to zone out in front of. Another little-known fact about Black Halos: They really, really like America's Next Top Model. (And they apparently followed The Search For The Next Pussycat Doll religiously, too.)
After thanking our gracious home hostess, we're all off to that night's venue, the cleverly-named Wok Star. Seriously now, it's got a bar on one side, a Chinese food place on the other (where we were fed a tasty dinner that made me wonder why I never eat more Chinese food at home), and a live-band stage in between. Fuck, man, if I were a Scottsdale resident, I'd be living here.
By the looks of things, though, not many Scottsdale residents around my age would have the same idea: There's very few gig attendees under the age of 30, and many of the same type of cougars that we saw last night at the Rogue. What the hell? Oh well, I don't need a lot of time for making new friends, since I've got my merch-selling job back. (Still, this doesn't deter people from making friends with me, although the most notable two are an intimidating lesbian who tells me that she's wanted to buy me a drink all night and that I'm "an absolutely stunning woman", and an equally intimidating muscleman with a blond buzzcut who wants to know if I'm a dominant or a submissive. Uh.)
Post-show load-out is quick tonight (even though the Halos are the last band of four to hit the stage, though they blow all the others away) and, forsaking sleep in favour of a less sweaty van ride, the guys decide to drive through the much-cooler night to Las Vegas. After the last few hellish drives through Arizona, I doubt anybody would have protested, even if it meant another night spent in the van instead of in a bed. And we're off.
wacky surfboard-backed hijinks with Denyss and Johnny
Billy as the kung-fu King
Elvis and his Jagerhotties
double the k = extra hardcore
Sunday, May 13th - Divebar: Las Vegas, Nevada
Being unable to properly sleep in the van has its advantages: notably, being awake for most of the scenic Nevada drive, once the sun comes up. There's cacti galore now, as well as one hell of a wind-y drive through the mountains to get to Vegas. We even have to go over the Hoover Dam at one point, which delights me because hey, even more of the country I've never seen (and never thought I would see, let alone in the company of one of my favourite bands). Turns out it was a very good decision to drive through the night, because once the sun starts to rise in Nevada, we quickly learn that it isn't going to be any cooler in sin city. Blech.
After getting into Vegas, we drive back and forth until we get the invite to spend a couple hours with some Halo friends in the room at the Tropicana. On the way there, some of the guys point out landmarks to me and share old Halo tour memories of Las Vegas, which I absorb like a sponge. I fucking love the past stories. A few hours cooling down at the hotel is just the thing we all need, and afterwards we connect with Scotti, another old friend of the band's and whose place we're crashing at after the gig tonight. It's yet another sunny drive to get to his house, but by now the brightness is really just starting to be painful. Oh god, no more heat.
Once we reach the house in Vegas suburbia, the boys sleep their black-clad asses off while I chat with Scotti's super-cool wife, Tammy, and call both my parents. It's Mother's Day today after all, and I send mine well-wishes over the phone line from a city that she never wants to visit. I know my father's still probably worrying about me - that's why I was always sure to call often - but my mother? Not really. She knows the Halos, after all - they stayed at her house when they played my hometown of Kingston back in fall 2005, and got along splendidly with them - so there's obviously no doubt with her that the guys are taking good care of her daughter. I send her their love, and mine as well. Cheers for parents who don't disown their kids when they decide to quit their jobs and go running off to Las Vegas with a rock band.
Evening creeps up before we know it (though unlike the Social D tour, there's no early load-in and soundcheck time, so we at least have some mercy there), and Tammy and I leave before the guys do in order to pick up a case of Tecate for their drinking pleasure later; yes, like sewing, it's the female's expected job to go shopping for groceries. Hah, right. At least this offers me a chance to see what supermarkets look like in Las Vegas (answer: they have slot machines in them). Not to mention this opportunity lets me miss the band van getting hit by another car on the way to the venue; no injuries aside from the poor van itself, which loses its front bumper. Drivers in this state are insane.
The night's show at Divebar is everything I know a Black Halos gig to be: sweaty, screaming, stage-invading insanity. It's easy to see that this is the release the guys definitely need, and even I need it as well, so I owe Tammy one for dragging me away from the merch table in order to rock out in the front row. I'm entirely conscious that this is my last show of the tour, after all, and because I am a sentimental fangirl nerd - and because I'm a sucker for drummers (I'd love to say I don't play favourites but, uh, well) - I ask for Rob's used drumsticks after the show, then request an autograph. I have very little shame by this point in time, even when he laughs and complies. Yep, fangirl dork. But I like to have some tangible memories to go along with the emotional ones.
We head over to some jock sports bar afterwards for an extra drink or two; many of us are tired and want to just go back to Scotti's but, as Adam puts it, "It's Las Vegas, man!" -- and so we're all swayed. I down a couple of my tour drink of choice - vanilla Stoli and 7-Up - as well as a shot of Jager with the band and a couple of Denyss's friends, while watching a heated game of pool and crafting masterful mixes on the nearby jukebox. Then, on the way back, one of the most perfect scenes to cap off my last night on tour: cruising down the freeway in the passenger seat of the band van, surrounded by musicians who are now friends and family, high heels up on the dashboard, alcohol in my system, leaning on one hand, watching the 5 a.m. sunrise over the lights of Vegas. I think I feel something like satisfaction with this adventure, and at least some peace with the fact that I'm going home tomorrow.
It's a good night. Or early morning, rather.
hotel-room view: New York, New York and the MGM Grand
somewhere beneath these pillows is our guitar player
Divebar marquee
Monday, May 14th - Las Vegas, Nevada
It's a very short sleep-in this morning, not to mention we're without a few Halos: Adam, far more drunk than the rest of us and in the persuasive company of a few friends, parted from our camp after leaving the sports bar last night to go wreak further havoc into the early hours of the morning. Same situation with Denyss - he's staying with friends - but I have fingers crossed I'll at least get to say my goodbyes to most of them before I leave for the airport that evening. The rest of the guys want to take in some of downtown Vegas as they transfer from Scotti's place to a room at the Hard Rock Hotel, which is sure to be significantly nicer than our usual Motel 6 digs on the road. As Adam returns, Johnny parts from us to join Scotti on a trip to "guitar heaven," and our remaining four - Billy, Rob, Adam and myself - haul the already-steamy van downtown to the Hard Rock.
And a rock n' roll joint it is: Imagine every Hard Rock Cafe you've ever been in, but made into a big friggin' hotel, and crammed full of flashing slot machines. There you have it. It's fortunate that Adam's got friends in high places, or else we never would have been able to set foot in this place. The hotel room even overlooks the pool and grotto not far below, and though the big plushy beds are tempting, there's other things to be done. As Billy takes off in search of a phone to call home, Adam, Rob and I enjoy the experience that is Pink Taco (and yes, I'm tempted to buy the logo-stamped panties, but for $25 US I'm deterred). I know I'm cutting it close timewise, since I'm supposed to be at the airport three hours before my flight and it's at two and a half now, but right now I don't give a shit -- I want one last dinner with my boys, even if it's two out of the five. But it's a fortunate coincidence that it's the same two who are responsible for me being here right now (it was Adam who originally suggested I come with them, and I had to get the okay from Rob first), so I pick up the tab for dinner because I know I owe them that much, and more besides.
Then, the goodbyes: Hauling my duffel bag to the cab pickup area - it's a fortunate thing that the airport is so close to the hotel - there's many hugs and kisses exchanged between me and the two present Halos before I get my cab, and I make sure to wait until the car pulls away before allowing myself to cry. It's hard to let go of some things.
Remember how I said I wasn't good with flying? These flights are just the first compounding of my misery at being alone. I quickly realize why the flight back to Toronto from Vegas was so dirt cheap: I'm flying Air Death. The transfer flight from Las Vegas to Los Angeles, at least; a terrifyingly rickety little air vehicle that had me clutching my armrests and trying to slow my heartbeat (or, alternatively, trying to get it to restart). The entirety of Los Angeles I get to see is the inside of LAX's Terminals 7 and 2 - though bizarrely enough, I actually run into Todd Kerns, another rock musician from Vancouver whom the Halos (and I) are acquainted with - and the Air Canada flight back to Toronto, while four hours long (which is a fucking eternity in my book -- seriously, that many tons of metal should not logically be able to stay in the air like that), is far better than the transfer. Except for the turbulence. I think I have minor brain aneurysms at every little jolt.
Touchdown in Canada: Toronto, 7 a.m., eighteen days after I left, the real world at last, and my undeniable home.
the tour's ultimate casualty: the bumper-less band van
Kids, the moral of the story is this:
Life's short. Life is so fucking short. And everybody out there has got some dream they want to fulfill. The key to achieving this, as I've always figured (any long-time readers of my other blog remember any of the older entries where I cryptically talked about "being ready for when the time comes"? That's exactly what I meant), is to constantly keep an eye out for the opportunity to make it happen. And if you have to make sacrifices, if you have to abandon some things in the process, do it. Just fucking do it, for yourself and no one else. If someone reaches out a hand or opens the door for you, take it. Because we've all only got one shot at this, and more often that not, everything will work out in the end if you just have faith.
See, for two weeks on tour, I heard Mike Ness sing the words "reach for the sky, because tomorrow may never come". And hey, it might not. So, in my opinion - and now, my experience as well - unless you make your life into a story worth telling, then it ain't worth living.
Tomorrow may never come, darlings. Live for today. You might be surprised how it turns out.
I don't regret a single thing of those two and a half weeks.
(Thank you, really. For all of this, for everything we did and for even letting me be a part of it. This is the kind of shit I'm not going to forget. I'll make it up to you someday, promise.)
xo - Caitlin Halo
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