The Gods of Now On Tour – Day 28 (Last Day)

Full-on, September eye fuck. Wakes you up twice.

We’ll get out of town and then eat.

We are all in remarkably great moods. One show to go and then it’s back home. Yesterday was hard just because we got it into our heads that we might be able to go home today. But since the show is on, the show is ON! So we’re pumped and ready.
We talk about everything. It’s a long way. We talk about the Movie. Everyone has The Movie of The Story of Their Lives. Ours has it all – sex, drugs, rock and roll – Gods, Goddesses, minions, magic, delusion, murder, adultery, fornication, a dictionary, Germans, Russians, Italians – THE FRENCH! Fucking international appeal, this is the real fucking shit! Murder???

The cities go by one by one until their mother, Toronto finally shows up. She screams at us to get going so we pass right by. We head on down to Brantford. This is the scene of one of the craziest shows I ever played (this was a long time before now). There was a bar owner named God who had my band play two nights – three shows (one was an afternoon show for street punks). It was outta control. He taught me and my bass player how to drink. He put the bottle of JD on the counter and said “Just keep your head above the bar and your eyes on me – you’ll be fine”. I can’t remember anything after that.
To me you have to really fuck up to fuck up in this town – my memories assured me of this.

We get there and check into the hotel and then head over to the bar. We see the big truck there in the front of the place unloading the PA gear. Well see… isn’t that totally promising!?

Mike, the very cordial soundman and current mover of said gear, says that the show is on. But there is ominous news…

We ask if there are any other bands here yet. He shakes his head – beads of sweat fall from him. He’s moving a ton of gear all by himself. He says no other bands yet. But it’s early so we’ll check it all out and make sure everything is fine.

We go in and talk to George. His family bought the bar back in the 1950’s. It was made in a building that has its roots in the 1870’s. It’s a very nice bar too – a great place for a rock show.

But all the bands are a no-show. Yes, that’s right! And Mike and George have been trying to reach the booker via e-mail and phone for days but there’s nothing for it. How fitting that, here, at the end, the last show and nothing but imaginary friends – the same ones that we played to during the OTHER show this same promoter set up.

According to George and Mike (two guys who clearly love music and understand bands) this has happened before – which is really the modus operandi of this talentless hack of a promoter.

It is at this point that you ask yourself: what the fuck?

I call AMP. She is as shocked as we are. She was assured a great show. I relate my more violent leanings on how to deal with this whole situation. She calms me down and says she’ll make a call or two. She does. And instead of getting apology or commiseration – which would have been the professional thing to do – she received disbelief at the situation. Couldn’t be his fault, could it?

Geez – lemme look at this a sec…

If said promoter twat is doing this maliciously then he clearly has sociopathic issues – I’ve never met the guy – why would he want me to expend energy, money, resources and morale needlessly like this? If he wants me to fail, why work with me in the first place?
If he actually believes that this kind of fucking-up-of-shows, spirit and relationship is doing his job … holy shit! I’d love to know how his fucking company makes any money at all – if they ever do.

And listen – never think I don’t know the difference between oversight, mistake, accident or “things beyond our control” and ineptitude. Shit happens – that’s the nature of everything. Even when you do your best, there are going to be problems. No house has perfectly straight walls. So don’t think I’m crapping on this guy, because I like crapping on people…

It would be a better story, as far as I’m concerned, to talk about how we rolled into Brantford and the other local bands were there. How that they were contacted by the promoter to make sure that the turn-out was going to be a good one… how that the local acts were all on the same page (given our info by the promoter so they’d know who they were playing with). And Mike the sound guy would be happily mixing live sound for all of us, and George the bar owner would be happily taking those drink orders.

Doesn’t it sound easy? Well, it is, except if the promoter is an absolute moron who leaves professionals (bands, sound technicians, bar owners, managers, PR people and record companies) in the fucking lurch.

So now it begs the question: should I say his name? Should I tell you his information so that you, especially if you’re in a band (I’ve been at this successfully for a long, long time so I can absorb needless hits like this and recover, but there are a lot of acts that wouldn’t be able to – and that would be a shame) can either stay away from him or be aware that he has a fucking horrible reputation and no real talent as a promoter.
You tell me. Should I?

What would you do? Think of the implications – there are some very, very good booking agents out there who would think I’m being very unfair to this guy. Maybe they wouldn’t work with me because I didn’t give dickless the benefit of the doubt.

When is justice worth sacrifice? Everyone bitches about the sad state of the music business and here is a culprit. What do I do? (I actually know what I’m going to do but I love being dramatic about the whole thing!)

Let me relate to you one more episode (next blog post) and then you can help me decide.

BUT FIRST…

Well, the tour is over. We shook hands with Mike the sound guy and George the bar owner who apologized again and again for the promoter’s lack of professionalism. These fellas in Brantford are good people and I’d go back there in a second, especially if they’re the ones we’d be working with.

We walked across the parking lot and into a Strip Club. They asked Alex to leave on account of his sleeveless vest he was wearing cuz we were going to play! Oh my God this guy has been boosted from more places during this tour than he has his whole life. So he goes to the Banyion. Zasta goes out first to see if he can talk Alex back. Zasta comes back with no luck. “He says he’s not in the mood anymore.” Fair enough but I’ll give it the old college try too. So I go out to the Banyion.

I knock on the window. “Yeeeah?” I explain that we should have at least a drink together in there – last day and all. He’s not interested. I don’t blame him. I say we’ll be out in 5 min. Alex catches sight of something over my shoulder. I turn to look. There’s a dude climbing a drainpipe and looking for a way into an apartment up on that building over there. We look at each other. “Brantford,” we say together. Alex locks the door to the Banyion as I close it.

Zasta, Jon and I finish our drinks there on Perv row and after doing a double-take (no, not because of the girl – although she was sexy) because we were about to walk out but Prodigy got a spin by the DJ.

We go into the Banyion (Zasta crawls under her and taps the starter) and drive to Boston Pizza. The place is packed with University students. Drunk girls and the guys who’ll fuck ‘em if they wait long enough. We got seated and were very definitely not a part of the little sexy power plays going on. And we were too tired to care.

Our waitress – a cool brunette named Amelia became our friend. She was upset that the gig didn’t work out. “You shouldn’t use that booker.” Ahh, out of the mouths of babes – and when I say babe I mean hot girl. And speaking of hot girls, Michelle was also hovering around. I’m positive she didn’t touch the ground at any time. Hot little number. Would look at home in L.A. or Paris, or my bed! Zing!

So we finish our meal and head back to the Hotel.
And that’s that. Tomorrow… the long drive home. And we want to leave early. Enough is enough.

There was no difference between the days. Last and today. We’re in the Banyion and we keep it running. TO screams at us again – and then the little dots down the 401 get farther and farther apart. And then tired trees everywhere you look.

We all breathe deeply when we come back to our Quebec. The land, the people, the music, the politics, the women! This is our place. La Belle Province. Mon beau pays. Mon amour. I love it here. I have no roots anywhere else. Quebec doesn’t hold me as much as she loves me. And I love her back. Je suis Quebecois.

We drive to Alex’s first. We drop him off. Last picture of the road.

We’re never going to do this again – not until next time. Ha!

Then it’s Jon.

No, we’re never going to do this again…

Then Zasta gets dropped off at his place.

… not until the next time.

Then I back the Banyion up to my place – my studio. And I quiet the great beast – she did a good job. I turn her off for the last time. I climb out. I walk to the big, black metal door and stop before putting the key in. The moon is tapping me on my shoulder. I smile just enough to look crazy.

I can’t wait until the next time.

Somewhat Related Entries

• The Gods Of Now On Tour – Day 25
• The Gods of Now On Tour – Day 26
• The Gods Of Now On Tour – Day 11
• The Gods Of Now On Tour – Day 17
• Play For Nothing!