Roadie #42 - Blog #83
Three days off in a row is a phenomenon practically unheard of in the touring world. The fact that we're so unused to the idea of spending this much time away from the show whilst still "on tour" means that the phrases "long time no see" and "what did you do in the break?" are being bandied about with ridiculous regularity at the Pittsburgh gig. You'd think we'd just come back from summer holidays or something.
Now obviously, nobody likes cancelling shows. The reason that every one of us is here is to do the gig. I have to say though, that I am glad that common sense prevailed over the urge to soldier on regardless. I'm also pleased that the commitment to play a make-up show was without question. To all the folks who didn't get a night out on Wednesday, the old adage will doubtless hold true - the best things will indeed come to those who wait...
As the vehicles draw near to the Pittsburgh Becky, Franky's missus-to-be makes an observation: "Is it just me, or has there not been a single other car for miles?" She's absolutely right. It feels as though we're driving into Area 51. Our driver informs us that it's because we're on a new road - and it's a toll road at that. We pull into the toll booth and wait for the price. It's fifty cents. That's around thirty pence for your own highway. I'd call that a bargain...
Chris kicks off the show by asking the crowd whether they're the current Superbowl champions. It would appear that they are. It would also appear that they're damn happy about it, too. When the fellas reach the C-Stage out in the lawn, they're still chanting. At first, Chris can't understand what they're on about.....
After a difficult couple of shows (which owed a lot of their success to crowd enthusiasm) tonight is a very welcome return to fighting form for the chaps. The crowd here too, are plenty loud. Notably so, in fact. Good to see the band firing on all four again and giving as good as they get.
We climb back into the vehicles and head back to NYC for the day off. Each evening, by email, we get a "Day Sheet" from Franksy giving us times and details for the upcoming day or two. Tonight's contains the results of "Britain's Got Talent". Evidently, this is as important to the band as what time we're meeting in the lobby for the next gig. Also, I appear to be the only person on earth with no idea who Susan Boyle is.
As Will is staying in a different spot to us with his family, he ends up in his own vehicle. He texts that he's lonely in a car by himself and that he's coming to the hotel bar anyway for a quick one before getting "home". We pass his vehicle at some traffic lights and see only a white pair of sneakers (listen, we're in the states, so I'll call 'em what I like) in in the tinted window. Evidently, he's over the isolation and has proceeded directly to spreading out.
Somehow he beats us there and sits making friends with the locals whilst waiting for us to pull up. Me, being the party boy I am, I head directly for the elevator. 'Night folks.
It's a "chores" day off today. I have laundry to collect, I also wander around the corner to get a haircut. In follicle terms, male pattern baldness has me pretty much covered (or rather, doesn't). The edges need a little buzz-cut from time to time though, so I head off to the nearest basement hair place. Now the guy who shows me to the chair was either speeding heavily, or training for some kind of Olympic gum-chewing event. Worryingly, for someone I'm about to let near my head with a motorised cutting instrument, he speaks exactly like the kidnapper from The Silence Of The Lambs. Still, at least it was over quick....
I'll miss NYC when we finally decamp.