That's a quote from Lemmy Kilmister. I kind of like that.
I miss tour life. A lot. There is just something about being dirt poor, out and about, in the middle of nowhere, with all of your best friends. You get yourselves in a million situations that usually never happen in "real life". You smell awful. You eat like shit. You seem to get drunk every night on everyone else's tab. You stay on the couches and floors of people you would never want your parents to meet.
I guess it's a little more like real life than I thought.
This life isn't necessarily for everyone. One member of my former band dreaded the thought every time we were even booking a tour. Another couldn't wait to get out there to sow his wild oats, and fornicate with every female that crossed his path. And one wanted to leave just to leave his troubles with the law behind. Everyone had their reasons why they did, or didn't, want to go.
Regardless, by the time you came home, you appreciated "home" a lot more. Plus, you had a ton of stories to tell your grandkids, and more stories that would horrify your grandparents. It was awesome.
I remember playing a show in Richland, Washington, at a venue called Ray's Golden Lion. It was a Chinese food restaurant on one side, and a bar/venue on the other. It had the look of, what I would imagine to be, what a cocaine dealer in 1985 Miami would set up. You were greeted at the door by a terrifying, muscular Chinese bartender from Nebraska that put so much muscle into his pour, that it was surprising that we could find the stage when showtime came about. The shows were usually packed to the gills, and you could make those kids do anything you told them to. Once again, awesome.
After the show, the promoter told us that he was having an after party at his house. All 6 of us were still ready to rock and roll at this point, and the bar was closing, so why the hell not? This was one of our first tours, and we're already being treated like royalty. Go time.
His house was amazing. You didn't know where it ended, it was so big. He had RV's behind the house, so everyone had a place to crash when all was said and done. At some point, I remember holding a martini glass full of Pabst Blue Ribbon, while holding a toy chihuahua. Yes, there are photos of this somewhere out there.
This still isn't, in my eyes, the high point of the party.
We continued to party ourselves stupid, way beyond the sun coming up. Our "designated driver" had slept for the 8 hours that we had spent at the party, so he was good to go. Our trombone player and I, whilst being piss drunk, were sad to leave. We had to play Seattle in a few hours, so it was time to go.
We said our goodbyes to the few stragglers left behind, including a bouncer that looked identical to Scott Ian from Anthrax, and waited outside the van for the rest of the guys to jump in. As we waited, a very pretty, and quite busty, young lady came up to our trombone player, and with a coy smile, unbuttoned her shirt, and asked "Will you sign my boobs?". Don't threaten us with a good time. He reached in his pocket, and grabbed a Sharpie. He fastened his left hand onto the woman's right breast, and while slightly groping it, signed "Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke". I almost wet my pants full of PBR. It was, single handedly, the most hilarious, and sexist signature I have ever witnessed. As we hopped into the van, we donned ourselves "The Toxin Twins", figuring this was just the beginning...and we were right.
Don't get me wrong, the show part WAS kinda cool, but the shit in between was always the best part.
Anywho, I've got a week long tour to book for us in April.
Until next time, friends.
RPS
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