Does Anyone Remember Laughter? Gilmour Floyd and Heartbreaker '05 (Part 3)

Mary and I waited a few minutes before venturing into the small lobby of the Tower Theater after Gilmour Floyd's performance. She went to use the ladies room and I remained in my seat to further people-watch. Smiles all around on the people hiking up the incline of the aisles. Then I saw what I thought was just your typical Dark Side Of The Moon t-shirt on a woman. As she came closer, I realized that the familiar prism design had Gilmour Floyd printed across it. A tribute band with their own merchandise? It struck me as a little strange. I liked the band very much, but I couldn't see buying a shirt, especially one with a design so derivative of an original Pink Floyd image.

When Mary returned to her seat, I went out to hit the head and get a beer. I got into the long beer line and was right next to the Gilmour Floyd merchandise table. The shirts were pinned on the wall behind the table staffed by a handful of ladies. On the table itself were what looked like candles and incense, the kind you'd find at one of those Tupperware-style home "parties". Cute. I figured one of the band member's wives thought it would be a great idea to put that crapola out alongside the t-shirts. Now that's rock 'n' roll! Also on the table were what looked like blown up digital photos of Gilmour Floyd in concert. I overheard one of the ladies at the booth tell a very drunk guy that the band would be happy to autograph a photo......for $2. He shrugged and dished out the two bills. I moved ahead with the beer line and shortly, he staggered up to his buddy who was right in front of me. He smiled wide and showed his pal the photo. "Cool", the friend exclaimed. "Where'd you get this?"

"Right over there", he said, pointing to the table. "Two bucks."

"You paid for this?", his buddy asked. The guy nodded, a little confused. "Well, I hope you're not two dollars short for this beer, Eddie." I snickered a little and the friend looked over his shoulder and winked at me. Eddie simply said, "Heh, yeah" and looked lovingly at his prize.

Back at my seat, we watched the crew strip the stage and set up for Heartbreaker. Gone were the nice risers and video screen. Instead, the stage was flat and plain plus a banner lifted up behind the drum kit with "Heartbreaker" in the same font used in the most recognized Led Zeppelin logos. It read:

Heartbreaker

A tribute to

Led Zeppelin

The letters in Led Zeppelin and Heartbreaker were the same size just in case you didn't know that they were indeed a Led Zep tribute band. Before the banner, I suppose some people thought that Heartbreaker were the world's worst Mott The Hoople tribute band, saying after the show, "Jeez, they didn't even play All The Young Dudes and what was with all that Zeppelin stuff?"

The lights went down and the band came onstage and started in on the barrage of Zeppelin hits. The crowd was very enthusiastic, with some standing and others pumping their fists. Mary and I looked at each other and mouthed the same words to each other; "This sounds like shit". I looked back at the mixing board to see a different guy than before furiously twiddling knobs and glancing quickly up at the stage. He looked like he was playing some sort of rock and roll Whack-A-Mole.

After the first tune, the sound got much better. Following Gilmour Floyd and their pristine sound (helped also by the subtleties of Pink Floyd's music in contrast to Zep's aural assault) turned out to be a short-term problem as Heartbreaker sounded even better than our previous exposure to them. I marveled at the costumes; the singer with his tight, low-cut denims with a silk blouse tied loosely at the waist,the guitar player wearing a very cheap looking knockoff of Page's "Dragon Suit", the bass player wore something of a Seinfeld-esque puffy shirt, and the drummer appropriately wore jeans and a t-shirt. (Bonham never was flashy---my favorite photo of Led Zeppelin is one with them standing in a field, with Jones, Plant and Page each wearing a stylish-for-the-time casual jacket and tie with pleated pants. Then there's Bonzo, wearing faded jeans and an Adidas t-shirt).

Each player also wore a wig, except possibly the guitar player, who could have been simply wearing his natural hair in the short-long shaggy Page look. The singer's wig was certainly necessary, because Robert Plant wore such an identifiable mane. The bass player had a wig that matched John Paul Jones' Prince Valiant phase and the drummer wore a non-descript long black piece, but was also adorned with a laughable stuck-on mustache like you'd find at the Halloween costume stores that pop up in vacant building around late September. I watched him off and on all night to see if that spirit gum would hold. (It did.)

Mary and I both thought that they sounded much better than the Warnor's Theater show. Mary noticed that the singer seemed to push foot pedals down after some songs and we wondered if that affected his mic at all. I had no doubts that he was singing live, but now had some concerns that he was masking some inadequacies in his voice. Even so, the vocalist reached some powerful highs and while, to my ears, he didn't sound all that much like Plant in the higher register, he was spot-on in the lower. He also pranced and stutter-stepped about the stage mimicking Plant in quite the fey manner. If it weren't for multiple viewings of The Song Remains The Same on VHS back in my all-nighter days, I'd wonder what the hell this guy was doing. Before seeing the movie, all I'd seen were stills and those showed Plant in marvelously statuesque Rock God poses. Nowadays, with the ability to view the wonderful Led Zeppelin DVD set as proof, Heartbreaker's lead man knows his Percy.

In actuality, the rest of the band were fairly pedestrian aside from dressing the part. This is not a knock on their talents as musicians. They obviously have a respect for the original material and most likely maintain a passion for the band, but only Zep sounds like Zep. I will admit, at times, when I'd just let the experience wash over me, I could easily imagine that this was something like seeing Zep around late '69 or maybe '70 when they played venues similar in size to the Tower. That feeling didn't last long because, in its essence, this show was an overblown production of standard readings of Led Zeppelin's catalog boosted by costumes and volume. Still, even saying that, I'd see them again anytime. It's just that fun.

At the risk of sounding like the old timer in his rocking chair, pointing at you with the butt of his pipe cradled between thumb and index finger; "Someday, remind me to tell you about the best fuckin' Zep cover band around. Seen 'em over 20 times, I have. They're called Dread Zeppelin and if you look hard enough, you can find 'em performing live sometime, somewhere."

Floyd vs. Zep: Let's Get It On! Gilmour Floyd and Heartbreaker '05 (Part 2)

Mary and I drove to the Tower District and made our way down Olive Avenue. The area was typically buzzing with people darting across the street and into bars and restaurants. We looked for some parking behind the theater with no luck and decided to head over a block to park by Livingstone's, where we would have dinner. Exiting the lot and heading back up to Olive, I glanced up at the marquee and saw:

GILMOUR FLOYD

and

HEARTBREAKER

SOLD OUT

I looked at Mary, who was maneuvering the car while scanning for possible parking. "Man, am I glad I decided to order tickets earlier this week", I said. She replied, "Yeah, and I suppose it's a good thing nobody decided to meet us down here and buy tickets after dinner. That would've sucked". I agreed. I didn't think it would sell out in advance but maybe just before the show. I only ordered tickets because I like to know I'm getting in for sure. I never want to be in my buddy Chet's position like he was at a Pantera show a few years back. (Read all about it in the Previous Posts column by clicking on A Dimebag For Your Thoughts).

We had a nice dinner and a couple of drinks before heading over to the theater. We walked on the side of the street across from the Tower and swam upstream of folks entering Roger Rocka's, a quaint litter dinner theater that's been around forever. The patrons of Rocka's tend to be middle to upper class types and it was funny to see them shoot quick glances across the street, wondering why in the world all these scruffy people were in line to see a show at the Tower Theater. (The Tower usually hosts dance troupes, an occasional blues act, and most often "smooth jazz" artists. This line of people snaking its way around the corner probably looked to the Rocka's crowd like the one at a needle exchange point.)

I walked up to the will call window to claim my tickets. For some reason, I always get a little nervous at this point. A little bead of paranoia bounces around in my skull, fueled by wicked thoughts of lost credit card numbers and misfiled paperwork. "What do mean you don't have any tickets for Tony Holt?!!" is always on the tip of my tongue. I bit my lower lip a little as the lady behind the glass rifled through some envelopes and exhaled slowly when she picked one out. I was reaching for my wallet when she handed me the tickets and said, "Here ya go". I looked at Mary with raised eyebrows. She asked, "No I.D. check? That's weird". I was just glad that Tony Hull (or someone else with a similar name) didn't claim his tickets first and get a couple of freebies. More paranoia.

We stood in line and eavesdropped on people. It's one my favorite pastimes. Usually, it takes some concentration to filter out background noise. But with the people behind us in line, you couldn't help but overhear every word. One lady had a very distinct and loud laugh. They must have just come from dinner and drinks. Or should that read, drinks and dinner? Possibly drinks and drinks. One guy was talking about some bands that I like that aren't exactly mainstream. Mary recognized some of the names and said quietly to me, "Hey, another music geek like you". "Shaddup you", I laughed. Anyway, they were loud and in the spirit of the night. They weren't really too obnoxious, but we decided that we'd make sure to sit on the opposite side of the theater if possible.

Once inside, it was time to stake out some seats and get some beers. Some nice aisle seats did us fine and I went up to get in the short beer line. I stood behind a woman who was fishing around maniacally in her wallet. She must have felt my presence because, without turning all the way around and without looking up, she asked in my general direction, "Seen these guys before?" I hesitated for just a second and said that I hadn't seen Gilmour Floyd but had seen Heartbreaker and liked them very much. She then said tersely, "I haven't seen the Led Zeppelin, but I saw Gilmour Floyd before". I waited for a remark concerning the band, the performance, or hell, even the weather. But she simply turned around and continued to sift through the papers in her wallet. Okay, I thought, that was a short conversation. I drifted out of line just a step to nosily spy what it was she was looking for. I saw no folding money, but lots and lots of what looked like scrap paper. I thought I could hear her mumbling, but I decided that I probably projected that onto her persona. As she got closer to the beer table, it became clear that she was going to be a problem. She was shaking her head back and forth in obvious frustration. The person in front of her got his beer and she stepped up to the table, never looking up at the server who was asking her what she'd like to drink. I rolled my eyes when she didn't reply right away. What was she doing? I was relieved to see another gal step up to create a second serving station. She motioned me over and took my order. In the meantime, the crazy lady was still digging around in her wallet. She continued to do so as I walked by her on the way out of the lobby, wondering if maybe she was trying to buy a beer with a Carl's Jr. coupon.

I sat down by Mary and handed her a Sierra Nevada. We people watched and smiled when we heard the lady from the line laughing from her seat across the theater. I took notice of the stage setup. A large drum kit was positioned stage right on a large riser and the multiple keyboards were stage stage left on a matching riser. Both risers had large brick facades, evoking imagery from The Wall. Two mic stands were positioned below the risers. Nothing stood center stage. I was already impressed with the stage and was intrigued as to what player would sing lead with the mics set up as they were. Behind the stage in front of the curtain was a large projection screen. I wondered aloud to Mary if the band would put up some Wizard Of Oz scenes and then, upon seeing the confused look on her face, went on to explain the phenomena of watching The Wizard Of Oz while playing Pink Floyd's Dark Side Of The Moon album. Apparently, there are coincidences of lyrics relating to scenes in the movie. I find it fun to read about, but I just don't have the kind of time it takes to experiment with it because, well, I'm not a stoner.

The lights went down and I thought I'd better make another break for the men's room and get another round. That's when I paused at the back of the theater to see if my guess was right about the Oz clips and I overheard the old man ribbing the sound guy.

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The old man made his way up the aisle and passed by me. I looked back up at the screen behind the stage and watched the intro video for Gilmour Floyd. It looked like some sort of anti-violence public service announcement, but with really cool special effects of a bullet's flight. The tagline came up on screen and I decided to indeed hit the head and get that beer. In a rare twist, there was a short line for the men's room that formed right in front of the entrance of the ladies' room, which had no line. I played it classy and averted my eyes when the door to the ladies' room swung open, but the creeps in line next to me actually leaned to catch a peek inside. Some women who'd caught these overgrown 9-year-olds in the mirror scowled at them upon exiting the lavatory. The guys all giggled that they'd been made and waited for the door again. Morons. I hoped that those women didn't include me in their judgment of the group and become guilty by association.

One guy came bounding by the rest of us right up to the men's room door before one of the guys told him that there was a line. He said that he thought that we were all waiting for our girlfriends since we were outside of the ladies' room. Fair enough. He smiled sheepishly and took his spot in the back of the line. Then came a giant drunken monster about 6 and a half feet tall who scuffed his feet as he lumbered by us, right up to the door. The same guy as before said that there was a line. The behemoth turned around rapidly, staggering a bit from the centrifugal force of his movement. He tried to focus through his almost shut eyelids and pick out which of us had said that. He surveyed the line, couldn't decide where the sound might have come from and said, "I could kick all yer asses" while slowly waving his pointed finger up and down the line.

"Aw, get the fuck to the back of the line". Everyone in line turned to look at me. I'd said it before thinking. The giant looked right at me too. Hmm. He squared his shoulders and shuffled towards me, staring down the guys in line before me. "Fuckers", he slurred. When he got to me, he pointed his finger again and said, "I'm gonna remember you". I smiled right in his face. He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly through his nose, slumped his shoulders a bit and shuffled to what I thought would be the end of the line. But he continued on into the lobby. One guy laughed, "What the fuck was that all about?" Another answered, "I don't know. Maybe he forgot what he came for". I could picture him in his seat about 30 minutes later thinking, "Holy shit, I gotta piss all of a sudden!"

I reentered the theater with another beer to see, in fact, images from The Wizard Of Oz on the big screen. The fans were cheering loudly and it made me wonder which contributed to the sellout more; Gilmour Floyd or Heartbreaker. I'd heard that these guys had a fairly strong following locally and had pretty much filled the Tower by themselves, but Heartbreaker had a nice turnout at the much larger Warnors theater a couple of years back. I'd have to wait to compare the crowd reaction when Heartbreaker came on.

In the meantime, I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the sound coming through the system. Someone in line earlier had mentioned that a member of the band either owns or works for a sound system company or something to that effect. Regardless of the source, it was stellar. The separation of the instruments and the balance of the vocals was right on the mark. But the best sound system in the world can't mask a bad performance and in fact, can expose it further. I can tell you without question that these guys would have sounded good in a honky tonk playing through a supermarket's Muzak speakers. They were that damn good. I went in with lukewarm expectations and was highly impressed.

The musicians each provided enough individual talent that it was hard to focus on one for too long so as not to miss a move from another. The guitarist was spot-on playing the Gilmour style and tone. He had a decent voice as well. He played electric, acoustic, and some sort of lap-steel guitar. The keyboard player amazed me by exactly replicating the synth tones found on Pink Floyd records and he also contributed some fine backing vocals. The drummer stole my gaze most often. He had a large arsenal at his disposal, but he did not overplay the kit. His precision strikes on the smaller heads and cymbals were fun to watch because he plays so casually. A fine singer in his own right, he took the more gruff sounding vocals of the night while never missing a beat. I also liked that with him raised up on a platform, there was a great view of his playing. Normally, all you see of a drummer is his head and arms when he's enclosed in a drum kit of that size.

If I was disappointed in any aspect of the night, it was the antics of the bass player. This is no slight against his playing; he was great all night and at times really provided a warm low end that resonated in the theater. But his stage presence was that of a hair-band bass player. He strutted, smirked, bounced, ran, posed, pointed to people in the audience, clapped his hands above his head to entice the crowd to do the same, and generally got on my nerves. While the other musicians played with obvious enthusiasm, they did it with class and composure that lent an air of seriousness and respect for the music. If he were in, say, a Winger tribute band......well, shit, he would've nailed it. He really did nothing wrong, he just didn't fit in with what was happening up there. And besides, who the hell am I? He was up onstage doing something he obviously has a blast doing and I sat there and paid to see him do it.

The material leaned heavily on David Gilmour's contributions to the music of Pink Floyd (hence the moniker they chose, natch). I was a little taken aback to hear such tracks as Dogs Of War and One Slip from the album A Momentary Lapse Of Reason and not smash hits such as Money and Another Brick In The Wall. But playing just that type of set gave the band a level of credibility with me that proved that they weren't just pandering to the lowest common denominator. I'm not even what you'd call a huge Pink Floyd fan. I don't even own a Floyd CD, although I did have a couple of cassettes and LPS---the possession of such was a rite of passage in high school for every serious rocker---and I just haven't gotten around to replacing them on disc. Now, after seeing Gilmour Floyd, I have a renewed appreciation for the music of Pink Floyd. How many tribute bands can do that to a casual fan?

At the end of their set, Gilmour Floyd received a standing ovation and calls for an encore, but it was not to be. Time to set up for Heartbreaker. Mary and I now were contemplating how they'd be received, being a much more primal and sonically brutal band. Time to get another beer and prepare for the likenesses of Percy, Pagey, Jonesy, and Bonzo.

Next up: Does Anyone Remember Laughter? Gilmour Floyd And Heartbreaker '05 (Part 3)

Night Of The Living Jukebox: Gilmour Floyd and Heartbreaker '05

"Don't fuck it up".

I looked slightly down and away from the screen behind the stage that was playing video images to Jeff Beck's Space For The Papa to see who the hell would have uttered this to the sound guy. I had decided at the last moment to hit the restroom and get a beer, but stopped at the back of the Tower Theater up by the roped off seats that served as the space for the soundboard. I was curious to see if my hunch was right about what images would appear on screen as the band hit the stage. I noticed an older gentleman with a slight limp approach the yellow tape that provided the sound guys with a Les Nesman wall. He didn't wait to be noticed when he growled the aforementioned phrase. The nearest of the two sound operators looked up, one eye somewhat squinted and mouth agape in annoyance at such a statement. I was looking at the sound guy over the old man's shoulder, waiting for a response. I was sure the old man was joking, but the young man behind the tape did not seem to recognize him for what was most assuredly an awkward moment. Then, a telling smile of recollection crept across the sound guy's face and he patted the old man on the shoulder and said something I couldn't hear. The old man nodded and when he turned away from the soundboard to make his way up the aisle, I saw a satisfied look on his face, complete with a wry grin.

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The above scene took place last Friday night, February 4th 2005, at the Tower Theater in Fresno. My wife and I decided to check out a couple of tribute bands and sort of celebrate the fact that I have weekends off now and can actually enjoy a Friday night out without having to get up at 3:30 in the morning. Too many times, I've gone into work on a Saturday morning with ringing ears, bloodshot eyes, and with my head feeling like a teetering sandbag on my shoulders. I usually choose my battles carefully and frankly, I may have passed on this particular show if I a hard shift of work ahead of me the next day. I also would have regretted it knowing what I know now.

The bill featured a local Pink Floyd tribute band called Gilmour Floyd opening the show. I'd heard some good things about this outfit, but mostly from people who haven't been to a concert outside of seeing the remnants (usually two-fifths) of a 70's rock band on the county fair circuit. (Note to aging rock concert goers; seeing a show with your stroller-encased children in a venue that serves corndogs and funnel cakes usually means that the artist hasn't release an album of new material in 12-15 years and, by the way, it's time to cut your mullet.)

Anyway, Gilmour Floyd had also gotten some decent press in the local mainstream paper, The Fresno Bee, and on some local music websites. I'd read about a top-notch sound system and a dedication to the spirit of the music of Pink Floyd. I believed it all, but attached my own "local band" stigma to the band and I thought that they would really just sound like a garage band playing Another Brick In The Wall.

The clincher for my wife and I venturing out to this show was that Heartbreaker, a Bay Area Led Zeppelin tribute band, was headlining the event. We'd seen them before in Fresno at the Warnors Theater downtown and loved 'em. They dress the part as members of Led Zeppelin with wigs and period costumes. I remember thinking at that time, that if you suspended your sense of reality for a moment, it could have been like seeing Zep around '71, when they might have been playing venues the size of the Warnors. I should mention that I'd had about 57 beers that night and that reality suspension comes pretty easy at that stage of the game. (Just kidding: anyone that knows me can attest that my limit is 31. I puke at 32.)

So we had a good idea about Gilmour Floyd and a known commodity in Heartbreaker. In the days before the show, we called around to our friends just to give everyone a heads up. It was a general admission concert, so nobody had to plunk down a bunch of dough for a big group. But in the end, it would be just Mary and I. Which is fine; we're each pretty good company, even 19 years later. I decided to reserve a couple of tickets just to be sure and then called a local restaurant in the Tower District and got a table for two. It was shaping up to be like a good old fashioned date.

Next up, Part Two; Floyd Vs. Zep: Let's Get It On!