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!