Still Alive and Posting (Barely) 6/22/05

Hello faithful and patient readers. Sorry for the ridiculous delay between Parts One and Two of the Velvet Revolver story. Part Three should be a quick one because it's about the performance itself, so I will get that one off soon.

One reason for the lapse in posts is that I've gotten myself involved in a project launched over on Chris's blog site--y'know, the liberal guy over there on the sidebar to the right. In the spirit of the old mix tapes that we all made back in the day, he has proposed a mix CD exchange called the Mixed Bag. Although I was intrigued as I read all about round one a while back, I did not participate. But I couldn't resist this time and built what I think is a pretty damn good disc. A group of 26 of us signed up to make a mix CD and send it to everyone on the list. In return, I'll be getting everyone's else's CDs as well. Compiling a CD for a bunch of people I don't know at all was a little daunting, but exciting as well.

(By the way, hello and welcome to all the Mixed Baggers out there if you're checking me out for the first time by virtue of my disc or the link on Chris Brown's site. I don't post often, but check the archives for more concert tales.)

Anyway, the picking of songs, burning, packaging, and mailing 25 CDs took up a bunch of my free time, but I enjoyed every minute of it. The other's CDs are coming in the mail at a pretty good pace and I've heard some of the weirdest shit ever recorded. But the strange thing is, I'm enjoying stuff I'd never even consider buying. I went into the project with that spirit and designed most of my disc with that in mind for others. (Well, not the weird part, just the turning people onto new things part.)

In a few days, I hope to post my own CDs track list for anyone that is interested. I'll also post up a review or two of some of these Mixed Bag CDs I'm getting.

Thanks for stopping by.......................T.

Supergroup Blues Part 2 (Velvet Revolver Fresno '05)

It's been a long time since the last installment: Last we left Tony, Chris, and Justin, they were being told by a mysterious looking usher that there was an unmarked bar entrance under the luxury suites of the arena.

"There is?", I replied to the usher while looking down the stairs. Because the steps were butted up against the side of one of the luxury suites, I pointed slightly upward and asked, "Isn't it for the people in the suites?".

"Used to be", she answered. "Now it's open to everybody. They wasn't gettin' enough business down there from the high rollers."

I looked at her in disbelief. I wondered what she was trying to pull here. Down the steps was a non-descript door with a small sign above it reading North Club. It looked like the door to a janitor's closet or machine room. With a little trepidation, we ventured down the few steps and entered a wide room with thin carpeting and white walls.

I glanced around to see a few bar height tables spread about and a couple of TVs bracketed to the wall farthest from our entrance. Tucked into a little cubby over my shoulder was a portable bar with a bartender at the ready. We were the first ones in. I looked over to Chris and Justin. "Whadya think?', I asked with my arms out wide as if to express that we had the place to ourselves.

"Cool", Justin said. Chris agreed. We popped over to the bartender and got a couple of Fat Tire Ales and I again foolishly asked Justin if he wanted a soda. We carried the beers and Justin's vegan-approved cup of water to one of the tables facing a TV. The Red Sox and Yankees were playing a high profile early season game and getting into the late innings. Chris and I had caught the beginning at the restaurant and now we could easily see the finish in comfort. I made sure that nobody had an interest in seeing Hoobastank and it was agreed that we'd found our spot until Velvet Revolver hit the stage.

A few people trickled in from time to time. It was amusing to see the looks on their faces, probably pretty close to what we must have looked like coming in. Perhaps I could compare the experience to finding a cave in a rainstorm or Indiana Jones entering a tomb. It was like a speakeasy, but with the usher openly practicing her namesake by ushering in folks as they trudged upstairs to the concourse for a brew or a visit to the restroom. Looks were exchanged among the entering parties with raised eyebrows and shrugged shoulders. When newcomers entered, they got the once over from those of us already inside and vice versa, all of us thinking, "how did you get in here?". As it turns out, we were the chosen few, but only because of dumb luck.

Getting another round, I asked the bartender what the story was about the space. It didn't appear to be originally designed to be a bar or club. He said that it was storage at one time, but the arena makes such good use of space that it was pretty much empty all the time. It had no value as an area to rent out for events since the arena itself isn't visible from inside. So they decided to make a club out of it for the suite ticket holders. It was exclusive, but wasn't used much since most people that visit a suite for an event make use of the amenities therein such as food and drink service, television, and comfort. So in the end, the management decided to keep the bar intact and open it to the public. This concert was one of the first events to do so, which is why the usher was pitching the option to folks like a carnie drumming up business at the ring toss.

We settled in with more brews and talked while glancing absent mindedly at the game from time to time. Chris and Justin hit it off as I expected, so when I spent time trying to find a signal on my cell phone down there in what seemed like a bunker, I wasn't worried that I'd left two people staring at each other. I was trying to call a friend of mine to have him join us in the club. His voice cut in and out badly, but I was able to make out that he was still in the deserted parking lot drinking beer and cranking tunes. I tried to give him directions to the club, but it was difficult to explain that we were underneath the luxury suites.

"What, you snuck into a suite?', he yelled into his phone with some Stone Temple Pilots blasting from his car speakers.

I laughed and said, "No, no. We're in a bar under the suites". I continued to walk around the long vacant room trying to locate a good signal. "You gotta go down some stairs and through a door. Head to the stairway entrance to Section 22 and go down the stairs next to the luxury box. We're in a bar down here, it's pretty cool. I'll buy you a beer."

With the bad connection, he'd only heard about a third of what I'd said. He got "Section 22", "stairs", and oddly enough, the complete sentence of my offer to buy him a drink. I gathered from his garbled reply that he'd find us eventually. I went back to the table to finish that Fat Tire with Chris and Justin. I watched as a group of guys about my age sat down with their beers at the table next to ours. I cocked my head to eavesdrop as the alpha male spoke.

".........anything with 'stank' in it's name can't be that good". The others laughed. Funny stoner. It seemed that this group wasn't too concerned with missing the opener either. Moments later, Hoobastank took to the stage to surpisingly loud applause. The sound was badly muffled in our hideaway and that was okay by me. It was all booms and rumbles until I could make out the hit single. We continued our own semi-private party until the end of their set and stood up to venture out into the arena once again. We had indeed satisfied the rock snob in each of us by boycotting the Hoobastank set, but it wasn't much of a sacrifice, what with the ballgame and the beer.

Out on the arena floor again, this time time without a request to sit by security, we decided to stake out a spot in front of the soundboard. I had expected the place to fill up while we were sheltered away in the bar, but it was still very empty. I was really perplexed and the three of us tried to come up with reasons for the poor showing of the Fresno rock faithful. In any case, it was sad and disappointing. This kind of attendance could hamper future bookings of the arena as far as relevant (contemporary or not) acts are concerned, but good ol' Fresno still packs 'em in for the "classic rock" artists like Elton John, The Eagles, and Rod Stewart. This town loves a tried and true product; hits on the radio, summer blockbusters, chain restaurants, and by no means anything different or challenging. Pass the pablum, please.

With this line of thinking, I started to understand--but could not articulate at the time to Chris and Justin--the problem that Fresno as a collective might have with Velvet Revolver. What problem, you ask? I know the facts weigh in favor of the band. They have a sensational record filled with radio friendly, but hard rocking hits plus the adult alternative station (should read: women's station--Alice FM, Kiss FM, Star FM, etc.) staple Fall To Pieces . They've gotten praise from the music press and while this is less influential as the movie industry press or even the average restaurant reviewer, it still lends some degree of street credibility to a group even when they're raking in huge sales numbers. They also come from rock thoroughbred lineage in Guns and Roses and Stone Temple Pilots, so a fan would have to figure on hearing some of each band's tunes during the set. But I think the main contrary factor that Fresno unconsciously made it's decision on to go out that night or not was based on the fact that Velvet Revolver has only put out one album.

I wouldn't bet the house on it, but somehow that is what I figure that the city of Fresno is holding out on; another album from Velvet Revolver. Yeah, that's it, wait until they really command high dollar for a ticket and then bitch about how they've sold out and don't care about the real fans when you could've seen them for about forty bucks instead of ninety-five. Then we as a city can have another poor attendance showing and blame it on ticket prices instead of complete and utter apathy.

"Ehh, I dunno, I thought we could watch that Sandler flick again and barbeque up a tri-tip tonight"--typical Fresnan when asked if he'd like to exit his One Family Bio-Dome and go to a club, drink draft beer, see actual live musicians play actual live music, talk to strangers, spend cash (yes, real paper money), possibly dance for the first time since the last wedding reception, and stay up late enough to be tired the next day.

Anyway, I decided that this show required one more beer. What show doesn't? So I mentioned this to Chris and Justin and asked if they'd like to accompany me back up to our own private speakeasy. They agreed and we trudged up the stairs again, but at least this time knowing where we were going. Bounding down the hideaway steps this time, I burst into the room under the steps to see my old pal the bartender. There was a short line of about 8 people and the ducktailed usher bringing up the rear. As I came within a couple of steps of her, she sidestepped to block me off and told me softly that after the lady in the line in front of her, there would be no more beer sales. I tried to hide my disappointment and quickly scanned the room to see if others had already been turned away. Everyone seemed to be having a good time and not paying attention to the bar line. I looked the usher in the eye and leaned close.

"Ah, now c'mon. You brought me in here, remember? I'm a nice, quiet guy. I'm not gonna make any trouble. What's one more beer?", I said to her quietly with a smile. I figured 20 stoners already gave her a line or a bribe to get another round, but I gave her a wink anyway.

She smiled back half-heartedly and replied, "That's what they're telling us to do. I can't really let anyone else in line". As she finished her sentence, she glanced around the room. Turning back towards me, she crossed her arms, but pointed to the floor in front of her from beneath her bent elbow. "C'mon ahead", she whispered.

I failed to see her signal and stupidly said, "What?"

She rolled her eyes slightly and grinned. "Get in line ya dummy. Don't say anything, just order your drink and go".

I whispered a thank you to her and listened without having the heart to turn around as she turned away person after person looking for that last cocktail. I felt a little guilty as I got closer to the bar. When I was second from the front, I watched as the lady in front of me casually swiped a handful of cherries from the garnish caddy on the bar and munched on them as the bartender turned around to fetch her order. I looked over at Chris and Justin, who had also noticed this, each with their jaw a little dropped in feigned horror. I said, "Hey check it out, a salad bar".

They both chuckled but the lady in front of me was oblivious, gnashing away on her stolen marachinos. The lid to the caddy was propped open. "It's even got a tiny sneeze-guard", I quipped. More laughs from those two and this time a turned head from the gal in front of me. She smiled, looking a little confused. As she walked away, I ordered the precious last beer and as the bartender poured it, I gazed into the bins of the caddy. Lime wedges, olives, and a paltry number of cherries sitting in their own syrupy juice. I wondered how many grubby hands had been in there that night and was glad to be drinking beer.

As we once again delved into the arena, I held my cup of beer up in a mock toast; "Last one poured in the house tonight, right here". We easily wandered over to our previous spot in front of the soundboard. The lights went down shortly thereafter and we were underway.

Next Up: Supergroup Blues Part 3 (For anyone who even cares at this point!)