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The benefit of a lifetime
There are a lot of jokes about New Jersey. It’s tough being so close to the big city. You can’t possibly compete. You are going to have to take your lumps. I like New Jersey. It’s got the boardwalks, an easy commute to the city, and Frank Sinatra was born there. People from New Jersey move to Pennsylvania not for jobs or cheap housing. They move there so they can make fun of another state. It’s like New York picks on New Jersey, so New Jersey picks on Pennsylvania. People from Pennsylvania get screwed because they can’t pick on Ohio (it’s basically the same state but they have the Rock N’ Roll hall of Fame), Maryland is nicer, and upstate New York has too many wineries to piss off! New Jersey it is, as we venture into the garden state for the very first gig for Onion Dent.
Driving to Paramus was exhausting experience. Shill rented us a gigantic custom van so the band would travel as a “team” and “bond” on route 80. The guys traveled light and were low maintenance. Nicole was another story. She kept asking our driver “could you stop here please?” The most challenging aspect was that no one wanted to pay the price of getting her mad, so the resultant silent suppression of emotion was unbearable and caused passenger anxiety and pedestrian envy. We had to add a cargo box to the roof of the van for the additional luggage and accessories she brought. Iam posed a question to me “who in their right mind brings an Ab Circle Pro, vintage soft bonnet hair dryer, and a popcorn maker for an overnight trip?” The driver had to keep opening the cargo box to get her “just one more thing.” Every time we stopped it was at least a half-hour wait. She would stroll out of the ladies room from each respite with a complete extreme fashion makeover. She would transform her hairstyle, outfit, and accessories. Joe followed with some observations “what is this the family vacation? Who pees on the hour, every hour? It’s making me want to piss myself. Come to think of it, I think I did piss myself. If she were my wife, she’d return to the van to my lawyer serving her papers and telling her my famous last words to her were “you look fat in that outfit!”
This latest stop was to tie her sneaker and loosen up her back with some Eastern European yoga. She got out and stood at about a four feet earshot from the van. We sat there percolating and softly vented our frustration. Donny was disgusted “who does she think she is, the Imperial and Royal Highness?” Iam next “I think when we get the van going at a good speed, I’m just gonna jump and end it all.” Jerry chimed in “if she moisturizes next to me one more time I’m gonna let that fart go that I’ve been holding since the Hickory Run exit!”
We practiced exactly two days ago, at least four of us did. We set up a podcast for Jerry and Iam who could not possibly swing another lengthy trip with the concert looming. “It might be a good time to get rid of the dead weight, bass players are way over rated.” “Donny let’s just hope they don’t mail in their performance at the show.” Joe took his turn “I like the extra space on stage, and it smells better too.” Jerry and Iam had a few reciprocal choice words from their far off lands, then we got down to the business at hand. We decided to do our two “known” songs as bookends in the beginning and end of the show. “Fat cat” was the unanimous chosen closer as we hoped by then the audience would be primed to dance in the aisles and sing along. The middle was the problem. We didn’t want fluff or to do a night of cover songs. We came up with a 50-minute combination of solos, jams, and inserted lyrics from my backpack. With the little time we had we continued to made sure that the rhythms and percussion were as infectious as possible. There was actually a bit of all of the musical styles the band was founded on (polka, grunge, country, and Joe on sax). It was a shaky foundation but occasional “bright” moments upgraded us to cautious optimism. At minimum we took away a “snowballs chance in hell” outline to firmly hang our hats on. Joe summed it up “it’s not bad, except for the music.” Iam next “what other non-profit event supplies the audience members with a barf bag?” “If they pass out some industrial ear plugs we are in the money.”
I offered a final thought before sign-off “whatever you do, however this goes, just LOOK like you know what you are doing.”
When bands reminisce about their first gig, the details usually include a smoky bar; a three member drunken audience, a bar fight, and not getting pay. Well we weren’t getting paid but at least expenses were on Shill and we did get to act like pseudo-rock stars. We all wore are dark glasses and tried to play the part. It’s not as easy as it looks. We all had a really cool strut until an Iam misstep took him for a tumble down a floor slope. His busted sunglasses were in pieces on the recently carpeted floor scattered next to him. It certainly was not the first time we saw Iam tumble to the ground but it was a first appearance of sorts. Joe dished it “he’s into carpeting, and ass-exposure” Donny followed “the pastel tones in the carpet fiber really accentuate your ass crack. ” Nicole joined in for the very first time “pay attention boys this is the part where he pulls a rabbit out of his crack.” We laughed like wild as Iam pulled up his pants and shook off the vision of cartoon stars ‘circling his head.”
We were scheduled to meet the stage manager, a Mr. Scrota, for a brief theater tour.
He approached us in the hallway and looked liked a recently resurrected vampire more than our personal tour guide. Jerry verified my assumption “I should have worn my turtleneck sweater” Donny added “Nicole probably has all of our sizes in stock outside in her luggage emporium.” “Saint Leonard please don’t let the mean and scary vampire have his way with me.” Joe chuckled.
To make matters worse, Scrota had an authentic classic horror movie voice. “Follow me” he said. Donny added “at least he didn’t say, walk this way. I hope I don’t follow him after he takes a dump in the men’s room.” Jerry smiled “that suit needs some emergency dry cleaning, maybe he’s helping out Shill with servicing the elderly and deceased board members!”
We got to tour the stage first. A lavish theater of red velvet and ornate gold awaited us. The velvet ropes and tempered track lighting accented the warm tones of the carved oak trim and caps. Standing on the impressive stage was a surreal experience. “I don’t know about you, but standing here is enough for me, this is a magical moment.” Iam continued “I might just smash my bass and retire from the industry after the show.” “I was gonna smash your bass after the show, it’s a mercy killing.” Donny said with a sly smile.
The one thing that everyone wanted to see was the dressing room. We had a joke about having a “star” on the door or we would refuse to play. Shill proudly stood outside the room to greet us. He must have had a board “member” meeting as he looked a little “undone.” We immediately dished it out. “Shill are you the “opening” act?” “Did she show you to her seat?” “Take your seat in the flute section.” “He uses his conductors baton with such skill.” “So who played your wind instrument?” “He can’t find the board of directors, he forgot where he “laid” them.” “Did you get a standing ovulation?”
Shill quickly learned to ignore us and opened the door. “This is the dressing room.” It had a temporary sign with “Onion Dent” loosely sketched at eye level. I must say it was impressive to see it, even in this cheesy “official” presentation. There was a slightly “off center” star on the door that looked like Shill may have applied right before we got there. We walked in and it was a large room with white everywhere, six dressing areas with lighted mirrors like the ones you see on a backstage segment of a TV show. There was a divider set off in the corner of the room so Nicole could have privacy. Shill said “see you in an hour for show time, I’m sure you will be great.”
We did a hurried sound check but it managed to be a breeze with the sound guy Shill hired named “Knuckles.” Knuckles looked like he should opt for the ever-popular shaved head option verses the barren long hair he was grasping onto the memory of. Every response from Knuckles to whatever you said to him was “cool.” I was also hoping Shill purchased him the supplemental dental plan he was in dire need of. The open genuine smile really showed off the neglected bicuspids.
On a positive note, he really knew his stuff and got us back to the dressing room in ten minutes.
We started our preparation for the show as time was ticking. Scrota came to the door and told us we had to take the stage in 5 minutes.
There weren’t any real pre-show “bad habits” that I could detect. Thankfully everyone seemed sober and coherent.
We wanted a cool pre-show send off, but rejected the notion of “putting your hands together in a circle” as it is way overused. We decided upon a group toast, just one shot, from Donny’s old remedy case. We clanged our glasses to one of Joe’s old comebacks “balls to the wall.”
It was a dark stage and we all took our places. It was a little nerve racking and a timely Jerry eased the tension “come on shitheads, play like you mean it.” We chuckled but quickly got our game faces on.
We were introduced and Donny counted four “ticks” to our first public appearance. We hit the mark and from my view we looked like a band with confidence, conviction, and fusion. The mix was impeccable and the early minutes went without a hiccup. The audience response was warm and they received us well and momentum came in our favor. The movement from the front performers (Jerry, Iam, and I) became looser and we interacted more on stage and with the ever-evolving enthusiastic crowd. It was all moving, flowing, and vibrant. There was a peculiar noise above us that we had to ignore in order to stay focused and perform. We had just begun our last song of the night.
A sudden thud and the drums were out of the mix. We all did a rapid turn around. Donny was on the floor next to a light cam with a bloody head. He grimaced and wearily verbalized “keep playing.” The audience noise was one of concern and the silence deafened the show. Donny seemed alright and I quickly took over the drums and started the same “feel” he left off with. Jerry moved to my guitar and we slowly got a groove going. Shill, Knuckles, and Scrota shifted Donny and situated him out of audience view as they moved him behind the curtain at my back. The audience tried to get back into the show, but their heart wasn’t in it. We did all we could to make it a “big finish” but we went through the motions as our concern for Donny grew as we couldn’t help but notice the substantial amount of blood on the stage where he had been. We ended the show to respectful applause as the final curtain came to touch the stage floor.
We expected to see Donny in the dressing room resting, but the back exit of the building told a different tale.
We watched as the ambulance Donny was lifted into had sped away. Shill came to us with something other than his suit wrinkled; his brow showed signs of genuine concern. “He was unconscious when they arrived, he bled quite a bit, let’s hope for the best.” We quietly entered the dressing room and quickly cleaned up and readied for an unexpected trip to the emergency room. We were on our way out when our sights were drawn to a small round table with six empty shot glasses and Donny’s open travel case. Nicole gathered up the contents. Before the show we shared a toast and high hopes, now we shared sinking hearts of uncertainty. On the way out Joe closed the door after putting out the lights. Joe was trying to soldier an upbeat attitude “he’s gonna be fine, just fine” he said.
“I hope so Joe, I really hope so.”
Copyright © 2010 Domenick Cassise. All rights Reserved Worldwide.
(Check back for more installments that continue the story)
Onion Dent is a work of fiction and any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.