What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas: My Last Leg As A Roadie For Peter, Bjorn & John
THE END OF THE ROAD
What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas: My Last Leg As Roadie for Peter, Bjorn & John
By Mike S.
IT'S THE DAY AFTER THE BAND PLAYS THE BOWL, AND PETER AND JOHN and some of the girlfriends want to hit resale shops. Resale shops are among my worst nightmares. But the shops are on Melrose and who knows who you'll run into.
We run into no one, and to make matters worst, we get texted from the hotel that Snoop Dogg's hanging at the pool.
I consider treating myself to a shopping trip on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. I need sunglass and think it'd be fun to drop a few hundred on D&G sunglasses. A friend back in Chicago says I'm an idiot (she is subtle that way), that the sunglasses would be out of style by the time I get back to Chicago. I take the advice and purchase sunglasses from a resale shop. Instead of dropping $300, I spend $5 and am confident that these are already out of style. Dumb like a fox, that's me.
READ MIKE'S FIRST INSTALLMENT AS ROADIE HERE.
The show tonight is in Anaheim, the stadium where the Mighty Ducks play. Our dressing room is not too shabby; it actually has a TV in it but no wireless.
I take my new position as a "walker" very seriously. First, I walk the route myself, checking for potential problems, obstructions and most of all making sure I don't get lost. Once I am confident of the route, I check with the stage manager on when he wants the band in position and discuss the cue to send the band on stage.
This night, my bro Chris's with me while I review the details with the stage manager. Chris mentions that he was considering letting people pay to do the job as sort of a B-list rock and roll fantasy. I ask how he'll be sure they'll be professionals like I am. The stage manager looks at me and says, "Professional? You're more like semi-pro." The Depeche Mode stage manager just calls me a semi-pro! Awesome, I have moved from amateur to semi-pro in just a few shows!
Thursday's show's in Santa Barbra, about a 2.5 hour drive. We agree to leave early (rock and roll translation -- about 11 a.m.) and stop at a beach along the way.
I take a leisurely path along Pacific Coast Highway, through Malibu and points north. We settle on a beach in Ventura, about 45 minutes south of Santa Barbara. We get the cooler unloaded and the blankets laid out when the phone rings.
It's Chris: "Where are you guys?" Me: "We just got to the beach."
Chris: "You need to leave by 3, there's traffic." It's 2:30 now.
There's a collective groan, but I make the executive decision that we won't leave until 3:30 and we'll blame any delay on traffic. A quick dip in the ocean, a few minutes in the sun, and we're up and moving again.
The show is great, but there's a hitch. At one point lead singer Peter jumps into the crowd but he can't get back on stage. There's no path from the pit. He runs to the left -- nothing; he runs to the right -- nothing. He has to climb it. With one foot on a hand rail, a microphone in hand, he scales a small wall.
READ MIKE'S SECOND INSTALLMENT AS ROADIE HERE.
After the show, we drive back to West Hollywood and go right to our rooms. Come morning, it's time for me turn in the rented Porsche. I am sorry to part with it but we're leaving for Vegas today. All aboard the van for our five hour trip to Vegas.
Traffic is OK. Tthere are spots where we are going 85 m.p.h.; others where we're crawling. Through the Mojave Desert and Death Valley we roll.
We drive past a sigh that reads "Ghost Town Road." I hear a Swedish chorus from the back of the bus yell "Ghost Town Road!" Today is a travel day so I again exert authority (since Chris is already in Vegas) and take the exit. We travel a few miles of the interstate to Calico Ghost Town, a replica of an old mining town for tourists. It's 105 degrees outside.
I tell everyone: 30 minutes, walk up one side, take a few photos, walk down the other side and let's hit the road. Cheesy? Of course, but they enjoy the break.
As we approach the interstate another Swedish chorus fills van, this time it's Peggy Sue’s Diner. We have to eat, and the baby needs changing. Peggy Sue here we come.
The place is plastered with 50’s memorabilia and the Swedes are really enjoying it. Photos are snapped, shakes and burgers ordered and it turns into a really nice lunch (despite the food being complete crap. But what can you expect we are in the middle of a desert?) 
We pull into Vegas about 7 p.m, where we check into the Palms Hotel, just off the strip. The band's performing here in a venue called the Pearl Theater. Their names are on the sign outside. It’s exciting, things get a little crazy, but I can’t say too much more. Remember: What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
Let me just say that Usher’s playing pool side, we have VIP access to the Ghost Bar, the Moon Night Club, the Playboy Club, impromptu private tour of the in-house studio where Cher, Britney etc. record, then hit Drai’s about 6 a.m., and this: an offer from the band for me to play the bongos onstage. But that’s all I can say.
It’s here that the party ends for me. After the show, the band picks up the tour bus and heads south to Phoenix and I return to L.A. solo with the van.
What an adventure! Living the rock 'n roll life is much different than in the movies. There’s stretches of tremendous boredom: Arriving hours early just to ensure you’re not late; a lot of sitting around looking at each other; long hours on the road; living with the same people 24 hours a day.
I'm home now, have sorted through the mail, unpacked my bags. The closest I ever got to Paris was standing outside the Paris Hotel in Vegas. But that's okay.
From my living room I can still see the crowds, hear the cheers, see people singing and swinging their arms and dancing.
I see the joy that music can bring and understand just how important that 45 minutes in the bright lights is to both artist and audience. I am happy I was part of it and will always treasure the friendships and memories.
PB&J, rock on!
Mike S. is a project manager in the petroleum industry and adjunct professor at Northwestern University. He's living the rock n' roll life for two weeks in La La Land and other parts West. His reality is Uptown, Chicago.
This is the last of three installments of Mike S.'s Diary of a Poseur. You can read his first diary entry here, and his second installment here.
Tags: Music
