We arrived in Phoenix the night before and before we head off to our rooms, Woody, our tour manager/soundman, tells us that he knows of the best Mexican restaurant in town that he ate at with Camper and he insists on taking us there for lunch the next day. We are always up for a good meal and plan to meet him in the lobby at noon. We get in the RV and start driving as he tells us about the delicious meal that awaits us. We are in Arizona, so we assume that we are going to a cool, authentic place but, after way too long a drive through the outskirts of Phoenix, we pull into a shopping mall and Woody announces that we have arrived. The restaurant is like a pre-franchise version of Chevys and the food is average at best. Not since we were duped into driving an hour to a place called ‘The Catfish Cabin’ in Alabama have we felt so let down by the disconnect between the build-up and the experience. Woody is forthwith publicly shamed and his restaurant-recommending privileges are revoked for the rest of the tour.
Our pre-show ritual is well-established now: the RV is the dressing room, and we welcome friends and label people to hang out with us until about 30 minutes before our set when we have Woody clear everyone out. We all have practice amps and Jeff has a small practice kit and we run through some songs to get warmed up. The theory is that, instead of hitting the stage cold from a day just hanging out, we are warmed up and ready when we start our set. Then we change into our stage wear: a painted shirt (Helicopters, Owls, UFOs, etc), slacks, and yellow shoes for Bill, clean T-shirts for Gary and Jeff, and for me, an ill-fitting 2-piece puke-green suit that I got in the ‘free’ bin at a flea market. I will wear it every night of the tour (save one) without washing it once. For added effect, it clashes horribly with my surf-green bass. Then we do some sort of rah-rah, top-of-the-poppermost psych-up together, and sprint to the stage, with visions of Spinal Tap dancing in our heads.
The show at the Mason Jar goes about as well as can be expected considering that it’s Phoenix on a Tuesday, and the crowd is small and disinterested, seemingly here for the metal band that opened the show (wtf? there are no new wave bands in PHX? ). Our spirits are brightened, though, by the appearance of Bill’s old bandmate, Ron Klaus, who joins us in the RV afterward for a drink and allows us to vent about the shoddy treatment we’ve received from our label. He offers us sage advice that I can’t recall but I’m sure we all took it to heart at the time. He’s a sweetheart of a guy and one of my all-time bass heroes.
To add insult to injury, our guarantee for the show is only $250, the lowest on the tour, but the club is run by a guy originally from Sicily so we don’t complain. Tomorrow: a day off for the long drive to Los Angeles. If you’re keeping track, the tour is 2 weeks old and that will be our 6th day off.
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