Are We A Bus? The Inside Story Of Life On The Road, Part 7

A week passes, and I’m off on the road around the UK with my good friend Vic at the helm. We’re touring with a female solo artist, a singer named Emma. When Emma tours, her live band consists of the same musicians who are recorded on her albums. The guys are older than she is but she has, as a lot of solo artists do, hired session musicians and chose a really good, experienced bunch, and even pinched one from one of those Australian soap actors-turned-songstresses. Cheeky! I like her style already.

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Emma is really friendly and it’s nice to have a few girls on tour for once, even if they are the bosses and not really my peers. The first gig is at the Southampton Guildhall, a venue I really like to work. The local crew are really friendly and helpful and it’s not uncommon for us to end up partying together afterwards, so long as we don’t have to shoot off straight away and everyone is up for it. There is a really cool little bar opposite that doesn’t do the best mojitos but, by the time we finish working, I don’t generally care and will drink them anyway.

Our touring crew are all really great and the support act, Gideon, is an artist I’ve liked for a while, ever since a friend of mine introduced me to his music. I’m really happy that he’s on board because it seems promising that he will be adding a lot to the fun. He’s a little bit eccentric but I have to say that I do rather like that in a person — unless, of course, they’re just plain disturbed. I’m a firm believer that those of this temperament should be avoided at all costs, much like venereal diseases or Michael Bolton concerts. Unfortunately, as I’m quite often accused of being a little mental myself, I’m sure I can’t always spot the difference!

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After the gig, most of us are in the dressing room and the adjacent production office chilling out and slowly packing up. People are drinking and smoking in the dressing room. As it is the first night of the tour everyone is getting a bit silly, and there’s a party atmosphere brewing. People are catching up or getting to know each other and I can assure you that the rider isn’t go to waste tonight.

Well, that is, to speak of the alcohol, at any rate. When you’re on tour, your sustenance comes from a variety of places. On a tour like this, you get a small, daily monetary allowance for food and drink – plus full-on catering, which you always can dip into — and you get a dressing room and bus rider. Riders are funny things – it’s a bit like a picnic for adults. Your generic rider consists of beer, a few spirits, mixers, and water. Food is generally sandwiches, crisps, fruit, and chocolate. Hummus turns up a lot as well, meaning tour managers and runners often provide crudités and vegetables because they look nice on platters and it’s an attempt to give everyone a healthier option. I have to say, people rarely take it, and tonight is no different.

At one point in the evening I walk into the dressing room and find Gideon standing on a table, dancing around like a shaman. He’s holding up pineapples on either side of his head and ad-libbing a bizarre song about them; as it turns out, this is only the first of many bizarre songs he is to regale us with over the course of the next few hours.

I turn around laughing to see what everyone else is doing and find two of the band launching celery and carrots out of the window to see who can throw them the farthest. Now, you wouldn’t think that is particularly bad but there is actually a police station next door, and their car park is behind the venue directly underneath the windows to the dressing room. Whilst they are mid-throw, a couple of coppers turn up with a detainee and are narrowly missed by the organic missiles. They are not too impressed and almost immediately come ‘round to the venue.  I see them coming into the dressing room to berate us, probably about littering and causing a disturbance with something as innocent as a bit of salad. But that is the least of our problems.

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The room absolutely stinks of marijuana and if they spot that then any subsequent searches would undoubtedly find other substances that would surely meet their disapproval. Bollocks. Only my friend, Vic the TM, and I seem particularly bothered by this. Maybe a couple of the crew. The band carries on partying and assumes it’ll be taken care off. I glance back as I close the adjoining door to the production office to help out in any discussions with the police, and to try and stop them coming into the dressing room. I have a quick look in the dressing room and a head pops up from behind the sofa with a pineapple at either side. It’s the leading lady herself, and everyone falls about laughing, including me. I cross my fingers and close the door behind me. Shit.

As it turns out, we get a bollocking but manage to keep them away from the dressing room, so it’s all good. To be honest, they’re probably used to it and I think they just wanted to point out that it gets tiresome, as opposed to trying to nick anyone for anything. They know what goes on, so they’re not out to cause a scene and ruin anyone’s fun.

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The lighting guys are nearly done so we pack up the production office and the dressing rooms, get on the bus, and it’s away to the next gig. We carry on drinking on the bus and it all gets even sillier. There are talks of having toga parties on the eve of our next day off, since we have a long trip to Scotland ahead and a day off when we get there. Uh-oh. There are two lounges on the bus, and though the downstairs one is bigger, the one upstairs has a door that closes off the room completely. We pop the skylight and cram pretty much everyone in there. The lighting guys, or lampies, get on the bus – they’re all notorious party animals, which makes sense since they do get up the earliest and finish the latest. They need to do something to keep themselves awake, so we squeeze them all in as well. One of the lampies racks out lines of Charlie on a DVD and Vic pops her head in the lounge to check that we’re all there. She’s counted everyone and tells the driver that we’re all aboard.

We’re a bus. Off we go.

Bee
My blog follows the escapades of me, Bee, rock 'n' roll adventurer and swag girl as I travel the world assisting Tour Managers and selling merchandise for various bands. My fellow travellers include the band, the crew, the fans and various industry types. It lifts the lid on the myths surrounding the music biz and gives you a glimpse into that magical, filthy world. This makes what the kids in Skins get up to merely aspirational! My crew is older, but comically we're not yet wiser, and all of Europe is our playground. Are We a Bus?