Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron’s Guitar Chronicles.
By the time all the video bullshit was over with and the roadies began hauling our setup onto the stage it was six. It became clear at that point that this stage was smaller than what they’d anticipated as they looked at our gear piled in the middle of it and MNB’s gear set up around the edges. “What’s the problem, guys?” I said from the bottom of the stage where I was shifting from foot to foot as if it might help them hurry.
The stage manager, who I had learned to identify by his baseball cap with some band’s logo on it, crouched down by me. (I knew neither the name of the band, nor his.) “The original spec called for Hurricane Flats, and well, they got a real minimal set up. We’re going to have to take the keyboard rig off the lower riser to make room for your drum kit.”
I held up my hands. “So do it.”
“I want to clear it with John first.”
John, who was on his way back to the hotel with our junk right now. Ten million and one details. “Look, we want to get some practice time in. I’m sure he’ll say yes. I mean, what else can you do?”
The guy shrugged. “I’m going to page him anyway.”
Fine. The doors were set to open at 7:30. I had too many knots in my stomach to eat. Whatever happens, I thought, good or bad, it’ll all be over by 9pm.