Waiting for the phone to ring

                                                                                                        11/6/02
                                

I had a conversation the other day with a dear friend that included the sentence "You're only as good as your last job". Actually in her case it was her "last deal" as she sells real estate. I wonder if it has to do more with the kind of jobs we have or with the kind of confidence we have in our work.

    This time of the year is the beginning of the questionable mental health period for sub-contractors and other freelance workers. The dwindling money and the seasonal slowdown adds fuel to the silly season fire. As the road people find their way home for the holidays and often at the completion of a tour, a small voice gets louder and louder in the personal mental choir: "You'll NEVER work again!!!"

    Years of practice, involvement in faith based support groups and the fact that I've got a pretty good credit rating help quiet that hysterical voice. I get by; there has always been a roof over my head and I never miss a meal... except when I'm at work. I like to remind myself of the times in the mid-90's when I was down to my last twenty dollars in my checking account before the first check came in. This was before my wife introduced me to savings accounts. It reminds me to have faith.

    Some days it lasts seconds.

    In my line of work I've had the opportunity to work for some of the greatest musicians in the world. I've never been sent home before the tour was over. I've often been called to replace those who are. As an old friend used to say "Nobody yelled and nobody threw anything; it was a good day." That's success. I'm not a world-class expert. I'm just a guy who sets stuff up and makes sure it works so other people can use it.

    I'm a roadie.

    Now before your mind jumps to some rumor/ fantasy/ bad movie scenario, let me share one thing; it's just a job. It's just a glamorous as accounting or janitorial service (but markedly less glamorous than marketing research).  It has few benefits (free black t-shirts for one): no job security, no health insurance, and no pension. Almost everything financial is a verbal agreement... no contracts, no union. You have to depend on people who go by names that sound like wrestling holds. Sometimes your workday is affected by a person that your seven-year-old nephew knows ingests more toxins than the Crocodile Hunter or spends every morning watching the Teletubbies. It's not that much different than corporate America. In fact, it is now a part of corporate America.

    Most of our employers work for one of the big five record companies. The touring promotion business is now nearly wholly owned by a radio and billboard corporation. Many of the hippies and counter culture people who came up through the concert business never having to wear a suit and tie or dress clothes have to go to weekly lunch and learns or strategy meetings. It's not your daddy's rock concert anymore.

    A business that was fueled on drugs, sex and cash when it started has grown up to be an arm of someone's media conglomerate. The tribal act of gathering to watch someone perform, entertain and commune with the divine has become a way to sell concessions and charge for parking. The recording and promotion angle still has some worth, but it's becoming a way to stoke egos, sell t-shirts and get the last of someone's disposable income spread around.

    The last paragraph seems pretty cynical, but it's just one facet of the touring world. It's still a way for artists to make a living sharing their music with people in real time and perhaps bringing a bright moment to some mundane existences. There are some valid artists out there in stadiums, arenas and theatres, not just on street corners and living rooms. There are also nice people who enjoy entertaining others because it is their calling. For every three emotionally damaged, ego driven attention magnets onstage there probably is one person sharing what they have the best they can, for better or worse.

    The reason why this time of year is an issue is that touring has become more of a seasonal business. With outdoor amphitheaters all over the continent and kids being on summer vacation, it provides an entire circuit for bands to play. As the fall arrives and the temperature drops, bands wander home and begin to record their next project. The process can take months and then the media company wants time to market, advertise, promote, time and schedule the release. Out in the spring, tour all summer and back in the studio in the fall... the machine cranks out more CD's to sell.

     When I started writing this I wanted to express my feelings about how my work and it's insecure nature makes me feel... insecure. I think it's a bit of a stretch to describe the road life as a calling. Those who are not cut out for it are thinned out quickly. Many of us were fooled into it initially. Once you get comfortable out there, it's got you until you're done. Many "retire' from the road and return time and again. The money has a lot to do with it but the moving plays a big part.

    Showbiz, the circus, the irresponsible life... many people are running from something, perhaps all of them. The long hours, the mostly thankless work, bad food, suitcase living... how can that be appealing? As much as some of us yearn for a home and something to return to, the being away is what makes it so special. I do enjoy the travel, the time off in different places, the old and new faces... and I enjoy the job.

    Doing shows has more than a few dualities. You're often in a brand new place doing the same old thing. Once the schedule and itinerary smooth out, it's easy just to read the day sheet and plan your day around that. It's a job that people see as exclusive and glamorous that can grind like factory work some days. Because it is show biz, regular folks treat you different now and again. It can be fun... even if you know me and my infamous inability to have fun, I will say that about the job.

    Packing my bags and leaving the house for a period of time is still an adventure for me. I'm not sure if others feel the same way as part of the job is acting jaded and indifferent. I've always said to people who ask me how to get into the business to be careful, that it is a trap. Once you go out and survive for a while, it's hard to go do something else.

    I've actually tried to think of what else I would want to do, a dream, an alternative, something to keep me close to home and earn a living. I still don't have a clue. Perhaps it's because a part of me won't let go of the road. Writing like this sometimes gives me a glimmer of something else, a creative possibility that will allow me a voice and a path elsewhere. I find my use of words interesting here too... else, as in or else or what else.

    Many people go through life without realizing their passion or acting on it. The folks who are compelled, won't stop, can't stop, the ones who it verges on a mania, I admire them. I used to play music and at some point the joy departed and the flame went out. I think I was using it to light a bong. For too many years I went through life without a creative outlet and perhaps that was the time when I was the closest to death.

    I'm sure my addictions were the main reason, but the thing about spiritual bankruptcy is there is nothing left but self. I still have days when I don't like living with myself; back then I would have drowned myself if I had the chance. Believe me, I tried.

    Things changed. Life is full now; many blessings have been bestowed upon me. I'm back on the path most days and the searching continues. I have lived on the road three times longer sober than I did drunk. It can be done; better, faster and happier. Even the party cities are better and I can visit the places I was too paralyzed or hung over to enjoy.

    I really wish that travel or schooling abroad were mandatory for American kids today. They could use the perspective of why the USA is so amazing and so truly fucked up at the same time. I have guys in their 50's who I travel with who I'm still trying to show the difference between "different" and "wrong". To look in from the outside can change your life. It's too bad that so many Americans can leave the country and never really be outside.

    Off I go again, a valid point but not the one I set out to make. In speaking with someone about this issue who is outside the business he had this comment that floored me with its insight: perhaps I don't have an identity or autonomy until I'm on the road. What a heavy thing to consider about yourself after nearly forty years. Why would a somewhat well adjusted adult feel like a visitor in his own town sometimes? But then stick him in a crew of strangers in a foreign country and he feels like he belongs?


    Moving to another state and getting married was a major change for me after living alone for fifteen years. Having a house as opposed to storage with AC and a phone line is a thing of comfort and no small amount of pride. When Angela and I completed our dining room and then had a place to feed and entertain guests, I realized that something had changed. I never had a guest room where anyone could spend the night. I never had a room where eight people could eat a meal together. Angela and, to a small degree I, had created a home to share with friends and family. It may seem strange to you that these things are new first time experiences for an old fellow like me. If you are in my business you're probably wondering what the hell I[base ']m talking about.

    There is a balance here somewhere. The problem is the work is so unpredictable: too much, too little, no security. The easiest way to get a work call is plan a trip or an important event; the phone will ring. As the dining rooms are built and the plans are made the only question is: what is more important?

(I wonder if this is more of a personal question rather than rhetorical...)

    Well, home is more important. Your family and your health is too. This is the strange thing about work and work away from home especially. To build and maintain these things you have to earn a living so you can live your life. Many people can not delineate between living and life. The fibrous tangle of our jobs holds us back or pulls us down. How many children have spent their childhood wondering where their parent is? How many marriages have ended when the answer to the question about whether the job or the relationship is more important is not acceptable? The road is littered with divorce papers and sad notes from sons and daughters. There are a lot of bachelors too.

    It takes tremendous efforts on both ends of the phone to make it work. Understanding and sacrifice are needed as well as both parties being somewhat comfortable and secure apart. It's just like any other relationship in that there has to be acceptance of who each other is. This is the idealized opinion of someone on one side of the argument though...

    I still want to make a living by touring. I also want my marriage strong, warm and growing forward. I need my home to be comfortable, safe and part of who I am as a living, breathing evolving human being. I need to do my part and be present and productive in both places. I need to be open to both my wife and family and who I am, who I have become. I am part of the production staff, the technical crew, the traveling party, the bus riders, the lobby dwellers, the airport throng, the backstage group, the road dogs, the tour scum. I am also a husband, partner, brother, son and friend.

    When I first go into this business I went to work for a cartage company in Los Angeles. My boss was a long time road person who had bought the company to be home and make a living. For a time I was his only employee and we often put in 90 hours a week. We shared our warehouse with another business nearby. We returned one afternoon to find the other tenant removing the roll-up door, the security system, all the lighting fixtures and who knows what else. He was basically going to leave our inventory wide open to the honest junkies of Hollywood Blvd. as he took what he felt were his belongings and moved out.

    My boss Pat shifted into a gear I'd never seen him in before. He mobilized friends, solved scheduling problems, ran the business and secured the building before sundown. He turned to me as it became clear that we handled this unbelievable day with an angry yet victorious eye. He said "They shouldn't have screwed with us. They didn't know who we were. We're road people and the show always goes on, no matter what."

    This is the other family I was adopted into. They got me through some tough times, took me places and got me home in one piece. I learned a lot, earned a lot and it's part of who I am today. I'm someone who gets paid to wake up in parking lots. I'm someone who's tired of your favorite song. I'm someone who was onstage all night but you won't recognize me five minutes afterwards. I'm a roadie. And I'm still waiting for that phone to ring.