(Rich hit the road, and followed the Smithereens for three shows late in 1995. This is his story... )
The Smithereens embarked on a rather odd tour in November of 1995, playing three shows in Pennsylvania, my home state, and all within a two hours or less driving time of my house. Not really knowing what I was in for, I decided to follow the band on the road for these shows, and what follows is a journal of a road tour novice:
Day One: Infinity, Harrisburg, PA. Thursday, November 16, 1995
Immediately I'm a little worried here, because the security
force have these gigantic police issue flashlights that appear
to be made of lead. The place looks like a big pit arena out of
a "Mad Max" movie with two levels of balcony surrounding
a dance floor with a stage at one end. The stage is too high for
my comfort as well, up to about chin level...this one's going
to leave me with a sore neck. We meet up with a couple of other
die hard fans at the front whom we've seen numerous times before,
but never really got to meet, Gail and Steve from Maryland. We
have some nice conversation, and suddenly we've got some touring
buddies to share the front line with over the weekend. Dennis'
drum techie Ira brings us a free beer on behalf of the band just
before showtime...maybe this won't be so tough after all!
The 'Reens hit the stage, and right away, the first surprise of the night, a cover of Link Wray's immortal instrumental, "Rumble (made popular lately by it's appearance in PULP FICTION)." I start to snap a few pictures, and am immediately surrounded by yellow shirts, waving their lead pipe flashlights, and demanding that I turn over my camera. I refuse, though later I wonder why I made this decision, as my attempt to hang on to my camera could have easily resulted in a cracked skull! Suddenly, as quickly as they came, the goons retreat... I have no idea why, I didn't see any movement on my behalf from the stage, nor anyone I knew coming to my defense, but I'm grateful to whom or whatever is responsible. I think I'll quit with the pictures for tonight while I'm ahead!
The guys are sounding good for a band that hasn't really played in nearly six months. The crowd is rather subdued, probably because it's a Thursday night, and they all have to go to work tomorrow. Pat seems to almost give up on them about midway through the set, and concentrates on entertaining we die hards on the front line, giving us some seldom played rarities like "Girl In Room 12," "Over And Over," and the long awaited return of "Strangers When We Meet." "Ruler Of My Heart" is added to the acoustic set to promote ATTACK, switching the album track's piano emphasis for Jimmy's acoustic guitar. As the show ends, the band take their final bows, and Dennis hurls a drumstick in my direction, just as I look away. It lands square on my head, and breaks in half. Jim Babjak's later advice to me upon hearing of this: "Sue him!"
Jim appears after the show to sign autographs and mingle with the remaining fans, only to be accosted by, you guessed it, a yellow shirt with a lead flashlight, demanding that he, and everybody else, clear out of the club! Ever the diplomat, Tex cordially asks where we all may gather, and the gorilla belches out, "In the Sports bar, now you've all got to GET OUT!"
Soon at the Sports bar, we are joined by Pat, Dennis and eventually Mike, puffing on his traditional post-show stogie, and full of stories and anecdotes about the Hershey Bears Hockey team, Gene Hart, the voice of the Philadelphia Flyers, and pro wrestling in it's pre-Hulk heyday. Mike's always struck me as the quiet one of the bunch, a bit difficult to get a handle on, but suddenly, here he is, talking like an old friend, and totally changing my opinion of him.
Soon we're even being chased out of the Sports bar, but it's getting late anyway, so we all depart, exchanging Gene Pitney and Johnny Mathis imitations as we head out the door, promising to hook up the next night in Scranton.
Day Two: Tinks, Scranton, PA. Friday, November 17, 1995
It's three hours before showtime, and this place is packed
to the gills already...nobody worrying about going to work tomorrow
THIS time! The stage is just around the corner, and I notice something
quite awry here: There's a big, black, thick post smack in the
middle of the stage, right in front of Dennis' kit, which will
serve to completely obscure him from view for the entire night.
Unique architectural design, or just dunderheaded planning by
the decorators?
The opening act appears, and at first they seem like a passable cover band, who will at least make the time go with a few classic rock tunes. Unfortunately, soon the band pulls out some rather indescribable and obscene props, put ladies underwear on their heads, and spew out tasteless, downright dirty jokes, totally blowing any good will I had towards them. They play for an all too long hour or so, proving that if you have to rely on cheap, low humor, you shouldn't be in the business!
As showtime nears, Ira and Chopper hang a sign from the pole, right in front of Pat's mic, saying "We're the fabulous Smithereens band from New Jersey, Satisfaction Garaunteed (sic)!" Underneath this is an arrow pointing to the lead singer's position with the words "I'm Pat!" in case anyone had forgotten.
The guys hit the stage, and the push from the back begins to crush the front lines, and will continue for the whole show...forget about going to the bathroom, you should have thought of that before! Pat's beloved MESA amp blows out during the second number...the Amazing Chopper manages to get it working again within about 2 minutes. It's Jimmy's birthday, and we all sing to him, though he doesn't seem too thrilled to be reminded. Just for that, Pat makes us sing it again! That'll teach him... A fairly routine show, but the audience is enthusiastic, to the point where it's becoming painful for us in the front lines. No room to move, and poor Gail's knee is swelling up from being bruised. Mid-set, a rather inebriated fan presents Pat with a nice shiny silver cigarette lighter, which Pat uses to light up before the appropriate song. When he tries to return it, the well oiled patron waves him off, and tells him to keep it! Later, we speculate about whether this fellow will remember his gift to Pat in the morning, or wonder why his prize heirloom Zippo has suddenly disappeared. Big surprise for the encore, as the guys pull out "Please Please Me" from their early club days, inspired by that week's simultaneous release of new Beatles and Smithereens CD's. The show ends, the crush subsides, and Ira and Chopper come to the rescue with bottles of spring water for the front line folks.
After the show, the touring company are invited upstairs for a small birthday celebration for Jimmy...unfortunately, as we are led in, it becomes clear that they weren't really ready for us, as poor Mike is sitting there in his shorts. We beat a hasty retreat to give him time to become presentable. Then we're brought back in again, when we present Jim with a Hershey's chocolate greeting card, reading "Happy Birthday, Tex!" A nice after show buffet, with cold cuts, pizza and plenty of different kinds of drink, plus a lavish guitar shaped cake is layed out for us. Still reeling from the crush, I stick mostly with a cold bottle of spring water. It's been tiring for everyone, Pat and Dennis look spent, and in fact leave about a half hour later. Jimmy and Mike remain, however, spinning tales of Otis Blackwell, the Kinks, and the infamous "strip club" version of the "A Girl Like You" video that you never got to see: Video babes in cages, 50 speaker cabinets per guitar player, scripted dialogue, and General Bokalter from HOGAN'S HEROES demanding, "YOU VILL NOT GO INTO ZE CLUB! (try to imagine Mesaros doing the Bokalter voice for the full effect!). Sounds like your average every day video to me...I wonder what the problem was?
Suddenly it's 3AM, we've got a two hour drive home, and there's no coffee to perk me up, and not even a soda with caffeine left. So I down a quick Fresca, bid everyone goodnight, and hope for the best. We make it home at 5AM, crash for a few hours of sleep, and get ready for Philly.
Day 3: Drexel University, Philadelphia, PA. Saturday, November
18, 1995
Things didn't get off to a good start today...turns out I've
been using a defective roll of film in my camera, and none of
the pictures from the last two days have come out, except for
a half a photo of half of Jimmy. Oh well, I've got a fresh roll
of film, and this time, I've got permission to roam the area between
the stage and the audience to take all the pictures I can, protected
by the crack security staff of Drexel University...all of them
nearsighted, 80 pounds each, with eyes full of fear...meekest
security I've ever seen!
Showtime is listed as 10PM, but the opening band, Ocean Blue shows up late, and insists on going ahead with a full soundcheck, forcing the crowd to wait outside as 10PM comes and goes. The doors finally open, and the show began at about 10:15. Ocean Blue were probably the best of the tour's three opening bands, and certainly the most well known, but they lost a few points with the crowd due to tardiness.
At first sight, the Drexel Phys-ed center looks cavernous, like any other gym, and I had visions of echo-mush going through my head, but the building was surprisingly good acoustically, very dry sounding, resulting in a clear mix. So clear, that when Jimmy's mic went dead mid-way through "Top Of The Pops," we in the front lines noticed it right away, and motioned to Jim to let him know. He tested it a few times, and as he realized it was indeed a dead mic, an evil grin suddenly came over his face, and he proceeded to yell out un-heard obscene expletives into it!
I worked my way from one side of the stage to the other frequently, taking as many shots as I could, and praying that I'd have better luck with this batch of photos. As I moved in front of Pat at one point, a number of pick's flew past me into the pit, and I cordially picked them up and gave them to members of the audience thinking that's who he was throwing them to. It was only later that I was told that Pat was in fact using me for guitar pick target practice, laughing hysterically at my oblivion to his rapid-fire plectrum technique.
The final get together downstairs after the show was full of quick cut images: Pat sitting with his bare feet propped up in the middle of the room across from Dennis, similarly reclined in his unlaced army boots. Mike gleefully showing an Abbott and Costello biography with a rare photo of Bud Abbott recording dialogue for the A&C television cartoons, the whole band donning Santa hats for the Christmas card photo shoot, Chopper and Jim looking over the buffet table, deciding what food and drink was worth stealing for the drive home. A final photo with the guys to remember the weekend by. Sappy sentiments, and hugs all around. Poor Dennis Diken worried to death that we'd have a accident on the late, long drive home, pouring coffee into my blood stream to the point where a Pauly Shore movie couldn't have made me doze off. I really felt cared about by the whole bunch, a feeling I couldn't have even dreamed of that day I walked into a record store and heard GREEN THOUGHTS for the first time. I told Mike Mesaros as I was leaving that I was sorry I probably wouldn't see them for quite awhile, and he smiled, winked and said, "Hey, you never know!" I sure hope he's right. It's 3:30AM again, we've gotta get home. Be safe, everybody...
My Bed, Sunday, November 19, 1995
When my eyes open at twelve noon, I suddenly realize why Pat
says it takes a couple of days to "decompress" after
a tour. My head still spins, my knees hurt from kneeling in the
photo pit, and my brain is still wondering where the gig is tonight.
Nope, no show this time around, no place to drive to, and the
only connection I have with the Smithereens tonight is that we'll
all probably be watching THE BEATLES ANTHOLOGY. Despite getting
some much needed sleep, I still feel dazed, and tired, yet sorry
that it's all over. How these guys tour like this for months at
a time is beyond me. But how I wish there were just one more show,
one more chance to make a fool of myself in the front line, one
more glance, wink or smile from whatever Smithereen happened to
catch my eye.
Just one more...