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Rookie Card went to LA, to play at The Knitting Factory's "side stage". It was our third road-trip, with yet a third line-up for the band since the first travel adventure. It was our third show promoting the new CD, Near Mint. "C" is the third letter of the alphabet, and thus Adam dubbed this trek "Tour C", causing the previous tours to be posthumously dubbed "A" and "B" respectively. He even made a CD collection of "C" artists to listen to on the way up, like Costello, Congress of the Cow and (I wish) Johnny Cash. Cool.
C is for Crossing the border. The Rookies loaded up Dick Van Dork at about 4 PM at the Garden of Speedin', and started up the "5" towards Hollywood not long after. Mel, Mel's friend and Shandree followed close behind in Mel's cherry-red VW Bug. Dylan drove Van Dork, and at the immigration checkpoint, we got pulled over. I guess a giant Mexican's word that we're hauling band equipment up to LA just doesn't fly. Good thing I didn't tell 'em I was Arab; we'd still be there. Actually, the Border Patrol guys were pretty friendly. Adam gave the one in a Cowboy hat a Toby Keith rookie-card, and played up the country aspects of our music. Give the customer what they want. After making sure we weren't hiding any laborers under the drums, they let us back on our way with a smile.
C is after B, which is the letter posted in the pizza shop's window. Adam didn't want to stop and eat anywhere on the way up, but told us there was a pretty good pizza shop across the street from the Knitting Factory. In the meantime, I subsisted on Chips and Coke. After paying and parking underneath the venue, we unloaded our gear and put it in the tiny hallway behind the stage. Having played the main-stage with The Fookin' Wankers, I was a bit amazed at how small the small stage was. It seemed kind of sketchy to leave our stuff so close to the door of the venue, but the three giant doormen eased my fears a bit. Plus, anyone trying to make off with the stuff would have to brave one of the world's worst elevators still in operation. Seriously, it inspired fear.
So we went to eat. The little shop was run by a solitary little Asian woman, who was none too pleased to be there alone. I felt bad ordering mushrooms on my two slices of cheese pizza. It wasn't until I began eating that Shandree pointed out the big blue B in the window. We tried rationalizing it away to overly strict rules in LA, but basically, we were just hungry, and didn't care. At least I didn't order any meat.
C is for Crowded, which the stage was, but the floor was not. We went on at 9; right after a British band that seemed to be having a showcase or something, because they packed the place out. It was a little depressing when our first note seemed to drive about ten folks right out the door, who'd been lingering after the first band finished up. Chalk it up to executive disdain. That said, we had the best turnout of the remaining three bands. And we rocked. The sound in that little room in LA is great. I felt pretty good about our performance, and it was just overall a good show, albeit a bit vacant. Oh well, Monday night in LA; it was nice to have friends there.
Speaking of friends, The Vestals followed us, a good group from Minnesota that played with us at our CD release party. I let their drummer use my kit, and was pleased by how it sounded in the room. Finally, lowcloudcover closed the show...to no one. That sucked, because they rocked. It was the first time I saw them play, and I'm hooked. Great, great stuff. But even the girls had left for home by that time, so it just seemed like a storm in a box.
C is for Children. Apparently, there is an all-ages dance club every Monday during the summer in a big empty office hall in the same complex that the Knitting Factory sits. When we started carrying our stuff out to the van, we became aware of multiple mid-pubescent freaks running around, confused and scared by their own freedom. Lots of screaming and tittering. Kevin almost exploded with frustration. Some guy walked through, asking, "Where's the pedo-party? I brought Candy!" While waiting for the elevator of doom, we were surrounded. As the doors opened, we stepped back to concede our spots on the shaky machine. Dylan kept pressing the call button, causing the door to reopen every time it closed, which in turn pushed the eight under-dressed girls over the edge. One of them ran out and hit Kevin, who was nowhere near the button, while another complained that they had to go because of a Curfew. Comedy gold. And it made Kevin's night.
C is for Construction, Chiding and Completion. We left LA about half-past midnight. Adam drove so Dylan could sleep. We tried to stop at In 'n' Out, but missed the exit, then when we tried to go back, had to skip the exit because of some construction on the freeway. We settled on Jack in the Box. While we waited for our food in the drive-through, an almost unintelligible Asian man came up to the van window and asked us if we knew the way back to the freeway. We told him he could follow us, but as we drove, we realized we didn't really know how to get back to the 5 either. We weren't lost for long, though. That'll teach him.
Before Kevin drifted off to sleep, he and Adam gave me grief about the likelihood of me finishing a tour diary in any sort of timely fashion. Which, based on my past exploits, seemed like a long shot. But I promised to have one done by the next Sunday. Which I do. Ha. (Note: To get Nas to do something, make like you think he can't or won't. It drives him NUTS! Adam already knows this, apparently)
I struggled to keep my eyes open the whole way home to keep Adam Company. Cuz I Care. About not Crashing.
C ya'!
Nas.
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