Ghost Tour (ch.9)

September 15, 1998 - 7:35pm

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9.15.98 - 7:35pm

Kenny made good time until the last half mile when the bus traded highways for Cleveland streets. Of six stoplights between exit and venue, the bus hit four of them.

The Agora Ballroom had ample space for their tour bus alongside the venue. Six hours ago it would’ve been no problem, but at the moment the lot was filled with parking cars and eager concert goers heading into to the venue.

Roncho was on his cellphone coordinating entry with the promoter, who stood out front, waving them in. The local crew moved metal barriers and acted as traffic cops deflecting curious onlookers.

“Move back people, move back…”

Necks craned to see inside. A tour bus hightailing in at the last minute was a spectacle, adding to the excitement and anticipation of the evening. The crew moved the barricades back into position once the bus came to a stop.

“All hands on deck,” Roncho called out.

X-13 had reached the point in their career where locals combined with their own crew were expected to do the load in, but that ideal scenario would’ve been hours ago.

It was 7:45.

Kenny opened the side bay, Subs and Rex pulled equipment from underneath and piled it onto the cement. Reid grabbed both guitars, heavier than usual in their bulky flight cases. They knocked against the sides of his knees as he carried them, amid the stampede of roustabouts, shuffling equipment up the concrete ramp to the stage door.

The guy wheeling the amp on Reid’s right looked familiar, which was odd, he didn’t know anyone in Cleveland. Reid double-taked when he realized it wasn’t a hired hand but the bass player from Benzedrine, recognizable as the only black dude in the band.

“You’re Billy Somerville,” Reid said, surprised.

“That I am,” Billy replied, broad smile.

“Holy crap, you don’t have to hump our gear.”

“Nah, man, we’ve been rooting for you, we’re glad you made it!”

There was no time for smalltalk or even dressing rooms. The band took places on the stage, amps rolled into positions. Benzedrine’s guitar tech worked quickly with Rex to make sure the headliner’s equipment had left enough room for the openers.

“Don’t worry about the toms,” Corey was instructing crew guys, ready to make do. “Wait, leave the floor tom.”

“Liz!” three girls’ voices called out from front of house.

Liz had a micro fan club pressed to the stage waiting for the show. Liz smiled at them and kept tuning. Jordan thumped the mic with his forefinger, impossible to test properly above the club music.

Subs, hunched over the soundboard, did a lightning-fast line check, approximating levels he’d have to adjust during the show. Forget about a monitor mix.

Reid flipped his Twin from standby and gave his favorite Tele a strum. Nothing. The power light was on, everything plugged in, volume up on amp and guitar. He waved to Rex emphatically.

“I got nothing,” he yelled over the music. “I swapped out the overdrive back in Clinton and never checked it…”

Rex picked up the pedal board, scrutinizing a dozen tiny patch cables in the dim light. He tried plugging the Tele it directly into the Twin. It worked. He took the rebellious pedal board and headed to stage left.

“I need that!” Reid called.

“Just a minute…”

At the soundboard, Subs could see he was now getting signal from everyone. It was 8:05, five minutes past what was supposed to be their start time. He started inching the house music down slowly.

Jordan gave Subs a thumbs up from the still-darkened stage, then turned to his bandmates to confirm everyone was good to go. The crowd started clapping and whistling in anticipation.

“I got no effects,” Reid said, trying to stay cool.

Jordan thought quickly.

“Bus Station,” he called out, switching to a song Reid could play with the built-in reverb on his Twin. He double-checked everyone caught the change then nodded to Corey who counted them in. The stage lights came on, and the show began.

The crowd exploded with appreciation from the get-go. Bus Station was off their first album, it’d gotten a lot of airplay on the college station in Cleveland and everyone remembered it. Moving it up front risked a lull later, but for now it was obviously working.

Reid’s forehead was already glistening beneath the hot lights. He smiled like everything was a-okay, but kept looking to stage left.

He’d never worried much about performing before because he’d always, you might say, self-medicated before a show. With nothing to ease his nerves, accomplishing a precision task that wasn’t going to plan in front of a live audience, it was just a bit terrifying.

One thing proved reassuring. This was the first live show with Corey and the guy was completely solid. Liz had locked in and the band seemed unstoppable. Reid told himself that even if he had to stop momentarily, the band would keep going.

Jordan leaned into chorus:

how was I to know?

how was I to know?

there’d always be a place to go

bus station…

A few people out front even sang along.

Rex slipped onto the stage with cloaking skills of a seasoned roadie, seen but unseen. He set the pedal board at Reid’s feet. When the first song ended, he handed Reid a freshly tuned back-up guitar and plugged it in. Everything worked.

Jordan, usually aloof, took a moment to thank the audience to buy some time.

“Sorry for delay… our bus was having second thoughts about crossing Pennsylvania.”

The crowd ate it up, particular the people who’d been in the parking lot when the bus came screeching in, they felt like they were in on the joke.

Reid double-checked pedals. Corey counted them into Dream of Night, and the show was on track. Four songs in was Black Ice, the first time Reid deployed his new overdrive. It was working, but there was a weird vibration, almost a strange tonal presence, like something supernatural was going on.

Over on stage left, Reid caught sight of Billy Somerville watching them, along with one of the other guys from Benzedrine. Billy pumped his fist in the air as if to say Keep going man! which snapped Reid out of it and spurred him on.

By cutting a song, they more-or-less finished on time, making the set feel slightly short. It had the positive effect of leaving the crowd wanting more. Jordan leaned into the mic one last time.

“Benzedrine’s up next…”

The energy in the room seemed ecstatic. The change-over was go-go-go as always, but X-13 was now free to let the crew handle it. Tumbling triumphant into their dressing room, they found an untouched array of booze and snacks waiting for them. It felt like Christmas morning.

Alcohol, backslaps, replays of high points and missteps, everything could be laughed off now that the challenge had been met, the test had been passed.

Billy Somerville ducked his head in to congratulate on his way to the stage. It was tempting for X-13 to keep partying in the dressing room, revel in their triumph, but this being the first night, they felt duty bound to check out Benzedrine’s set. Plus, they were fans and were about to have the best seats in the house.

With changeover complete, Benzedrine hit the stage, the house music went down and again the room exploded, but this time in kilotons. Benzedrine had two songs that had charted nationally, they had a video on MTV and record sales to match. They were becoming a big band.

Jordan, Reid, and Liz stood at stage right watching. Corey joined them, easing into foursome status now that they’d played their first official show together.

Benzedrine’s singer, Owen Kaye, was unshakable. The power could go out in Cleveland and the crowd would keep hanging on his every word. Jordan watched carefully, trying to figure out what this guy had that he didn’t, at least not yet.

When Benzedrine closed with Buzztone, it connected the dots between that day Reid and Jordan heard it in the car and this moment. The tour had lived as an idea, now it was really happening.

They saw Billy Somerville again after the show. They hadn’t officially met Owen Kaye or the others yet, but it was only the first night. There’d be time.

# # #

Outside the venue, barricades were still in place protecting the short route between stage door and bus. There was a handful of people waiting on the other side.

“Reid, Reid!” someone called, trying to get his attention.

Reid walked over to the metal barrier. He still found it weird that people he didn’t know knew him by name, but he wasn’t so jaded not to appreciate it. The guy was clutching the cd cover of Pareidolia, which he eagerly thrust over the gate and into Reid’s hands for him to sign.

“So, what was up with your bus?” the guy asked.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s possessed,” Reid said, accustomed to making random quips in these situations, but this one seemed to come from an odd place in his subconscious even as it came out of his mouth.

“Far out.”

Reid thanked the guy and headed onto the bus. The equipment was mostly packed, and Roncho was now making sure every last drinkable and snack-able made its way onboard from the dressing room.

Band and crew crammed together into the back lounge continuing the first-night celebration. A mixed tape played, and when My City Was Gone came on, Subs cranked it. Half the lounge sang along with the chorus like they were howling at the moon,

Ay, oh, way to go, Ohio

Pot smoke and cigarette smoke commingled. Rex, unthinking, passed the joint to Reid, who gestured no thanks but Rex, concentrating on the massive hit in his own lungs, foisted it into Reid’s hand anyway.

Reid looked at it abstractly, trying to distance himself from it, even as he passed it along with a well-practiced hand that knew exactly what it was doing.

He nodded to the music. When no one was looking, he got up from the couch like he was going to the bathroom and headed up front, where he found Roncho, wrapping up the night’s business so he could go back and join the party.

“Sorry to ask, can I use your cellphone?”

“Sure thing.”

Reid meant to use his phone card back in the club, but in all the excitement he’d forgotten. Kristina answered on the third ring.

“Glad you’re home,” Reid said, “couldn’t remember if you had to work tonight.”

He told her all about the breakdown in Pennsylvania, the race to Cleveland, the show, meeting Billy Somerville from Benzedrine.

“I got another catering gig,” she told him.

“Yeah, where?”

“Remember John and Isabella, whose party we just did? They’re having another one this weekend.”

“Is that good?”

“Yeah it’s good, they pay real money.”

“Well, alright then.”

They seemed wacked to him, but if Kristina was happy, he was happy.

Someone hooted in the back lounge. Reid assured Kristina the bus was not complete mayhem. Though after they hung up, he thought to himself it was about to be a long night.

Climbing into his bunk for the first time took a little experimentation. This was not an ADA compliant situation, if you can’t climb monkey bars at a school playground, you cannot get yourself into the top bunk on a tour bus. He figured it’d get easier with practice.

When he pulled the curtain closed, he could still hear the music, but it was muffled, and when Kenny started the bus, it blended into a white noise so all encompassing it was oddly comforting.

The adrenaline rush from earlier had come and gone. Reid was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately. He was physically aware when the bus started moving and soon found its groove on the highway, but it worked its way into his dreams without interrupting early stages of sleep cycle.

At some point in the middle of the night, he woke when he felt someone punching his bunk from underneath. Kenny had told him the lower bunk was just storage, that there’d be no one under him. He told himself it must be the engine knocking.

But there it was again. It felt distinctly like someone was balling up his fist and pounding directly under Reid’s bed to get his attention.

Reid opened his curtain. The bus was darkened, the music off, everyone gone to sleep in their own bunks. He leaned out and over into the center aisle and pulled open the curtain of the bunk beneath him.

“Knock it off,” he said.

But there was no one there.

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