Let’s assume you’ve decided to do it. That’s right, you hocked the family jewels, your significant other is crying, and your parents think you’re a freak (so what’s new?). You’ve got strings, picks, extra tubes, extra fuses, an extra strap, a road case for your head, extra instrument and speaker cables, a sleeping bag, a reading light, 10 to 20 good tapes, a third-hand van (get AAA-trust me on this!) and a burning desire to rock anywhere, anyhow, anytime. Cool. You’ve just joined an exclusive club who’s members include everyone from Django to Les Paul to Jimi to Eddie Van Halen. Have a good tour and let’s talk about what to do when you get back.
If you’re in a band, you probably need a day job (those of you named Vanderbilt proceed directly to this month’s lesson), but the screwy thing is that most jobs that aren’t embarrassingly uncool involve nighttime hours or weekends (record stores, guitar stores, clubs, bars). Those are times when you’re supposed to be playing or practicing! Another problem: employers don’t take very kindly to the attitude of, “Well I’m gonna keep my hair the way it is and I don’t care what you say. Basically, I’m not really interested in you or your job but I’ll force myself to do it because I need to make money right now. And, by the way, I have to leave all the time to go on tour so please hire me again whenever I come back.”
Whether you like it or not, starting your first low-level tour will invariably involve quitting your job (I fondly remember the feeling of telling my boss to stick it, pulling away from the curb and heading into the wilderness of New Jersey), which may or may not be a good thing. If you’re still in school, you might be able to save up some money and tour during the summer, but if you’re working, it may be really hard to find one of those kind, understanding bosses who’ll keep your job waiting for you. Of course, there’s usually a place in every town where people in bands work-try your local espresso spot, comic book store or groovy toy shop: the last “straight” job I had was working at a toy store that, at various other times, employed members of Hole, STP and Redd Kross. The pay was crap but you could look like Satan and go on tour. ‘Nuff said.
The scary thing about touring is that you’re really on your own. A lot of smaller bands enjoy going to Europe (an entirely different can of worms that we’ll open at a later date) because the clubs over there generally feed you and a lot of times will put you up for the night as well. Clubs over here basically couldn’t care less about you. I’m serious: it’ll be hard to get a lot of places you’ll be playing to even give you water, let alone food or decent money. As I see it, you’ve got three priorities on the road:
1. Keep the van running.
2. Keep the gear working.
3. Keep everyone fed.
Most of what you make will go for gas, but why not take what’s left over and establish a food allowance (show me a band member and I’ll show you someone who is very capable of living on five dollars a day). It’s not a bad idea to keep stuff like peanut butter and rice cakes around and a lot of bands even bring a little sterno-stove with them. It’s not very much fun to eat cheap (how many ways can you make macaroni and cheese?), but you’ll be really glad you have some money saved up when your transmission falls out on the highway.
Life on the road can be harsh, and don’t think that getting a record deal will miraculously change things-it won’t. I was still riding in a van and hauling Ampeg SVT cabinets at two a.m. six months after we released our first major label album. It’s funny, but even at a relatively high level of touring comfort with buses, a crew, catering and hotel rooms, people will come along for a few days and say, “I don’t know how you can live like this!” to which I reply, “Try spending two months using your Marshall head as a pillow!”
If you think you have what it takes, and most people don’t, why not set yourself a time limit of, say, two years where you do nothing but work towards making your band happen. You will probably suffer, but you won’t be alone. Ever hear the story about Metallica living in a rehearsal room in New York? The guys in Anthrax lent them a space heater so that at least they wouldn’t freeze while they were starving. The positive side to all this, and I know I sound like your crusty grandpa, is that sleeping in practice spaces and in stuffy vans definitely helps you develop character. So, if you don’t give in or break up, you’ll have one of the tightest, strongest bands around by the time you finish your first tour. The really bad thing about the “alternative explosion” or whatever it’s called this week, is that a lot of bands are making records without going through some of the things that really give music its soul. Biff, bam, pow: form a band, make a record, get on a tour bus, complain that life is hard.
Sometimes I think there oughtta be a law: no record deal until you tour for a year. There are some great bands that get to live well right out of the box, but there are also an awful lot of mediocre ones.
Well, enough of my bitching. Over the last couple of columns we’ve learned the intro solo to “Super Charger Heaven,” from Astro Creep 2000… This time we’re gonna zip through the first half of the second solo in the song. It’s more of the really straightforward, “Chuck Berry from Mars” stuff and is shown in FIGURE 1.
See you next month.
