7/15/05
The Showbox is by far the largest and most prestigious club in town. It holds something like 1100 people, and everyone from Duke Ellington to The Ramones themselves have graced their stage. In other words, this joint seemed to be way out of our league, unless we had video of the booking agent being sodomized by a horse. Seeing as this is Seattle and not Enumclaw, it seemed unlikely.
Over the next year, I had forgotten my bold prediction. The band started playing to larger and larger crowds, and scoring a few really sweet gigs.
A few weeks before I left for vacation, we were offered a slot as part of a tribute band night at the Showbox. We couldn't believe it. Last year at this time, we were playing Jimmy Z's. Now Showbox? Wow! There was only one problem.
I would be in New Jersey the night of the show.
I really couldn't get out of the trip, as it was for a good friend's wedding, which would occur the afternoon after the night of the show. Honestly, I had no desire to cancel, even with such a sweet gig within our grasp. I desperately needed this vacation, which I had planned for months. The gig would fall somewhere in the middle of my trip. Still, I didn't want to let the rest of the guys down.
So I came up with a plan. Since we would be going onstage fairly early, I would fly back to Seattle two days before the gig, rehearse the night before, do the show, then immediately head to the airport, fly to New York, drive to New Jersey, attend the wedding, then sleep for about a week. I approached the rest of the guys with this plan, with the condition that they help me pay for the additional round trip flight. They agreed.
Sadly, my jet-set ambitions never came to pass. Someone else had a hold on the date, and confirmed. Even though the ordeal would have been exhausting, I was looking forward to having such an interesting story to share. "So I did the gig, ran out the back door, flagged a cab to the airport, flew into NYC, and still made it to the wedding on time, where I drank up half of Tennessee, danced with all the ladies, and looked fabulous the entire time."
As it turns out, we got offered another date, this one free and clear of previous commitments. Of course, we accepted. All we knew was that it would be us and Vital Idol, with a few more bands, including a headliner, to be added later. Here's where things get weird.
The headliner was going to be a Police tribute from Los Angeles. Also to appear were tributes to The Cult and New Order. My immediate thought was, "Uh-oh. Who is going to want to see a Police tribute band from LA that no one has heard of?" I also wondered if New Order had any other songs besides "Blue Monday" that anyone ever liked.
Also part of the deal was that the Police tribute would get 40 percent of the net gate. In other words, the local bands would do all the promotion, draw the most fans, and get shafted at the end of the night. But we were willing to accept that, just this once. Hey - we're playing the Showbox on a Friday night! Woo-hoo!
In this scenario the lineup (in order of appearance) would be;
New Order tribute (forgot the name)
Brother Wolf (Cult)
1234
Vital Idol
Police Experience
So we would be right smack dab in the middle - cool with us. We had just started spreading the word when we got the news that the Police and New Order bands had backed out. OK - a bit of a bummer. I was kind of looking forward to hearing the Police thing, even if they would be taking a big chunk of the dough. Oh well - I guess they needed to find a new headliner. I assumed Vital Idol, having set the gig up, would slide into the headline slot, barring the last minute addition of a new headline act.
Then came the really bad news. Billy Idol himself would be playing in town four days before our show. Now I was starting to worry. It would seem that Vital Idol's draw had been effectively eliminated. Lets face facts - if you have the opportunity to see the real thing or a clone, which would you pick? Plus not having heard of Brother Wolf before, and realizing The Cult also had a ...uhhh.... cult following, it seemed as if the show was doomed.
As we waited for official word to come down that the show had been cancelled, something very odd happened. Not only was the show not cancelled, but now the Showbox wanted us to headline. My first reaction was, "What are these guys drinking?" We don't have the kind of draw to fill a room like that. Fun House - yes. Crocodile - maybe. Showbox? Not a chance. That all being said, we now were able to proudly proclaim that we were headlining the Showbox on a Friday night.
As it turns out its a lot more hassle to cancel a show - even one with serious flop potential, than to just go on with it and hope for the best. So the club and the bands all promoted the hell out of the show as an 80's dance party. Considering the forces working against us, we thought we could maybe get 200 people in the door if we were lucky.
I'm happy to report that we doubled that number. Sure - it was 700 less than capacity. But no one involved expected anywhere near this amount of people.
I showed up during Brother Wolf's set sporting freshly dyed bright red hair. The hair was for the benefit of Jimmy and Cyprienne, friends of mine from New Jersey who had come to visit for the weekend. They had chided me for having "normal" hair - no dye, no mohawk, no length, etc the last time they saw me. I guess I showed them. But I digress.
Brother Wolf sounded better than The Cult ever did live. I remember seeing The Cult years ago and they were sloppier than Courtney Love after a three day bender. Next up was Vital Idol, who did their ....uhhh... idol justice. I was never more happy to be wrong in my life, as their fan base seemed undeterred by the real McCoy appearing four days earlier.
During all of this, I was shuttling between backstage and various areas of the club. I was trying to find somewhere to just chill out, but given the circumstances it was an exercise in futility. Our buddy Fred was filming us that night, and was shooting us backstage to give us a more complete document of the evening. I think he was even more excited than we were, as his manic energy was both infectious and entertaining. Out on the floor, people I've never met were calling me by name and offering encouragement. After a few more laps, and some last minute instructions to John (our surrogate Marci for the evening - thanks Lunchie!) we were ready.
We took the stage to the strains of "The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly," just like The Ramones used to. I looked out into a sea of faces - all of which started screaming the second we walked out. And then .......ZOOOOOOM! We flew through our set with an energy and confidence we'd spent the previous year developing for a moment just like this.
I noticed Nils and Knuck from Dragstrip Riot right in front of me, along with uber fan Brett, singing along. So I shoved the mic in front of them a few times. As the set progressed, I noticed lots of other friendly faces in the crowd. I also noticed a shitload of total strangers screaming their asses off. I never felt more comfortable or alive onstage. It felt as if my energy level increased as the set progressed. But alas, it was over all too soon.
After the show, I felt a strange mixture of pride and sadness. I was proud that we had essentially made chicken salad out of chicken shit. As I said before, no one expected this show to even come off, let alone be a success. I was also stoked that I got to show off for some long time friends. I also thought it was cool that we had such a big draw even without large contingents of people from other segments of my life (day job, other circles of friends, etc.)
The sadness was in the realization that this thing we had worked towards for so long was over. This was a huge goal we had set for ourselves, and we had finally attained it. It was far from perfect, especially the part where I accidentally knocked the cord out of my microphone, which domino effected Dan into the land of the lost during "Pinhead." Plus the pay was pretty weak, as a club like the Showbox has enormous overhead that eats away at the net gate like Star Jones at a buffett. If we had done the same numbers at the Fun House, I could have covered my rent. We did sell a bunch of t-shirts though (thanks Tommy.)
At the end of it all I knew this would be a night I'd never forget. I'll remember how huge the room looked during sound check. I'll remember wondering if the Five Point had closed that night, as all of the regulars and half the staff were at our show. I'll remember a ton of people screaming "hey ho lets go" along with me. More than anything, I'll never forget how awesome it felt riding past the club and seeing our name in big red letters on the marquee at the biggest club in Seattle. Top of the world, Ma!
One more thing: Greg and I have made another prediction about next year. I can't say what it involves, as I don't want to jinx it. Let's just say it's a bit more ambitious, and has about as much a chance of happening as gas prices dipping below a dollar a gallon. I'll let you know when it comes true.
Gotta go - the phone is ringing. "Hello.......Ellen?"