Talk about all-stressed-out-and-no-one-to-choke. Which includes getting cabs in which to load the gear. Tour manager Richard Tomcala has mysteriously disappeared from the venue, leaving stage manager Alex Field, technician Sean Joyce, sound wizard Lee Popa, guitar tech and part-time rhythm guitarist Mark Durante and monitor man Jeff “Critter” Newell to do everything. The Chicago gig at the 3000-plus-capacity Riviera Nightclub is to be the opener on the tour, and given everybody’s frame of mind, the whole thing might as well go down the toilet. The cancellation forces them to shelve the recording of their proposed triple live album, “Eat Me In St. It turns out THE MENTORS did show up in Missouri after all – drunk, belligerent and demanding to play. Back to bed, you guys.Įarlier a COCK was overheard saying THE MENTORS would never show, dismissing them as losers.

Patty makes the phone calls and the cancellation/re-scheduling commences. At this time (10:30 A.M.) there is no way load-in and sound check can both be accommodated. With each pull off a bottle or draw off a smoke comes the inevitable question: Where is the friggin’ bus? It looks like they are camping out for METALLiCA ticket sales – bottles, cigarette cartons and doughnut boxes litter the postage-stamp-sized lawn. Everybody is ready to go COCKS, crew and SKATENiGS are sitting on the lawn with all the equipment. I seriously doubt he could have done it all on the Ritual De Lo Habitual tour.Ĭast and crew are assembled to Jourgensen World HQ at 6 a.m. And Johnson would still be diddling the guy’s wife on the tour bus. The band would then find the sneaky murderer and leave him lying in a pool of vomit, blood, piss and Barfo candy. Why? First, the COCKS would’ve had him drinking so much that Bob would’ve inevitably puked up the poison allegedly given to him by that jealous husband. I do seriously believe that had legendary blues master Robert Johnson been on this tour, he would still be alive. Keep in mind that this is not a great rock-and-roll swindle – or, for that matter, SPiNAL TAP.

The reciprocal of this is that when someone attacks from the outside, the unit is tighter than a clenched fist around polished brass knuckles. The major irritant of touring is that you are constantly surrounded by the same people daily, and when tempers fray it is easy to envision bull’s-eyes on the backs of heads. You can meet some formidable people in between the larger amount of human poop stains on the great underwear of Earth. You get to see the country in a mesmerizing kind of way, even if it is in a coach bunk or a cramped van that blows tires frequently. There’s a lot to be said about going on tour, and not all of it is evil. Well, what am I supposed to think? Past press metaphors for REVCO tours include morsels such as “the entire Vietnam war in three weeks,” and “a fraternity house on acid.” So what am I supposed to do – bring a covered dish? Having legendary PMRC hemorrhage-inducers in THE MENTORS and Austin’s young, wise-assed SKATENiGS along sure as hell won’t get me on the A-list at David Sprague’s friends’ parties. “Did you know that Al has a new name for you?” inquired Patty Jourgensen the day before my flight to Chicago to go on tour with another one of her husband Al’s manifestations of madness, the REVOLTiNG COCKS. WELCOME TO THE “GET GENERATiON” GET GOiNG, GET A CAB, GET DRUNK, GET HiGH, GET ON THE PHONE, GET TRiM, GET PAID, GET DOWN, GET A PLANE, GET ON THE BUS, GET ME ON THE GUEST LiST, GET ARRESTED, GET ME BACKSTAGE, GET OUT OF MY WAY, GET LOST, GET SOME POiNTS, GET SOME SLEEP, GET AROUND, GET AROUND, i GET AROUND… BY JASON PETTiGREW

Phil cook sitting on a fence tab