SnowGhost Music

When I was a youngster just developing calluses and learning some sweet chords from my Mel Bay guitar book, I thought long and hard about being a rock star. I was pretty sure that I still wanted to be a pro baseball player, but I ended up spending a lot more time rocking out in the garage than I did swinging aluminum in the batting cages. One of the main things that tempted me out of my would-be career as catcher for the Chicago Cubs was the idea of life on the road. Surely I would have at least one giant tour bus with a heli-pad, hot tub, harem quarters, full size kitchen with refrigerator, the latest arcade system, as well as a giant personal room of my own, though I probably would’ve been down with a bunk bed and curtains. Maybe if I got really famous - and I was pretty sure that my progress through the Mel Bay learning library was a good sign - I would have a jet with a rad logo, a personal chef, and again, an arcade system.

These grandiose images were no doubt formed by my exposure to music videos and Rolling Stone articles about very successful bands. They seemed to be ‘weary’ or ‘jaded’ by life on the road, though judging by the photos and videos, I wasn’t going to feel all that bad for them. I figured every band that toured had at the very least a bitching converted school bus, and every show they played was full of screaming hot chicks that couldn’t control themselves, their clothes, or their hotel keys. And backstage there was surely the greatest food imaginable, including platters of perfect hamburgers, piles of French toast, and Dairy Queen Blizzard machines. Also, maybe some arcade games. Keep in mind I was 13 in 1989. I hadn’t yet begun to dream of joints the size of femurs, ice luges, or kegs of imported beer and frozen pint glasses.

While these dreamy setups surely did exist and still do for some bands, I soon learned that the reality of touring was not quite so luxurious. Or invigorating. Or comfortable. Or fun. In fact, it seemed that even touring in style could be a drag day in and day out. Playing in a different city every day and spending the days off stuck on the road for months at a time might indeed make one ‘weary’ and ‘jaded.’ Maybe even the chicks weren’t so hot and the hamburgers weren’t so delicious when you saw them every day. Slowly my image of touring changed from something that I would pay to do to something I would need to get paid a great deal of money to do. And as friends and colleagues began to relay their own experiences of life on the road, I began to realize that being a touring musician was actually one of the most difficult jobs that anyone could find on earth that didn’t involve hazardous materials, 10 years of intense schooling, or a probation officer.

A good friend and former roommate rolled in to town a few years ago with a band he’d been hired to play drums with. He asked if he and the band could stay the night at our house. Needless to say, I didn’t have to worry about the tour bus fitting in our driveway, or what we were going to do about all the hot girls who would need accommodating. All they wanted was a couch or a sleeping bag. A regular shower. And if we weren’t too put out, they’d be stoked to have a home-cooked meal. As long as it wasn’t PB and J’s and Motel 6, they were ecstatic to simply just relax in a regular place. And that’s exactly what they did. It was as if they hadn’t slept for days, hadn’t seen food in weeks, and hadn’t heard quiet in months. But then they got back in their rented van with their rented U-Haul and headed back to a few more weeks of floating across the country, fueled by cheap food and bad sleep, playing small venues and trying to get heard, and hopefully, make some kind of living.

So it’s probably a bad idea to focus on the bad food, the boredom of driving through Texas, the arguments of who has to drive or who has to pee, who gets to sleep in the big bed, which exit was missed, which song will be played for the 233rd time, and who has to deal with the manager about getting paid. At least there are no cubicles and you’re not dealing with same people in the same place every day. However shady the venues are, you’re still seeing places you’ve never been, meeting people who like your music, and you’re doing something you love. And you absolutely have to love it, more than any spouse or lover, because that’s what it really takes. People don’t get excited about paying an accountant to do their 1099 and W-2 forms, but they do get excited about plopping down some of their hard-earned money to come out and watch you play. They feed off the energy of the music you create, and you feed off of theirs, because this is what it’s all about. After all the 3 am equipment hauls, sleepless nights in a van, showerless days, and disastrous sound checks, you’re providing something genuine and beautiful for people that will appreciate it, and when you finally get home and your head hits your favorite pillow, that’s what you’ll remember. And that’s pretty important to remember, because it’s going to take a lot of good memories to get you back on the road again. Unless of course you just bought Def Leppard’s old tour bus and tricked it out. In that case, you’re probably all set.