Secret Weapons – CRAZY TOUR STORIES

In this Crazy Tour Stories segment, the alternative pop band, Secret Weapons, talk about one of their crazy moments from touring. You can check out the feature, after the break.

We’re traveling light. Gerry, myself, a drummer, a keyboardist and a colorful sound engineer who goes by “Baz” (now no longer with us) spend most of our days encased in a black passenger van, flanked by luggage and a potpourri of gear and cardboard boxes. His real name is Kyle. We glide along rural highways at a steady seventy miles per hour, gawking at cows and the dilapidated farms that dot the roads leading to most major cities. At any moment, half the van plays “Pokemon” while others chase a comfortable sleeping position to little avail. The shotgun occupant spends a few minutes anxiously tapping the “seek” button on the center radio to enjoy a few moments of an unexpected tune. The driver announces how many exits he has left in him, and a brief awkward silence sets in before the next driver speaks up to volunteer for the next shift.

The first show was in Toronto. I woke early to pick up the van in New Jersey from a small rental company that specializes in bands. The company was located in a forgettable industrial parking lot near the Meadowlands, accessible only by Uber. I gave my sleeping girlfriend a kiss goodbye and set out from the city, only to realize ten blocks later that I had forgotten the most essential item of all – my passport. After a frantic return trip, I arrived at the dirty rental lot only to find that the company had not yet received the required insurance policy from my business management. Without it, the van could not leave the lot. It was 6 a.m on the west coast where our business manager still slept, and my hopes that maybe they were early risers were dashed by unanswered e-mails and the sound of voicemail messages. Feeling the early signs of caffeine withdrawal and dreading the first day of tour slipping through my fingers, I confusingly exclaimed that I, in fact, had the insurance policy. I flashed my phone to the rental attendant, pointing to a policy number and conveniently covering the fact that the policy on the screen was for an entirely different item. He took down the digits and okay’d our departure. Within minutes we were speeding off the lot to pack up our gear and scoop up the band members in Bushwick. However, there was one last stop to be made – we had to pick up Mark.

One of the first things a new artist adds to their traveling party is a sound engineer. This is the person who stands at the back of the venue and mans the mixing board, breathing life into every instrument and bringing it all together into a mix. It’s the most important thing for a live show after the band and songs themselves (and a very close second). In his 46th year, Mark stood nearly six feet tall – a towering hulk of a man with a handsome face disguised by an unflattering layer of fat. A wavy mane of brown hair ran circled decades of fat caused by late

Mark was the highly recommended sound guy fat a big spot in NYC for many years. He entered the van on Day 1 wreaking of vomit. We assumed he had a rough night and continued the drive north. Half way through the drive Mark fell asleep and his pants slowly slid off his waist, exposing his entire bare ass. This made the stench worse. Halfway through the drive, our van broke down. We pulled into a several sleepy upstate mechanics before one decided to take us in and make the same-day repair. At this moment Mark mentioned he had some trouble “crossing the border”, and then asked me for a few dollars for a sandwich (he had already been paid in full before starting the tour). Making sure he wouldn’t go hungry, I obliged and shrugged off the border comment.

When we arrived at the border, we were immediately instructed to pull the van over. One by one we were pulled out and brought into tiny windowless rooms. We faced heavy interrogation, and early in the morning after several daunting hours, we were told Mark was, in fact, a felon and that we were not allowed to cross. Defeated, and sure to miss the first show in Toronto, we retreated to a hotel room in Buffalo for the night. On the ride home, Mark confessed that he was convicted of stealing microphones from a band while on tour a few years ago…Mark’s bed was next to the heater, which was much needed for the freezing cold buffalo night. His criminal stench permeated the entire room with each puff of the heating system. It was unbearable. We kept a close eye on our possessions that night.

The next morning Mark had vanished. The only trace was the smell that refused to leave the hotel rooms (we left a generous tip for the cleaning staff). An urgent call revealed he was already on a train back to NYC – he decided to abandon the tour. It turns out not only was Mark a convicted felon, but he was homeless and a heroin addict. Immediately after that call, we receive another from our manager. The news? There was a giant snow storm barreling down on the region. Not only was the show canceled, but we had to evacuate Buffalo immediately if we wanted to make it out. We hastily packed and sped off with a menacing snowy sky in the rear view mirror. We ended up driving 16 hours on that first day, were detained at the border for 8 hours, and bled money on hotels, gas, tolls and the money Mark absconded with.

I haven’t even told you about the second day of the tour.

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